Religious and happy

Apparently research shows that religious people are happier and healthier than atheists. But is this true? If so, as a life-long atheist I'm heading for a miserable and premature demise.

One study shows that someone's religious commitment, such as how often they attended church, was linked with a lower risk of depression, anxiety, suicide, heart disease and death from cancer.

Supposedly religion also gives you a sense of social connection and community, a sense of purpose, and reduces loneliness and isolation.

Well, I know atheists and I know believers, and it's hard to say who's happier, because people aren't necessarily truthful about their inner feelings. People can pretend to be happy when actually they're feeling despondent and pessimistic.

Certainly I'm happy enough despite my very early rejection of religion. So is Jenny. Neither of us feel the need for an external belief system to help us navigate our lives (though I totally respect those who find religion helpful).

It's easy to think of religious people you know who aren't at all happy, but no doubt they're the exception that proves the rule. My mother was religious but ended her life feeling gloomy about her physical and mental decline. Her parents on the other hand (from what I saw of them) were religious and happy.

Of course you can argue that actually I do have an external belief system - socialism. And does it make me happy? That would be a whole new post....

Not so old?

Like most people, I guess, I take news of some especially long-lived oldie quite uncritically, but apparently a lot of these amazing ages may not be genuine, due to dubious documentation and other errors.

In 2010, more than 230,000 Japanese centenarians turned out to be missing, imaginary, clerical errors or dead. In Greece 72 per cent of census-reported centenarians in 2012 were discovered to be no longer alive.

Do we even want to live so long? Rising numbers of oldies are enduring chronic medical conditions that restrict their quality of life. And do we really want to wake up every day to yet more horrific crimes, international conflicts, dictators and corporate greed? Better a shortened age with a good quality of life than an advanced age that isn't any fun any more.

My mum lived until 96, by which time her quality of life was pretty poor. She had had dementia for several years, and had problems with walking and personal care, as well as having limited physical energy. Quite honestly, she would have been better off if she had died a few years earlier.

So I don't take any notice of people's sure-fire blueprints for living longer. I'll leave others to test them out. I'll happily accept whatever life span I've been allotted, as long as I'm still fit enough to enjoy it.

Meddling bullshit

People can't resist the urge to speculate madly about some police investigation, despite being warned that such speculation is obstructing official inquiries and spreading all sorts of wild conjecture.

The partner of Nicola Bulley, who was missing for 33 days early in the year, has described the online obsession with her disappearance as a monster that got out of control.

Paul Ansell said his family initially welcomed the huge public interest, but that changed when amateur sleuths on social media began posting numerous misleading theories about what had happened.

They accused him of killing her, misconstrued the limited information available, and released personal details about Nicola. Some people travelled to Lancashire to "help" the police, and simply got in the way.

Airing dubious theories in private to your family or friends is one thing (and I'm tempted to speculate as much as anyone else) but posting those theories online to thousands of impressionable people who're likely to keep repeating them indefinitely is another.

Of course a lot of the online speculation is just about getting attention, and the more attention the merrier.

Some of the would-be pundits even make out they're smarter than the police and have spotted things the police have overlooked. The sheer arrogance and self-inflation is breathtaking.

Unfortunately social media provides a perfect platform for these outpourings of meddling bullshit.

Pic: Nicola Bulley

Waited on

I sometimes fantasise about being so rich I can have everything done for me while I laze around doing nothing. I would be waited on hand and foot and not have to move a muscle.

But would I really enjoy that? Actually I think I'd hate it. I like doing things for myself and organising my own life. I wouldn't want other people butting in and doing things for me.

Apart from anything else they'd probably never do anything exactly the way I wanted it done and I'd have to keep putting them right. Or they'd be hanging around when I wanted a bit of privacy. Or I wouldn't get on with them and there'd be constant friction and annoyance.

How do the Royals put up with all the flunkeys attending to their every need? I suppose they've been waited on for so long they're totally used to it and would be horrified at having to do everything themselves.

I suppose being waited on is generally seen as a sign of luxury, but I'd rather have the luxury of doing things for myself the way I want to do them. Why be constantly beholden to other people for the most basic everyday actions?

For a while in London we took on a cleaner because we were both working full time and found it hard to fit in the housework. I was never comfortable about it though, I always felt we should somehow be managing to do the cleaning ourselves.

But I wouldn't mind a chauffeur to take over the hassle of driving.

Turning the clock back

I'm perpetually amazed by the number of people who desperately want to look younger, and resort to all sorts of dubious methods to achieve it. Why are they no sooner middle-aged than they want to turn the clock back and look young again? What's so awful about the way they look as they get older?

I've never wanted to look younger, I'm quite happy with the way I look at 77. I suppose I turned a few heads when I was young but I don't sit around pining for my lost looks and envying the latest generation of pretty young things.

Instead of wanting to look young again and wanting the attention that might bring, why can't we just be a bit more positive about the entirely natural appearance of older people instead of being embarrassed by it and seeking to erase it?

To my mind, many people look wise and more distinguished as they age, while the very young can look quite bland and characterless. And older people, because they've knocked around a bit, often have fascinating back stories.

But no, people want to slice away as many years as possible and artificially turn back time, and they'll try absolutely anything to get the desired effect. Botox, surgery, shapewear, anti-ageing cream, dental enhancements. Whatever it takes, and whatever it costs.

It's always tragic when some perfectly healthy youngster opts for a dodgy procedure at some unregulated foreign clinic and returns home with serious after-effects that the NHS has to put right. If they're even more unlucky, they might die on the operating table, leaving their family and friends to grieve.

We all have to grow older. Why try to fight it?

Edinburgh

All can now be revealed. I'm not on my death bed, I'm not in prison, I haven't been scammed for thousands of pounds. Jenny and I have just had a few days in Edinburgh.

We went to various museums and galleries, we went to Belfast Zoo, we went to Leith, which is the latest trendy Edinburgh district, and we met up with our old friend Sheila. Sheila was one of my oldest blog mates until she gave up blogging but turned into a long-term friend.

We stayed at the Premier Inn, which we've stayed at several times, but this time the standard had slipped a bit. The shower temperature was either very hot or stone cold, the fridge door was hanging off its hinges, and the windows hadn't been cleaned for a long while, which rather spoiled our view of Edinburgh Castle. But the hotel was warm and clean, the staff were friendly, and we had some great cooked breakfasts.

My favourite animals at the zoo were the meerkats. I love the way they stand on their back legs with their front legs drooping, watching what's going on. I also love the lemurs, which I'm told are the most endangered species on the planet - 95 per cent of lemur species are at risk of extinction.

Some facts about Edinburgh:

• The city is built on an extinct volcano
• It has more trees per head of population than any other UK city
• It has more listed buildings than anywhere in the world
• Grassmarket has a history of executions. Thieves, murderers and political outcasts were regularly hanged in the 18th and 19th centuries
• A unicorn is the national animal of Scotland

All in all, it was a bonnie wee holiday.

Intermission

There will now be a short intermission

I leave you with a selfie - in Brighton, May 2024

Just marvelling

Things (and people) I marvel at:

• Aeroplanes. How do these massive things manage to stay in the air?
• The internet. All 1613 of my posts are stored in some data centre somewhere. Not to mention endless information available at the click of a mouse. And dozens of other uses.
• Squirrels. They're considered to be among the most intelligent animals in the world. Known for their quickness, intellect, memory, and ability to plan ahead.
• Smart phones. Revolutionised communication. A mobile phone, camera and computer in one device.
• Cutting edge surgery and medical treatment. Previously incurable conditions can now be beaten.
• Love. What is it that makes us fall in love - possibly for an entire lifetime?
• The human brain. For its imagination, its ability to think and reason, its grasp of complexities, and its sudden surprising insights.
• Rock stars who're still alive despite the drugs, the booze, the junk food, the late nights. Mick Jagger is now 81.
• The pianist Yuja Wang. Her astonishing dexterity.
• The mass murmurations of starlings. How come they never collide with each other?
• Chinese trains that can travel at up to 286 mph.
• Polyglots. Like Ziad Fazah from Lebanon, who claims he can read and speak 58 languages including Arabic, Polish, Thai, Urdu, Norwegian, and many more. What's his secret?

There are probably many more things I marvel at, but they don't come to mind right now. I might add a few items as I think of them. We all need to marvel more and scoff less.

A right royal hoo-ha

Well, that's quite enough earnest introspection. And now for something completely different.

No sooner was a new statue of the late Queen and Prince Philip unveiled at Antrim Castle in County Antrim than it was widely ridiculed, a common opinion being that the female figure looked nothing like the Queen, and that Prince Philip didn't look much like Prince Philip.

One critic even suggested that the late monarch looked more like Mrs Doubtfire. And Philip looks more like a movie villain about to roast some useless underling.

Antrim and Newtownabbey Borough Council commissioned the local artist Anto Brennan to create the sculpture and claimed to be delighted, saying it captured the Queen "in a dignified pose, reflecting her grace, steadfastness and life-long devotion to public service."

But Vera McWilliam, an Antrim and Newtownabbey councillor, thought the critics had a point. "We have to be honest, it does not resemble the queen in any shape or form."

Other statues that have been roundly derided tend to be discreetly removed. I await with interest whether this statue meets the same fate.

Another statue of Philip dressed as a don, erected in Cambridge at an estimated cost of £150,000, was also derided and removed. Presumably a similar sum was spent on the controversial statue of the two Royals.

Anto Brennan hasn't made any public comment on his statue as yet.

Pic: The contentious statue

Inhibitions

Funny things, inhibitions. You can be totally inhibited about one thing but not at all inhibited about something else.

Things I'm not inhibited about:

• Revealing my naked body. I don't care how "imperfect" it may be, it is what it is. I attended two all-male schools where we revealed our bodies all the time.
• Physical contact with other people. I love hugging and kissing, though other men still find kissing and hugging men rather weird.
• Terms of endearment. Jenny and I use them all the time, even really silly ones.
• Complaining. I'll always complain if necessary. Why should I accept a product or service that's not as it should be?
• Saying no. Meaning the chancers on the doorstep promoting some service or other. No, I don't need a tree surgeon. No, I don't want to worship the Lord.
• Admitting my mistakes. I'm not one to hide my mistakes or make out they're someone else's fault. We all screw up now and then.

Things I'm inhibited about:

• Talking to people who seem much more intelligent. Will they find my remarks stupid or ignorant?
• Talking about sex. I regard sex as something private, something that only concerns sexual partners.
• Talking to complete strangers. What should I say to them, what should I talk about? I'm always at a loss for words.
• Talking to people who're well-read. People who make endless references to famous books I've never read and expect me to be familiar with them.

But I'm not inhibited about revealing my inhibitions.

Why so abusive?

Why are people so abusive nowadays? Why can't they just deal with an annoying situation calmly, without vilifying someone?

Two customers at our local Caffè Nero this morning were angry that they were having to wait a few minutes for service, mainly because a computer problem meant cards or phone payments couldn't be processed and it was cash only.

The angry customers didn't have any cash and cursed the staff for the inconvenience, although the problem wasn't due to the staff who were coping as best they could and probably feeling just as frustrated as the customers.

People take out their discontent on innocent shop staff, when nine times out of ten a problem has nothing to do with staff but is down to a computer failure or incompetent managers or poor training.

No wonder there's such a constant change of staff at Caffè Nero if that's the way they're treated by a significant number of customers. Why put up with a daily stream of abuse if you can find a job where you're appreciated rather than sworn at?

Jenny and I never ever abuse shop staff (or staff anywhere), even if they're making a real mess of something. We know the pressure they may be under and we're more likely to be friendly and patient and helpful than nasty and arrogant.

And what does that abuse achieve apart from venting your emotions? If the problem isn't caused by the staff, probably nothing except a horrible atmosphere.

No more high heels?

Supposedly high heels are losing their appeal. Young women are less likely to wear them, businesses are less likely to insist on them. Comfort is taking priority over pain and fashion.

Or so says a journalist who gave up wearing high heels because they damaged her achilles tendons and calf muscles. They took several years to recover.

Well, as you may recall I've always been bemused by the popularity of high heels. Everyone knows they do all sorts of damage to your body but women keep on wearing them because they're seen as sexy or glamorous or if it's the workplace they make you look "professional" and "businesslike".

Personally I don't find them the least bit sexy, just rather masochistic. What's sexy about something that's probably uncomfortable and painful?

As for their looking professional, I don't judge office workers by their footwear but by how well they do their job. And as I've said before, if high heels make you look professional, why don't men wear them?

Unfortunately a lot of men want their womenfolk to wear high heels because yes, they're seen as sexy. So women oblige them and put up with the discomfort.

I don't think Jenny has ever worn high heels and she would never contemplate wearing such things. She would never sacrifice comfort for some dubious idea of being sexy or eye-catching.

In 2017 Nicola Thorp started a petition against the compulsory wearing of high heels at work when she was sent home from her temp job after refusing to wear high heels. Her petition attracted over 100,000 signatures and was debated in parliament but was then quickly forgotten about.

But maybe seven years on attitudes are finally changing?

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I'm no longer getting comments via email so it may be that I miss some comments and don't respond to them. I have no idea how to restore the emails. Sorry about that.

A question of trust

Another heated debate about parenting and to what extent you should trust your child to do their own thing without fussing and fretting and watching them like a hawk.

There's been a lot of criticism of Kirstie Allsopp, the presenter of a TV property programme, for allowing her 15 year old son and a 16 year old friend to take a rail trip round Europe on their own.

Even the local council has got involved, with Social Services starting a file on her for supposedly neglectful parenting.

Kirstie Allsopp insists that she knows her own child and had no doubt he was mature enough to make such a trip and cope with any problems that arose. Which he did.

It seems to me that it's entirely up to the parent to decide what their child is capable or not capable of. What business is it of other people to judge them and tell them they made the wrong decision? What do they know about the child's capabilities?

The assumption is that parents are too laid back and let their children do anything they want without properly observing them and keeping them out of harm's way.

As you know, Jenny and I don't have any children, but I imagine that if we had done I for one as a rather anxious individual would probably have been over-protective and over-watchful, deterring my children from spreading their wings and finding their way in the outside world.

I'm sure I would have exaggerated all the dangers and conjured up all sorts of dire eventualities. I suspect I'd have been an alarmingly neurotic parent.

Pic: Kirstie Allsopp

The dating minefield

When I was young, dating was a fairly simple business. You dated a friend of a friend, or a workmate, or a neighbour, and either you got on or you didn't.

Now it's more complicated. There are online dating services that invite you to contact total strangers, people you've never met in your life and know absolutely nothing about.

You can only go by what information they put online, which may be heavily embellished or completely fabricated. They may have assumed an entirely fictitious identity, with a fake photo they've stolen from someone else. How do you judge whether what they're telling you is true or not?

At least when I was dating someone in the flesh, someone I probably knew quite well, I knew what I was getting. I knew they were the person they said they were, I knew what they looked like, I knew they weren't artificially enhanced.

They might have put on a bit of a false front or hidden a few bad habits, but they were basically what they appeared to be.

But that's not the only change. Anyone trying online dating also has other hazards to contend with - like scamming and stalking. Apparently they're now so rife on dating sites that customers are deserting them in droves.

Some 52 per cent of online daters said they had come across someone they thought was trying to scam them; 57 per cent of women said online dating is not too or not at all safe; and 85 per cent said someone continued to contact them after they said they weren't interested.

All in all, dating seems to have become a minefield. I'm glad all that's behind me.

Rising loneliness

I read that loneliness is on the rise, with seven in ten of 18 to 24 year olds saying they feel lonely and 29 per cent saying they feel a fundamental separateness from other people and the wider world.

That surprises me because I don't often feel lonely. I may feel bored or out-of-place or weird, but not lonely. I don't feel separate from other people because I know I have lots in common with them, even if we're not actually face to face or talking to each other.

Even when I lived on my own, before I met Jenny, I didn't feel lonely because I got out and about and didn't feel a need for other people's company as I had plenty of company at work.

Not that having company is necessarily the answer to loneliness. I can be in a crowd of people and still feel lonely because I don't feel they understand me or that they're on my wavelength or they share my interests.

The feeling of loneliness has many causes, in particular not being happy with your own self and wanting other people's reassurance or support or appreciation. I suppose it also includes the feeling of missing out, that other people are having a better time than you are. I guess every lonely person has their own definition of loneliness and what it feels like.

It doesn't help that the prevailing view of human beings is that we're social creatures and need other people around us to feel good. That ain't necessarily so.

Sort of nostalgia

I like to think I'm not nostalgic, which may be true in a general sense - I don't want to return to any supposedly preferable historical period - but it's not quite true in a more specific sense.

I may not want to relive the nineteen sixties or my childhood or my most rewarding job, but I do think fondly of times when certain things were done better than they are now (or so I believe).

Like routinely talking to a human being on the phone rather than an automated voice that doesn't understand my problem and suggests I consult some online trouble-shooting page that also doesn't understand my problem.

Like using older buses that have plenty of seats rather than new buses with far fewer seats, requiring you to stand up for your entire journey.

Like visiting tourist destinations when they were still deserted and a pleasure to explore, unlike now when over-tourism has made many places a ghastly human traffic-jam you have to fight your way through.

Like tourist locations when people were happy just to linger and enjoy their surroundings without taking 101 selfies and getting in everyone's way.

So yes, I'm a sort of dabbler in nostalgia, most of the time not looking back but sometimes regretting how things have changed.

I hasten to add that lots of things have changed for the better, which is why I'm not habitually nostalgic. Who could be nostalgic for typewriters or cassettes or black and white TVs? Not many, I imagine.

Am I obliged?

Are you obliged to your family simply because they're your family? Is it peculiar to step away from them, even if they're having a hard time and need support?

I would say there's no obligation at all. You never asked to be part of that family in the first place, so you owe them nothing, except maybe appreciation for having brought you up well (if indeed they did).

You may get on famously with your family, so you're happy to support them in any way necessary. But if you don't get on with them, if there's constant tension and conflict and dislike, why should you feel obliged to do anything for them?

I didn't get on with my father, and I didn't get on that well with my mother. So I never felt obliged to them. I barely know my sister and brother in law as they're quite uncommunicative, so again I don't feel obliged to them. And why should they feel obliged to me?

There's still a general expectation that children will look after their elderly parents, but if you don't feel any bond with your parents, or they actively undermine you, why should they expect anything from you?

Those people who strongly dislike their parents but still feel they should support them and look after them are remarkable, but I could never have managed that.

I don't expect anyone to feel obliged to look after me in my dotage (except the NHS of course). If they feel the urge to do so, that's fine.

Pub ding-dong

It's weird how easily a minor issue can turn into a major slanging-match - or worse. Quite often both sides dig their heels in and refuse to budge an inch.

Tempers flared when Jared Dunn, landlord of the Blue Bell pub in Conwy, Wales, asked 30 or so customers who were singing in Welsh to leave the pub because they don't allow singing and other customers found it disturbing. People were leaving the pub and in some cases not even finishing their meal.

That seems to me a reasonable response to the singing, but there was an angry reaction from some people who contended there was nothing wrong with singing in a pub and thought the landlord was wrong to put a stop to it. Some Welsh speakers thought it was an example of the language being marginalised.

Mr Dunn said "The pub is for everyone's enjoyment, and they didn't conform to a reasonable request. Many pubs have this rule in place, to enable their customers to have some peace and quiet while they're eating. It's the same reason we don't show sports or allow any kind of football chanting."

He has nothing against the Welsh language as his wife is Welsh and his children are learning the language. As it happens the family are moving to nearby Prestatyn in a few weeks, so he will soon leave the absurd row behind.

Jenny and I don't like having to listen to loud background music when we're eating or just chatting in a café or restaurant, so we have every sympathy with Mr Dunn.

Hard work and how

Jenny and I agree that as we get older we have a much greater appreciation of other people's achievements, of the hard work and determination that made those achievements possible.

When I was young I would be aware that a top novelist or lawyer or sportsperson or art restorer had done something special, but I wouldn't be aware of the full extent of what lay behind it and what it took to achieve it.

I never realised what the top novelist had to go through to produce the novel that I casually summed up as impressive or exciting. I imagined that they just sat down, scribbled away for a few weeks, and hey presto a brilliant novel.

I never thought about how hard it was to come up with an unusual and convincing plot, or vivid characters, or a dramatic ending. Or how hard it was to write fluent, smooth-flowing prose for hundreds of pages. Or how hard it was to keep at it day after day without being distracted. Or how hard it was to get your first novel published after dozens of rejections.

The sheer persistence and self-confidence required is easily underestimated. So many people say they're going to write a novel, but they never do.

The same applies to anyone who's done something spectacular or sensational. More and more I appreciate the hinterland of sheer hard work and application and single-mindedness that made that thing possible.

I was thinking all this I watched some of the astonishing Olympics coverage, and I was very conscious of the years and years of training and tenacity that underlie those stunning feats. Utterly mind-boggling.

Inside out

People say that if you've been married to someone for many years you know them inside out. You know how they'll react to any given situation, you know the thoughts that are running through their head, you know all their deepest secrets, you know what goes on under the public facade.

If you don't know the person that well, there's something a bit wrong with you. You're not really compatible, you're not in tune with each other.

Well, that degree of familiarity may be true of some people, but it certainly isn't true of Jenny and me. I can't be sure of her reactions, I don't always know what she's thinking, I doubt if I know her deepest secrets, and I don't always know what's behind the public persona.

That's not because we aren't compatible, it's simply because we're very different people and we're constantly surprised by each other.

So what's wrong with being surprised by each other? It makes life more interesting. It means we have complex characters that always leave more to be explored and understood.

And does anyone really know their partner inside out? They might think they do, but we all have parts of our personality that we keep to ourselves, however upfront and candid we might seem to be.

How often do you hear people say that something their partner has done or said seems quite out of character, a bolt from the blue? So they didn't know their partner so well after all.

I'd like to know Jenny inside out, but is it actually possible?

Moaning and groaning

As yet I haven't morphed into the typical grumpy old man. I still look on the bright side and take problems in my stride rather than moaning about them.

I haven't yet become "Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells", firing off angry letters to the media and haranguing everyone with my complaints about the bus service, litter louts, too much sex and violence on TV or the price of marmalade.

All that would do is turn me into a sour, bitter individual who takes no pleasure in life and just spoils other people's enjoyment.

I make a point of focusing on the positive things and working around the negatives rather than dwelling on them. There's little I can do about the price of marmalade or erratic buses so why bang on about such things?

I've worked with people who habitually moaned about everything in sight, and it's very tedious. Even if you suggest a more positive way of looking at life, they don't want to know. They're locked into a nothing's-good-enough mindset.

If I encounter something that makes no sense to me, my first reaction isn't complaint but curiosity. I want to know what underlies this oddity, what it's all about.

It's easy to get caught up in all the knee-jerk vilification that pours out of the media and not take a step back and look at things more thoughtfully.

Apart from anything else, incessant grumbling is exhausting. All that rage and condemnation takes it out of you. I'm all for an easy life.

Not sentimental

I'm not very sentimental, if that means I get highly emotional over things that have played a significant part in my life, things that have meant a lot to me.

Other people are much more sentimental, hanging on to things that have long since held any value except their emotional meaning.

My father was highly sentimental. He had scrapbooks of all his Italian holidays, crammed with every conceivable souvenir of the trip - postcards, train tickets, boarding passes, restaurant menus. Nothing was too trivial to be discarded.

But my attitude has always been that once something's past it's past and there's no point in developing big emotional attachments and reminiscences. I have no photos of my childhood, no scrapbooks, no shelves of souvenirs and mementos, no carefully-preserved old school uniform. I'm totally focused on the present and future rather than the past.

I suppose that makes me sound rather cold and detached, but that's the way I am. I prefer to be having new experiences rather than reliving old ones.

I do have photos of my brother in law, my sister and my niece, but that's mainly to make up for my not actually seeing them very often, since they live in southern England.

In any case all the significant events in my past - like my schooldays, my workplaces, my holidays, my various homes - are lodged vividly in my memory and easily retrievable. I don't need a scrapbook to remind me of my walks round the Venetian alleyways or the train ride through the Rocky Mountains. And if I did need a reminder, Google would soon fill in the gaps.

Jerry built

I can't imagine what it's like to move into what seems a perfect new home, only to find it's been jerry-built, it's full of serious defects, and the builder is trying to dodge any responsibility for putting them right.

Which is what happened to Dayle Dixon and Mark Lee in Ivybridge, Devon. If their house was in good order it would be worth about £350,000, but with all the faults it's worth no more than a token sum of £1. How distressing is that?

There's an ongoing scandal in the UK of new homes that haven't been properly built because they haven't been properly inspected by local planners and the builders can get away with shoddy workmanship.

This racket has been going on for many years without any serious attempt to put an end to it, which is why Jenny and I have deliberately steered clear of newly-built homes.

Our present home was built in 1949 so any major defects would have been discovered long ago. Buying a newly-built home is always risky because even if it looks fine on first viewing, major defects may only become apparent some time after moving in.

Did this couple ask a surveyor to check out the house? We have usually employed a surveyor to inspect whatever home we're thinking of buying. The second flat we took a chance on because it was a mansion block built in 1900 and looked rock solid from the outside. And so it turned out.

The builder must have known that some of their homes were badly-built and full of faults - maybe even potentially lethal ones like exposed electrical wiring. How can a builder leave a home in that state and just walk away?

Eccentric, moi?

When I was a boy, people were commonly seen as "eccentric" and such individuals stuck out a mile for their eccentricity - meaning their strange and unconventional conduct.

Nowadays the term has virtually lost all meaning, since eccentricity is commonplace. So many people - youngsters in particular - are now conspicuous by their strange clothes, strange behaviour, strange beliefs and strange aspirations that they just aren't remarkable any more.

It's routine for people to have elaborate tattoos, multiple piercings, flamboyant clothes and extreme political views. We think nothing of it, we see them as quite normal.

Oldies are more conventional and some will still stick out as eccentrics, like the moany old codger who hates the neighbours, and they're very noticeable oddballs. Oldies in general still go for a fairly orthodox appearance - no tattoos or piercings or tee shirts with controversial slogans.

It was unusual when I was young to see any kind of "eccentric". We might see the odd person talking to themself or cursing everyone in sight or collecting garden gnomes, but that was about it.

The only obvious eccentric I can think of in this immediate neighbourhood is the guy who walks down the street trailing a suitcase. Clearly he isn't heading for the airport because he appears with his suitcase every day. Which naturally sets us wondering what's in the suitcase. The proceeds of a bank robbery? His worldly possessions? The manuscript of a book?

Of course we can't possibly ask him, that would be most intrusive and impertinent. Maybe one day the suitcase will fall open and all will be revealed.

Give me fame

I always say that I wouldn't like to be famous, that I would hate the constant attention, I would hate being judged and found wanting, I would hate the lack of privacy - among other things.

So I was intrigued that actor Kevin Bacon tried going out in disguise - fake teeth, a fake nose and a pair of glasses - and rapidly discovered that he hated anonymity and much preferred being famous.

For a while he enjoyed the new freedom, but it didn't last long. "People were kind of pushing past me, not being nice. Nobody said, I love you. I had to wait in line to buy a fucking coffee or whatever. I was like, this sucks. I want to go back to being famous."

Presumably he loves all the attention and the resulting benefits. He's been famous for over 40 years so I guess suddenly being ordinary was quite a shock to the system.

I think the thing I would really hate about being famous is my shortcomings being so familiar to so many people. It's okay if my small circle of friends and relatives know my failings, but if potentially millions of people are aware of them, and constantly harping on them, that would be hard to cope with.

I would also hate all the fictitious tales being spun about me, all the derogatory and critical stories that were totally untrue but still went on circulating indefinitely. Reports that my marriage was in trouble or I'd had cosmetic surgery or I was a useless parent. Even if you deny these stories, they have a life of their own and usually just get repeated over and over.

Kevin Bacon is welcome to his fame. But I'm sure I would find it an awful burden.

Before smartphones

I was astonished to read that 91 per cent of 11 year olds have a smart phone, and 20 per cent of children own them by the age of four. A lot of parents try to prevent their children from owning a smart phone, because of all the obvious dangers, but that's hard when most of their school mates already have one.

It's hard to imagine what my schooldays would have been like if I had a smart phone. I didn't even have a landline never mind a smart phone. It meant that I very much lived in a boarding-house bubble, completely removed from the outside world. There was no TV or radio or newspapers so world events passed me by. We were discouraged from wandering around the adjacent town so there was little chance of making outside friends.

If I was at school now and I had a smart phone, above all that would connect me to the outside world. I could keep up with world events, check out websites that interested me, keep in touch with my family, get advice on personal problems. But at the same time I would have access to all sorts of undesirable websites promoting porn or anorexia or racism or dangerous drugs or simply plausible misinformation.

On balance I think that despite the deprivations I experienced I probably had a healthier childhood without a smart phone and without all the hazards it would have presented me with. I could enjoy simple pleasures like reading and walking without being glued to that beguiling little screen.

And there was something to be said for not being constantly in touch with my family and all their oddities.

City says no

Jenny and I are trying to rewild one of our small lawns, without much success. Instead of lots of pretty wild flowers, we're just getting the usual grass, dandelions, daisies and clover. Clearly we're doing something wrong.

But at least we can experiment with our lawns. Residents of Ontario aren't so lucky. In Canada and the USA (but not in the UK) local bylaws regulate private gardens and the authorities will jump on anything too unorthodox.

Wolf Ruck started rewilding his Mississauga garden with native plants three years ago, but didn't reckon on complaints from the neighbours and his lawn being forcibly mown - and being landed with the city's legal bills. Apparently there's a bylaw that forbids nuisance weeds and tall grasses, and his garden was deemed to have broken the bylaw.

"My property is not abandoned. It's not a blight on the community. It simply seems to offend some neighbours who don't like the look of it" he says. He is appealing against the city's judgment.

Here in the UK we can do more or less what we like with our gardens. We can allow lawns and hedges to grow to crazy lengths, we can fill the garden with rubbish, we can have a bright orange garden shed, and nobody will object, unless some rampant plant is invading our neighbour's property.

If you're on a street with a bus route and you have a tree that's overhanging the street and hitting the buses, you'll be asked to lop off the offending branches. But that's about it.

Luckily we have a tall fence around our garden, so most of the neighbours have no idea what we're up to anyway. We could have a garden full of wild animals and nobody would know.

Keep pushing back against this idiocy, Mr Ruck.

Pic: Not Mr Ruck's garden. I couldn't find a pinchable photo of him or his garden. But there's a photo of him on the link.

Too many friends

There are plenty of people who feel lonely and short of close friends. But spare a thought for those people who're so addicted to collecting friends that they have too many of them and would like to lose a few.

Anya Meyerowitz thought that having lots of friends would make her feel better about herself. She seized every opportunity to make new friends but all that happened was that her friendships became more and more superficial and unsatisfying.

"Where I got to instead was a place where I found many of these hurriedly acquired friendships to be draining, tiresome and anxiety-inducing. The more I weaved my way into other people's lives, the less I felt a sense of community. I was juggling a full social calendar that left me feeling empty."

Not a problem I have to deal with. My opportunities for making new friends are strictly limited as I've been retired for 6 years and my only regular socialising is with my monthly book group and a few residual friends.

It seems a bit naive to think that the more friends you have, the happier you'll be. Obviously you'll have less time to spend with each one and inevitably the friendships are likely to get shallower. More is less, you might say.

It's interesting that she managed to keep so many friends for so long. I think for most of us friends come and go quite quickly. You discover something off-putting about them, they move somewhere many miles away, they turn out to be hopelessly needy, or you simply don't have the time to keep in touch.

Anya doesn't tell us what she did after her sudden disillusion. Did she have the nerve to discard half her friends? I'd love to know.

Beyond the pale

One thing that's totally beyond my comprehension is how people can go on supporting a public figure or a workmate or a spouse even if they've been guilty of the most dreadful behaviour, or a serious crime, or habitual acts of violence. Why do they not say, this isn't acceptable, I can't condone this behaviour, it's totally beyond the pale?

The person I'm thinking of obviously is Donald Trump, but there are plenty of people equally guilty of appalling behaviour but enjoying widespread support from all and sundry.

Nigel Farage, who is standing in the upcoming British general election, is known principally as one of the architects of Brexit, which according to numerous economists has been an economic disaster (sorry, Infidel). Yet still millions of people support him regardless.

But it's not just public figures who benefit in this way. Spouses are fond of saying they'll stand by their man (or woman), even if they're guilty of murder, repeated sexual harassment, massive frauds, medical negligence or whatever.

I don't understand what inspires this blind loyalty. Do they think the person has done nothing wrong? Do they believe they should support their spouse "for better or for worse"? Do they believe they should "love the sinner"? Are they defending the person against what they see as unfair persecution?

I can only assume that the person's actions are being justified in some way. They had been taught that sexual harassment was normal masculine behaviour. They committed fraud to get back at a stingy, domineering boss. And so on.

If I was guilty of some atrocious crime, I wouldn't expect Jenny to stand by me. She would be quite right to pack her bags.

Judging and misjudging

I had a sudden thought - what's the most important lesson I've learnt in life? Something that completely changed my outlook from then on?

I think the answer has to be - don't judge by appearances.

And that means not just people, but what I read, what I see around me, what others tell me. Whatever the outward appearance, there's always a lot more going on than meets the eye. There are hidden agendas, personal secrets, crippling traumas, grand ambitions. All sorts of things that lurk behind what's immediately visible.

I try not to judge by appearances, but it's so easy to do, especially when all around me people are doing just that, as if it's perfectly normal behaviour.

We judge people by their colour, their accent, their clothing, their sex, where they live, what job they do, what paper they read - a dozen things that can give us a completely false impression of who they are.

Someone can look blissfully happy and fulfilled when underneath they find their life totally frustrating and soul-destroying. Someone can look desperately poor in their shabby, worn-out clothes, when in reality they're worth millions.

I'm constantly surprised by something a person happens to reveal, something quite at odds with what I thought I knew about them, and I realise I've completely misjudged them all along.

I'm often misjudged myself, given all sorts of traits I've never had, like smugness, aloofness, condescension and stubbornness. but we like to pin people down, don't we? Oh yes, she's this and she's that, you only have to look at her....

There are plenty of people who look like saints and turn out to be mass murderers. And vice versa.

Woe is me

"Beware self-pity", my father used to tell me, "It runs in the family". His warning struck home and I've been on my guard against self-pity ever since.

Self-pity is defined as a feeling of excessive unhappiness about one's problems. I never sat around thinking "Woe is me. This is dreadful. Why have I been picked on? Why is life so unfair?" I tend to take most problems in my stride, solving them as best I can and moving on.

So my bed-sit landlords never did any repairs, never installed central heating and never got rid of the pervading damp in the building. I cursed the company freely and then just got on with my life. So one of my bookshop managers micromanaged everyone and expected us all to work feverishly and not waste time nattering. We just called him an authoritarian arsehole and downed tools the moment he went out for a fag break.

In fact my father was much more prone to self-pity than I am. He would be fuming for hours over a boss who constantly messed him around and jumped on the smallest error. He couldn't accept that some bosses can be pernickety sods and you just have to deal with it. If he expected to have a perfect boss who never upset him, he wasn't living in the real world.

Of course if my life had been one awful disaster after another, I daresay I would have struggled to avoid self-pity and I would seriously have asked, why have I had it so bad? It would be hard to simply carry on and tell myself "C'est la vie"'.

Burnt out and disillusioned

I've never been the slightest bit ambitious. I never wanted to "get to the top". I just wanted to have enjoyable jobs that came with an adequate salary. Luckily that worked out for me and I didn't have to take the soul-destroying jobs that others end up in.

Writer Jennifer Romolini's latest book "Ambition Monster" is a cautionary tale about how ambition can take over your life and leave you burnt-out and disillusioned. She spent years being relentlessly ambitious, until she was unexpectedly fired one day and realised her ambition was destroying her. "The illusion was broken for me. I knew that the big jobs were bullshit. That they were like a stress prison."

I spent many years as a bookseller, and I was very happy doing the hands-on stuff like serving customers, stocking shelves and recommending books. I had no desire to be a manager, stuck in some office poring over sales figures or CVs, and dealing with feuding employees. That would just be unrewarding drudgery.

I've done all sorts of jobs over the years, but management never appealed to me. When I was doing admin work for a social services department it was obvious that the office manager was severely overworked and severely stressed and I had no desire to go the same way. She may have enjoyed a huge salary but at a heavy cost.

If I was starting work today, I would probably have to take pressurised high-salary jobs just to keep up with the rising cost of living. I was lucky to be working at a time when a modest salary was enough to keep me solvent and pay the bills. But that's no longer the case.

The portal

Two days ago Jenny and I were in Dublin to see the Royal Hibernian Academy's annual art exhibition - and the controversial Dublin-New York portal.

The portal, just off O'Connell Street, is a large screen that shows New Yorkers what's happening on a street in Dublin, and Dubliners what's happening on a street in Manhattan.

Unfortunately when the portal was first activated, it immediately attracted a lot of anti-social behaviour - people swearing, people flashing body parts, and even someone showing a video of 9/11.

So now, instead of the portal being open 24/7 it's open only from 11 am to 9 pm in Dublin and from 6 am to 4 pm (EDT) in New York.

Jenny and I lingered for a while watching New Yorkers do their thing - mainly whooping and holding up slogans - and marvelling at this bit of high-tech.

Hopefully the shorter opening hours will reduce the misbehaviour. But with Dublin being known for its rowdiness, there are no guarantees.

The owners of the portal said they would install software updates "to limit such behaviour appearing on the live stream". Not sure how that would work but it sounds good.

But who needs the portal anyway? Who needs to see a random bunch of New Yorkers for five minutes? Or a random bunch of Dubliners? Isn't it just a rather pointless gimmick?

Lots of kids

As someone who has never had any desire for children, I'm intrigued by the American Pronatalist Movement, which wants people to have as many children as possible to reverse the global trend for falling birth rates and the resulting problems.

The most prominent pronatalists are Simone and Malcolm Collins of Pennsylvania, who currently have four children and aim to have another three. And they aren't put off by Simone needing a caesarian every time she gives birth.

They claim that child-rearing is actually pretty easy and not as expensive as is made out. They mostly seem to leave the kids to themselves while they get on with their own pursuits, like revitalising flagging businesses.

Without rising populations "there are going to be countries of old people starving to death" says Malcolm.

Well, I must say I never felt obliged to have lots of kids to maintain global numbers. Surely people should have kids simply because they like them and think they would be good parents.

And unless our gender-based culture changes drastically, presumably it's mainly women who would be lumbered with bringing up the children, having also endured numerous pregnancies.

Yes, falling populations may mean there won't be enough young and middle-aged people to look after the rising number of old people, but I don't think making child-rearing into some kind of duty, or making people feel guilty if they don't have enough, is the way to go. Better to provide a life-enhancing culture that children will thrive in, and a cheap childcare system that gives parents more support.

Pic: Simone Collins

Silence or chatter?

A surprising number of people hate chatting to their hairdresser. They find it so tedious and unnecessary they would rather not talk at all and just let the hairdresser get on with the job.

Because so many people feel this way, Finnish hairdresser Kati Hakomeri has introduced a "silent service" that lets you opt in advance for no talking. Apparently there are quite a few hairdressers offering the silent option.

Well, I'm an introvert but I don't mind chatting to my hairdresser. In fact I'd rather chat than sit in silence, which actually seems more awkward and uncomfortable than chatting.

It's not exactly difficult. My hairdresser asks me some mundane questions about my life and in return I ask her some equally mundane questions. I'm actually very interested in how other people are getting on - whether they have children, whether their parents are still alive, whether they have money problems, whether there are any serious illnesses in the family.

Is it in fact rude not to chat to your hairdresser? Several surveys have found that most people don't see it as rude, they agree it's a matter of personal choice whether you stay silent or not.

I wonder if hairdressers themselves enjoy chatting or whether they themselves would prefer us to shut up. Are they all natural extroverts or do they look forward to the end of the day when repetitive chit chat can be turned off?

As far as I'm concerned, whether I get a decent haircut is more important than whether I make conversation or not.

What is love?

It occurs to me that love means different things depending on what age you are. In particular what it means to a youngster is not what it means to an oldie.

A youngster may never have been in love, and may not even know what it feels like. They may confuse love with all sorts of other feelings. Have they fallen in love or is it something more prosaic? Is it just a crush, an obsession, fondness, friendship, or simply lust? Asking other people may not help because it's such a personal experience and impossible to explain.

There are plenty of examples of youngsters who thought they were in love, rushed into marriage, and then a short time later realised it wasn't love at all and had to divorce.

An oldie like me however knows exactly what love is because I've been in love with Jenny for 43 years and the feeling is well established. I have no problem telling love from other similar feelings. When I fell for Jenny it was the first time I had been in love so it only gradually dawned on me that that's what it was (I didn't really love my parents, I appreciated everything they did for me but that was it).

Is it love if the feeling isn't reciprocated? That's something I'm not sure of even at my advanced age. I thought I was in love with a bookshop workmate but she never reciprocated so was that love or just a one-sided crush? And what about all those people who say they "love" a public figure - a show-biz celebrity or one of the Royals - even if they've never even met the person? How can that be any more than devotion or admiration?

What is love? It's complicated....

Reckless males

Once again it's revealed that male drivers are far more likely to have serious accidents than female drivers. It seems they're more aggressive, more impatient and more reckless. Which no doubt all women drivers are well aware of.

Way back in 2022 a Guardian survey discovered that male drivers in the UK are almost three times as likely as women to be involved in accidents that kill or seriously injure pedestrians. French and American surveys confirm this huge difference.

I'm glad to say that although I've been driving on and off for almost sixty years I've never had a serious accident and I certainly haven't injured anyone. I'm probably not quite as cautious or focused as Jenny but I don't take unnecessary risks like dangerous overtaking, going through red lights or using a phone while driving.

A lot of men seem to regard reckless driving as a masculine imperative, while concern for safety and survival take a back seat. Over and over again I encounter other male drivers swerving into my lane without warning, tailgating me or hurtling past me at a crazy speed.

Women seem to be much more safety conscious and more aware of how easily a single hazardous manoeuvre could have disastrous consequences, especially if they're more likely to have children or a baby in the car than a man.

As a French road safety campaign tells men "Conduisez comme une femme". Drive like a woman. But will men take any notice?

Brighton

So all is revealed! Jenny and I paid a six-day visit to Brighton, a seaside resort neither of us had been to for decades. Despite the usual pre-holiday worries about unexpected glitches and cock-ups, everything went smoothly and we had a great time. Amazing weather too - dry and sunny throughout except for some torrential downpours last Monday.

The first thing we noticed was the general physical shabbiness. Many buildings were in urgent need of renovation or redecoration, though the residents and other tourists didn't seem bothered. There were also the usual rough sleepers and graffiti.

But people were very friendly if we seemed lost or needed some help - bus drivers especially.

We were there at the start of the annual Brighton Festival, so enjoyed some great events - a concert by the London Symphony Orchestra, a concert by the Herbie Flowers jazz band, and a talk by Caroline Lucas, the solitary Green MP. We also checked out the Royal Pavilion (unbelievably lavish), Brighton Museum and Art Gallery, Hove Museum and the Castle and Museum at Lewes, a few miles north of Brighton.

Everybody seemed to be having a splendid time, with hardly a miserable face to be seen. Brighton is known for its gay and "alternative" vibe and we saw plenty of piercings and tattoos and even two men wearing skirts.

The enormous breakfasts at our guest house kept us fuelled for most of the day. In the evening, as well as our usual visits to Pizza Express, we tried two nearby restaurants, one Indian and the other Italian.

So how would I sum up Brighton? Let's say scruffy, funky, exuberant and easy-going.

A short intermission

I'll be back soon. Meanwhile here's a selfie.

 

No such longing

I'm not nostalgic. Meaning I don't long to be back in some earlier time that I see as much better than the present.

The fact is that the past is always a mixture of good and bad, and it's easy to glamorise the positive aspects while overlooking the bad.

Such as the 1960s. Yes, it was a time of amazing creativity and cultural delights, but it wasn't much fun for victimised gays, or women who were expected to be in favour of free love - which in practice meant sexual availability.

But you could say I'm nostalgic not for a particular time period but for everyday things that seem preferable to their present equivalent.

Like making purchases. They used to be a simple matter of handing over cash or a cheque. But nowadays you need all sorts of technology like QR codes and apps, not to mention passwords and pin numbers.

Like train travel. I used to buy a ticket at a booking office and it would take me from A to B. But today prices vary depending on what time of day you travel, which train company you use and whether you book at the station or online.

I could imagine being nostalgic for some earlier time if my present life was utterly miserable and disastrous, but thankfully it isn't anything of the sort. Even when my life seemed a bit bleak and empty in my late twenties I never wished I could go back to an earlier period. I just assumed things would get better.

But it would be quite fun to pay a flying visit to the days of Beatlemania and bell bottoms and Black Forest Gateaux.

Goodbye dating

It seems an absolute age now between the settled seventies me today and the twenties me when I was still starting out in life and pondering what the future held.

In particular it seems like an eternity from the years when I was still dating and wondering if I would find a long-term partner or if I would become a lonely old codger.

Am I glad I'm not dating any more. I read about people's disappointing dating experiences - dates who aren't what they expected, dates with embarrassing mannerisms, dates who turn out to be married etc etc - and I'm thankful I don't have to go through all that again.

I don't have to ask myself all those awkward pre-dating questions. What will she think of me? Will she find me boring? Will she think I'm weird? Will she like the way I'm dressed? Will she be put off by my height or my voice or my taste in books/films/music?

The whole dating scenario is now so long ago that I can barely remember it, but I must have been a bundle of nerves every time I went out with someone new and hoped they might be "the one".

What a relief it is to have a long-term partner who is as devoted to me as I am to her, and I'm no longer looking for "a likely prospect". We can just enjoy each other's company and let the years go by.

I can hear about people's dating horror stories without having to add a dozen horror stories of my own.

Smoking dilemma

As a life-long non-smoker, I'm intrigued by the British government's latest attempts to reduce cigarette-smoking and reduce tobacco-related hospital admissions.

They're hoping to pass a new law that would ban the sale of cigarettes to anyone under 15, with the age limit rising each year.

A similar law proposed in New Zealand was heavily opposed and it has now been scrapped by the incoming New Zealand government.

I must say I'm of two minds whether the proposed English law is a good idea. Yes, I'm all in favour of anything that makes people healthier but would people observe the new law or would they try to find ways around it?

You could get an older friend to buy the cigarettes for you, or you could lie about your age, or there would no doubt be a black market in fags you could resort to.

And how would shopkeepers know if you were over 15 or not? If they asked for ID, they could be insulted or threatened.

On the other hand, the sale of alcohol is subject to a similar ban, which says you can't sell alcohol to anyone under 18. It seems to work quite well and nobody is lobbying for the age limit to be scrapped. And young people are consuming much less alcohol anyway, largely because they're more aware of the long-term health risks.

I think on balance I support the new law, if nothing else because it would emphasise the dangers of smoking.

No prayers please

I have no problem with people who're religious, if that helps them through life's difficulties. But I think religious belief is essentially a private matter and shouldn't be imposed on people who have no interest in religion.

A Muslim pupil has lost a legal case against a London school that has a ban on prayers after an earlier controversy over religious observance.

The pupil argued that the prayer ban was an act of discrimination against ethnic minorities and made her feel "alienated from society".

But the prayer ban only applies within the school. There's nothing to stop her praying or following her religious beliefs anywhere else.

When I was at boarding school I was expected to attend two religious services every Sunday, although they meant nothing to me but a waste of 1½ hours.

We occasionally get religious leaflets through our letterbox, and we occasionally get approaches from religious charities, but in general believers (who are numerous in Northern Ireland) keep a low profile and don't try to get us interested.

In fact I have no idea whether any of our immediate neighbours are religious or not, with one exception. The subject just never comes up.

As the school head teacher Katharine Birbalsingh says "A school should be free to do what is right for the pupils it serves. Schools should not be forced by one child and her mother to change its approach simply because they have decided they don't like something."