The Knitty, Gritty ?

The Knitty, Gritty ?

Okay. gals and guys to name but a few, let's stop pussy footing around and get back to : once upon a time there was a chap who picked up his pen and wrote a few words and shook up the whole system. Well as it happened the whole system needed a damn good shake up. As you might agree, if of course you have half a brain to exercise with, unfortunately not all are blessed with that much gray matter. Ah, well never mind perhaps, just perhaps we might be able to do something to help them , in the long run?

Well things usually do when folks have been using the same old tired acts over and over again.
 Have you noticed  just how puerile they start to get? After a few shakes of the lamb's tail, it all becomes quite revolting then slowly it all gradually degenerates into the genital zone. Otherwise known as the good old lavatorial humour, much loved by our red neck friends and relations.

The trouble is even our jolly old red-neck friends, slowly come to realize there is a flaw in their philosophy, just like Hamlet, as they sink slowly into their self induced alcoholic daze. Fortunately none of us have to go to the lengths of the prince of Denmark, or the prince of anywhere come to that, to unscrew their dilemma, even if they only do have half a brain. The first lesson they need to learn is : to exercise more self-discipline.

In the so called good old days, when me and Methuselah were lads together, the military authorities and other august bodies who thrived in those times always insisted on teaching discipline first, and it was the smart arses who were quickest to learn the lesson of self-discipline. Naturally there there were, believe it or not the odd case which had to be castigated, sometimes well past an inch of their lives, and would have to collect their wings before learning the lesson. Such was the old system.

Of course such a system was abandoned soon after the death of John Wayne.

Schizophrenic ?

Schizophrenic ?

Once upon a time, as Snoopy among many others would have said. A young man in the full flush of his eager and well stimulated manhood found a potential publisher for his story detailing the trials and other vicissitudes of his three fiction boy heroes some ten years previously in the military service of the Royal Navy. He awaited the decision on his manuscript with the explosive impatience only a mid twenties man with wife, son and new mortgage to support can offer.

All too aware of its short comings the rejection when it came supplemented with a short word he needed to look up, too prolix , somehow sealed its fate, and merely underlined what many had stamped well and truly on his psychic over the first two and half decades of his life. Reluctantly but with some resolution he packed away his efforts and turned back to the reality of earning a living in the early sixties, London.

Learning Curve.

Learning Curve.

An extremely pleasing few days with one of my wife's stroke clubs, even if the verbal ride was a little bumpy at times. Once again I need to thank those of my faithful who took the time to follow my offerings, though this weekend is definitely down to easing back the throttle on the old noggin [ head ]. It must be tea time by now? my trouble must be up in bed with her tongue hanging out?

Obey the Rules, for Once.

Obey the Rules, for Once.

My first duty is to my lovely daughter-in -law. Never slow to help and is as usual going that extra mile to boost my efforts to stay in a positive frame of mind. What a God send such a helpmate it is to have in a fix and I am certainly in one now. Nevertheless, despite how I should be reading the runes it might appear to some, I feel great, not despondent, or depressed. The correct word is CHALLENGED.

And no this one is not kidding myself in the: ignorance is bliss mode, of looking at the world through 'rose tinted spectacles,' but based on almost seventy-seven years of life, love, struggle and monumental set backs and asinine errors that even a three year old would never be foolish enough to make. At last my life's purpose has, I believe, been revealed to me. This time I shall not, with God's help be thwarted from the realization of that goal.

It is certain, sure and been driven home to me even through my thick and impenetrable skull that: if I don't stick to the rules I have about six months to a year to live. That does not make for a very happy bunny but even happy bunnies have to wake up and stop expecting the world to make life too easy for them, for ever.
Now is the time for the RECKONING, as any God fearing moron will tell you there is always a time for a reckoning.

The question about reckonings is do you want them to be in this world? or the next? personally I prefer this, but then it is a democracy we live in, and one day the whole world will be such, once the odd blemish and odd ball has been shewn the light. By the way the impetus for this piece has been given in three ways. Interesting how the number three always seems to crop on my radar.

In chronological order they must be as follows.

When serving on board the HMS Diamond, a Daring Class ship returning early to its home base of Chatham, Kent, England , for refit, much to my consternation; Requestmen, had been called. There about to be, hoist by my own petard, was this little lad of almost eighteen summers: me.  The result of this charade, due to my immaturity was to be a humiliated laughing stock. I had solved my problem and disobeyed the correct procedure to do so. With a little more wit and maturity I might have triumphed but that was the Navy way in 1955.

The second indicator which has puzzled me until this very evening has been one that has puzzled far greater 'acknowledged' brains than mine over many years, even centuries, and had played a silent critic in my book case for a year or three, until one of my sons pulled it out on a visit and thumbed a few pages. However with all my other attempts: The Blind Watchmaker, was the key. This tome turned out to be the second convincing plank in the platform of erudition. The author had missed the point.

For nearly forty years it has an insistence even if only to me a a handful of wonderful people who have seen something in me that I have never seen in myself.  Now with the link placed with me now from Psalms 145,
as I read through this fantastic LINK, and see this Psalm 145, [623] is credited as David's Psalm of Praise.
Three days ago my brother Colin David, visited to heal the breach between us, most successfully. What better message could there be of support from the greatest support one might ever wish?

Of course that was not the point. It seems to me this is one point I shall have to labour. Until the human race, species, call it what you will, steps away from its obsession with a likeness of itself to God. It will never have the ability to evolve to the next logical stage of its development. By what law, gift or hand me down was it in the scriptures did God ever say, indicate or command that humanity should limit itself to imitate Him?

With all the superb advances and ingenuity produced in the twentieth century surely to God we can be worthy of His direction to expand and develop what he has already granted us, and with it such a fantastic expansion of the talents and abilities he has granted us. Instead of our typical bloody-mindedness over peanuts.

Just how short sighted does get when one sticks one's nose so far up one's anus it appears to be the vocal organ?

Perspective.

Perspective.

Have you noticed just how your perspective on; the scenery about you, your take of events personal, or casual commercial ones in your orbit, or your feelings over the latest exasperation with political changes and point scoring seem merely a cosy friendly way to give the impression of doing something to earn their crust?
Changes in perspective, a line of sight, a new view on matters, trivial or substantial require input for a new perception.

My new perspective naturally enough at the moment has become centred and focused upon my medical results expected next Tuesday mid-day. At that point there will be a report to inform me just what my immediate future may be looking toward. In the past few days it has been my approach to tasks to be as brief as possible then to rest for a period. For as long as possible then to rest for a period.

Well it appears that my interview with the consultant, is to be tomorrow afternoon. I have been given instructions to lay off the jokes, that I do not doubt. Though it often gets said, in the old homestead, that with the rise and rise of the PC kill joys, and their irritating lack of common sense it is a wonder that humour has not been extinguished. Having said that my lesson should have been learnt years ago. Having lost at least two jobs by out of place humour.

As the BBC among others have been promoting a fresh look at longevity and its desirability, or lack of it. This appears to me to be the moment I should considered setting out my own progress or lack of it in advancing my case for a much extended life span for the general population. My general picture of events goes something along these lines.

*                    *                   *                    *                    *                    *                   *                *

There was I cruising along not doing a great deal of harm to anyone, just ruing my mistake in signing up for the Andrew at the tender age of sixteen while my contemporaries were far more concerned with how they could maximize their chances of a degree course, and then dodging the compulsory National Service commitment in 1951, how times and attitudes change?

Well for those who like my dear departed mother see a pattern, form, and design in everything, after four years of virtually no discernible progress in the elevation of my career in the navy I was dumped with little thanks, or ceremony, in a scruffy double breasted brown suit and barely enough money to get home. Though my prospects seemed non-existent there was about me a totally unrealistic attitude that at last I was free. How wrong can you be?

The first thing I was to discover was that this was merely the next chapter in my personal odyssey. Sure my ambition was pretty gross but as I was gradually to find my first necessity was to get a source of income. As with many stuck at the bottom of the ladder with so many obligations and responsibilities it can be a wonder that anyone breaks through the barrier of achievement.

With our marriage and a youngster to feed, clothe, and shelter underlined just how ordinary I really was, a very ordinary tale of relentless pressure. Then the writing itch struck. Eighteen months, clashing with night school and work, my wife swore she would never put up with such again. As 'First Choice,' my novel of the adventures of three young boy seamen in their training, nose dived into the sea of hard luck tales, it seemed she would get her wish.

It was to take ten long years of grind, rebuff and rejection before the powers that be pressed down hard on my stupidity ............now I had reached the Golden Age of thirty seven, the age when men of a certain range of achievement suddenly achieve the strangest ideas. Why, where, how ? My only explanation is the moment when a searcher finds what he never knew or understood just what it was he was looking for, but now with a clarity given with the blessing that few receive now know the answer.

One small addendum needs to be added to that comment is that the blessing I have received to understand the answer and where it derived from has needed my life span to double to accept the conclusion of my original logic. Yes, the answer seems to centre on  seventy-four. I have had to double my original life-span to accept, develop and prove the task set out for me.

And to underline the irony of the whole issue.  There is a further modern labour of Hercules to be confronted, endured and defeated : cancer.