As I commence – at 6.40pm, precisely – I have just typed the date … as 2001! Nineteen years ago. Well, that’s lifted my mood! I think the explanation for my involuntary time travel was my pausing to look at Donny (as in Osmond!) above the sink in the kitchen. The month of December, in this particular calendar, does him little justice but said calendar is nothing if not well used. A gift from the rugrats – Christmas 2012, no less – it remains, year after year, in some position of prominence and is not only accepted but, without question, expected! Looking at Donny every day, I don’t often see him but then, suddenly, I am reminded of his presence by someone like Dylan who laughs, quietly reassured by his continued existence and the knowledge that nothing has really changed – well, the house, maybe, but not the madness! It’s comforting and, thus, Donny 2012 is a staple destined to come with me wherever life takes me …
Nineteen years ago, though. Nineteen years since Donny had the pleasure of my company! I have written about it before but I met him when he came to Radio Forth in Edinburgh. One can laugh – and many do – but he was my first love. I grew up with him, sang with him, dreamt of him – and I still have the pillow case to prove it! One of life’s good guys, how many people can say they met their idol – thirty years later – and he was that dream? So lovely; so easy; so humble. It is a day imprinted on my memory but nineteen years ago? Memories, like the corners of my mind …
I have had the whole day to write this but I found every excuse not to. Not in the mood. Actually, as the familiar Christmas songs emanate from every corner, I think they are a reminder of what we have lost; how awful this year has been. A reminder of years gone by, they make me sad more than anything. What has happened to the world? What has happened to life? Controlled, separated, isolated and anxious, is this the definition of progress? I suppose one could say it was inevitable. The digital age has only exacerbated human greed and an ego deprived of conscience. Human interaction is no longer required in a world of every man for himself. Have screen, will function … but functioning is not living and 2020 has opened our eyes. Too late?
Yes, if what I witnessed the other day is anything to go by. Collecting Becca from school on Friday (teaching, not pupil), she was distracted as she opened the car door, hissing that I should look at the car in front. There was a baby in the back, strapped into a car seat, transfixed by an iPad attached to the back of the seat in front! The mother, meanwhile, was sitting, happily – sunglasses on – all the while satisfied that she would not be disturbed. Baby. IPad. The definition of hope – NOT! More accurately, a metaphor for life today in which children are, increasingly, little more than accessories. No longer deemed worthy of their parents’ precious time, teachers are, now, expected to adorn the forsaken mantle during the day while the latest technology pays for itself of an evening, protecting against the possibility of family interaction – God forbid! As a teacher, Becca is a first-hand witness to the very real damage which is permeating through upcoming generations; a damage which manifests itself, in part, in a lack of respect. Sadly, no iPad can replace the love of a parent simply measured in time.
Happy place! Happy place! I can assure you, mine is definitely not Turf Moor! Yes, I watched it, more for the comic genius of Ant and Dec, really. Try as I might not to fall in with the worshipping majority, the two never fail to make me smile; laugh out loud, even! Their humour so obviously modelled on that of a bygone era, the late, great Morecambe and Wise, it is gentle, self-deprecating and timed to perfection. Boy, did we need some of that! However, the format of the programme did not really lend itself to a drab, ruined castle in the Welsh sticks devoid of any nasties. Affording little scope for entertainment, that said, there was an obvious winner – who, of course, didn’t win! Reminder to self: merit is an obsolete word consigned to a very large book full of words which, itself, is now consigned to a museum. A dictionary. If in doubt, Google it!
I digress. I meant to say that, allegedly, Vernon Kay – one of the ‘celebrity’ participants – was paid £250,000 for his three weeks in the castle. Once upon a time, they, each, donated their fee to their favourite charity. The only difference today is that charity begins at home …
Once again, the rain is hammering against my window. No exercise has been taken, no cards have been written, no decorations are up and my bookmarks are overflowing as I peruse the internet for potential presents. Plenty of time! I left my car at the garage for its MOT yesterday – always cheering just before Christmas – and happened to notice that it has done more than 111,000 miles … Life in the fast lane! Never fear, it will all fall into place.
ITV News at Ten with Tom Bradby. I try not to watch it but apathy sets in and, for some reason, I didn’t press my favourite button, ‘Mute’! That button is a godsend for the captive audience of Scottish television today. Once upon a time – I know, second time – those employed as continuity announcers spoke the Queen’s English. Enunciating every vowel and consonant, as the written word demands, the result was clear and understandable. In short, the voices were educated and not prone to irritate! Fast forward to the demise of standards, characteristic of this increasingly aggressive Scotland, and the language is barely intelligible; the accent deliberately broad. When was the letter ‘t’ removed from the alphabet? How to describe, politely? Put it this way, we would definitely not share table manners!
So, Brexit rears its ugly head, once more, and the irony was palpable in the words chosen to describe the failing negotiations in the increasingly urgent bid to reach a trade agreement. Boris is adamant that he has the right to choose that which he deems favourable for Britain rather than be forced to acquiesce. Funny that, coming from someone who has all but curtailed civil liberty in this country through the rhetoric of fear …
Then, there was Kate and Wills’ whirlwind visit to Scotland, this morning, courtesy of the Royal Train. Nicola no likey! Any justifiable reason? In light of her friend, Margaret Ferrier’s travels, absolutely not! At the end of the day, however, Kate and Wills are English, educated and posh! Triple whammy for those common enough to use that most hated of words deemed only to insult. In fact, I take offence at its use. In this PC world in which the Tyranny of Tolerance is, now, so prevalent, the word ‘posh’ is as unacceptable as the use of the word ‘common’. Ironically, one is freely used – and accepted, in insult. The other? Unspoken. Now, if I were to broach the subject on Facebook or Twitter, I just know I would be inundated with support, don’t you?
Finally, I cannot end without mentioning the loss of Peter Alliss on Saturday. The Voice of Golf, yet another figure synonymous with my childhood. For me, though, along with the wonderful Dan Maskell, he will always be the quintessential Voice of Summer and John Cleese’s tribute was perfect …
‘The most sane and comforting voice I ever heard. I always thought that I could cope with the ending of the world if only Peter was commentating on it.’
I know exactly what he means.
This is Trish, signing off.
