Cheers!

Well, I've seen them... we've all seen them; probably seen, heard and more than likely smelt them. So we know what he's talking about, don't we? And, much as we'd hate to ever find ourselves on the same side of that vast, vast divide as Camoron and his cronies, we can sort of see where he's coming from. Or, as I find is increasingly the case, where he pretends to be coming from. 

Thing is, though, I can also fairly vividly recall having actually been one of them, admittedly not for more than a good few years now. The argument's not that dissimilar to the one that split the nation's loyalties, regarding smoking; that is to contend that, if it weren't for the socially inept behaviour of the confrontational, vociferous (and offending) minority, we all might well be able to carry on much as before.

Thanks to Thiophene_Guy

But this particular minority are particularly loud, particularly unpleasant, frequently inconsiderate and occasionally (but increasingly) given to acts of violence. For my own part I can honestly claim never, in my day, to have sought out such confrontation, most certainly never acts of violence, never to have indulged in acts of senseless destruction, and always to have been able to find my own way home, even if it wasn't later entirely clear as to how I might have achieved this. Such were my early encounters with the topical drug that is alcohol. 

As a student, whole hours were occasionally lost. Perhaps, way back then, the early part of the evenings had seemed to be going well enough, but then things occasionally became rather hazy and, by the following day vast chunks of the festivities seemed to have been mysteriously espunged from my memories. Just the hangover remained, that and the curious mixture of sympathy and accusation that often prevailed at that time.

Thanks to roeyahram

Please be clear, that I don't wish to paint myself as some sort of public liability, although I'm guessing that there were those who might rightfully have been less than thrilled at any consequent antics. In my defence, I think that I can honestly write that these miscalculations- because that's what they invariably were- can be numbered upon the fingers of two hands. I can also claim never to have taken a single 'sickie,' as a consequence of such overindulgence; that is to say that I always, but always, turned up for work the next day. Whether I was functioning at brim-full capacity I seriously doubt, but I was always there, in deflated body if not always entirely in shining spirit. 

If Camoron and his buddies from the Bullingdon Club were ever to drift onto those foreign shores, where honesty still prevails, they might also, themselves, be more prepared to confess to far more in the manner of self-indulgent moments of drunken abandon. Instead, they choose to continue to judge and malign the vast working majority- alcohol consumption has become merely the latest subject in a long, long line- from way up in their ivory towers of superiority, mind-blowing privilege and entirely unaffected luxury.

I should confess that now I'm of a different generation things do seem to have moved on at pace. I recognise that an abscess of drunken younger males might well be something to avoid, that even certain well-practised individuals might be driven to chance their arm, should any excuse for confrontation present itself, that screamed abuse and the sounds of something or someone under duress are no longer things that one should necessarily opt to investigate alone, at say eleven-thirty of an evening. The British Nation has moved on, to distressingly accurately reflect the social values, or lack thereof, that the nation actually espouses. And, lest I haven't made myself clear on this point, that is to say that, ' individuals, even certain entire neighbourhoods, might be deemed irrelevant in the drive to maximise shareholder profits.'

Thanks to Lee Carson

Perhaps, in part due to wealthy Uncle Tony's covert deals with the drinks industry, some of 'our' city streets now possess designated no-go-zones, that will mysteriously assume precedence later into the evenings. Often, it would appear, it is the curious alchemy of football and alcohol that seem, 'most efficiently', to fuel the worst excesses.

Either way, as a consequence of this unfortunate growing trend, several of us may have welcomed any form of parliamentary investigation into some sort of solution to the escalating mayhem. But really we should have known better than to expect anything short of yet another excuse to hike the profits. One might well be forgiven for wondering how much Camoron's tax hike is going to affect the price of a nice bottle of Krug or Dom Perignon, a bottle of one of the top vintage ports(?) Should the breeze shift round to the south-east I believe that I can already detect the faint whiff of more illicitly distilled alcohol, drifting across the rooftops. I wonder where I might be able to purchase this more affordable brand? 

So, just a thought, Mr Camoron, how about an alternative approach to this one-of-oh-so-many of the nation's current ills? How about giving those not at the dizzying top of society, those not drunk upon celebrity status, a tiny stake in the 'society' that they are being constantly harangued for not contributing more fully towards? How about not force-feeding the un-empowered a highly restrictive diet of the latest social-engineering thoughts of some entirely-cushioned multi-millionaire?

How about not regurgitating to the nation only the latest thoughts upon how these multi-millionaires would like 'best' to restructure 'our' country, to best suit the tiny minority of mega-haves? How about spending a little more time listening to some alternative views to those who seek entirely to richly incentivise only those already drunk upon wealth and privilege, whilst always tightening the belts of the apparently not-hard-working-enough ordinary citizen? How about not attempting to organise every last molecule of the UK, according to what best suits the profit, profit, profit (and yet again) share holders?

And, whilst we're on the subject, how about aspiring towards a really free press, rather than waffling on about, "the integrity of the," not really, "free press"? Maybe working towards the goal of a media that might best avail the population of some economic and other pertinent facts, that might best enable them to more fully engage in the (currently bankrupt) 'democratic' process? Thus enabling the disaffected to begin establishing a tiny stake in 'our' society. A press that might, counter to the wishes of its current millionaire owners, actually inform the population? Whatever next?

Thanks to tomylees

So finally, returning to the initial subject of alcohol, attempting to tortuously complete another lengthy circuit, I would claim seldom to drink beyond lightly these days- my appraisal, not that of the GP- but when I was fully employed within the public sector I was frequently driven to consume alcohol with something of a vengeance, invariably in order to help to numb the constant blame and sniping criticisms from a long line of 'almost perfect' appointed government-here-today-gone-tomorrow-secretaries of state. And, lest this should ever have been deemed insufficient to the causes of 'driving up standards', the resultant full-and-damning weight of the 'free' press, seeping, in due course, poisonously into the daily observations of one's family and friends- "integrity of the free press" indeed? The numbed years seemed curiously preferable to opening a vein and, as I have already made clear, never but a day lost to the ravages of my ambrosia of choice. 

Now merely an outsider- t'was never really otherwise- I would suggest that, if Camoron's attacks upon the blameless public sector are to continue to rain down with such unchecked ferocity, alcohol be made available on prescription. 

Alternatively, 'we' might continue with the current tools of choice; that would be lies upon lies upon lies upon lies... It's almost like a sentence that Uncle Maurits Escher might have written.        

Priceless Piping.

Priceless, brilliant, perfect, irreplaceable, fantastic, sublime, exquisite, a gem, the best ever!

Given the frequency of such terms, spewing daily into the world, care of 'our' media network, my contention is that the superlative and many of its closer cousins are vastly overused. This being almost to the point of redundancy or abuse even. I've typed 'contention' but really, given that the most likely recipient for such unworthy praise is invariably a Premier League footballer or someone randomly selected from a spiralling list of (so termed) celebrities, it's really far more than a contention, it's a fact, albeit an extremely sad one.

Incidentally, for those who might still be harbouring any residual doubt, for 'Premier League', try substituting the more scientifically accurate title of 'First Division'. Because that's what 'Premier League' actually means. Of course it does, as in 'at the front' or 'top' or 'fastest', 'not behind another', first! How can 'first' possibly also apply as a label for third? Whatever next?

My current cycling qualifies for none of the above. Perhaps 'better', when current efforts are compared to earlier outings, but even such vagaries as 'better' might only apply in this very specific instance. I claim nothing, in terms of competitive comparisons for my cycling, except that I do invariably get to where I'm aiming.

Priceless, by Sergey Yeliseev

During 2012 I've cycled somewhere in the region of 1,600 miles. Not a fantastic distance when you average it out over the entire year. Still, it keeps me happy(ish).

Having not been out on the bike for a month or so, almost entirely as a consequence of falling temperatures and the various forms of precipitation available to those of us living in the UK, I was eager to reconnect with this interest, as soon as I'd acquired a pair of gloves capable of combatting the occupational hazards of frostbite. And somewhat limited road testing would seen to suggest that this modest goal has finally been achieved.

So, 1,600 miles, mostly devoted to trundling along back lanes in the general region of North Norfolk. Lots of rain, a bit of sunshine, much wind, more than enough mud for a lifetime, and a fair selection of interesting regional wildlife. For example, on balance, I'd guess that the Common Buzzard features on more trips than not. Probably the largest kettle of such would be a helical tower of seven, seen around late September, early October; always well worth pausing to marvel at. There can be more to cycling than simply getting from A to B in the shortest possible duration.

Thus far, and excepting specific coffee stops, Monday the 10th December would probably have to feature as the most notable wildlife-worthy day to date. More, I'd be prepared to argue that several of the terms eagerly dismissed at the start of this passage realistically do still apply here. Certainly 'priceless,' 'sublime,' 'exquisite' and most definitely 'irreplaceable.' Neither would I be alone in describing Monday's observations as absolute 'gems.'  

Perhaps something meteorological may have transpired, to cause such a proliferation during my short cycling absence, something to which I am not yet privy. Either way, I strongly feel these observations to be, at the very least, highly noteworthy. A total of sixteen observed Bullfinches, at thirteen separate sites! And, should this not mean a great deal to you, allow me to place these sightings into some sort of context. At least sixteen Bullfinches in a solitary day (approximately 40 miles) would almost seem to tally with the number seen during the entirety of the rest of 2012 (approximately 1,560 miles).

A real gem, care of Sergey Yeliseev

Further more, for those amongst you who do not know of the charming Bullfinch, a relatively small British bird, about the size of a House Sparrow, I should mention that, during the winter months this bird tends towards gregarious. That is to say that, like other members of the finch family, it tends to seek out others of its kind- 'birds of a feather...' and all that stuff. So observations made from a moving bike, invariably alerted by the bird's rather plaintive piping call, or the uncommon sight of a white rump in retreating flight, might not always reveal precisely how many birds there are present.

Even during the more territorial spring or summer months Bullfinch sightings tend to be of pairs or small family groups. In the winter months parties of five or six are still not uncommon, except to put this into the context that Bullfinches generally in the UK are fast becoming almost a rarity. So I am reporting that, in a single day, during a forty mile cycle I have encountered upwards of sixteen Bullfinches, of which only six were observed to be with another, so an estimate of conceivably as many as forty birds would not be that outrageous. Of Bullfinches, that's a lot!

And again, exquisite, by Sergey Yeliseev

Beautiful and relatively easy to identify, once seen not that easy to mistake for another bird. Males in particular present as one of the most delightful birds that one might still be fortunate enough to encounter in a UK garden, but only if (and maybe) one lives adjacent to areas of suitable habitat. The male is almost unmistakable, with its deep pink and copious breast and jet black cap, the female being somewhat more muted. But both possess the really obvious white rump that may almost instantly allow one to discount nearly all other smallish birds.

Perched upon a bike, as I was, wheeling along relatively quiet country lanes, it was frequently the surprisingly far carrying and plaintive piping that first alerted my attentions. Thus I am able to also report that despite the remarkable swell in (my) recent Bullfinch sightings I have, so far this year, yet to encounter any of the larger and more nasal-sounding northern race of this bird.

And yes, they really are priceless. Once gone science will instantly confirm that they are also irreplaceable. Isn't it refreshing to read of such a notable swell in the numbers of Bullfinches? Long may this slight apparent recovery last.

Isn't it also refreshing to see such terms as, irreplaceable, a gem and priceless used in their correct context?