Choose-your-ocracy

"Dead president's corpse in the driver's car, the engine runs on glue and tar."

"The minister's daughter's in love with a snake, who lives in a well by the side of the road."

"Blood is the rose of mysterious union."

"Drugs are a bet with your mind."

Jim Morrison  imparted a great deal of wisdom during his oh-so-short twenty-seven years. Amongst a vast array of 'insight,' he's often attributed with the quotation, "Whoever controls the media controls the mind." And, whilst it would probably be fair to point out that the media would have been but one of many things that might have, at some time or other, controlled Jim's mind, he finally might have hit the nail squarely upon the head with this one!

Just to pluck an example from the aether, let's go with TTIP and it's incestuous cousin ISDS, and the manner in which much of the general media have dealt with these innocuous-sounding initialisms. On Wednesday 19th November a Private Members' Bill was voted upon in the Houses of Commons. To flesh out the relevance of this bill/issue, I'll just point out that the vast majority of Private Members' Bills never make it onto the statute book. That is to say that they are seldom promoted to the level where they might eventually be permitted to affect 'our' political system. If an MP objects to any Private Members' Bill it is not uncommon for the MP to 'talk out' the bill, and for the bill to consequently vanish into obscurity. It's one of the very many ways in which democracy might be denied full and fair process in the UK. I think I'm being fair in suggesting that the vast majority of the general public would have been unaware of this vote, or of its immense significance for the future UK.



So, how have the misnomer Free Press been selling the 'virtues' of 'the twins?'
'Online Protest Delays EU Plan To Resolve US Trade Row,' was the Daily Mail take.
Nothing from The Daily Express, The Sun, or The Star.
'David Cameron Hails G20 Plan To Boost World Economy By £2 Trillion,' was The Telegraph's spin on things.
A more well-considered, 'Drop Trade Talks,' was The Times perspective.
Greater credit, as always, must go to The Guardian and The Independent, for their more extensive coverage.
Also opting for the higher moral ground, The Mirror went with, 'David Cameron Denies Claims America Trade Deal Will Allow US Firms To Privatise Our NHS.'
The Evening Standard 'boldly' braved a single reader's response upon its letters page.
'Irrational Fear Risks Depriving Europe Of Benefits Of Trade,' was the FT stance.
Thus, it would appear that some 76% of the UK newspaper readership- this based upon circulation figures- has been presented with arguments which either condone or evade the demise of 'our NHS.

For an age, prior to this buried Member's Bill (The National Health Service [Amended Duties and Powers] Bill) being discussed in the Commons, EU Ministers had been furiously and covertly preparing the ground for these two items to be brought into 'fruitful' practice. Had someone not thought to question the validity of either or both, then TTIP and ISDS might well have quietly become law within the EU, without ever bothering to trouble the democratic processes of any EU state. Perhaps a touch more Oligarchy than Democracy has been afoot.

The aforementioned Private Members' Bill was 'won' by a margin of 241 to 18 votes. Quite a majority, until one considers that 401 MPs didn't bother to turn up to listen or to vote. My informed contention is that the initial vote came down very much in the public interest, but that the absence of so many pretendedly-disinterested MPs should be regarded entirely as an alarming portent of what may yet come to be.



TTIP is a deceptive 'little' incendiary, aimed at ripping the still-beating heart from 'our' NHS; the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership. Ultimately, what TTIP aims to do is to ensure that all areas of the EU market, including health, are open to private 'investment.' Obviously, I have used the term 'investment' in it's blackest sense, that as rabidly sought by profit-first-and-only multinational companies who may soon be able to wreak far more damage upon the remnant NHS than did all of those disastrous PFIs.

ISDS is the means by which 'investors' will be able to sue companies, notably the NHS, should private corporations not be given full business access to the target 'company' or establishment. Both TTIP and ISDS have considerable support from various corporate interests. It's interesting to note that whilst multinational and smaller corporate interests appear to have been kept fully abreast of proceedings, the general public, via it's 'elected' MPs, appears to have been kept largely in the dark! Perhaps then, far more Corporatocracy than Democracy has been employed.

If we should elect to factor in the number of MPs who have vested financial interests with private health care providers- 73 as of February 2013- and those in the 'Upper' Chamber- 147 as of the same date- then we might start to hyperventilate. I think it would not be unreasonable to assume that the number of Parliamentarians seeking to benefit from the impending implementation of TTIP and ISDS is currently significantly in excess of 220... and rising! *

Three days ago David Babbs, of 38 Degrees, sat before the Business Select Committee, in order to relay a growing public concern. In the very short BBC radio report that I've listened to the anger of MPs, that anyone should be impudent enough to challenge their autonomy, is almost palpable. One wonders how many of those on the Business Select Committee might already have their fingers in the 'cookie jar.' I find myself edging now towards Kleptocracy!



Yet again, Mr Cameron has the greatly-resented NHS firmly in his sights, for yet further 'efficiency savings;' £1.5 billion he claims TTIP will 'save' the NHS. And, what better way to 'reinvest' those 'savings' than in tax cuts- the eternal Tory bribe! The UK's lowest paid, we are encouraged to believe, may 'benefit' by up to £9 a week- although Lord alone knows how this will adequately compensate for a complete cessation of affordable healthcare- whereas those on a far more handsome £50,000 per annum will be benefitting by almost three times as much. The costs of these election bribes? Something in the region of £7.2 billion! Perhaps we are sliding from Kleptocracy and into the realms of Plutocracy!

And, at absolutely no point did any of these processes appear to so much as tip a hat in the direction of Democracy! Ultimately, I think I might describe this as living in a Coprophagiocracy!

 * In fairness and in the interests of furthering the democratic cause all links on this post are to the same Social Investigations site, and very informative it is too! Prepare a mug of coffee, pull up a comfy chair and prepare to be informed!

I Also Wish...

"You're full of opinions, but with none of the solutions!"

It's probably been said many times, by many people, often at a particularly 'telling' point in a heated discussion or an argument. It's the sort of statement many of us wish we'd used, instead of the perhaps shouted jumble of expletives that unfortunately burst forth during our last strong disagreement. The aforementioned statement was used again, just the other day, by someone who I deeply admire, aimed forcefully at someone who I really don't. What's more, the comment hit the target, sent the bugger reeling, it did! But, I digress. Like I've already made clear, I wish I'd said it.

I often think that it's the sort of comment that might be levelled at many of my posts. A significant number of them are, after all, far more opinion than solution, the 'directionless' rantings of an angry soul! In my defence, many of my critiques are more than justified, the sentiments are indeed shared by many others, and are far beyond urgent in terms of needing to be addressed. I would also be prepared to concede that many of the issues about which I write may appear to have no obvious 'complete' solution. Some of them 'appear' to have no apparent solution whatsoever... or perhaps it would be fairer to write that stacked up against the clearer solutions are forces so damned powerful as to send shivers down the spine. David Kelly might have elaborated, were he not otherwise... dead! 

In order to even voice a counter-opinion to some of these issues we are first required to brave a vast acreage of thin ice. Vested interests will have us entirely and very much the wrong side of the glassy sheet before we have even drawn breath, starved of oxygen as it were. Remembrance Day and Children in Need are two such verboten issues. So steeped in partial mythology are they now that we are likely to be plunged into the waters before we have even placed both feet tentatively upon the ice.

So, here's another opinion (without a solution?). It was prompted by one Bono, having just emerged from his chauffeured lift, to the recording of another Band Aid song, thirty years on from the first. Upon exiting the vehicle Bono shared his wisdoms with the world. Thanks Bono!

The rock 'giant' was asked, "How do you feel about taking part in this today, of course, thirty years after you did the original Band Aid single?" And the self-important, tax-avoiding deity plastered on a thin veneer of 'sincerity,' before replying, "As I say, I wish we didn't have to do this, and there will come a time when we won't... " Unpalatable on oh-so-many levels!

It's at this point that the chastisement, "You're full of opinions, but with none of the solutions!" might be levelled. Undoubtedly the single will raise piles of money, some of which will undoubtedly find its way to its intended and deserving recipients, those tens of thousands of African Ebola victims. Certainly their situation will be better- some of their positions- with, rather than without another Band Aid single. This much, I do not doubt. Our 'uber-benign' government have even agreed to waive VAT, currently standing at 20%, on sales of the single... but ultimately this effort is entirely akin to Henry VIII having an oh-so-brief flirtation with salving his conscience, before he reverts entirely to type and snatches it all back with interest!

Sounds like the vast sweeping statement of someone, "full of opinions, but with none of the solutions!" And it sort of is, but only sort of, especially when you consider the interconnectedness of the wider global situation.

You see, the problem that I have with this state of affairs concerns a wider and far more real world, wider than the 'convenient' planet that Sir Bob et al like to pretend to themselves that they have opted into. Please permit me to contextualise; I'll be referencing two news items in order so to do.

Property of Geldofoto.com
Registered in the British Virgin Isles.

The first of these concerns modern-day slavery, as recently discussed on the BBC. It's another important and topical issue that absolutely demands airtime. In the UK alone, there was a 47% increase in known cases, from 2012 to 2013. 1,746 cases reported within UK borders! The global problem is absolutely immense, currently standing at almost 30 million slaves! Consider also, that slavery is, by necessity, an underground issue, thus the true scale is completely unknown!

The second news item (barely) concerns the four Russian war ships that were recently stationed off the Australian coast, but solely as a point of access. I have specifically chosen to pluck a single figure from the adjacent G20 Summit, near where the aforementioned war ships were 'anchored,' that of a '2.1% pledge of growth' amongst the 'represented nations.'

So, to meld the two points: in an increasingly international marketplace, upon a finite planet, the G20 leaders have pledged to grow their respective economies by 2.1%, thus- although this is, of course, left unstated- committing their respective workforces to competing, ever more robustly, upon an international stage. The workforces are therefore also committed to salary competition with countries where modern-day slavery is even more prevalent and is almost routinely used as a tool of the wealthy-but-morally-bankrupt.

Property of Bonophoto.com
Registered in Amsterdam.

In the UK slavery is currently (and officially) frowned upon, but the zero-hours culture is established and thriving in the workplace, as is the stubborn refusal of huge multinationals like Amazon, to pay their workforce a living wage. And so the interconnectedness of all things looms, hopefully, into view! A wealthy-nations-dominated world, where downward pressure upon wages will indirectly bring about a proliferation of legally and morally questionable practices in the UK workplace...

... In a world where, interconnectedly, the gluttonous wealth of certain individuals directly affects the lack-thereof of millions of 'lesser' individuals, operating further down the ladder. Thus, 'boss chooses to take home 20% more' equates entirely to workers being expected to absorb this, either as a reduction in pay or as an increase in 'efficiency' for which they will be reaping no reward.

And if the market elects to create more money to compensate for such gluttony we will need to factor in the consequent impact upon the value of this money; create too much and we might conceivably be saddled with hyper-inflation. So Messrs Bono and Geldof, the fact that you have chosen to cut such a fat slice of the cake for yourselves will have a direct impact upon the slices that others may receive. It would of course be, at best naive, in Sir Bob's and Bono's case, disingenuous to attempt to deny the interconnectedness of relative wealth and relative health.

Very much part of the problem for 364 days, and yet but a very small part of the solution for merely part of a single day. Factor in that reluctance to accept taxation as one's fellow citizens do and the skewing is amplified. Sir Bob's response to this? "It's a load of bollocks!" always the refuge of the 'moral high'-grounders.

Here I am, full of opinions but with, perhaps, more than a hint at a viable solution?

Nicer!

The Norfolk and Norwich Hospital presents as a curiously rambling affair, erected as it was upon the disputed intersection of three of Britain's most ancient ley-lines. One can say whatever one likes about these wondrous and deeply misunderstood pathways but they do tend to wreak havoc with one's sense of time.

It's oft been said, where such slippery things as timescales are concerned, that particular sections of the hospital are now so wildly out of kilter with others that the whole structure appears to wink, not unlike the dying embers of some sort of immense bonfire, when viewed from the outer fringes of the Earth's atmosphere. Astronomical sources can be notoriously difficult to pin down on the subject, but simply glimpsing that infamous knowing smile from Alfred Watkins, in his last televised interview on the subject of those, "ancient pathways," can be hauntingly spine tingling!



Truly, there are staff who have been working at the hospital, since almost the turn of the century, who have yet to discover the whereabouts of the oft-whispered-about Shaman(ism)ology Department, despite its well-documented and relatively pellucid referral system. Honest to God, if one stands upon the 'right' corridor junction and squints, somewhat obliquely to the east, it's almost as if the world is washed clean again, and once more free from sin. But, enough of all this nonsense...

... Let it suffice to be written that fully seven hours were duly recorded upon my own peculiar timepiece, despite what other contradictory sources may have implied. And, during my seven hour experience no fewer than three separate departments were visited.



We commenced our stint in the Venous Thromboembolism Department, where a delightful gentleman finally stamped his determined foot and said, "Enough is enough!" Such was his disillusionment with the practice of validating rat poison (Warfarin) as an NHS drug that he duly whisked the decision well out of reach of the NHS accountants. Whilst grinding the patient's remaining tablets under the heel of an angry shoe, he fiercely penned a prescription for a far more viable alternative, something by the name of Rivaroxaban. Yet early in the day and already the 'visit' was bearing impressive fruit.

Altogether far more alarming, one Chloe Smith- the Spirit of Christmas Cancelled- was witnessed to ghost along one corridor, tape measure flapping hungrily in hand. Speculation has it that, if she can tie at least four 'adjacent' departments to the same approximate real estate epoch, she's already identified several interested private 'investors' simply biting-at-the-bit to carve-up the place.



Our second port of call would have been that of the Radiology Department, specifically for yet more X-rays. Should 'we' be able to persuade the technician (at next week's MRI) to incorporate the patient's feet and 'we'll' have a complete composite body set, replete with 3,000 bonus loyalty points; saving up for that replacement knee joint. I swear to God, that at one particularly unsettling moment, I found myself staring open-mouthed along a gently undulating quaking aspen ride, facing towards an altogether brighter and more youthful sun. Had an orderly not punctured the bubble, by enquiring if I was lost, I feel that I'd still be there, adrift somewhere upon the mists of time.

Armed with the shield of truth- no longer its former proud acetate self, now merely a sad ciber-replica- our final port of call was the much-heralded Rheumatology Department, where angry needles were drawn and thrust unlovingly into the very joints of the now waning patient. Staunch and brave she was, whereas I had to excuse myself, under the pretext of fetching the earlier prescribed spoils. In my absence magical steroidal potions were wafted invitingly before the patient's eyes.



Ultimately, stiff as the competition genuinely was, it had to be Rheumatology that won the day and the purse. With sandwiches and several cups of tea on offer- for the patient and her companion- and seats that actually reclined, Rheumatology rightly won this lady's favour.

'Tis to be hoped that frittering away the private 'investor's' spoils, with such cavalier disregard, might perchance one day manage to exorcise the ghosts of such as Ms Smith, that the once mighty (now besieged) NHS might once again soar!

A Big-Dolphin Of A Time!

I've seen more than a few cetaceans, but not for a good few years now. Most of 'mine' were seen in Scottish waters- magnificent country- or Cornwall, either spied from a prominent headland or the deck of a chugging ferry to or from one of the various islands off the west coast. Many of my sightings involved ponderous distant fins and sleek dark backs sliding along a distant sea-line, thus were of uncertain species.

I still recall, with much affection, sailing alongside a pod of half-a-dozen Orcas, when I was travelling out to The Uists some time in the late 1980s. In my excitement, I was eager to share the experience with some of my fellow passengers. "Look, !" I seem to remember shrieking to a party of five or so, "A pod of Killer Whales!" They barely broke stride as they hastened to the bar.

At the time this dismissal seemed unfathomable, but I suppose that's one of the many things that makes wildlife watching so special, that imbued niche intimacy that positively radiates from some, yet it remains curiously alien to most.

Special thanks to Javier Delgado Esteban

On Monday, 10th November, I was finally- eventually- able to reacquaint myself with that indescribable sense of awe that seems sometimes to almost overwhelm the captive observer upon the event of these wonderful chance encounters. The day hadn't started well; I'd contrived to spread my characteristic given-inability to organise, by filling 'young' David's van with a surfeit of furniture whilst at the same time failing to confirm drop-off times with the proposed recipients, thus dragging out a two-hour job into a full day's heel-kicking wait! As David said, "There's never a day that's so bad that it can't get worse!"

Extra special thanks to me ol' mate David Bryant

What else for a couple of tired old bird-watchers to do, other than to trundle coastwards in search of wildlife? A far-away Rough-legged Buzzard, a few now-you-see-me-now-you-don't Red-throated Divers, a shimmering island of Golden Plovers. The Visitors' Centre at Cley, with its seductive whisperings of coffee and cheese scones, upped its appeal and duly sucked us in...

Thirty minutes later, as we gazed meditatively towards a distant horizon, the idea of anyone 'picking out' genuine activity upon the pencil-thin line of ocean had seemed highly improbable. Yet, as whisperings became more animated, we couldn't help but be drawn in. "Pilot Whales... " a chap over at the far end of the centre seemed to be explaining. How can it be possible to know or to see, I'd thought. 'Twas the marvel of science, I was informed, someone on the beach had simply phoned the news to the Visitors' Centre.

And again, to Javier Delgado Esteban

The forgotten furniture was duly subjected to moments of simulated weightlessness, as the vehicle chose to disregard the minor undulations of the coast road. We arrived at Salthouse early and set about waiting. After much searching the sea still remained steadfastly devoid of cetaceans. A boot-sliding march revealing little, bar a cloud of sixty-plus Snow Buntings that tumbled along the shingle bank ne'er to be relocated upon the deck. At this point it had seemed that the chances of a more intimate study of the passing Pilots had perhaps expired. We thought maybe they'd drifted slowly back out into the deeps.

So, to return to Salthouse to discover a single tier of half-a-dozen telescopes trained upon an indeterminate distant line upon the sea was a truly wonderful moment. David and I stood and observed the cork-bobbing party, for perhaps an hour. Estimates gradually climbed from an initial dozen or so, culminating with a total of almost thirty Long-finned Pilot Whales.

Loyal friend and top blogger David Bryant

The creatures appeared not so much concerned with actually feeding, more with simply bouncing upon the swell of the ocean, surveying the world above- spy hopping- much as the local seals might do. Gleaning further information retrospectively, it would appear that there was much concern regarding a potential beaching- the down side to the occasional pleasures we wildlife-chasers prefer not to dwell upon- British Divers Marine Life Rescue were on standby throughout the pod's brief flirtation with the Norfolk coastline. Ultimately, all was well and the gathering crowds were fortunate indeed to have shared such a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Special thanks must go to driver David, also for his lifelong tolerance of his passenger's vagaries. There isn't a day that's so good that it can't get better!

Yussur!

When Private Allen Lambert of The Stody Estate Regiment dutifully (indirectly) injected the latest of his many victims with the slow poison that would cause the body to writhe and contort with agony, the simple foot-soldier was merely following in a long and 'honourable' tradition of self-righteous genocide, in a 'just' and hierarchical cause. He was 'blindly' following his 'just' orders, in order to protect the 'rights' of his 'betters' to undertake ritual and wholesale slaughter, as personal wealth dictates.

General Charles MacNicol- emotionally detached, his mind on higher things- surveyed the scene from afar. His 17th Century Restoration Charles II barley-twist chair afforded the General the optimum vantage point, from which to survey the theatre. His Meerschaum pipe had been optimally loaded prior to the 'operation,' such that it was unlikely to expire and compromise the General's vantage.

So 'twas a dash 'awful' affair of the most outlandish 'outrage' that should happen to see the 'upstartish' RSPB, together with a number of rouge Bobbies, punching well above their weight. Confounded affair has set back the 'honourable' General the best part of a grand, dash it! Man had to call in a few favours merely to keep his foot-soldier in the theatre of war. Damned plebs! "Has the world gone completely mad?" one feels entitled to enquire.


Thank you, sir! jeffrey chan

Had the 'poor' sod been on manoeuvres just north of the border he might even have been thrown into the old clink, perhaps cost General MacNicol his liberty, to boot! Thank the Lord for the 'dear' Ol' English Class System, enduring so obediently through the courts.

Feel it's time to stand up and be counted. Hell, one reckons it's the God-given duty of the Rural Payments Agency to ensure that those taxpayer dollars are suitably rained down in 'justified' and munificently benevolent compensation for such an 'unwarranted outrage.'

Perhaps, in time-honoured tradition, the gunners might afford Private Allen Lambert the 'respect' he has surely 'earned.' Prior to darkening the autumnal air with the usual speckled-array of lead shot, they might first perform some sort of multi-gun salute, in recognition of the undoubted death of English 'justice' as we know it. A boot-licker's honorarium!

Ten-shun!

Nice?

I really don't think so!

I had cause to spend the bulk of Friday afternoon at the hospital- The Norfolk and Norwich- and whilst there I encountered the word, 'nice.' It's often thought of as rather a bland word, out of fashion or favour, so much so that schools, following hot on the heels of yet another educational (here-today-gone-tomorrow) trend, have worked hard at consigning the word to the waste bin.

"Too bland; try replacing this adjective with one of its many synonyms, selected from the 'creative' writing wall." Nice try, as long as we don't become overzealous with this fad. Oops, too late! Is it really true that Ofsted are marking down children's creative writing, based in part upon pupils use of this word? Nice! I think I might start using it more often, start reclaiming it on behalf of the nation as 'twere.

So, the hospital! What had happened was that someone very dear to me had been hastened to the place, in order to have some tests done. 'Twas to be hoped that a serious blood clot had not developed. That's the trouble with using rat poison to treat serious ailments, sometimes it turns out that it's capable of behaving like a poison. Who'd have thought it?


Blood. Thanks Steve Koukoulas

Anyway, it wasn't a clot. It took several hours to be sure, but it wasn't, and the staff -those battling to keep the NHS alive- were wonderful, delightful, very nice!

We still don't know precisely what the trouble was, although we might speculate that warfarin (rat poison) isn't helping matters. The final consultant we saw wouldn't commit, or perhaps he thought it better not to over-enlighten his patient. Otherwise, he was a very nice man, very nice!

But, what he did say was quite interesting, enlightening, damning, depending rather upon one's interpretation of what was actually said/meant.

Hopefully, I've already established that the aforementioned patient is being 'treated' with warfarin. The consultant, in his summarising of what he thought might be causing the problem, referred to warfarin on several occasions, but never overly affectionately. He wondered if it might not be the warfarin that was causing other ongoing, interconnected and frequent concerns; struggling, as it has been, without effect to balance the patient's INR. The International Normalisation Ratio is the measure of necessary anticoagulant in the blood, thus the ability of the blood to a) flow effectively through the body and b) still be able to clot in the event of a bleed. The margin for error is quite fine! The consequences of a miscalculation might be fatal!


More blood. Thanks also, to Erika Julin

The consultant stated that he believed warfarin wasn't fulfilling its appointed role, that of helping to regulate the patient's blood-clotting properties. Thus, he thought it about time that a safer and more suitable alternative was tried; there are several options currently available.

"The National Institute for Clinical Excellence," he stated, "usually 'recommends' the use of warfarin, for the regulating of patient's blood." The words didn't exactly flow confidently from the man's lips. I'd suggest that the word, "excellence," seemed almost to catch in the throat, lodge there temporarily, not unlike a wordy alternative to a fish bone. He coughed, perhaps to dislodge the offending 'item,' before 'volunteering' further 'information.' He talked almost buoyantly about the benefits of the alternatives, their increased safety, their considerably reduced need for constant monitoring. It was around this point that the consultant paused...

One might have been forgiven for thinking that some sort of 'invisible' ear-piece might have been in play, one by which NICE might have been able to refocus the man's thoughts- at least his spoken words. Expectations deftly turned upon the proverbial sixpence. Toning down his enthusiasm he thought that rather than "recommend" any of the anticoagulant alternatives he would "write to" the relevant practice, to inform the GP that "alternatives were available." There was an indeterminate period of waffling readjustment, during which at no point was NICE referred to as a bunch of Governmental Accountants.

But, we all know what NICE's true role is, don't we? George Orwell wrote about these sorts of people; he'd have labelled them as something along the lines of 'The Ministry of Truth.'

Rivaroxaban 'is' somewhat more expensive than Warfarin, at £2.10 compared to 5p per tablet, as of 2013. I don't expect NICE will be factoring in the cost of the constant monitoring of any patient who might be subjected to a life of daily rat poisoning. Short term financial gains trumps long-term benefits- disguise the occasional collateral fatality- that sort of calculation.