
Today the snow thawed and the cold ,economic climate crept nervously back to the front page. From my window as I type, I watch a mini Glacier shedding trenches of packed snow from a lower roof . I am reminded of the thunderous forces that excavated our romantic Northern landscapes. Takes me back...
(Many years ago..)
“ Class what features would we find in a glacial terraine “,
“ Peni Planing Sir ! “.
” Yes , thats good any more ?” ,
“ Terminal Morraine Sir , Corries , Ice fields , truncated spurs Sir , don’t forget truncated spurs .....”
” Very good any more “.
(silence )
“Matching bathroom set Sir ?”
“ Yes very funny come on , Lateral Morraine ..come on 4b test tomorrow ..”
“ Set of kitchen knives ..?”
“That’s enough ! “
Omnes -“ CUDDLY TOY !!! “
A bitter wind of protectionism is also chilling the air . Obama is protecting US industry as I foresaw he would , and a rough and ready deal has been done with “British workers “ who will get half of the “British Jobs “ .An old fissure is opening up between the pro immigration and pro Europe left , and the British workers who suffer. Polly Toynbee is quick to blame the inequality of society for the problem and Mary Ridell bemoans the rise of “xenophobia “. Both are warm and snugly employed in cosy scribbling jobs and are free to opine in comfort.
Sniffles and colds abound , and it has struck me that our current owes are a little like a cold . You can defer it with spending boosterism and debt , some of the worst may be ameliorated but in then the stages have to be endured . Misery , depression and thin gruel are unavoidable. The very economists who are so certain debt is the answer , were equally certain there was not going to be a question. Large doses of cuts are the nasty medicine but as yet even Cameron is yet to hold his nose and down the brew .
Yet snow still has an enchantment ,and as it turns to dirty sludge ,I have looked up one of my favourite uses of a pristine fall at the end of the Dubliners , by Joyce of course . Here he uses a Cinematic effect to pan back from all the people and all their small concerns.
(Many years ago..)
“ Class what features would we find in a glacial terraine “,
“ Peni Planing Sir ! “.
” Yes , thats good any more ?” ,
“ Terminal Morraine Sir , Corries , Ice fields , truncated spurs Sir , don’t forget truncated spurs .....”
” Very good any more “.
(silence )
“Matching bathroom set Sir ?”
“ Yes very funny come on , Lateral Morraine ..come on 4b test tomorrow ..”
“ Set of kitchen knives ..?”
“That’s enough ! “
Omnes -“ CUDDLY TOY !!! “
A bitter wind of protectionism is also chilling the air . Obama is protecting US industry as I foresaw he would , and a rough and ready deal has been done with “British workers “ who will get half of the “British Jobs “ .An old fissure is opening up between the pro immigration and pro Europe left , and the British workers who suffer. Polly Toynbee is quick to blame the inequality of society for the problem and Mary Ridell bemoans the rise of “xenophobia “. Both are warm and snugly employed in cosy scribbling jobs and are free to opine in comfort.
Sniffles and colds abound , and it has struck me that our current owes are a little like a cold . You can defer it with spending boosterism and debt , some of the worst may be ameliorated but in then the stages have to be endured . Misery , depression and thin gruel are unavoidable. The very economists who are so certain debt is the answer , were equally certain there was not going to be a question. Large doses of cuts are the nasty medicine but as yet even Cameron is yet to hold his nose and down the brew .
Yet snow still has an enchantment ,and as it turns to dirty sludge ,I have looked up one of my favourite uses of a pristine fall at the end of the Dubliners , by Joyce of course . Here he uses a Cinematic effect to pan back from all the people and all their small concerns.
Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted upon the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly though the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.


