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Precision in speech and language is, I think, a good goal to aim for. With this in mind, I decided it was time I took a good look at my virulent hatred of modern Conservatism, or Toryism.

To do so I had a bit of a read of various online definitions of certain terms, starting with Tory. It appears the term Tory began as an Irish insult:

The above image is a screenshot of an etymological definition. One of the things that fascinates me about history – and etymology is the history of words – is how things evolve; what changes and what remains the same, for example.

I find it incredibly poignant that an Irish term for robbers or highwaymen should have become the standard term for a political philosophy that remains based on thievery. The irony is both colossal, and pitch perfect.

But returning to the longer term history of the ideas of Toryism, as opposed to simply the origin of the term, it is tied in with ideas that can be summarised by the traditional Royalist motto, God, King and Country. And modern Toryism in that line is a product of the ECW (English Civil War). The Tories being the Cavaliers, or supporters of the King, as opposed to the Roundheads, the supporters of Parliament, or ‘The Commons’.

Unpacking all this yet further, one is inexorably lead further back in time, another thing Tories themselves seem hell bent on, politically; they are regressive, not progressive.

First to Henry VIII, whose formation of the Anglican Church – Catholic-lite, in much the same way Tony Blair’s New Labour was Tory-lite – enlarged the fallout of one man’s marital misadventures into nationwide and even international ructions.

And going back yet further, we come to the Ancient or ‘Classical’ Greeks, from whom we get such key concepts, in relation to politics, as aristocracy, democracy, oligarchy, and so on. Once again the etymology of these terms is highly informative.

Aristocracy is, in theory/according to the Greek, rule by the best. Democracy the many, and/or mob. And oligarchy – what we have under present Tory rule – the few. This latter term was meant to distinguish between the few who were (supposedly) the best, and the few who were simply those few wielding power… but decidedly not the best.

Yep, we live under an oligarchy.

I often find myself cogitating on the distinction between Conservatism and conservatism. The former is a political ideology that continues to evolve, in many ways – most notably under/since Thatcher – in forms that are anything but small-c conservative. The latter is a pretty sensible idea; keep alive, indeed, nurture, what is best about tradition. And the irony here is that a great deal of modern Toryism is about as far from that kind of conservatism as it’s possible to be.

Post Thatcherite monetarism has taken a wrecking ball to almost anything and everything about the past, replacing it with a very fascist might-is-right type of Spencerian vision. A post-evolutionary view in which power and privilege are de-facto substitutions for good or best, in the old Greek view of aristocracy. Or, in the Kuper vein, chumocracy.

Anyway, that’s it for now. As – just as our overlords wish it to be – I have to get down on my knees and scrabble in the dirt, searching for better mortgage and energy deals. Keep the paups busy and dumb; they’ll never even notice we’re robbing them blind.

This new book looks interesting. They have it at half-price in The Works, as well. The author is doing a talk for Topping Books. But the Bath branch, alas, not Ely.

I’ve been trying to ascertain how pictorial the content is. I suspect it’s weighted more towards text than image, which, given the subject, might be a bit of a shame from my perspective.

If anyone’s read it, let me know what you think. Or I may do a review, should I lay my hands on a copy?

Teresa’s watching Hitchcock’s Jamaica Inn for the gazillionth time. I’ve come up and turned in. It’s only 8.30 pm. But I’m shattered! I’m really hoping that our ailing NHS isn’t missing anything really serious, re my health!?

Earlier today Teresa and I did some tidying, down at the far end of our garden, where things are in a right ‘808’! Some areas of the garden are looking very lovely. Mostly on account of the fabulous blossoms…

The above cherry tree was a Freecycle freebie, and came in the form of a discarded log. Amazingly it was still alive. I simply stuck it in the soil. And this is what it has become. Amazing!

The cherry tree on the centre right of the above picture, unlike our Freecycle marvel, cost us a few bob. But it’s gorgeous, and much larger.

Friday and Saturday we were in Londinium, for Salute, ‘23, which happened to be the events 50th year! We stayed at an AirB&B place in (or rather near) Greenwich. And we visited some of the Royal Museums of Greenwich, such as The Maritime Museum and The Queens House. All on a nautical theme.

Once home, I had a couple of cans of lager. I’m trying hard to really cut down on the ol’ sauce. And I’m doing pretty well. This week all I’ve had is the above-mentioned lager, and a single glass of wine, with tonight’s meal (bangers and mash!).

I didn’t buy any wargaming figures or associated guff. But I did get a few more books (pictured above below). All on a Napoleonic uniformology type tip. I’m thinking I really must get back into painting and basing my 6mm and 10mm hordes.

Oh, how I wish I had seen these gigs live myself. Still, thanks to the interweb and YouTube, and this great film… I can enjoy the goodness.

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.   
    They may not mean to, but they do.   
They fill you with the faults they had
    And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
    By fools in old-style hats and coats,   
Who half the time were soppy-stern
    And half at one another’s throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
    It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
    And don’t have any kids yourself.

This poem has a great deal of resonance for me, right now. Having said that, I’d like to straight away apologise to my mum and dad for posting it!

I don’t know much about Larkin, to be honest. But I do feel like I’d like to explore his poetry further. This one reminds me, in its rather grimly jocular way, of Alan Bennett. They seem to share very British qualities of the eloquently curmudgeonly depressive!

It’s sad to hear of the recent passing of Brazilian drummer Ivan ‘Mamão’ Conti. I’m not 100% certain of this, but I believe Azymuth – Conti and his musical collaborators Bertrami and Malheiros – were the core backing band on one of my all-time favourite albums, Marcos Valle’s sublime Previsão do Tempo.

I’m not going to pretend I’m an expert on Conti or his career. I only know he and his Azymuth buddies contributed to a wonderfully rich musical tradition, in which samba and other trad’ Brazilian forms were alloyed with pop, jazz, funk, soul (even disco!).

I have a number of albums featuring Mamão’s percussive skills, and my own group, Capricorn, performed an Azymuth track in our set for many years (thanks Rod Norman, for suggesting we do that!), namely Jazz Carnival.

Mamão, thanks for all the fantastic music. May you rest in funky serenity and soulful peace!

I generally hate photos of me. As I almost always dislike how I look. I was a bit surprised, on that account, to find that I like this photo.

The funny thing is it does two things: it flatters me somewhat, overall. But at the same time it captures – in my eyes (sans glasses!) – how I’ve been of late. Tired and upset.

Shortly after I took this pic – and I took it to see how my new haircut looked – Chester came in from his ramblings. And he proceeded to totally distract and cheer me up. The cute li’l devil!

Pic

A massive thanks to Melanie de Smith, Dan Ellis, my mum, The Garage, BOFI Racing and Four Paws Racing, for getting me mobile again.

We’ve been without a car for a fairly long spell now; during which spell we must also thank Daniel Samuels for the temporary loan of a Vauxhall Corsa.

Yesterday I picked up our ‘new’ MX5, from Four Paws. She now has a new CAT and clutch. She’s still far from perfect – there are rust issues (a real bitch of a problem that tends to affect all old MX5s!), and a noisy wheel bearing, etc. – but she’s roadworthy and street legal.

I have to express heartfelt gratitude to Dan, a pal since secondary school, who’s helped us out with getting wheels. And my mum, for stepping up to help me cover Hire & Reward insurance, so I can start earning again.

That old saying ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’ has taken on a deeper resonance, thanks to their generosity and kindness. Thanks, mum and my ol’ buddy! Thanks also to Mel, who gave us the car that’s just been made roadworthy.

I don’t know if it’s generally true or not, these days, and in ‘our culture’ at large, but I feel that, personally, I find it quite hard to ask for help. It feels like an admission of personal failure, to even need help.

A successful person ought to stand on their own! Plus I’m quite introverted, so helping or being helped can be tricky, as it involves interaction and, potentially, emotions.

I love Bill Withers. And just as the aforementioned saying about friendship, referred to above, has achieved a deeper meaning for me, so too has his superb song, Lean On Me.

But there is an irony, or a Catch 22, inasmuch as that when one feels weak, vulnerable, or at a low ebb – as I have been doing lately – one can become less inclined to help others

With one’s own suffering becoming all consuming, the energy reserves required to help others simply aren’t there. But perhaps doing so despite this can be part of fixing one’s problems? I don’t claim to know! But that it occurs to me at all is, I think, a good sign.

Dan and other (Mel and mum) good examples are making me think about how – whether right now, or a bit later (when I’m feeling better able) – I or we might have something to contribute, either to those we already know, or even those we don’t as yet.

And to finish? A sentiment I need to express, done a la Beastie Boys! I like the music, a lot. But the fashion sense and vocal vibes? A bit brash for me, these days. Still, this era of BB (Check Your Head?) is great, in most respects. RIP, Adam Yauch.

Today is the anniversary of the passing of Teresa’s dad, Clement Samuels, or Clem. He’s buried in Carpenders Park Cemetery, Watford, on the NW outskirts of London. We made a pilgrimage ‘darn sarf’ to pay our respects. This is our first such visit, since the funeral, in 2018. Covid got in the way initially.

It was nice to see and hear Teresa, Andrew and Daniel reminisce about good times with their father. And I think Teresa really needed to make the trip, as she still wells up from time to time, thinking about him. He’s been laid to rest in a nice place.

This was our second Samuels family related excursion of the Easter break, after Oliver’s wedding, on Tuesday. Once again we spent the night in a B&B. This time chosen by me, and literally just around the corner from the graveyard.

The Vauxhall Corsa Daniel very kindly loaned us broke down – the ‘unlucky dip’* gearbox gave out! – leaving us stranded in Watford. So we’ve had to book a taxi to the rail station, and a National Express coach from there back to Cambridge.

* Unlucky dip because it was only selecting reverse!

It worked fine for the first few days, getting us to Oliver’s wedding, and then home again. But it started misbehaving on the trip to Clem’s grave. We’d stop at lights or a roundabout, and it’d refuse to go into any gear other than reverse. Quite stressful at the time!

Danny came out and towed us to a location where he could take a proper look. And then he managed to nurse it back to his, whilst I drove his van. So we got see Dan’s place in Luton. Then after a much needed restorative cuppa, we went to the cemetery in another old jalopy.

After about an hour or so at Clem’s grave, Daniel dropped us at our B&B. I then made travel arrangements to get us to Cambridge (train travel is insanely expensive!). Hannah will collect us from there, and we’ll spend a night over at theirs.

Under normal circ’s this might all be rather tiring. But with what I’ve got going on in the background, I’m totally and utterly exhausted!

I’d normally have set up my teaching for the summer term by now. But instead, nothing but confusion. I don’t even know how to approach my pupils/parents.

I’ve been keeping the real meat of what’s going on out of the public sphere. And I probably ought to stay on that tack. But the desire to get everything out in the open is powerful!

But back to the trip to Londinium. We were supposed to meet with Teresa’s folks – mum, sister, brother (and pooch) – today. But that’s off now. Instead we’ve been ok’d to remain at the B&B till 2.30pm (checkout is officially 11am), when a taxi will convey us to Watford Junction station.

We’ll catch the first of two coaches, Watford to a Heathrow, at 3.15pm, and then a second coach, Heathrow to Cambridge, arriving at Parker’s Piece at 8pm. So, that’s a journey of four hours and forty-five minutes. Sheesh! Ok for students, perhaps, but a bit too epic for old duffers like us.