Category Archives: General Rambling

For posts that just go on and on and on and on and ……

Off the Boil

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I am angry.  No, not just angry – absolutely furious.

OK, not now or, at least, not so bad but I was.  The thing is, I don’t really know why.  There was no obvious reason.  I woke up angry, was angry all day and went to bed angry.  To be honest, it felt like there was something wrong with me.  The worst was Saturday night/Sunday morning.  True, my ‘cold’ was dreadful or, at least, it sounded dreadful but it wasn’t that.  Or, it wasn’t only that.

On Sunday morning, as I took the dogs out, I was muttering to myself, asking myself why I was angry; amazed at how angry I felt inside.  I thought: ‘this is what it must be like to go insane’.  There was no sanity in the anger.  I realised that it had been around for several days and that some people had taken some of it by saying a wrong word or making a wrong gesture.

I thought perhaps it was the cold; or maybe because I was so tired; or maybe I was mentally insane.  I managed to keep it from F, thank goodness.

I write about it now because it has abated, if not entirely gone away.  I certainly feel ‘better’ even if the ‘cold’ is still with me; even if F is away all week in Germany; even if I do have to go to a Northern Country next week when I really don’t want to (and I have still to find a solution for the dogs); even if the weather has turned cold and wintry again; even if I am pissed off about certain things and towards certain people; even if ………….

But now I feel better.  And now (since I started writing this) I have booked the flights for next week and found out that my bank will offer me huge amounts of money in loans (has nothing changed in the last 18 months after all?) which I don’t want but may need if certain things occur (but the madness flowing through the world seems unstaunched) and so, suddenly, I seem happier.

And, the saga with my mobile phone continues.  Normally, in Italy, one expects to make two trips to sort anything out.  The first – you are armed with every sort of document that you may need and the second is for handing over the document that you never knew existed.  So far I have been to the TIM shop 6 times since the problem with the Direct Debit and the wish by TIM to charge me an extra €166 (for a €50 per month plan) started.  However, it may almost be sorted.  We may hope.

Still, the phone itself is great and the whole thing is much more pleasant than dealing with 3 who, to me, are magic only in their incompetence.

Governing by ‘The Lynch Mob’ rules

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The olde worlde Wilde Wilde West!  How great that must have been.  Unless, of course, you were either innocent and incorrectly suspected of some foul deed or stitched up by someone.

In those days the lynch mob ruled.

Nowadays we don’t have that, do we?  Of course not, you may say, huffing and puffing as well as saying it.  I mean, the lynch mob would get told or decide amongst themselves that someone was guilty and then go hounding them until they found them and then, well, lynched them.  Nowadays we are much more civilised, aren’t we?

And yet, reading the last few days about this (and, if you read it it’s almost at the end now) reminds me so much of the lynch mob mentality even if the person was guilty of something about 17 years ago.

So, there’s this child who did some really terrible thing when he was 10, so terrible that, in order for him to live a life, any sort of life, when he leaves prison, must take on a secret identity.  But what he has done and the time that he spent in prison would have an effect on the rest of his life forever, let alone having to live with a ‘secret identity’.

Unsurprisingly, in my view, he had a drug habit and, given that he was in prison at 11 or 12, was probably a bit of a hard-nut.  And now he has been taken back to prison for some breach of the conditions.  What shocked me was the daily (almost hourly) call for the public to know why.

The only thing I wonder is……………is this the public who ‘need’ to know or the media who ‘need’ to tell the public.

Either way, this was lynch mob mentality.

And, what worries me more is that now, according to the article I linked to, Jack Straw is considering what else he may tell ‘the public’.

You have just got to be joking, Mr Straw!  Jack Straw should stick to the original script and not say a word.  Those baying for blood should continue their baying.  Does Jack Straw think that, on giving further information, the baying will cease?

To be honest I’m not even sure it was necessary for the public to know that the guy was returned to prison but certainly there is no need to know why.  What purpose would it possibly serve?

Sure, there does need to be checks on the authorities to make sure they are doing their jobs correctly but this ‘baying for blood’ that seems to have invaded our lives is not acceptable.

The Government seem to have lost their way if they really think that bowing to the public (or is it media?) demands is the correct way to govern a country/nation.  I know I’ve said it before but, really, enough!

Going with the flow

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In my head, I am firm and resolute.

F hasn’t been sleeping well and I snore and when it gets too much he has to stop me.  He has tried many things.  If he snores I only have to kiss him for him to stop.  He’s tried that with me but, apparently, that and many other things, don’t work.  He has to wake me.

And I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather.  It’s like ‘flu but I think it’s down to not enough sleep.  From my whole life of going to bed about 10 or 10.30 or, at a push, 11 (since I get up at 5 something), I am now never in bed before 11 and, amongst other side effects, I think it’s making me look older.  Someone likened me to Tommy Lee Jones the other day, so you get what I mean (not that being likened to TLJ is a terrible thing, IMO).

And, so, after Tuesday night I resolved that I would sleep in my own bed.  But when we spoke and he asked if I was coming round I said ‘yes’, of course.  Wednesday, after feeling so grotty most of the day, I told myself that I would definitely sleep in my own bed.  And, I said to myself, whatever he says, say that you want to make sure he sleeps well and you don’t want to wake him or keep him awake.  But, again, as soon as he asked if I was going round the answer that came out was ‘yes’.

Last night we went to see Alice in Wonderland.  After, we are walking back to our area (about 10 minutes).  I didn’t mention anything.  He says that he hopes to sleep better tonight.  I sympathise and say that maybe I should stay at mine tonight.  He says that he can come

No, it’s better that you sleep on your own.

Those are the words that should have come out of my mouth.  Instead, I say “If you’re sure”.

Of course, earlier, he had phoned.  “Be at Arcobaleno [the cinema in Viale Tunisia] at 7.30.  We’re going to see Alice in Wonderland”.  I had, previously decided that, when he phoned or came on line I would tell him that I was going to bed very early tonight.  Of course, when he actually phones, I say “OK, I’ll be there”.

And I don’t regret that.  Nor am I sorry that he spent the night at mine last night and the several times I woke up with him spooning me, all warm and comfortable and nice and reassuring.  OK so I got to bed after 11 but I’m not seeing him tonight (he’s going to the theatre with some friends) and so I think that this will be almost the last night (before he goes away for a whole week) and I need to have him close to me.  It’s my need but I think it’s also his.  I mean, if I was really keeping him awake he wouldn’t come, right?  Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t.  Or, is his need to be with me the same as mine to be with him?  Hmmm.  Maybe.

And the reason we went to Alice In Wonderland was because his colleague got us tickets.  F & I went for a beer first at one of the gay bars (Mono) nearby.  Then met up with his colleague and her husband and son in front of the cinema.  OK, it is a good film but Tim Burton is in danger of getting a bit ‘samey’.  But I need to see it in English as I missed some of the (probably) more subtle bits of the film.  The 3-D effects were good in parts (the smoke, falling leaves, flying things – where they really seemed to be coming out of the screen) but the rest was not really necessary and didn’t really add anything to the film.  I wonder if the cost of making the film in 3-D will outweigh the returns and it will have a short shelf-life?

Anyway, back to the purpose of this post, which is to say that, in spite of my logical, calculating side knowing that I should say no, when I speak to him or am with him, it’s impossible to do anything other than agree to whatever he suggests.  It kinda makes me angry (with myself) but then, again, I think- why not?  After all, we only get the one life and fighting against the tide is pointless when, in reality, you just want to go with the flow :-D

And, it’s not as if he is fighting against it that much either!

Explanation not required nor desired?

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Well, what was I supposed to do?

He was complaining about last night.  I didn’t give him the support.  WTF?  I mean, I couldn’t hug him (his shoulder was so bad and he wouldn’t let me hug him), I couldn’t really say anything (what is there to say with news like he had).  What the hell did he want?

“But you had a bad shoulder”, I replied.  “How the hell could I comfort you?”, I asked.

He hadn’t phoned me because he had been annoyed with me.  But, really.  There was nothing I could do.

Of course, after a little while I had started to get a bit worried.

“And, anyway, I can’t see into your brain; can’t know what you’re thinking”.  It almost sounded like whining.  I kicked myself but I wasn’t going to give in on this one.  He wants support (which I’ve been doing) and then, when I don’t do something that he thinks I should, he complains.  I mean, we haven’t been together that long that I can just work everything out.

It’s more like being with a woman!

=====================================================

Actually, of course, almost none of that happened.  It just went through my head.  Soon after it went through my head, I did what I usually do which is worry about him and be concerned about how he was feeling whilst resisting the almost unbelievable urge to call him.

Then he texted and I was sooooooo relieved that we didn’t have any of that conversation at all.  And he wasn’t angry with me.  And he didn’t think that I didn’t support him.  And I hadn’t done anything ‘wrong’ nor misunderstood anything.

All was well, apart from his shoulder and the fact that he had had no sleep.  We slept apart last night.  He explained that, if he stayed awake like the night before, he might want to put the television on or go and sit at the computer and he wouldn’t be able to do that if I were there because I ‘need your rest as you have to get up so early’.  He thinks about me too and considers my needs.

As I say often (to him), there’s no need to explain.  I usually add that there’s no need to say sorry, either.

But, of course, there is.  But it’s just for confirmation, of course.  And to stop the things in my head becoming real – to stop me giving voice to them.  So, my biggest problem here is myself.

I have no words.

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6

It’s the way of things.

You miss, most, those things when they are irretrievable; when they are lost forever.

I say ‘those things’ but I also mean ‘those people’.

Worse, still, is when those people disappear from our lives unexpectedly, without warning, without the chance to say goodbye.  And, yet worse, is when those people take their own lives.

I don’t know about you but haven’t we all had moments in our lives when, for a brief few minutes or hours or days, it seemed that the solution to it all, all the problems and the hurt and the terribleness of life, the solution seemed to be to end this life; to not be?

The first funeral I remember attending was for St.  St was 21 or so and had been with D for a couple of years and we (M & I) were close friends with them.  We didn’t understand why.  Well, I say that.  In fact, unknown to me at the time, M had spoken to him that very day but I only found out about that later.

St got in the car with their dog in the garage and used a hose from the exhaust.

Later (but much later) D explained that the worst time was, actually, some time after the funeral when people stopped calling, stopped coming, stopped including him.

But still, I couldn’t quite grasp why St had done this.  I think M had a better idea but if he did, I don’t believe he ever told me.  I don’t know that D ever really knew or understood.

I wonder still, having never quite been there, how everything can look so bad that ending it all seems the only way out?  I see, this morning, the lady tramp, who sleeps on the benches where I take the dogs.  She, if anyone can, has reason to think that life is not really worth living.  And yet she is still there.  So why doesn’t she think that life is over and yet St felt that he couldn’t go on?

But we can never see inside someone else’s head, can we?  And we can never be that person or, even, put ourselves in their shoes.  Not really.

And you may wonder why I write this post.  Not enough that a very dear friend from the past did this nor that a very dear friend from the present attempted this but, last night, a dear friend of F succeeded in ending his life.

I had no words.  I didn’t know the guy but F had spoken of him a few times and he was a close friend.  He had texted him that very morning.  They called each other ‘sister’ and that was the word that he texted.  I couldn’t really give F the comfort he wanted or needed, not least because his shoulder was so bad I couldn’t hug him and hold him close.  He stayed awake all night.  I’m not sure that was all about the shoulder.

And it led me to thinking about a dear friend who may not have been here now – but is and for that I am grateful.

Someone said to F that G (the guy that committed suicide yesterday) was courageous (he jumped out of a 6th floor window).  And I see her point although there is also a selfishness about committing suicide and, unfortunately, a cowardice about it too.  Of course, the selfishness and cowardice are for the living to bear and not the dead.

But bear it we must.  And there was a song that some of you may remember.  But the title is not true, at least not for those left behind.

But last night made me think of St, all that time ago and the other dear, dear friend who is still with us and how things might be different (in both cases). And I want to scream at them that suicide is not painless. Not for those left behind and there is always someone left behind.

And, through all the thoughts my stomach churns for it makes me scared.  Of what, I am not sure.  Perhaps the recent incident with my dear, dear friend makes me realise how close it was and how it could have been and I wonder how I would be about it.  And it brings me close to tears.  Tears for St, tears for G (even if I didn’t know him), tears for D, tears for F (who has the last text) and tears for my dear, dear friend.

Tears because it is so hard to understand how anything could possibly be so bad that ending your life seems the solution and more for the people left behind, who will never quite comprehend what has been done.

And so I text my dear, dear friend as I don’t want the last text to be a single word.

I will stop this post now.  As I said to F, last night, I have no words………..

Adrift

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I’m not sure how I feel.  I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel.  My head tells me I shouldn’t feel anything but my heart is beating fast, almost as if I’m scared.

I don’t feel sad or that I’ve missed something.  I don’t feel angry or unhappy.  Nor do I feel happy.  And, somehow, at some time, that’s how I thought I would feel – not this ‘nothingness’ with a beating heart.

I read the stuff again to make sure I understood.  Yes, I cannot be wrong.  So much stuff on the internet these days but still cannot find anything about the actual event.  But then it goes and makes me look for other things.  Most things are just confirmation of things I already knew.  A few photos, a few discussions.

And still I can’t get this thing out of my head.  Why?

And then I think about the date.  No, it’s all wrong, somehow.  I mean, 2003.  I was still in the UK.  Not only in the UK but also still at the original address – the one she knew.  No.  I must have made a mistake.  A different anniversary then?  Ah yes, she was going for a walk.  And, at that time, I seem to remember, the talk of new knees.  Perhaps that’s the one she talks about?  Perhaps it was her AND him, celebrating the 7th anniversary of him being able to walk again?  That’s why the walk and why it’s worth the post.

And, yet, there was the comment about “he would be so proud of you”.  Surely you only say that of someone who’s gone?  Otherwise you’d say ‘he must be so proud of you’ or something similar.  But, perhaps there is a mixture here.  The walking being different from the dying.  The anniversary being the walking; the dying taking place at some other time.

But it tires me.  It’s boring crap and, after an initial interest, the whole thing starts to become pathetic.  I mean that I become pathetic to me.

And then, I wonder, should I make contact now?  What would it take?  And, anyway, she’s already in New Zealand or Australia or something.  With ‘her Ruthie’ on their yacht or her yacht or something.

But then that exposes me again and I don’t want to be exposed.  The rest of them come too.  It comes with a package (and a price) and the package I don’t want to open (and the price I don’t want to pay).  And, it’s strange really because only a day or so ago I found myself thinking about being adrift and that I was adrift and had almost always been adrift and, most of the time, I like being adrift and not anchored but that sometimes, for those brief moments, when being adrift seems less exciting but rather more scary, that’s the time that you have families for.

And I don’t have that.  And now, after V, I have less of even the little bit I thought I had.

And, maybe that’s why my heart raced when I read (and, probably, misunderstood) the thing on the screen.

The same thing with the right person

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To be honest, I’m just a little apprehensive.

I knew it was coming, I just expected a little more notice.  And it’s not as if it’s anything to worry about, really.  But, you know…….?

F phones.  He is at Liù, near my flat.  He’s not IN Liù since it’s only 6.30 p.m. and I know they don’t open until 7.30.  He’s there because he has to get some stuff.  He needs a cable for the TV so that it can be moved to the correct place in the bedroom.

“Would you like to go for a pizza later?”, he asks me.  “We can go to Liù”

“Sure”, I reply.  He’s going to phone me later.

He does.

“We’re going to Basillico”, he states, “for 8.30.  We’re meeting S”.

He uses the nickname so it takes me a moment to understand what he means.  “Is that OK?”, he adds, maybe misunderstanding my initial silence.

“Sure but are you sure you want me to come?” I ask him.

Now, you should know that this is only me being polite.  S and F haven’t met up since S got back into town.  And, I’m not really jealous but there’s something.  I mean, he was with S for 11 years and, you know, maybe with S coming back, F thinks there may be a ‘getting back together’.  I don’t really think so but…….

And, I think, perhaps it would be better for them to have an evening together, catching up on old times or stuff like that and I would just be in the way.  Anyway, S’s boyfriend is still in the States.  It will be weird with me being there but S not being able to bring his boyfriend too.

Of course, the question, just like the thoughts are all crap.  What I want is that F would not possibly meet S without me being there.  But one can’t actually say that, right?

But there is also the thing that I am not S.  I am not as good as S.  That my not being good enough will become obvious to F when he sees us together.  Still, I want him to say that he wants me there too.

And he does.  He calls a little later to say he is having an aperitivo at Bar Basso, which is in the same piazza.  I have just come out of the shower.  I can’t meet S without making the best of myself, obviously.  I expect him to be somewhat glamorous.

I say I will be another 10 minutes.  As I am leaving he calls to say he will meet me at the pizzeria.  I walk up.

I see them.  S with his back to me, talking to F.

We meet.  He shakes my hand.  I shake his and we kiss on both cheeks, as one does, instigated by me.  Why not, I think to myself?  He is the same height as F.  Thin but not as thin as I thought.  An old-fashioned haircut, a short beard, not over-fashionable nor quirky as he might be, being a designer and all.

We sit in the restaurant.  Afterwards I think about how strangely F acted.  Like he was over-excited.  It strikes me that he was excited about introducing me to S.  I think that either he so wanted S to meet me or that he wanted to show S that he had someone else.  I thought the former last night and the latter this morning – so, obviously, I have no idea.

He and S always spoke Italian to each other in the past, F not speaking any English when they first met but, several times when S spoke Italian last night he asked him to speak English.  He finds it difficult to understand S so well, what with his heavier Mancunian accent.

Anyway, I liked him.  S, that is.  He’s not me and I am not him.  We are very different.  He asked a lot about me and I asked a lot about him.  He told me that when I meet F’s family I will like them.  He asked how long we had been together.  F replied that it was four months to which I added that it wasn’t so long.  However, S seemed to think that it was and seemed genuinely pleased that F had ‘found’ someone – as did F.

At the end he said that it was really nice to meet me after all the good things he had heard about me.  And since he would only have heard those things from F, it made me smile as perhaps this IS the real thing?  Apparently he texted F afterwards to say I was simpatico – our equivalent of nice, I think.

I don’t know, really.  Should I feel jealous (or whatever this is)?  Do I, in fact, feel jealous?  I’m not even sure about that.  Whatever I feel, I feel less now that I’ve met him.  He’s more ‘gay’ than F, for certain and more ‘gay’ than me too, for that matter.  I think that’s what F likes about me and it’s certainly one of the things I like about him.

And, after all, F said that we’re all looking for the same thing really.  The same thing with the ‘right person’, of course.

How where we grow up affects us

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I am a little worried.  Only a little – right now, of course.  The actual (possible) events are a long way off.

I was born and brought up, for most of my childhood, in the middle of the glorious countryside of Herefordshire.  For the UK, this was one of the places furthest from the sea.  Yes, sure, when we went on our 2 week holiday, we went to the beaches of North Wales (and, sometimes, even had sun and warmth, I seem to remember).  But most of the 6 weeks of summer holidays, we were, as kids, stuck in the middle of this countryside.  And, so, we played in the garden (which was huge) or went walking or playing in the fields and woods near the house.

Certain things I remember would not be allowed now.  Like the bales of straw in the field opposite, where, every summer, we went and made houses of these bales, lugging the heavy bales to form walls and roofs, creating dens.  I was one of those kids that also liked to walk, across the fields and through woods, on my own, looking at the flora and fauna, enjoying the calming effect.

Now, as I am older, for me, the countryside is special.  It invokes images of tranquillity, of a tamed wildness, of being at peace.  Last summer, in the hills of Piedmont, I enjoyed, for a few days, thanks to N&S, the countryside and the hills that, somewhat, reminded me of Herefordshire.  And, every day, went walking with the boys, which they enjoyed immensely.

And then, for lunch or the evening, there is always a town or village nearby where, in the UK, one can find a country pub with good beer (one hopes) and, possibly, some pub grub or here, in Italy, you might chance upon some nice country restaurant.

One thing about my childhood that I always hated was our summer holiday to the beach.  I hated it for many, many reasons – we went in a caravan and, later, when the four kids were older, we had an awning attached, which was where we slept (of course).  The big drama of packing the caravan (to make sure the weight was evenly distributed), the putting up of the awning which had to be done even when it was pissing down with rain, the showering in some toilet block on the camp-site, the daily preparation and trek to the beach, my parents always preferring to be in a part of the beach without too many neighbours, so a longer walk with all the ‘stuff’, also knowing that one had to return with all the ‘stuff’ at the end of the day, etc.  Oh, yes, I hated it.

And now, of course, I have certain things that make my holiday.  Being in the countryside where one can walk without the need to carry; eating at restaurants and bars rather than taking all your own food; having the opportunity to visit a church or a museum or, here, a vineyard or the like.

But, for those people brought up near to the sea, the beach was the place that they went during their time away from school.  To them it is the perfect place to relax.

And so it is with F.  He has told me that, after breakfast he goes to the beach and stays there all day.  When he returns home, at 6 or 7, he eats having not eaten at lunch.

My worry is that, this summer, assuming we go on holiday, this is what he will want to do.  For me, it is boring and hot and I’m not really one for lying there just to get brown.  Getting brown is a consequence of doing something in the sun, not the reason for the holiday.  I can swim but I’m not good – basic, I think you would say.  But for him it’s his way to completely relax.  For me it is not.

Or, maybe it is and I have just not been with a partner for whom this IS the summer holiday.  Perhaps I should try and see.  My worry is, what if I do get bored and after an hour or so on the beach, want to do something?  Go for a walk, visit the town, do something else?

I know I should wait and see and, if I really don’t like it, I’m sure we can compromise, both of us wanting this to work, after all.

It just niggles at me from time to time, is all.

I’m learning a new language

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Well, you might say “of course you are” but it’s not quite what you think.

I’m having various conversations with a girl who’s about 14.  Don’t get the wrong idea here – it’s not a bad thing.  She is the daughter of Best Mate.  And the conversation is the sort of general conversation that one would have with the teenage daughter of your Best Mate – except for one thing – it’s via Facebook and so is more like texting or chatting online.

And, as she’s 14, although she uses English it’s not quite the English that I write here.  And on more than one occasion I have had to ask Best Mate what a certain word or acronym means.

Because, let’s face it, I am old.  I remember mobile phones when they first came in and were almost as big as a small briefcase.  And the first portable computer was like a laptop – but the screen was a normal screen that you had to carry separately.  So, texting and chatting online requires that I learn a different language.

Some examples would be soz.  This is short for sorry.  Said is written sed.  How gets the ‘h’ dropped off the front.

All these things make remarkable sense.  However, I do find it difficult to do this.  I’ve just about mastered using ‘u’ instead of ‘you’ and ‘r’ instead of ‘are’ but I don’t even do that all the time, so writing ‘i sed i wuz soz’ I would still be writing as ‘I said I was sorry’ – even in text form, even going to the trouble of making the ‘i’ a capital.

And, in addition, I text Italians.  For me it is almost unthinkable as an ex English Teacher to write the short form.  The best I can do with F is to write ‘cos’ instead of ‘because’ (and even with that, the first time I did, he asked what it meant).

English is a wonderful, rich language (although the Italians always think theirs is better and richer – and, being a guest in their country I would not disagree – at least in front of them) but having been with V’s family (many of whom are first-generation from Jamaica), I became very aware of the the fact that there is no really ‘pure’ English.  It’s all bastardised all over the world.  Even here they take words and give them slightly different meanings (e.g. relax, which they don’t use verb even when it should be in the context in which they use it).

And so, this new form of English, widely used (I guess) by most English people (maybe even English-speaking people) under the age of, let’s say, 30 – where will it end up?  In 20 years will the common spelling of ‘said’ be ‘sed’ and ‘sorry’ be ‘soz’ – at least in the UK?

Every language changes over time but I suspect new technology and the need to type words on keyboards, touch pads and keypads could accelerate the changes to the language.  And since I know the same thing happens here (‘che’ becomes ‘k’, ‘per’ becomes ‘x’), I wonder if all languages are now under some pressure to change to meet the growing need of the younger generations to be able to communicate in ways that we never even imagined when we were at school.

Just a thought.

I will, probably, retire when I’m 75 or so.

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I was chatting to my colleague.  He was telling me about some ‘new’ thing they have with hedge funds.  It makes even more money, apparently.

“But”, I said to him, “it’s not real money!  It only exists on paper but it doesn’t really exist”.

I despair, I really do. When will people understand.  We’ve all been mis-sold or sold down the river – take your pick and live off that.

Let me explain.  Imagine there is a family all living together.  There are the two grandparents, the mother and father and there are two children.

When all six of them are working everything is very good.  Money is no object and they are having a great time.  Eventually, the grandparents retire, saying to their children – don’t worry, everything will be fine.  Soon you will have grandchildren yourself and they will be working and everything will be great.

So the grandparents are having a great time – money no object (being supported by the other four) and going on holiday, enjoying their spare time, etc.  The parents look at them and envy them and can’t wait till it’s their turn for the good life.

Eventually, the father retires.  No grand kids yet and none on the horizon.  Hmmm.  this is getting a bit tricky now.  The grandparents still want their good time, the father, having paid for the grandparents already and the kids education, etc, wants his good time now and the mother is going to retire in about a year.  But now there is half the previous income and soon there will be less.

At what point do either the grandparents (and father) have to suffer and cut back, drastically, on their good times?  Or should the father continue to work?  But for how long?  10 years?  20 years?  But what of the promise not to worry – everything would be OK as his grand kids would look after him?  And the mother.  Surely she can’t retire now?

And who to blame?  Is it the grandparents for living the good life now and in the last few years?  The mother and father for allowing it to continue even when there was no sign of grand kids to come on and shoulder the responsibility?

Is it the kids themselves?  And just for how long are they going to suffer once they are the only ones working?

And it is something I have been thinking about for some time.  It is my opinion that, very soon, things really have to change.  By very soon, I mean in the next five years.  And by change I mean the following:

The retirement age will be pushed up above 70 with immediate effect.

Those people who have retired and have not reached retirement age will have all pension and benefits taken away (thereby encouraging them to go back to work).

Pensions will be reduced anyway and help for the aged limited.

If we don’t do something like that then the people who actually pay for this will walk away from the responsibility and I, for one, wouldn’t blame them.

Read something here but it simply doesn’t go far enough.  Also it is too busy trying to lay the blame on someone or some group.

Now, at this stage, when there’s really very little we can do about it, why bother blaming?  Just get on and fix it.  We can sort out blaming later on – and we should all end up shouldering some of it, for sure.

Now, this moment, it needs fresh thinking by everyone.  But, of course, the politicians to do this won’t be elected by a people that are still thinking like the father and mother and wanting the things they have been promised by a generation who were never going to be in a position to provide it for them anyway!

We’re all crazy if we think it can go on for ever.  Get used to it and grow up.