The Decade That Taste (and Decency) Forgot

I grew up in the seventies. As childhoods go mine was definitely one of the better ones. Long hot summers, a loving family and good, wholesome entertainment on my television and radio. Who could ask for more?

Well, me. I could ask for the innocence of it all back please.

Yes, I came from a caring nuclear family and yes, the weather (especially in the middle of the decade) was warmer, for longer, than average. But the entertainment? At the time it was great and throughout the decades since I’ve smiled with nostalgia at the repeats, but now? Now the memories are tainted. Now little pieces of my childhood are being fouled with each new news revelation.

On the radio I listened to Dave Lee Travis playing the hits of Gary Glitter and others stars of the day, while John Peel spun more cutting edge discs later in the evenings. The Rolf Harris Show (under various names) was a television staple as were Jim’ll Fix It and It’s a Knockout. Jim Davidson and Freddie Starr were on every chat show going and had everyone in our house, from granny down to me, laughing together.

While many will say that they always felt that there was something ‘funny’ about some of these people the fact remains that they were among the most popular entertainers of their day. It wasn’t just me that enjoyed their work.

I’m not defending anyone here and if they’ve committed crimes then they should be punished. On the other hand everyone is entitled to a fair trial and, here in Britain, we’re all assumed to be innocent until proven guilty in a court of law but those still living have had their careers, like my innocent memories, shattered. This is, of course, nothing compared to what’s happened to the alleged victims in these cases.

I guess it’s the age-old question here again. Can we still love the art if we’ve subsequently learned to despise the artist as a person? And sure, we all look back at our youth with rose-tinted vision but could everything that we enjoyed back then have been, in reality, so awful?

My memory isn't what it was.

Habitual Addiction

They say that you need to do something for twenty-one consecutive days to form a new habit. Repeat the pattern daily for three weeks, whether you want to or not, and it will be mentally hard-wired into your daily routine. You’ll do it automatically. It’s become a habit.

Taking that same logic, I suppose that the same length of time would apply to breaking a habit. If you do something all the time and then, for twenty-one days, you make an active decision not to do it you’re creating a new habit, one of not doing the action that you previously did regularly. Note, that’s breaking a habit, not an addiction. So you might be able to stop doing something like biting your toenails in three weeks but kicking a chemical addiction to, say, nicotine could take a lifetime.

I really want to get back into the exercise habit. A healthy body helps a healthy mind, right? While I was never the fittest or most athletic person in the land I did at least make an effort. I used to run. I used to pedal miles without getting anywhere on the static bike in my dining room. I used to walk up hills that quite literally reached into the clouds. I even used to do yoga for heaven’s sake! And no, before you ask: that’s an image that will never make it onto YouTube while there’s breath left in my body. So what happened? Why do I no longer do these things? Why have I reverted to my previous alter-ego of Tub-O-Lard Man? I simply stopped doing the things that burned calories. I lost the desire and, three weeks later, I’d simply slipped out of the habit (as the nun said on bath night).

But habits that cause chemical changes in the brain (as exercise does) have a habit of evolving into fully-fledged addictions if you’re not careful. And it can be many things, some that you might not expect. For example, I know quite a few people who will argue strenuously that they’re not addicted to exercise. No sir. Definitely not. No way, José. Yet take this idea for a moment…

Imagine someone who drinks alcohol, quite a bit of it every day. Much more than you and I would consider to be healthy. They just can’t get enough of it, usually two heavy sessions a day. They may not want to admit it but they’re hooked on the chemicals that the demon drink gives them and if for whatever reason they can’t get their boozy fix for a day or so they become anxious, stressed or worse. You’d say that they have a problem whether they want to acknowledge it or not, right?

Now re-read that previous paragraph but change all references to drinking alcohol so that they instead point to doing some form of exercise. It’s a healthier option, sure, but is it still completely healthy? Physically, they might be in peak condition but emotionally or socially? I’m not so sure.

I’d rather take the holistic approach. Everything in moderation, they say, and that applies to anything that you may think that you’re addicted to. But where exercise is concerned, moderation is a heck of a lot better than none at all. So this week I’m making an effort. I’m going to get off my considerable behind and try to get a little fitter. I don’t ever want to get to that stage where physical exertion defines me but I do want to do something every day, even if it’s just a walk to the paper shop.

Today is the first day of the next three weeks.

© Shaun Finnie 2013

When I Am Old

When I am old I will walk slowly and only on the flat. I will gaze longingly at high hills and pretty girls and think of what once was and what might have been.

I shall wear shapeless grey clothes and smell faintly of urine and strongly of aftershave, even though I shall not need to shave my chin more than once every third day.

Others will tend to my needs through duty to blood or money. I will be unable to cut my own toenails and I shall weep tears of impotent rage.

I shall be indulged in my dotage as I was in my youth yet discarded as of no more use. I’ll demand, but probably not get, respect from people who will wonder exactly what I’ve done in my life to think I deserve it.

I will rail against teenagers and how they are wasting their most vital days while forgetting that I was once a teenager myself, and I shall rant at the state of the world while ignoring the fact that I have done little to improve it. But that, alongside all my other foibles, will be tolerated, because I will be old.

I will drool into my food and onto my shirt and I shall become impatient at the failings of others to mask my annoyance at my own shortcomings.

And I will reflect sadly on the fact that one day, not so very long ago, it was indeed all fields around here.

When I am old I shall become louder as people around me hear less. But I shall eventually grow quieter.

And quieter.

© Shaun Finnie 2013

Little Things Never Mean ‘Alot’

You know how there are some things that you just can’t remember, however many times you’re told? The precise date of your wedding anniversary perhaps or whose turn it is to take the dog for a walk when it’s blowing a hooley outside? Well you won’t be surprised to read that for me it’s usually something to do with words that gets me all of a muddle. In this case it was that I can never remember if ‘all right’ is one or two words (as in, “Bob asked if Rachel was all right”).

So I typed “Bob asked if Rachel was alright” and my spell checker didn’t flag an error. That would seem to indicate that was correct but it seemed a bit strange to me. So I looked it up and found that I was wrong, “alright” is just a frequently misspelled version of “all right”. There is (whatever my inadequate spellchecker may say) no such word as “alright”. Just as there’s no such word as “alot”.

The (mis)use of “alot” throughout online writing shows just how popular the misconception that it’s a valid word is, like the use of “should of” and “would of” when people actually mean “should have” and “would have”. This lack of correct English usage bothers me to a ridiculous and comical extent – if I were Donald Duck there would be steam coming out of my ears and I’d be swearing  profusely in a quacky manner – but does it really matter? What harm is there in someone just using a word incorrectly?

The obvious answer is ‘none’, of course. It does no damage whatsoever (apart to my blood pressure). The public at large doesn’t care about such things, as is obvious by their routinely referring to those of us who do care as ‘grammar Nazis’. Our ruling classes are apparently beginning to agree with them too with several councils recently announcing that they will remove apostrophes from all official signs to avoid public confusion. This particular member of the public doesn’t agree with that viewpoint as I most certainly am not confused by the endangered apostrophe. The argument comparing gerunds against verbal nouns confuses me, yes, but not apostrophes.

Apostrophes are an important part of our language and removing them would be as confusing as, say, suddenly deciding to eliminate commas or do away with the odd superfluous letter or two from our alphabet. How would we know the difference between the following two sentences if not for the humble apostrophe?

“The frog’s exploded.”
“The frogs exploded.”

Or what about this classic that shows perfectly how useful a comma can be?

“Let’s eat, Grandma.”
“Let’s eat Grandma.”

And don’t get me started on the importance of using the correct version of they’re / there / their. While I see the need for a language to evolve as its use changes, I’m not a fan of devolution due to user idleness.

That’s it, rant over for this week. I think I need a sit down with a nice cup of tea and a copy of ‘Eats, Shoots and Leaves’.

© Shaun Finnie 2013