NICE starts punch up in the surgery : GP brawls go viral

Everyday some government ministry, some national body or some kind of pressure group tells us how important, nay,  imperative it is for us or someone else to take a particular action.  "Don’t give medical treatment to people who are a little more than chubby or they'll just get fatter", "don’t help poor people or they won’t want to go to work", "don’t cut bankers pay and bonuses or they’ll all want to go to another country", "criticise and financially starve our state education system because investment companies will then put their money into places like free schools and the new academies", "don’t let children have a childhood or they’ll not want to be a part of a hard working British family or worse still they might not worship the capitalist system".

When all these and so many other pronouncements are clarioned, they are so fervently expressed, it can seem as if the whole of the universe will fall in if the latest edict is not acted upon.

Today it was the not particularly fragrant NICE's turn to pronounce. The National Institute for Health and Care Excellence is directing GPs who don’t prescribe antibiotics to set upon those of their colleagues who do. There may well be a good enough medical reason to reduce the usage of antibiotics but let's carry out the discussion in a considered, civilised way. 

I don’t often go to my local surgery but when I do I don't like to see the doctors having a punch up in the waiting room.   Divide and rule may be one form of governance but it does not make for a peaceful, kindly, caring community.

Robert Burns : Epistle to Davie, a Brother Poet

This poem, written in 1785 by the 26 years old Burns was for his friend, David Sillar, a tenant farmer and teacher at the parish school in Tarbolton, Ayrshire.

Late 18th century Scotland was not an easy time for a person like Burns, who, though from a relatively humble background, had a healthy sense of his own value. In pursuit of his ambitions, Burns learnt quickly to weave himself astutely through the warp and weft of 18th century Scottish society and became adroit at adopting different stances for the different kinds of company he sought. He looked for fame and celebrity and he achieved them but he could never - in what was a strictly stratified community - be accepted as a full member of the club of the gentry. In the end fate returned him to his own, and perhaps despite the material poverty this drew him back to, it may have been a relief to him.

For all this, few would deny that at the time he wrote these verses to Davie Sillar, Burns was blazing a trail for the spirit of egalitarianism which was about to burst upon Europe and in particular France. In this poem Burns reminds us of the integrity of the poor and the utter selfishness of the unco powerful, the unco rich, the unco guid and, the "Lon'on bank"

Happy birthday on Sunday, Rabbie.

Epistle to Davie, A Brother Poet

     By Robert Burns

While winds frae aff Ben Lomond blaw, 
An' bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 
An' hing us owre the ingle, 
I set me down to pass the time, 
An' spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 
In hamely, westlin jingle. 
While frosty winds blaw in the drift, 
Ben to the chimla lug, 
I grudge a wee the great-folk's gift, 
That live sae bien an' snug: 
I tent less, and want less 
Their roomy fire-side; 
But hanker, and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 

It's hardly in a body's pow'r 
To keep, at times, frae being sour, 
To see how things are shar'd; 
How best o' chiels are whiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 
And ken na how to wair't; 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 
Tho' we hae little gear; 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
As lang's we're hale and fier: 
" Mair spier na, nor fear na,"1
Auld age ne'er mind a feg; 
The last o't, the warst o't 
Is only but to beg. 

To lie in kilns and barns at e'en, 
When banes are craz'd, and bluid is thin, 
Is doubtless, great distress! 
Yet then content could make us blest; 
Ev'n then, sometimes, we'd snatch a taste 
Of truest happiness. 
The honest heart that's free frae a' 
Intended fraud or guile, 
However Fortune kick the ba', 
Has aye some cause to smile; 
An' mind still, you'll find still, 
A comfort this nae sma'; 
Nae mair then we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 
 
What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out, we know not where, 
But either house or hal', 
Yet nature's charms, the hills and woods, 
The sweeping vales, and foaming floods, 
Are free alike to all. 
In days when daisies deck the ground, 
And blackbirds whistle clear, 
With honest joy our hearts will bound, 
To see the coming year: 
On braes when we please, then, 
We'll sit an' sowth a tune; 
Syne rhyme till't we'll time till't, 
An' sing't when we hae done. 

It's no in titles nor in rank; 
It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 
To purchase peace and rest: 
It's no in makin' muckle, mair; 
It's no in books, it's no in lear, 
To make us truly blest: 
If happiness hae not her seat 
An' centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 
But never can be blest; 
Nae treasures, nor pleasures 
Could make us happy lang; 
The heart aye's the part aye 
That makes us right or wrang. 

Think ye, that sic as you and I, 
Wha drudge an' drive thro' wet and dry, 
Wi' never-ceasing toil; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcely tent us in their way, 
As hardly worth their while? 
Alas! how aft in haughty mood, 
God's creatures they oppress! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid, 
They riot in excess! 
Baith careless and fearless 
Of either heaven or hell; 
Esteeming and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale! 
 
Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, 
Nor make our scanty pleasures less, 
By pining at our state: 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some -- 
An's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth; 
They let us ken oursel'; 
They make us see the naked truth, 
The real guid and ill: 
Tho' losses an' crosses 
Be lessons right severe, 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where. 

But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! 
(To say aught less wad wrang the cartes, 
And flatt'ry I detest) 
This life has joys for you and I; 
An' joys that riches ne'er could buy, 
An' joys the very best. 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart, 
The lover an' the frien'; 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean! 
It warms me, it charms me, 
To mention but her name: 
It heats me, it beets me, 
An' sets me a' on flame! 

O all ye Pow'rs who rule above! 
O Thou whose very self art love! 
Thou know'st my words sincere! 
The life-blood streaming thro' my heart, 
Or my more dear immortal part, 
Is not more fondly dear! 
When heart-corroding care and grief 
Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief, 
And solace to my breast. 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 
O hear my fervent pray'r; 
Still take her, and make her 
Thy most peculiar care! 
All hail! ye tender feelings dear! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 
The sympathetic glow! 
Long since, this world's thorny ways 
Had number'd out my weary days, 
Had it not been for you! 
Fate still has blest me with a friend, 
In ev'ry care and ill; 
And oft a more endearing band -- 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens 
The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with 
My Davie, or my Jean! 

O, how that name inspires my style! 
The words come skelpin, rank an' file, 
Amaist before I ken! 
The ready measure rins as fine, 
As Phoebus an' the famous Nine 
Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 
Till ance he's fairly het; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, an' jimp, 
And rin an unco fit: 
But least then the beast then 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
I'll light now, and dight now 
His sweaty, wizen'd hide.

Glossary ingle : fireplace ben : inside chiels : lads Coofs : fools, louts fier : sound, healthy brae ; hillside Lear : learning skelpan : running spavet : lame dight : wipe, rub down

Je ne suis pas Charlie

  I utterly condemn and abhor all terrorist action. I grieve for all those who have died so tragically and unjustly at the hands of terrorists.

I have no truck with the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant/Islamic State of Iraq and al-sham. 

I sympathise with the principle of freedom of speech. I am convinced of the need for religious tolerance. I think the voice of the poor should be as powerful as that of the rich. I support the exercise of human rights. Yet I find these simple notions are more complex than my naivety had hoped for. They are interpreted subjectively according to the needs of those who are currently espousing them.  

What freedom of speech is there, for example, for those ordinary people in places like Iraq, Afghanistan, Palestine and Libya where western arms, western armed forces and their allies are used to bring death in order to meet what western governments believe is in the west's economic interests? I don’t suppose many of these people were asked whether they wanted western arms and armed forces to destroy their communities. Who is the extremist here ?  Freedom of speech and human rights disappear in these circumstances. It’s a good job that most of the Arab states don’t have the power to decide to take military action against our home territory in order to take control of our resources. 

Should we publicly criticise other people’s actions or beliefs unless we are not prepared to first express our views privately to them ?  Most evidence suggests human beings are more cooperative at a personal level than when they are ridiculing each other publicly with anger or sarcasm. Our visceral instincts do not always serve us well.  

Our political leaders tell us that we are citizens of a civilised democratic state but when we discover that those who carried out outrageous terrorist atrocities in London and in Paris were respectively born in the United Kingdom and in France and were citizens of these countries  perhaps it’s time to look at the nature of our "civilisation and democracy."

Billboard, Spring Gardens, Edinburgh, January 2nd, in the year of poverty, 2015

Billboard, Spring Gardens, January 2nd, 2015

This is a year when they'll tell us things are cheap
But prices these days put us zero hour workers down to sleep.
What happened to the rights those Tolpuddle Martyrs won ?
Its like the freezing of our sun.
Tell me, how can the profiteers face themselves and grin ?





(With acknowledgements to Blind Alfred Green who on December 4th, 1929 composed and performed the song "How can a poor man stand such times and live?" in New York. This verse is adapted from the song).

Where your dinner is your lunch and your tea is your dinner

     I've lived in England for the larger part of my life but in my own way I've tried to make life a little bit like Scotland wherever I've lived. One way I've tried to achieve this is subtly and indirectly to persuade those close to me that eating lunch is having my dinner and sitting down to dinner is actually having my tea. I have emphatically failed in this campaign and neither wife nor kids would ever have it. I suspect that even my grandsons, one supports Hibs and the other Raith Rovers, are so influenced by Anglicised culture  - which to a point is fair enough since their father is English and quite a big guy  - yes even with them I’d be flogging a dead horse with this. 

NOT TEA! but a cup of tea at a hotel on the Isle of Arran

     Fretting over this, and hoping for an answer which would give me solace, I emailed a friend who lives in Edinburgh, and was a YES voter in the 2014 referendum to boot. I asked him directly.

  "Are the Scots still calling dinner,  dinner and tea, tea ?"

He replied, and I quote him, "I actually still use tea, but, kicking and screaming I tend to have been pressured into having lunch instead of dinner."

TEA ! poshly known as high tea was served in the upstairs dining room of the long gone Heath Fish & Chip Shop, Montrose. This is not dinner!

     Well, I know friends and colleagues down here in Devon are flummoxed when a half hour after midday I say  “I’m away for my dinner,”  and my fellow quaffers at the Bull Inn in Totnes take on a collective questioning frown when at 6.30 pm I say, "I’m away to eat my tea.”  Up to a point I can understand this. We are in England after all. But in Scotland ? Och!  come on! "Pull yersels thegither !"

TONIGHT'S TEA - not so posh but OK

Or am I the only person in the world whose mind lives in 1950s Scotland?