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When Poets Attack…

The AQA exam board has withdrawn a poem from its anthology for GCSE English, after receiving a grand total of three complaints that it encouraged knife crime. The poem, Education for Leisure, by renowned poet Carol Ann Duffy is written from the POV of a disturbed, alienated teenager. It starts with the line: “Today I am going to kill something. Anything.”; the (unnamed, ungendered) individual then squashes a fly and flushes a goldfish down the toilet. It ends with the teenager going out of the house carrying a breadknife. (Yes, you read that right – a breadknife. Which all the teenage gangstas are armed with nowadays, obviously.)
The most vocal of the complainants was Pat Schofield, an external examiner at Lutterworth College, Leicestershire. She described the poem as “absolutely horrendous” and welcomed its banning.
The poet in question could have chosen any number of ways to hit back against this censorship of her work; what nobody, least of all the complaining Mrs S – would have expected was that Duffy would retaliate with a poem with her name in the title. Here it is:

Mrs Schofield’s GCSE
You must prepare your bosom for his knife,
said Portia to Antonio in which
of Shakespeare’s Comedies? Who killed his wife,
insane with jealousy? And which Scots witch
knew Something wicked this way comes? Who said
Is this a dagger which I see? Which Tragedy?
Whose blade was drawn which led to Tybalt’s death?
To whom did dying Caesar say Et tu? And why?
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark – do you
know what this means? Explain how poetry
pursues the human like the smitten moon
above the weeping, laughing earth; how we
make prayers of it. Nothing will come of nothing:
speak again. Said by which King? You may begin.

According to the Guardian:

Mrs Schofield said she felt “a bit gobsmacked” to have a verse named after her. She described the poem as “a bit weird. But having read her other poems I found they were all a little bit weird. But that’s me”.

Mrs Schofield is (allegedly) an English teacher. And the “horrendous” poem is being replaced in the anthology by another Carol Ann Duffy work, entitled Stealing. This one is a wholesome, morally healthy piece in which a ghost lists all the objects it pickpocketed, shoplifted and thieved while it was alive and contains the line “Better off dead than giving in, not taking what you want..”. But there’s not a mention of any knives, so that’s all right.

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Rants, Stupid Things I Have Seen

Book Review

The Coroner’s Lunch by Colin Cotterill
The time is 1976, the place is Laos. The Royal Family has been overthrown by the Communist Pathet Lao; many of the country’s intellectuals and ruling class have emigrated, and the country is reshaping itself while struggling out of chaos.
Caught up in this is Dr Siri Paiboun, a 75-year old general medical doctor. Expecting to retire after many years of loyal service to the communist cause, he is instead appointed as the country’s State Coroner. He has no pathology experience and his academic medical training is decades behind him – but there is nobody else remotely qualified for the job.
So he starts his new job, optimistically expecting no more than the odd unexplained death. However, his first case turns out to be a poisoning that somebody seems very anxious to cover up; then he is bought two bodies, apparently tortured to death. More deaths ensue and Dr Siri realises that he is uncovering something nasty….
This is promised to be the first of a series – I shall be looking out for the next book. Most of the way through, I thoroughly enjoyed it – the country and the era are beautifully evoked, without it turning into a Rough Guide; you get a real sense of what it was like to live there and the history lessons are given out in small doses. Dr Siri is a delightful character and the supporting cast are well fleshed out. The opening chapter is terrific – a real attention-grabber that begs to be filmed, and there are enough twists in the plot to keep you turning the pages all the way through.
Crime fiction fans should be warned that there is a supernatural element here, with reincarnation, ghosts, shamans, demons and visions putting in appearances; I found this perfectly acceptable, but some crime fans may not.
What stops me from giving this 10/10 is the ending – it reads like Cotterill suddenly ran out of time and had to wrap up 50+pages of a very complicated plot in about 10 pages. The penultimate chapter is sadly reminiscent of the endings of those Agatha Christie potboilers, where she has The Great Detective explain how the crime was done and unmask the killer; the only difference here is that the chapter is written from the POV of the main villain. The last chapter appears to set the scene for the next book – a device I’m never happy with. IMO, a story , even one of a series, should be self-contained and I much prefer the custom of simply reprinting the first chapter in the next of the series at the end of a book.
But, overall, I give it 8/10.

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Reviews

Disappointment…

Yesterday was a frustrating day.
B had to go to Dumfries in the afternoon to get his cataracts assessed; we had shopping to do, the appointment was at three, and he had to bet back to a driving job in the early evening. So, with time being tight, we set off early. B wanted to get a haircut first; the barbers shut at lunchtime, but he couldn’t remember exactly what the hours were. So we aimed to get there before twelve.
We got there at 11.30. And found the barbers shut for the day. O well, we said, we can fill in some time with shopping at the supermarket before we get to the hospital.
Got to the supermarket. Went to the cash machines to draw out cash. Our cards got refused – both of them, at both machines.
O well, we said, we’ve got some cash with us – enough to get some shopping with; we can sort out the cards later, maybe try another machine.
So. We got to the hospital 45 minutes early. There was a cash machine in the entrance, I tried it, out flowed our money. But, of course, no time to go back for more shopping.
We waited 45 minutes; we waited an hour; we waited an hour and a quarter. Fortunately, we had bought along books and a newspaper. Finally, B got called. Came back two minutes later.
The nurse had explained that he needed to have iris-enlarging drops put in his eyes first, that would make him near-blind for an hour, perhaps more (ah! atropine drops, how well I remember them from my own childhood eye examinations!) She had agreed with him that once the drops were in, it might not be wise to attempt to drive any more at all that day. So, everything was called off and he has to await a new appointment, on a day when he doesn’t have to drive.

So. Home we traipsed, after finishing off the interrupted shopping. B went off straight away to his driving job. I got my supper, washed up the dishes, relaxed. What could I do for the rest of the evening, I wondered? Ah yes – a friend had rung for a chat while we were out on Friday afternoon, and I forgotten to ring him back. Now would be the perfect time for a good long uninterrupted natter.
So I rang his number. No answer; this time, he was the one who was out. I tried again. And again. After the fourth or fifth fruitless try, I gave up – he doesn’t have an answering machine, so I couldn’t even natter to that.

So that was that day. Hopefully, this day will be somewhat better.

in:

General

To Manchester, Merrily, We Go…

For the last few weeks our Citroen has been playing up – when cornering and going over humps, the back ends ‘flips’ a little out of line. I can’t feel this, but it was making B very nervous.
After doing some internet research and poring over the Haynes manual, B decided that it needed specialist repairs from a small firm in Manchester. So, yesterday, orft we went.
Some snapshots from the journey: a group of pied and skewbald ponies in a field, impossible to count because their markings made them so hard to distinguish when they stood together; a line of cows drifting across a ridge; the packed motorway traffic all the way south of Carlisle, so much of it that I started feeling claustrophobic; the motorway service sandwiches that tasted like cardboard spread with cheap margarine and filled with pepper-flavoured sawdust; the horror (I’m not kidding) that I felt when seeing the Trafford Center – hundreds of acres packed with desperately consuming shoppers; in a Manchester street, two teenage boys riding a too-small bike together and hooting with laughter as they wobbled over speed humps…..
Once in Manchester, B did something very unusual – he got lost. Normally, that duty falls to me – I have no sense of direction and the only way I can tell left from right is by silently reciting “Right hand, writing hand” to myself; if you ever want to see the spectacle of a middle-aged woman screwing up her face in concentration and waving her arms madly while she struggles to translate the 3D map in her head into intelligible words along the lines of “go straight on, turn right at the pub, take the third left….”, just ask me for directions to anywhere.
But, we finally found the place; the repairs were done speedily and efficiently. Driving away, B looked a lot happier, commenting that the car’s handling was certainly better and the suspension was softer. “Worth every penny!”
Then we came to the first major bend, and the backend slipped again. Oh dear. “Have to get the local garage to look at it, then” was all he said. And we headed for home.
We seemed to get lucky with the motorway traffic. Coming south, the northbound lanes had been packed and at a standstill in some places. When we headed back north, however, we barely slowed down. And once we passed Carlisle and got onto the A75, the roads were virtually empty.
As we sped along, the sun glowed through translucent clouds and glimmered off the wet tarmac; the hills opened before us and a buzzard hovered overhead. “We’re home” said B “I’m happy again”.

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General

Proof That Prices Are Rising….

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We went shopping this afternoon – not our usual big once-a-week shop, but (for long and boring reasons) our second mini-shop of the week.
Now, when we’re going around the supermarket filling up the trolley, I know pretty well how much we’re spending. I don’t know the exact price of every item, but I can estimate it and keep a running total. When we reach the checkout, my estimate invariably comes to less than +/- two quid of the total.
Well, that’s how it used to be. This afternoon, we went around the Co-op with me doing my usual running price estimation. At the checkout, I was shocked to find that I was charged more than a fiver over my estimate. It could have been quite embarrassing, as I was left with only about 50p in my purse. Naturally, I checked the receipt, but all was as it should be – it was just that stuff was costing more.
With our weekly shopping bill going up by a tenner, and fuel costing so much more as well (we’re 15 miles from the supermarket, so we have to use the car), things are going to get rather tight for us.
Oh bum….. We’ll just have to try to earn more money….

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General

The Drugs Do Work (part deux)…..

I’ve not been posting much lately. And I think it may be because of the Verapamil. It’s still doing it’s proper job of keeping my heartrate from going doolally, but ever since I started on it, I’ve been feeling a peculiar lack of motivation. Everything is “I’ll do it when I’ve had a cuppa / had lunch / finished this Killer Sudoku puzzle / watched the news / read this fascinating blog / checked this forum” etc. It applies to pretty much everything – housework, art, writing (I’ve spent six days writing a letter to a friend and it’s still not finished), work.
I’ve noticed this lack of motivation with all the other betablockers I tried, though it was much more marked – I would often find myself fuzting out in front of daytime TV, forex.
OK, I’m naturally lazy, but usually I can jump up off my arse to get stuff done. Especially creative and interesting stuff, like painting and writing. I don’t think I’m excusing my laziness – I’ve been noticing I’m more motivated first thing, before I take my day’s pill allocation. Yesterday morning,, for instance I cleaned the whole bathroom before I came downstairs for breakfast (I was having a shower and noticed the room was looking a bit mucky, so got out of the shower and got out the cleaning stuff).
However, if its a choice between being incapacitated by regular tachycardia attacks and feeling demotivated, I’m going to settle for kicking my own arse a bit more vigorously.

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General

At Last, Some Honest Advertising…..

At first glance, Fairdeal Homeopathy looks pretty much like any other site selling homeopathic remedies – “Natural products to help you feel better about yourself” proclaims the front page, over a picture of flowers, leaves and a pill bottle. But just read the blurb inside:

FairDeal Homeopathy is a company set up to provide you with effective* homeopathic remedies at a fair price. Unlike many homeopathic companies and practitioners, we won’t lie to you either…..
…..Homeopathy works through a complicated interaction with the human body and mind known as the “placebo effect”. The placebo effect is still not fully understood, but is very effective for certain conditions…..
…..FairDeal Homeopathy can be used to treat any self-limiting condition. Examples include non-specific aches and pains, mild headache, unlikely allergies and intolerances, implausible phobias, vague nausea, surprising bruises, UDIs and most other conditions for which your GP may find difficult to give you an instant cure.

And so on; they even specifically tell you to go to your doctor if you’re really ill.
And if you still want a homeopathic cure after reading that, they will sell you one:

FairDeal Homeopathy will supply you with a carefully prepared homeopathic preparation. Carefully selected ingredients are diluted and shaken (homeopaths call this shaking process “succussion”) beyond the level where there is any active ingredient left in the solution. This “remedy” is then dripped onto sugar pills which are mailed out to you immediately. We’ll also send you some information on homeopathy in general.

Now, what could be fairer than that?

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General

Behold – I Write!

Well, now and then….
Toniight I came across an old floppy disc containing all my articles that have been published. I had kept some of them on various websites (notably the Oakleaf Circle site), but lost them as I moved and revamped sites.
So I was quite pleased to find them again. Anyhoo, they are now back on the web, collected in one place. One of these days, I’ll put them onto this site, but the site needs reorganising (again!) and redesigning for that to happen. So for now, they’re up on a newoomh, a Google free site.
Go over and have a dekko….

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General

Stupid Things I Have Seen Part 947….

All this week, BBC TV News has been congratulating itself on exposing an illegal immigration ring bringing in Pakistani workers, supplying them with fake documents and putting them to work as cheaply-paid undocumented labour. Good investigative journalism, and the highlight was a secretly filmed interview with a gang member boasting of how it was no problem to get hold of any kind of high-quality fake ID, including passports and driving licenses; he even had a stash of them right there, and very convincing they looked too.
So, what did a government spokesman have to say when presented with this?

Border and Immigration Minister Liam Byrne said: “This is fresh evidence for why ID cards are needed so urgently and why it is so misguided to propose shutting our new system down.”

Um, so he didn’t actually watch the bit about how easy it was to get hold of fake ID….?

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Rants, Stupid Things I Have Seen