Over the last few decades there has been a terrible concentration of wealth. The rich have got richer, and the rest have pretty much stayed where they are (down at heel). In an open democratic society I find that quite bewildering...in a country where a sense of fair play still underpins our way of life, it staggers me that fairness and fair play now seems only to apply to anyone other than me, me, me. We were reading the Sunday Times yesterday, and what is very apparent is that there are half a dozen journalists that completely dominate the pages - AA Gill, Giles Coren, Jeremy Clarkson and the others. They seem to be given carte blanche to write about anything and everything. What that means is that other equally (in fact probably more) talented writers are excluded. The concentration in writers is one facet of the concentration of wealth. This is an example of how the culture of celebrity is destroying our green and pleasant land...with a small elite dominating culturally, economically, socially and politically. No wonder I finished the weekend so depressed.
Friday night started the weekend on a high note...we went to see Man and Superman with friends. This play contains 57,000 words (evidently - I didn't count them) and lasts for three and a half hours. That's normally a recipe for fidgety bum syndrome, but thanks to a truly towering performance by Ralph Fiennes, we were transfixed. I've always enjoyed his performances...although I wasn't convinced by The English Patient...and particularly liked Coriolanus last year (the year before?), but this was in a different league. The pace was perfect, and he was so relaxed and so true to the part, that it never once felt like an acted performance. I was so enthused, I wanted to give a standing ovation...but it's not done at The National, where middle-aged, middle-class white English people would regard that as quite vulgar.
And a round of applause too for the NHS. A couple of weeks ago I had to have the sort of check up that only middle-aged men get. I really wasn't looking forward to being starved for nigh-on two days, but surprisingly it wasn't quite the hardship that I expected. As for the mixture they gave me to clear out my system...it tasted horrible, but certainly did the job. Throughout the night and following day. But what truly impressed was the hospital. Whipps Cross is so not fit for purpose as the modern saying goes these days with buildings spread higldy-piggledy across a large site that has grown and grown in a seemingly random fashion since early Victorian times. Ironically, it's just been placed in 'special measure' for its culture of bullying and harassment, and lack of patient care. But the department I went into was well staffed by incredibly sympathetic and supportive nurses who were also incredibly efficient. Nigel Farrage may be disappointed to know that they came from all corners of the globe, but they should be highly praised for their efforts. Anyway, I arrived, was sedated and then wheeled into the modern, clean 'operating theatre' where I was conscious enough to watch the large screen TV displaying various parts of my innards. Lucky me. And lucky me as all was well and I've been given a clean bill of health...
Pleased also to report that I've already cycled over 1000km this year, so getting well trained for my ride to Paris in a couple of months...
