Drama on and off the stage

Last Saturday we went on our annual visit to Stratford on Avon with our good friends, Andrew and Ruth. This year we saw Romeo and Juliet. I went with a certain amount of trepidation lest I wept uncontrollably and antisocially at the tragic dénouement. In the event I needn’t have worried. I was in more danger at Mercutio’s death (played brilliantly and controversially by Charlotte Josephine). “Ask for me tomorrow, and you shall find me a grave man.

Charlotte Josephine, Raphael Sowole (Tybalt), Bally Gill (Romeo), Josh Finan (Benvolio)

I am peppered I warrant for this world. A plague on both your houses!” 

The two houses are of course the feuding Capulets and Montagues, whose constant street brawls disturb the streets and squares of Verona. If only they’d thought of playing football! Falling in love with a Colombian or a Swede would have been so less problematic. The rival parties could have fought it out in the Federation of International Falling Acts World Cup – and no one would have got hurt, far less killed.

Which brings me to last night’s game. I have no doubt that we are all rejoicing that England are actually through to the World Cup quarter finals, and even more that they have overcome our penalty shoot-out bogeyman, not least for the remarkable Gareth Southgate’s sake. There’s an excellent article in today’s Rochdale Herald celebrationg the achievement which is well worth the read: Miracle declared in Moscow.

BUT what has happened to “the beautiful game”? I’m renaming FIFA the Federation of International Falling Acts, because it seems that the players now spend almost as much time on the turf as on their feet. Not everyone is as high-profile or as suspect as Brazil’s Neymar (watch him here), but

everyone seems to do it, as a way of alerting the referee when the player feels miffed, aggrieved or fouled, or has merely lost the ball. Diving, falling, play-acting, holding your head because it’s been bumped or your ankle because it’s been kicked, or throwing one’s hands up to claim a throw or a corner and other theatrics are common place. And in case you think, I’m pointing the finger at Colombia in particular, I’m not. 

It’s a virus that has infected the whole game and England are by no means immune. Grow up and get on with the skilful game of which you’re undoubtedly capable and which we all enjoy watching. Or in the words of Henry Newbolt's  unfashionable poem, “Play up, play up, and play the game.” And by "play up" Newbolt didn't mean "behave like a child".

Pluses and minuses both sides of the Atlantic

What a strange weekend! I suppose my highlight was Valteri Bottas coming third for Williams in the Canadian Grand Prix - the first podium position for our local Formula One team this season. I know the circuit particularly suits Williams' cars, but he was beaten only by a Mercedes (Hamilton) and a Ferrari (Vettel), and at least one of those uses the flexible wing of dubious legality.

And then on the plus side also, my mother-in-law who's staying with us enjoyed watching her near contemporary's birthday celebrations on television. That was a jolly occasion, I must say, especially when the sun came out for the party in the Mall. The extravagant trappings of our monarchy excite me towards republicanism, as does the structure of establishment that adheres itself to it. However I have great admiration for the lady herself; and I wonder whether her successors can measure up to her. And I do see the potential snags of an elected presidency - not least in the light of the two apparent contenders in the US. Personally I reckon that we could settle up our national debt by selling off much of the monarchical surplus stuff (houses, jewellery etc) and happily have something more like a Low Countries or Scandinavian monarchy. That might limit the propensity of politicians to exploit royalty and the British sentimental love of pomp, pageantry and pretty things... Just saying!

But seriously,...

Outweighing all that, on the dark side, were the events at Orlando and Marseille.

I first discovered the events at the Pulse nightclub in Florida on Facebook. Omar Mateen, American-born 29-year old, shot 49 people dead and wounded 53 in the deadliest mass shooting in the US in the gay club, where people were enjoying a Latin music evening in what they imagined to a "safe" place. President Obama "said on Sunday the Orlando gunman's motivation was still unclear. 'We know enough to say this was an act of terror, an act of hate,' he told reporters." It sounds to me that it was first a plain act of homophobia, then dressed up or "justified" in the name of radical Islam - not that there can ever be a justification for such barbaric butchery. 

Meanwhile we were hearing commentary about the violence between English and Russian fans at the end of the draw in England's first match in EUFA 2016 in Marseille. Strangely in my view blame on the BBC seems to have been pinned on the EUFA authorities (scheduling the match late in the day), on the availability of drink near the ground, on the French (heavy-handed policing) and on the Russians (specially trained thugs) - but not on English football "fans" lacking in self-control. I do notice a tendency, which I suspect stems from the government, to paint Russia as the villain in every possible scenario: the villains in Ukraine (Who provoked the resistance to the elected government?), in Syria (Who encouraged the uprising against President Assad despite warnings?), in sport (Were they alone in hiding drug-taking in their sportsmen?). It is of course convenient to create a bogey-man of another state. It allows politicians to damn any project they dislike as being favoured by President Putin. Maybe it's not surprising then that English football supporters consider it open season to beat up the pesky Russians.

Vladimir Putin Photo BBC

The latest example of this has been the oft-repeated assertion of the Remain campaign (Philip Hammond, Michael Fallon, Jack Straw and even the hand-shaking David Cameron) that Russia and particularly President Putin himself are in favour of Brexit. The odd thing is that the Kremlin has been assiduously (and infuriatingly) silent on our EU referendum. This morning I heard a Russian spokeswoman quoted in exasperation saying "the West tries to blame us for everything".

Mary Dejevsky Photo Newsweek

To find out the truth I sought out an article by the most reliable commentator on Russia I know, Mary Dejevsky, and found a careful short article in the Financial Times of 2nd June headed, "Vladimir Putin is not ready to toast Brexit". Interesting, I thought. She argues that Russia is in fact most concerned to have stability on its borders, and anything that might contribute to the EU's break-up would be anathema to Mr Putin, whose priority is the nation's security. This is its last paragraph, "The Kremlin has given no hint of any preference. If you chance upon a Russian diplomat in a quiet corner you might find, if not outright hostility to Brexit, then profound misgivings. Which is why, although the western consensus is that Mr Putin is preparing to toast an Out win, do not be so sure. The champagne may indeed be on ice. Whether it is in anticipation of a UK vote to leave the EU is another matter."

I on the other hand am now prepared to declare my voting intentions for 23rd June! I have moved, reluctantly, like Dr Sarah Wollaston, a Tory MP I greatly admire, from Brexit to Remain. I admit to being surprised to find myself on the same side as David Cameron and George Osborne, a power nexus I fundamentally dislike, and very sad not to be on the same side as the straight-talking Michael Gove, Dennis (the Beast of Bolsover) Skinner and Jacob (the Pinstriped Policeman) Rees-Mogg. It came to pass last week. 

I decided to consult my family. It struck me that the decision we're about to make will affect them and their generation much more profoundly and for longer than me and mine. So I contacted them all - seven of them - and asked them if they would mind telling me what they thought about it. Unanimously and without collusion they came back with the same answer in different forms and for different reasons. The reasons were good ones, a mixture of head and heart. To mention but four: collaboration is preferable to competition; the EU institutions mitigate the worst excesses of concentrated power, like that UK and other governments can wield; major problems, such as climate change and economic inequality, can best/only be solved by cooperation; the leave campaign is fuelled by an ugly "anti-immigration, scary foreigners" brand of thinking. Well, it's their future, and I'm not inclined to stand in their way. As I've said before, I don't give much weight to the silly sloganising and soothsaying ping-pong of the politicians and the experts they drag in to support their sides. But I do respect my children's and their partners' views, which are far from silly. So unexpectedly I shall vote to remain in the EU, with the expectation and devout hope that the United Kingdom will at last again actively engage in reforming and reshaping it for the better - which I believe it desperately needs.

Not, of course, that I expect this to make an ounce of difference to my readers! 

PS And now that The Sun, that paragon of moderation and reason, has muscled in on the side of Brexit, I feel confirmed in my decision.

Everyone a winner

It's been quite a good couple of weekends for teams which our family variously support. Outstanding for me was the victory of our local Formula 1 team, Williams F1, who are based in Grove, at the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona. I got quite animated! Our Manchester family are City supporters. I suspect they were on tenterhooks last Sunday, when it looked as though their team was about to lose to QPR - a close shave, I think you might say. And we have a long-term faithful Chelsea fan. His comment about last night's match was: "In reality football is a pretty meaningless game but right now?! Right now, I've never loved it more." (And, all right, I admit that getting rid of their previous manager may have proved a good move. It will be interesting to see what Roman Abramovich does with his most successful "caretaker manager", Roberto di Matteo.)  


Life's not only sport of course. Sport may be pretty meaningless (though it's arguable that it's a harmless sublimation of international or internal aggression), but to be really good at it does require a lot of hard work. I was interested by an item by Matthew Syed on Radio 4, where he argued that champions are not born, but made. He has five times Commonwealth table tennis champion and is now a sports writer for The Times. He wrote a book, Bounce - How Champions are made, of which you get a taste in the YouTube clip: Matthew Syed talking. It's certainly true that artists like the young cellist Laura van der Heijden achieve their level of accomplishment by dint of a great deal of practice. Her final performance for BBC Young Musician achieved something remarkable, holding me to listen and enjoy a piece way outside my comfort zone, Walton's Cello Concerto. And I'm sure, on a much less serious level, Pudsey's performance on BGT involved a lot of hard work on Ashleigh's part. (By the way, looking at Laura's website and the age at which she clearly outstanding, I don't think Matthew Syed's thesis is 100% correct.)

from ITV

from Laura's website

Left: Laura van der Heijden who won BBC Young Musician of the Year 2012 Right: Ashleigh Butler with her mongrel Pudsey who won ITV's Britain's Got Talent 2012

from Williams F!

 Left: Pastor Maldonado who won the Spanish Grand Prix last week for our local team, Williams F1.

from Manchester City

Right: Roberto Mancini, manager of Manchester City, who won the Premier League last Sunday - by the skin of their teeth.

from BBC

from Yahoo

 Left: Helen Jenkins who emphatically won the World Triathlon Series (swim, cycle, run) in San Diego on Saturday, as did Jonny Brownlee. By the way, local girl Jessica Harrison, who now competes for France, came fourth. Right: Didier Drogba, man of the match, for Chelsea who remarkably won the European Champions League Cup last night - by the skin of their teeth. He scored the decisive penalty in the penalty shoot-out. The picture shows him comforting Bastian Schweinsteiger, who missed the last penalty for Bayern Munich. Previously he'd done the same for Arjen Robben (also in the picture), whose penalty in extra time could have won it for Bayern. 


Sometimes he is traduced for acting on the pitch. There's no doubt in my mind that he's an exceptional striker. Before watching the match I hadn't perceived much more. I had noticed that his first reaction when he's scored a goal is to cross himself. During the final, I observed him on his knees in the penalty shoot-out, but most significantly for me was the way, while the rest of his team were absorbed in their own delirium of celebration, he was aware of their opponents' bitter disappointment and took time to show it. And he really did give them time. My estimation of him as a big man rose. It seemed to me that his faith might make a difference.

Men behaving badly

Why are Englishmen so awful at personnel management? How is it possible for the FA board not to have consulted their highly-paid team coach before making a team decision as crucial as removing the captaincy from John Terry? It beggars belief.

The FA Chairman, David Bernstein

Whatever the rights and wrongs of Terry retaining the captaincy - and you can argue either way with some reason - it's plain as a pikestaff that to fail to consult Fabio Capello, his boss, beforehand, was plain insulting and bad management. It leaves me wondering how much a free hand he'd ever been allowed. It was convenient to pin the World Cup blame on to him. Since then, however, he seemed to have created a successful and promising team with prospects for Euro 2012. But the point is that if you employ a man at an annual salary of £6 million, the least you can do is afford him the respect to do his job.

Fabio Capello

It's not surprising if Capello had been hopping mad to have heard the FA's decision post facto. He must have felt he was up against the Mafia. Even more so, when he was expected to keep silent. When he spoke up, the Mafia would have shot him; the FA fired him. He was a strange creature in their world - a man of principle, a manager who expected his team to maintain standards, someone who said it as he saw it, someone who actually believed in "innocent until proved guilty". What a surprise, when a man of such eminence in the football world, said, "I'm sorry. I manage this team. That's what you pay me for. I make the operational decisions. You can advise. I decide"! And don't tell me he resigned! He was pushed - probably by being told, "Like it or lump it, Fabio. We've decided."

It's not the only example I've come across of what can only be described as crass personnel relations in organisations. Somehow managers regularly miss the blindingly obvious in how to treat their employees. Perhaps it's an aspect of their ambition that has pushed them up the ladder. You tend not to look at the fingers you're treading on, otherwise you'd never get on and up. I wonder whether it's a particularly male thing. I think of the different headteachers under whom I served. Without doubt the best two were women. Outstanding was Sister St James, a splendid upright fireball of a nun, who had brought an all-girls' convent school to be a highly successful mixed comprehensive. She was respected by staff and students alike, and yet had time for all alike as well. The other was Freda Storrar, who'd worked in industry before returning to education to take on one of the toughest upper schools in Cowley. She too had that combination of integrity and humanity. I hate to admit it, but three of the four male heads under whom I worked were not in the same class. They weren't bad, but they weren't as good. The exception was a retired head brought out of retirement to fill in a term's gap between appointments.

In other contexts, I've seen either first-hand or through friends repeated managerial crassness, usually at arm's length: in the Health Service for example nurses expected to operate new IT systems without having been given the training and with no time allowances; coordinators told to write up their own jobs with a view to being down-graded. I could go on. I looked at the Football Association's website. There's a page which proudly proclaims The Decision Makers. It's the list of the Board members, of whom there are 12. No prizes for guessing how many are women! I believe 51% of the world's population are female. Maybe there is a Women's FA. Maybe more men than women do play football. But maybe we don't need to look any further than the Board to understand why the members are such crass "decision makers". (In case you were wondering, the answer, of course, is 0.)

I don't make a habit of agreeing with our Prime Minister, but I think he might have had a point when, talking about women in board-rooms this morning in Sweden, he said, "The evidence is that there is a positive link between women in leadership and business performance, so if we fail to unlock the potential of women in the labour market, we're not only failing those individuals, we're failing our whole economy."

Vicky Beeching

Meanwhile the Church of England General Synod, this week, returned to the vexed question of creating women bishops.... Coincidentally, I imagine, singer/song-writer, blogger and academic, Vicky Beeching, posted a blog entitled God has given Christianity a masculine feel, says John Piper. He's a well respected and popular author and preacher in America. Unsurprisingly Vicky rebuts his thesis, and set me wondering what I honestly feel. There are getting on for 100 comments following Vicky's post (mine's near the end!). I have to say I am now positively in favour of women in positions of pastoral leadership in the church. I wasn't once. My one reservation, and sadness, is that it can become a further cause of disunity within both the church (C of E) and the Church (worldwide). I'm hopeful that, with humility, it's possible to disagree but not divide.

Counsel of hope

This week there have been two stories which have leaped to my attention. One, I have to confess, I first heard on the Breakfast Show on 5 Live (Well done, the BBC!). The other appeared in The Guardian and The Telegraph. What they had in common is that they are about men confounding the realists and the scaremongers.

The Bolton News

The first is the story of Gary Parkinson: Paralysed former professional footballer Gary Parkinson has been given a role scouting for his home town club — despite only being able to communicate with a system of blinks. Gary Parkinson once played for Middlesborough and was coach for Blackpool Youth Team. He had a brain-stem stroke which has left him with Locked-in Syndrome (like Tony Nicklinson whom Jane and I met in the early summer, you may remember, for BBC West's Inside Out programme). It doesn't sound as though he has the same fancy computer, but he communicates with his wife, Deborah, through blinking his eye. He once played with Tony Mowbray, Middlesborough's manager; and he's now sent the many DVDs of youngsters hoping to get a contract with the club, whom he rates by blinking: from once, no, to four times, sign him!

I was really impressed by the determination of his friends and family (and presumably himself) not to give up on him. At the end of the Bolton News article, I read:
"The 43-year-old was initially confined to his bed following a stroke in his brain stem.

But there have been improvements.

"He has been for day visits to his home, while there are hopes he will get his speech back after an operation on his vocal chords.

"Mr Mowbray, speaking in Middlesbrough’s match-day programme on Saturday, said: 'We were determined to give Gary a role, where he could feel involved. Not only that, I genuinely value his opinions about the game.'"

The second story was from Belgium and concerned Rom Houben who had been in a "coma" for 23 years. He had been a martial arts enthusiast and almost killed in a car crash in 1983. He was regularly diagnosed as being in a permanent vegetative state. "For 23 years Rom Houben was ­imprisoned in his own body. He saw his doctors and nurses as they visited him during their daily rounds; he listened to the conversations of his carers; he heard his mother deliver the news to him that his father had died. But he could do nothing. He was unable to communicate with his doctors or family. He could not move his head or weep, he could only listen" until a neurologist from the University of Liege took another look. "Using a state-of-the-art scanning system, Laureys found to his amazement that his brain was functioning almost normally." With intensive physio, he now has some movement and is able to communicate using a touch screen with one finger.

From The Guardian

"The moment it was discovered he was not in a vegetative state, said Houben, was like being born again. 'I'll never forget the day that they discovered me,' he said. 'It was my second birth'." 

One wonders if in the brave new world of euthanasia, which some organisations are pressing towards, Rom Houben would have survived to see his second birth - or whether his "quality of life" would have been written off as negligible, his care withdrawn and his death engineered. The preservation of life is a paramount principle in human and humane society. 

"Dum spiro, spero" - while I breath, I hope - the old saying goes. What a shame that so many now utter counsels of despair! "You're disabled: you'll not be much use." "You're old and going senile: you're just becoming a burden." "You have a terminal illness: you've got nothing to live for." That's all diabolical nonsense. Every life is great gift.  

A different Sunday

A very different Sunday from normal! No  church; instead we've been to the MNDA's Spring Conference in Bristol. I think I agreed with Hilary's verdict that it was the best spring conference she or we'd been to - the fourth for us. We particularly like the conferences because of the people one meets. Some of us have MND in some form; others are carers, and association visitors. There are also staff from the Association headquarters and trustees - as well as exhibitors, and of course speakers (of whom the main one was Prof Kevin Talbot, who's my new consultant).

We had to get up early (for me) and drove through the showers. This year it was at the Aztec West Shires Hotel. Not as grand as The Celtic Manor at Newport last year. No Danish pastries, as Jane observed! But it was fine, well, AA 4 stars, to be exact.

The first session, "How will changes to the NHS and social services affect people with MND?", was of course highly topical and important. It was led by the MNDA's Head of Public Affairs, Farah Nazeer, and Campaigning Head, David Hanson. It's clear that the proposals as they stood (before the "Pause") posed dangers for disabled people, particularly with MND which is normally so rapid that health care packages and social service provision can't keep pace. They also pointed out that there are also opportunities. Not surprisingly they knew their stuff. My particular reaction was to be grateful that MND patients have such competent advocates.


After a filling lunch, Kevin Talbot talked particularly about the research going on in Oxford which is one of the world's centres of MND research, and particularly the search for a biomarker (a diagnostic indicator) for the disorder. He has the gift of exceptional clarity in explaining science to amateurs. I have a feeling that Theresa, who, like me, has PLS, raised a potentially fruitful point about the usefulness of MND patients' diagnostic records for research.

So a good day, meeting new people and seeing new gismos - and oh yes, there was an ITV cameraman and reporter there, so you might see my friend, Norman, with discreet product placement of My Donkeybody behind him (!), being interviewed about one effect cutbacks have already had for him, in MND Awareness Week in June, if you live in the West! When we emerged, it was warm and sunny, and so we drove home in a mellow mood - which was somewhat dented by the discovery that Red Bulls were rampant in Turkey, while both Williams were lapped, and the Premiership is virtually decided. :(

More reasons for hope

Here's a trilogy of clips which I hope you have time to watch. I've been put on to them by a number of friends. They say to me what Paul says at the end of Romans, that's there is nothing, neither homelessness, nor disease, nor old age that can separate us from the love of God. I've got to prepare a sermon for Sunday and so I'm leaving these for you to peruse while I'm busy!

Mark meets the Mustard Tree

Brian Irvine, Scottish footballer, has news

Dave Brubeck, jazz legend, reflects

I'm indebted to Paul Wenham, Marijke Hoek and Sally Hitchener for these stories. I hope you enjoy them as much as I have. Be of good cheer!
On Saturday we go to the first MND Association local meeting. It will be good to meet up with friends again, and to catch up with the latest developments.

Losers... and winners

Last week (actually the week before) England spectacularly lost the bid for the 2018 Football World Cup, despite the best efforts of a professional team backed up by the might of Prince William, David Cameron and David Beckham. For football fans it was disappointing of course, though I always thought it was a trifle greedy going for that just 6 years after we'll have hosted the Olympics. It seemed to me that the rationale of spreading the goodies around the world, as the FIFA committee decided, was fair enough. But what about Sepp Blatter's comment that we were bad losers? That hurt! Because it's true. For the rest of the week phone-ins and the media were full of the corruption and iniquity of FIFA. It just wasn't fair. After all our bid was "technically the best". We're "the home of football"... etc. To be honest, I could not get my head round the logic of why we should have so wanted to receive the award from "the moral sewer that is FIFA", as one paper subsequently described it, and been so miffed afterwards. Would we really have been proud to have picked it up from the sewer?

The habit of rubbishing others when you lose was repeated by Margo Macdonald when she lost the vote on her End of Life Bill in the Scottish Parliament. In the debate, she condemned Care Not Killing’s campaign as ‘cheap and unworthy’, its literature as ‘tacky’ and said that she wanted to get her ‘retaliation’ in first’. It certainly lobbied effectively. But her comments rather insulted the intelligence and integrity of her fellow MSPs.
For an example of losing graciously we needed to wait until Sunday when the redoubtable "Widdy", the Honourable Ann Widdecombe, was finally knocked out of "Strictly Come Dancing". No histrionics, no theatrical tears, no whinging about the judges' prejudice or the audience's adulation, simply a stoical acceptance of the inevitable, a handsome acknowledgement of her resourceful partner, Anton du Beke, and a farewell wave of the hand. 


And then England won! In the cricket... in Adelaide. It was a comprehensive victory, by an innings and 71 runs. The celebration was unbounded; over the top, in my opinion. After all we've not yet won the Ashes - well on the way, I concede, (three matches more to go) and I suppose we need some things to cheer. 

Figures and facts?

Wow, there was a lot of money talk last week, wasn't there? The winner of the eurolottery jackpot claimed their record £113 million + jackpot and wished to remain anonymous - which of course did nothing to stop the press from trying to winkle them out. They'll become only the 589th richest person in the country. That must say something about the level of personal wealth in the UK. Remember the expression "two a penny" (old money, of course!)?

And then there was the Wayne Rooney story, which ended up with him being offered a contract of something like £250,000 A WEEK to stay at Manchester United for five years. I think that's a total of £65 million (Oops! Almost put billion. £65,000,000). That's just wages - add to that sponsorship deals, Wayne - My Secret Love Story, photos, ads, interviews etc and I imagine you can more than double it. No doubt a cut from that goes to his agent, accountant, bodyguards etc, but even so it sounds a lot of money to be kicking about.

Then Mr Nicholas Clegg assured students that a cap would be put on the tuition fees. Good news - until they heard that it would be £12,000 per annum which would mean a total of £36,000 for a normal three year undergraduate course, and if, like me, you did a PGCE teacher training year, £48,000. That of course is paying for your course. Meanwhile students, being human beings, need to live somewhere and eat something and perhaps wear some clothes. A modest outlay, I'm told, would be about £6,000 p.a.. which would leave you owing £54,000 after 3 years, and £72,000 after 4 years. I heard a government minister telling us that this wasn't technically a debt, as you wouldn't have to start paying back until you earned a living wage and if you didn't finish paying it off before you retired then they'd write it off. I thought that was sheer sophistry. He failed to mention the interest that would be quietly ticking up like a taxi-meter year by year.

Two things strike me about this: one is that a few months ago said Mr Clegg was all for abolishing fees, and now here he and Mr Cable are saddling students with frightening debts. OK, I know - that's politics. The second is more fundamental. We are being told how intolerable the national debt is; that our country can't afford to service it; that the debt culture has been the root of our problems - and yet part of the answer seems to be to compel the younger generation into crippling debt at the beginning of the career. The message seems to be that the government approves of personal debt and, in fact, indirectly is using it to service the national debt.

Close to home, someone I love showed me an article by the Times' Personal Finance Editor, Andrew Ellson. I think Newscorp (which owns the paper) supports the government; and so the headline was striking: "Osborne's chainsaw slays the vulnerable". He writes, "Victims of the massacre abound, but among the carnage, a couple of groups stand out for having been particularly cruelly treated. The first is the sick and the disabled. There is little doubt that many who are fit to work languish on disability allowance. Yet the changes announced this week were not an attack on the workshy. We already know that tougher medical examinations will force people off incapacity benefit and on to jobseekers' allowance. But this week Mr Osborne chose to limit the benefits of those who pass the test and are considered genuinely too ill to work. After one year, anyone who is sick or disabled, who has more than £16,000 in savings or whose partner earns more than £150 a week, risks losing the benefit.  Some people argue that that is fair enough. They suggest that the state can no longer afford to help those who can help themselves, even if they are disabled. Perhaps. But there is an equally credible argument to say that the £2 billion saving could more reasonably have been found somewhere other than the pockets of the disabled. After all, assets of only £16,000 when you can't work are nothing.... Despite the impression given by Mr Osborne during the speech, the other vulnerable group that could suffer is poorer pensioners. Indeed the decision to discontinue the supplement to the Winter Fuel Allowance next year could cost more lives tan the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan combined" (Times 23.10.10).

It left me wondering about people whose illness or disability has forced them into early retirement before state pension age. Disability Living Allowance may be just the income-boost they depend on. Is that to be taken away if they've got modest savings, tied up maybe in their home?

It's so UNFAIR!!

Of course, after England's forlorn exit from the World Cup yesterday, the media have been full of recriminations for our 'dismal', 'pathetic' showing: Sepp Blatter, FIFA's president, who apparently is responsible for our goal that never was; Jorgé Larrionda, the ref, and his assistant, who apparently were the only people in the entire stadium not to have seen the ball cross the line; Fabio Capello, the manager, who doesn't speak good enough English; the English FA who appointed him and extended his contract days before the World Cup - and, of course, the hapless players, worn out, unpatriotic 'overpaid performing monkeys' who just didn't 'step up to the plate' when it counted.

What a fickle bunch the press - and we the public - are! When Signor Capello was appointed, he was hailed as the great manager, who came and instilled the much-needed discipline into the England squad, and achieved a 100% record in the qualifying rounds so that we were given a seeded place in the finals. Here was a man who had moulded these individual millionaire egos into a TEAM. 'Ingerlund, Ingerlund, Ingerlu-und!' We were heading for Brazil in the Final! Then after a long premiership season here, reality hit with the first lacklustre match against the USA and then the even less lustrous one v Algeria. Doubt began to infect expectation. Were we about to suffer the same fate as France and later Italy? Surely not. It was hanging in the balance until little Jermaine Defoe popped up and headed that single crucial goal against Slovenia. Not exactly glorious, but it would do.... I suspect the euphoria should have been a warning.

'Ingerlund, Ingerlund, Ingerlu-und!' To be fair, I thought England responded well to Germany's 2-0 lead. I guess most of us were thinking, 'Here we go again...'. But to give them their due, the English team came out fighting and it should have been 2-2. However, clearly, the ref didn't see Lampard's rocket cross the line before spinning out in a split second. 'Unbelievable!' the commentators fulminate! The fans boo the officials off at half-time. It's so unfair! Sadly even our PM joins in. But if the ref didn't see it he couldn't award it. C'est la vie. Che sera sera. That's life. Life IS unfair. But that doesn't mean you give up fighting for justice. What was disappointing was to see how the stuffing seemed to have been knocked out of us. I don't give anything for this 'they had no pride in the country' nonsense. It was more like, 'Perhaps it's just not our day after all.' We tried hard and played well, but the Germans played better, to be honest. And so we're out. And all the armchair pundits and would-be managers have their scalpels out. They're gunning for Fabio - of course -. If he goes, it will be at a cost. He's no fool!

Then in the middle of Radio 5's phone-in on the subject breaks the news that another bomb-disposal soldier has been killed in Afghanistan, and suddenly the perspective changes.... Football is not more important than life and death. Actually, it's entertainment - and, what's more, it's escapist entertainment. There are people out there who are laying down their lives for what they believe in. 

I've just watched disabled artist, Katharine Araniello's latest work, Follow Me On My Journey To Die, a short film she made last year, about disabled artist, Gemma's quest for publicity and fame by seeking permission from the High Court to commit suicide and the dire effect it has on others. Should you get the opportunity, do try and see it. That is serious, though not humourless, stuff. Sorry to say so, but it's even more important than football.

Christian compassion?

I confess: the football has been distracting me, although you might be forgiven for wondering how that can be. It seems that the majority of the teams have been frozen with fear of failure, to such an extent that I chose to watch the Vienna Midsummer Concert last night rather than the much-decried England/Algeria match. My feeling was that I was undoubtedly watching a higher level of skill than was on display in Cape Town. (I did flick over occasionally, and watched the end of the match.)

Life has been busy recently. We are seasonal creatures. We had a clerical week last week. Off to the globe-trotting Webbs on Wednesday in Abingdon for lunch, and heard about their recent trans-world travels; and then on Friday we were graced with a visit by the bishop of Yattendon and his dog, Borage. He is a particularly well behaved, if a little indulged - the dog that is. Tony is a very diligent and, I'm sure, well-loved vicar.

Talking of dogs, I was struck by what Dr Howard Martin is quoted as saying in today's Telegraph on line. He's the doctor who has been struck off the medical register for hastening the death of 18 of his patients. "A vet would put a dog down, but under the current system a doctor is not allowed to take positive action to help a patient in a humane way." It is noticeable how he chose his words. Why didn't he talk about doctors putting patients down? Even 'put down' is a euphemism for 'kill'. So let's rerun that sentence, Doctor: "A vet would kill a dog, but under the current system a doctor is not allowed to kill a patient." Thank goodness!

Doctor Martin, I suspect influenced by Dignity in Dying (the former Voluntary Euthanasia Society), does more than excuse himself on those grounds. He claims to be trying to contribute to a national debate  on end-of-life care, but that's little comfort for the family of at least one of the patients whose life he ended prematurely, Harry Gittins. His son spoke movingly of the day which began with his father getting the car out to go for a hospital appointment and ended with his death at home. The phrase that the media has seized on is 'Christian compassion' - which Doc Martin claims as his motive. I hope that in due course he reads I Choose Everything which devotes a chapter to the subject. Henri Nouwen said, "Let's not underestimate how hard it is to be compassionate. Compassion is hard because it requires the inner disposition to go with others to the place where they are weak, vulnerable, lonely, and broken. But that is not our spontaneous response to suffering. What we desire most is to do away with suffering by fleeing from it or by finding a quick cure for it." Compassion is not pity. It's not saying, "I can't bear the pain of watching this anymore." It's simply suffering with others, standing alongside them in their pain and walking the road with them. It's not 'putting someone down', like a pet. The whole case vividly illustrated the danger of the whole euthanasia campaign, which sees killing or assisting suicide as a 'quick cure' for terminal illness. It becomes just another acceptable treatment available to the medical profession.

Barca, burial and blitzen

What a pleasure the UEFA Champions League Final from Rome was on Wednesday night - unless of course you were Mancunian of the red variety! As a dispassionate spectator (?) I loved the skill of Barcelona against whom I thought Man U looked a blunt instrument. They didn't seem to tie them down as effectively as Chelsea had, and of course after the first early goal they seemed to lose heart. Some things impressed me though: for example there being a bann on selling takeaway alcohol around the stadium and at all metro and railway stations from Tuesday evening to Thursday morning. Can you imagine that in London?

And even more impressive was the passing mention in the commentary that Barcelona is owned by its fans and doesn't have lucrative sponsorship for the team shirts, but themselves advertise UNICEF on their shirts, and donate €millions to UNICEF.

Yesterday we buried my aunt's ashes in the 'family' grave near Salisbury. All my brothers and my cousin John were there. The sun was shining. And I enjoyed being retired and not doing the duties. Afterwards we were kindly given tea in the garden of my aunt's lovely old house by the present owners, Trevor and Hilary. I realised that we are now the senior generation of the clan. A solemn thought.

In the evening we relaxed watching 'Springwatch', and badger clan in Essex. Then I switched over to BBC1 'Tourettes, I swear I can't help it'. What a moving programme! I've mentioned Tourettes Syndrome before, the condition of violent uncontrollable tics often vocalised in swearing. The programme was very informative, and focused on a couple of 'sufferers' including John Davidson, a lovely man in his 40s. Halfway through they were talking about the problem with forming relationships, which you can understand, and he said something like, 'I’ve just found it so hard to find someone who I can trust, someone who loves me for who I am, likes me for who I am.' THAT is the point: 'loved for who I am'.

Tomorrow we go to the DLF retreat in Wales (where we went last summer), while the workmen move in to gut our kitchen. We're hoping the weather continues like now, not like Holland this week, where they had the heaviest thunderstorm for 30 years, as this great photo of Otto's shows.
Photo: Otto Veninga