Thank God for human beings

We're all familiar with that irritating voice: "Your call is important to us. Please hold while we connect you." Or, "You are number 133 in the queue." It's irritating because we know that it's not a human voice but either a recording or one produced by AI. 

And so I was pleasantly surprised by my recent dealings with Apple - of computers, iPhones, watches etc. Since my earliest contact with computers, I have used Apple Macs for the simple reason that when I was thinking it was about time I caught up with the 20th century a kind parishioner called Sheila gave me a Macintosh Lisa (second-hand). She swore by them. In fact she was employed to troubleshoot them for a huge commercial concern. She assured me that it was very intuitive to use - and she was right. I now wish I'd kept that one, of course! They're quite valuable. But being shallow prey to fashion, I kept replacing it with the latest Apples, which never let me down. 

No. This is not an advertising pitch for the manufacturer! Despite its ubiquitous product placement on films (movies as they say in another place) and television, Microsoft still seems to dominate the commercial operating system market inexplicably but perhaps fortunately since Microsoft appears to me to attract hackers. 

In the end, I came unstuck. Despite my reputation for being highly computer-literate, I am in fact a rank amateur in all matters digital. My attempts to migrate my data from my present laptop (a MacBook Air) to a brand new version proved fruitless, not totally but partially. The trouble is I'm getting older and I'm wedded to my present format. Anyway, for the first time in my life, I resorted to Apple Support. First I used the online facility. However none of the suggested topics met my need. AI couldn't help me. Then I was guided to a person, but my problem was beyond their competence and so I was escalated upwards to a phone link, with help from Jane who interprets for me. This time we made progress. 

Still, I didn't have breakthrough. One feature of Apple Support is that you're provided with a case number, and so you don't have to regurgitate all the details you've already explained lower/earlier in the chain. In the end, a young human being, a man called Alaa spent most of his afternoon working on the final and only solution as it seemed to me, which was to stick with my present machine. Having come to this conclusion, the efficiency of sorting everything out was lightning fast. No doubt that process was considerably aided by AI, but the crucial element in the whole saga were the dialogues with various human beings who were universally tolerant - and humane. May they never be phased out.

On a much more significant level than my personal computer illiteracy, I have much enjoyed the bits of the Paris Paralympics that I've watched - from the joyful entrance of the athletes at the opening ceremony to the warmth of winners and losers at the end of events, all sharing in each other's achievements - the best of humanity.

An Olympic cautionary dose

When I was at school, we all knew that the most unjust type of sanction was collective punishment – you know the sort: when the whole class is kept in detention for one person’s misdemeanour. It’s the last resort of the ineffective teacher. “I know someone’s been smoking in here, and if they don’t own up in the next minute, I shall keep the whole class back after school until I get the name.”

I remember well the first time I was on the receiving end of this sort of sanction. I have no idea what the offence was. I was still in junior school and I remember the class being lined up at the top of the basement stairs, prior to being marched down to have the cane administered by the ex-army-captain headmaster. In fact, I’m ashamed to say, I was so scared I feigned sickness and avoided my fate and so was launched into a propensity to intelligent deceit. I did later get my fair share of rapped knuckles from Fido, the length of quadrant wielded by my moustachioed Maths teacher.

Graphic showing estimated civilian casualties in WW2, Memorial Civiles

When we were away on holiday in France this summer, we visited the moving Memorial des Civils museum in Falaise which records the civilian cost of World War 2. There was an exhibit there which listed something like 20 men from a village, taken to concentration camp, after German military trains had twice been blown up nearby by the resistance. One man came back. A pattern repeated thousands of time in war, no doubt. The museum reminded us that our Soviet allies lost 36 million civilians in the defeat of Nazism, far more than the rest of Europe put together. Which is, by the way, one reason why I consider our officially sponsored populist anti-Russian narrative so misconceived.

You may surmise from this that I rate collective punishment as a very low form of life. And I was sorry when the Olympic authorities, almost, and the Paralympic totally imposed a blanket ban on athletes from the Russian federation. It seemed to me a denial of natural justice. Whatever the rights and wrong of the McLaren report on state sponsored doping in Russia, it’s clear that some innocent athletes were barred from competing by the bans, and I suspect guilty ones from elsewhere competed, perhaps making intelligently deceitful use of TUEs (Therapeutic Use Exemptions).

Whatever the case, it seems that the whole affair was hurriedly and clumsily mismanaged – which of course worked to GB’s advantage. True, GB did wonderfully well in both Olympics and Paralympics in Rio, and their medal haul exceeded even the London Games. But then they would have won more, wouldn’t they, with their main competitor for second, third or fourth place removed from the picture? I wouldn’t want in any way to rain on their parades. They deserve our very great admiration, but let’s keep it in perspective and hope that by 2020 Russia will be back in the mix.

Squeezing the PIPs

Well, today sees the beginning of DLAs (Disability Living Allowances) being replaced by PIPs (Personal Independence Payments), the moment that disabled people on the whole have been dreading, largely because we're entering unknown territory. To be frank, none of us believe that it is not a cost-cutting exercise. We suspect that the PIP assessors will have been told to be "rigorous" (wink, wink, know what I mean?) and even given reduction targets to aim at. That impression isn't helped by reports that George Osborne refused to face Baroness Tanni Grey-Thompson, the disabled Paralympian, on TV (News report).

(Stop press: Just heard that Margaret Thatcher has died. Her PA who used to live in Stanford was an equally redoubtable woman. She found the young vicar somewhat tiresome but tolerable.)

I have just completed a survey for the MND Association which was asking about how we'd been looked after from before diagnosis and how we'd like to be cared for until we die. It occurs to me that this is at least one disability which usually is so rapidly changing that PIP assessors could no more keep up with it than the hard-pressed health and social care services. You see my brand of MND, Primary Lateral Sclerosis, is astonishingly unusual. It's over ten years since I received my diagnosis. The average life expectancy for MND patients from diagnosis is 14 months, i.e. from the time the doctor tells you what's wrong you're on this dizzying helter-skelter of losing your abilities until you die. The great thing about Disability Living Allowance was that assessing yourself with your doctor's advice you got access to a non-means-tested benefit quite straightforwardly. It was quite early on that I couldn't walk unaided, even with a stick. So I receive the highest mobility allowance, which enables us to lease a bigger car which I can get into and out of and we can fit my disability equipment in. It has considerably enhanced my quality of life.

Now imagine someone with a more normal rapid form of the disease. She's diagnosed. The PIP assessor comes round and our patient is still mobile and able to function reasonably at home, but within weeks she's losing her mobility and having falls round the house. Will the PIP fellow drop everything and come and reassess her? What do you think? Will he take her GP's or specialist's word for it? What do you think? On the present performance of assessors such as ATOS (the American multinational IT giant subcontracted by the government to assess suitability to work), it appears that on principle they discount the opinion of those who know the patient and the condition best. (See the Parliamentary Debate). As it is, I have had friends whose motability vehicles have arrived too late, and whose last months of life have been rendered harder than they were already by the slow delivery of service. Many of us fear that with the introduction of new, improved and supposedly more "flexible" system, even more will lose the crumbs of comfort to which they might have had access. And of course MND is not the only condition that involves rapid degeneration.

One after-thought: the disabled are often painted in the media and by ministers as "on the cadge". Of course you may be able to track down one rogue in a thousand. But the 999 would far rather be fit and healthy, able to live a healthy life and be able, like the Chancellor of the Exchequer, to park in disabled bays illicitly. By contrast, I know one driver with a disabled passenger who will actually refrain from using a blue badge, if the passenger is not disembarking. Integrity is not unknown among the disabled community. And what strange official mind dismisses the professional expertise of those who know best? Well, PIPs roll out in Oxfordshire in June. Perhaps then I'll be saying, "I told you so," - or will it be, "I was wrong"? It would be nice if it were the latter.

The Paralympic legacy

There’s been lots of talk and print about the 2012 “legacy” – from the problems of picking a sports’ personality of 2012 and what would happen to the Olympic park in East London to the lessons for the economy and the implications for the Prime Minister’s position.  He bizarrely, I noticed, used the success of both Games as an argument against Scottish independence (“you showed us what we really are – one United Kingdom, one flag, one celebration…”).  However that’s not the real legacy issue.  It’s not even whether the tubes will run on time; it’s not whether there’ll be a baby-boom in nine months’ time, or whether children will keep asking their parents to organise their own Olympic Games. 

For me it’s much more profound and systemic than those things.

We applied for both Olympic and Paralympic events.  As it turned out, I am very glad I didn’t get tickets for the Olympics, but “only” for the Paralympics.  Being disabled myself I thought it would be interesting.  In fact it was intensely moving.  We went to Eton Dorney to see the rowing heats, and the following day we made it to Greenwich to watch the Equestrian event.  After that I recorded the television coverage so that I could fast forward through all those annoying and too frequent adverts interrupting well-informed analysis from a number of unfamiliar commentators.  Meantime I reflected on what might be the much touted legacy of the Games, besides medals, golden post-boxes and postage stamps, and a couple of smart sports venues. 

Since we are such a media-controlled society, let’s start there.  It was striking how much demand there was for every venue, and how blanket coverage of every event could be sustained.  Even women’s football which started slowly had gained momentum and full stadiums by the end, proving it is an exciting competitive spectacle.  And then there were a myriad of rarely seen events, from archery to weight-lifting, athletics to swimming, cycling to team sports, both able-bodied and disabled.  To pick out any would be invidious, but who could forget the thrill of BMX racing or the dodgem-like aggression of wheelchair rugby?  Or fail to be excited by stars like Sarah Storey and David Weir?  There was an astonishing variety of events and stars who captured the public imagination.  What an opportunity – for reasonably priced television programming, which of course is a two-way street, providing accessible entertainment and generating further interest in the sports.  Why need it wait for the infrequent mega-events?  And while I’m on the subject, how refreshing it was to have fresh faces on our screens unpretentiously commenting on events they understood from the inside!

There’s a danger, it seems to me, of investing in élitism at the expense of “the rest”.  Many of the medal winners would include Lottery funding in their thanks.  It clearly contributed to their success, but lest politicians congratulate themselves that this success proves how well we provide for the disabled in general they should consider what happens to the disabled who aren’t elite athletes.  They should know that the disabled community lives in fear of their fate when their Disability Living Allowance is soon replaced with the new Personal Independence Payment, and when their benefits are reassessed.  They should know that the disabled who are not out achieving remarkable things in sports arenas are not therefore lay-abouts and scroungers.  Nevertheless it is to be hoped that the high-achievers will have dispelled the myth once and for all that disability renders you less of a person, with less dignity and worthy of less respect. 

This recognition has implications for both ends of life.  Isn’t it time to reassess our attitude to foetuses who have some disability or neurological condition?  At the moment we presume that termination is the desirable option.  Now we know beyond doubt that in abortion we are ending a life of unforeseen potential.  And, at the other end, we should also know that broken bodies of any age are not merely fit for the scrapheap; they have the same spark of humanity as the most perfect specimens.  They are worth fighting for because even the least has value.

© The Guardian

 Another legacy I trust will remain from the Paralympics is the spirit of sport, by which I mean the respect and empathy towards each other shown by the competitors.  Anyone who saw it will long remember Ellie Simmonds embracing her victorious American “rival”, Victoria Arlen, across the lane ropes after she’d come second in the 100m freestyle.  Conversely one couldn’t fail to be moved by Jochen Wollmert’s immediate comforting of the defeated and distraught Will Bayley after their table tennis final, in remarkable spontaneous sympathy.  Spontaneity and honesty was also a mark of the athletes’ interviews, whether “gutted” with disappointment or elated by achievement.  We could do with more of that – not only in sports but also in other areas of public life:  less ear-tickling, more heart-felt saying it as it is.  Less political calculation, more paralympian honesty.  The Paralympics could leave us a better society.  Will we accept their legacy, or leave it unclaimed?

Days at the Paralympics

The starting line

One of my family has observed my recent blogging black-out. One of my excuses was tiredness following last Friday and Saturday when we went to two of the Paralympic venues. So I thought a quick photo journal would be a jolly way to update this. Reflections might follow given inspiration. I have to say the opening ceremony of the Paralympics was a real disappointment after the class act of the Olympic equivalent, but the actual paralympic competitions I thought were more impressive than the able-bodied ones, and certainly more moving.

Anyway, our first visit was to Eton Dorney where the rowing events took place. It was a bright cool day.

The young toffs' boathouse

Two spectators in Grandstand 

We'd prebooked parking, which meant we were ushered to very near the entrance and security checks. We didn't actually have to take our shoes off, as in Twenty Twelve, but Jane and Rachel went through the electronic screening and I was frisked by a polite young soldier. All the time we we surrounded by hordes of volunteers offering advice and hoping we'd enjoy ourselves - which we did.

A minibus whisked us halfway down the course, where we paid our first visit to the abundant and super-duper loos. I don't where the 10,000 of them are going after the Games, but the disabled ones certainly should not be scrapped. They were something else!

Nick Beighton and Sam Scowen

The coxed fours

We ensconced ourselves in Grandstand 2, opposite the big screen, and where you could see both the start and the finish, though it's hard to judge who's in the lead because of the angle across the lake. We saw three sets of heats, in all of which Brits did well, the mixed double sculls, the men's single sculls and the coxed mixed fours - in which unusually the cox lies at the front of the boat. The GB 'four' (5 including Lily the cox) 

went on to win the gold in the final. Sadly for Tom Aggar, and Sam Scowen and Nick Beighton, they came fourth in their finals - which is a hard place to end up, especially when the media raise people's expectations about you. Tom Aggar, the favourite in the Arms and Shoulders Only sculls, just said he was gutted. (I must say it struck me there was a refreshing blunt honesty about the Paralympians in the post-event interviews.)

The gold-medal four

The one downer about the arrangements was the volume of loudspeakers bang in front of our seats, which fell quiet only at points in the races - otherwise they had excessively loud music or some cheerful charlie keeping up an entertaining (I suppose) chatter. As you can see, there were thousands in the crowd, merrily marshalled by helpers in the purple and orange uniforms (you can see one girl perched on her umpire's chair behind the departing mob). On the way out we were regaled by a band of the Marines, and a chap up another umpire's chair shouting, "God bless you!" As we drove home, we felt He had done so.

  

Lee Pearson on Gentleman

Jo Formosa on Worldwide PB

On the Saturday after a more leisurely start we set off for South East London. Had we relied on Sean the satnav we might have made it with more time to spare. However I knew better. Thus it was that we reached the south end of the equestrian arena in the nick of time to see the 1b Dressage tests begin - at the old naval college in Greenwich. I have to say I found watching those very disabled riders from all over the world controlling tons of horse with amazing accuracy very moving. I think it was that afternoon which really engaged my attention with the Paralympics.

Mutual support on the medal rostrum

Many of the riders had been paralysed after riding accidents. Some had cerebral palsy and other neurological conditions. Lee Pearson, riding for Great Britain, has the rare arthrogryposis but humour with it. He'd already won a gold medal with the GB team; this time he won the silver to add to his hoard of medals from previous games. The winner was Jo Formosa from Australia who persuaded her horse, Worldwide PB, to produce a beautiful performance, with instructions shouted from the sidelines above the roar of passing jets.

Lee Pearson acknowledging the fans

What was most moving was the medal ceremony. The riders' skill is such that you're hardly aware of how severe their disabilities are, but once they're off their horses you see the full extent. Also obvious is their obvious mutual respect and affection. That's a characteristic of the Paralympics which really struck me much more than in the able-bodied competition - the generosity to each other after competing, whether in victory or defeat. It seemed that all the Paralympians had empathy for each others' efforts, pain, achievements or disappointments. They, more than anyone, knew what it cost. Which, by the way, was what made the disabled commentators and analysts on TV so refreshing. What a change from those tired old chauvinistic regulars! 

The final capitulation - Team GB flags
on my wheelchair!

I'm glad we weren't successful in applying for the "real" Olympics. Impressive and exciting though those were, in my view they were outshone by the Paralympics, the parallel Olympics.                                                                                Oh yes, I almost forgot to mention the weather! I'd have thought a passing word of thanks to the Almighty would be in order, as certainly LOCOG wasn't responsible for arranging that. I was sorry that although the Olympic opening ceremony had reference to God, the final closing ceremony reverted to New Age paganism with its invocations of the spirits of the seasons. Really! Why on earth London (of all places!) 2012 should have been so blessed with so much sunshine in the midst of the wettest summer on record (etc etc), I have no idea. It seems Jesus was right, "Your Father who is in heaven... makes his sun rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the just and the unjust."

Tony Nicklinson RIP

We were on holiday with our family this past week in the Brecon Beacons. We weren't far from where we used to enjoy many an Easter break with them as children, in the Black Mountains. It's a seriously beautiful part of the world. In the old days, we had great enjoyment scrambling up the hills in the area, walking Offa's Dyke Path, exploring the streams and woods, making fires and barbecuing marshmallows - and, once, disastrously, a pair of trousers.... It was in the Beacons that I had my second big seizure - many years before, unconnectedly, I was diagnosed with ALS/MND. Now my holiday activity is largely of a passive nature from my wheelchair. No more hill-walking or exploring the woods and moorlands. No more extricating feet from boot-sucking bogs, or hastily throwing on a kagoule as the rain catches up with you, or manoeuvring the map around to align various landmarks and work out just where you are. No more rising the crest of a slope and discovering a breathtaking view bathed in sunlight....

And yet it's been a lovely week. Not really because of the views, though the view up to the Pen y Fan ridge from our barn conversion was great, sometimes shrouded in cloud, sometimes made bright by the sun, sometimes with sharp shadows of the morning or evening. Not really because of the change, though it was nice to see Jane not having to think about meals, since the younger generation took turns in preparing a main meal as they did in keeping an eye on me. What I most enjoyed was being in that environment of mutual respect and affection, which included me. That's what made it a love-ly week.

On Wednesday afternoon there was a gentleness when two of them broke the news to me, "Dad, Tony Nicklinson has died." I was lowered into my seat, as they told me more: "Of natural causes. Pneumonia. He hadn't been eating." I was sad, in one way, to hear it. He was a man whom I'd met and talked with of important matters, and with whom I shared a similar predicament, a fellow-dribbler and with a remarkable wife called Jane. I had admired his stubbornness. But I also reflected that God had granted him his two great wishes: first, to have his day in court; and second, to have his suffering cut short by death. Tony, of course, would not have looked at it like that. The idea of "God" was one of the things that made him angry. He would probably have preferred me to say that he achieved his day in court and that he precipitated his own end. I'm not greatly fussed by the language you use, but I am truly grateful that his suffering and deep unhappiness is over, that the fever of his life is over and his work is done.

Meeting the late Tony Nicklinson

The Times, which campaigns vigorously for euthanasia, covered Tony's death extensively on Thursday. Its use of loaded terminology in news coverage left much to be desired: "Six days after the High Court condemned him to live...". Later the article quoted his wife, Jane: "To all those religious groups, all the pro-life advocates who advised the family to cherish the gift of life, she had the same response: come down and look Tony in the eye, while you say it. Watch him dribble, hear him howl, and ask yourself again whether this is a life worth preserving?" At least one opponent of euthanasia was given that privilege, thanks to the BBC: BBC Inside Out Tony Nicklinson & me. I watched him and heard him. I saw his wistful misery as we gazed into each other's eyes. And actually, Jane, despite his frustration and his feeling of indignity (though I didn't see an undignified person), despite his incapacity and his anger, I think his was, or could have been, a life worth preserving. I saw a man of extraordinary determination. They say courage is not never being afraid, but carrying on even through the fear. So determination is not never feeling weary, but carrying on even through the exhaustion. Tony had bags of fighting spirit. That's what, I suspect, kept him going. Fighting for the idea that we should all have the right to choose how and when we die - because I think for him it was something more than that he should be in charge of his own dying, although he did feel that he was the object of unfair discrimination, being physically unable to commit suicide. Part of his argument was based on the inequality his condition subjected him to. Personally I think making it legal to take anyone's life is a bad principle. Tony's was a hard case, without doubt, but hard exceptional cases make bad law.

The tragic thing in my view is that Tony's fighting spirit was so directed to a negative and self-destructive end, his own death. We're about to see paralympic athletes who by sheer determination have overcome "impossible" handicaps to achieve heights beyond most of the fittest of us. In no way am I suggesting that Tony could have escaped his locked-in prison to achieve such physical feats, but he proved that he could win what The Times termed "victory" in other ways than physical - as indeed others with locked-in syndrome are doing like Gary Parkinson (Radio 5 Live report) or Bram Harrison (Independent report: Britain's bravest DJ). Their aims and interests are positive, and are not just about themselves getting better. I've no doubt they get fed up and weary with life, from time to time. It goes against the grain, as I know, to be constantly depending on others to survive.

And yet, here's the magic, which is so priceless to receive, to be loved by those around us actually makes life worth living. I love the BBC's Mark Clemmit's account of Deborah Parkinson, wife of footballer, Gary: "His wife is the most extraordinary woman I have ever, ever met. There was never a down moment. She keeps going and her dedication to her man is beyond belief. It says 'better and for worse' when you sign up and that's her attitude.

"They nearly lost him several times and Deborah was given options to turn off the life-support machine, but she wouldn't entertain the notion. She will keep supporting him."

In the end, it doesn't matter what we can achieve; it matters what we can receive. That's what makes life worth preserving. It is what makes life worth living. That's why I've had a good holiday. That's why, as my abilities decline still further, I hope I'll still be grateful for every day of life. I'm immensely sad that that wasn't enough for Tony, for without doubt he was cherished and loved amazingly by Jane, and Lauren and Beth, beyond what's "reasonable" to expect. Tragically for him the darkness blotted out the light. Ultimately humanity makes a choice and takes its chance. However I dare to pray that darkness has not had the last word. RIP.

Broadcast goodies

I don't spend the whole weekend glued to the tv or radio, I really don't. But this weekend I did pick up some good moments at various points. For example, my bedtime listening on Saturday was The Moral Maze when the discussion was the morality of monarchy - which seemed to be an attempt to examine the moral justification for the institution, things like service and representing nation. The form of the 50 minute discussion is four of the six regular interrogators subject four expert witnesses on either side of a debate to cross-examination. That evening I was surprised to find myself unpersuaded by the royalists and most impressed with avowed republican, Professor Stephen Haseler. He was pugnacious and entertaining, especially in his exchange with the Blairite Matthew Taylor: "Let me ask you a question, as a democrat and as a person who's been in the democratic process: do you you want a say in who your next head of state is, or do you not?" "I'm quite happy with the situation as it now is -" "You don't want a say?" "No, no - Let me answer your question and then move on very quickly. I'm quite happy with the situation in which the person who effectively is the leader of our country politically is the Prime Minister and is elected, and we have a constitutional monarch." Interestingly I heard one of the arguments used by Taylor in defence of the monarchy, that most people were happy with it, used the next night to justify the introduction of Islamic rule into the post-spring Tunisia. It's hardly a moral argument, more a political one. Anyway, it was quite fun to hear one of the inquisitors having their bubble punctured!

Then on Ski Sunday there was a really inspiring item on paralympic hopeful Peter Dunning. He'd been a paratrooper in Afghanistan who, days before coming home, was in a armoured vehicle which ran over an IED. The driver was killed; he lost both his legs. "I was literally knocking on the door (of death); but, thank God, no one was in!" His first reaction in coming to after a week in intensive care, with his family round him, was "I don't want to be here - if this is going to be my life. I don't want this to be my life." In rehabilitation he got the opportunity to try out skiing, monoskiing. He described the glorious feeling of freedom, gliding down the mountain.
"In hindsight, looking back over it all, what are your overriding feelings about it all?" asked skier, Graham Bell.

"People may think it's the most strangest thing that I'm saying, but I think that getting blown up is one of the best things that's happened to me. I'm such a different person than I was. Before I was a bit of a lads' lad; now I'm more focused, more determined, and everything, to achieve what I want to achieve, like getting to the Paralympics, and progressing on from there."

It is an extraordinary statement to make, and yet it's one that resonates with many people who have endured disasters. First reactions may well of despair, and yet I have no doubt that now Peter Dunning is blessing the doctors who saved his life rather than giving up on him, and the physios whose persistence got him walking and then skiing on his prosthetic limbs. The moral must be: don't assist people to give up, assist them to live.

There was an item last night on BBC's Countryfile programme on rural road safety, or rather lack of item, presented by John Craven (about 10 minutes in). It was filmed in Lincolnshire which has had significant success in reducing fatalities on its roads. In the course of his report, there was on remarkable interview with the mother of an 18-year-old, John Van Spyk, who'd been on his motor-bike and killed when a young driver did a rash overtake of a slower moving vehicle meeting the bike head on.

In due course the young driver was taken to court charged with causing his death, "but Emma, John's mother, felt he had suffered enough. 'When the driver appeared in court, you did what many people would think was a remarkable thing. You wrote a letter to the judge asking him not to send this young man to prison.'
'Yes. I couldn't see that on top of everything he had been through being in jail away from his family and support network was going to help him. He was obviously very, very contrite, and he kept on saying, "I just didn't see him, I didn't see him."'
'And he didn't go to jail, did he?'
'No. No, he didn't. I believe he had a driving ban and community service.'"

I couldn't help admiring Emma and thinking how wise she was (and incidentally the judge for listening to her), and contrasting her spirit with the thirst for retribution so often broadcast, the "I'll never forgive him" which simply leaves the bereaved embittered. And I wished that parliamentarians and magistrates had an ounce of her wisdom and common-sense in the response to last summer's "rioters". I gather just for being present, not actively involved, you can expect a two-year jail sentence - which is plain daft, doing exactly what Emma sought to avoid for her son's killer, being away from his family and support network.

There was another moment of broadcasting gold in the same programme (about 30 minutes in) when "very lapsed Catholic" presenter, James Wong, visited the Benedictine Quarr Abbey in the Isle of Wight for a day. It was a short piece, but had a hugely resonant minute when he walks down to the shore looking over the Solent with Father Luke. As the sea washes the shingle at their feet, the monk talks quietly about the significance of the spot to him. He preferred it when mist shrouded the mainland and there was more of a feeling of being on an island. The sea for him was a picture of eternity, and pieces of land had over time been washed away from where they were standing just as parts of our lives are absorbed into eternity. Then he turns to James Wong. "Do you know the poem Crossing the Bar by Tennyson?" Wong confesses he didn't. But I did. In fact I'd sung it in a setting by Hubert Parry when I was at school. A bar is a sand or shingle bank, for example outside Cowes, protecting the harbour. Tennyson had a house in the Isle of Wight. In Tennyson's poem, he uses it as a metaphor for life and dying (coming into the harbour). Father Luke quoted the last two lines, but here's the whole poem:
Sunset and evening star,
  And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
  When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
    Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
    Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
    When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
    The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
    When I have crost the bar.

The people's Olympics

I've not yet met anyone who's managed to land a ticket for the Olympics next year. One person I know applied for £1000 worth (a sort of spread betting - a bit risky!) but even he wasn't allocated any. I don't know how many corporate tickets have been doled out, but I bet it was a lot. So much for it being "the people's Olympics"! 

On the other hand just last Friday my bank rang me about an unusual transaction: "London theatre tickets?" It turned out it was a debit for tickets for three afternoons at the Paralympics. I'd applied for three tickets on each afternoon - and it appears I've got all of them. Whey-hey!! As the events are equestrian and rowing it looks as if we'll be enjoying some rather good events next summer - and as I need someone to push my wheelchair the tickets were amazingly good value - £10 for me and my handler, for each afternoon! What I hope and trust is that other people who applied for the Paralympics will have a similar success rate. As I imagine corporate entertainment won't have hogged those tickets, I reckon the Paralympics will be the real people's Olympics - which is excellent news. As I've said previously, disabled people are no less human or worthy of dignity than the able-bodied. And certainly the achievements of disabled athletes are equal, if not greater, than those of their able-bodied counterparts.

Those who write the disabled off and who see nothing but doom and gloom in a disabling condition need their heads and consciences examined.