The Evening Hill Diaries: December 2012

At the close of 2012, which continues with monsoon weather conditions in the UK, I wish all my readers a very happy Christmas and a good New Year in 2013. This forum is generally not for serious discussion, but since this is partly intended as a ‘Letter to America’ it is difficult to ignore the recent tragedy at Sandy Hook school in New England. As a resident Brit, though one who has enjoyed life in the United States, my first thought was ‘Oh no, not again’ closely followed by ‘Nothing will be done’. And it seems I was right. With the proposal to ban the sales of ‘assault weapons’ being mooted, sales of such firearms have soared dramatically. The much touted Second Amendment of the U.S. Constitution, the right to keep and bear arms, has probably cost many more lives that it has protected in its 221 year history. In writing this I have just missed its anniversary, adopted in the Bill of Rights on 15^th December 1791. After a suitable interval, the NRA (National Rifle Association), that legendary right wing organisation, has suggested that the solution isn’t to prevent people keeping guns, but to post armed guards in every school or institution to keep psychopaths like Adam Lanza from doing what he did. ‘Guns don’t kill people, people kill people’, a slogan that goes back a very long way, originally appeared as a bumper (fender) sticker from the NRA. The British comedian Eddie Izzard has said, ‘Guns don’t kill people, people kill people – but I think the gun does help. If you just stood there and shouted bang very loudly I don’t think that many people would die.’ Critics of the NRA, and there are many in the U.S., have pointed out in response to the NRA statement that there was in fact an armed guard present during the Columbine High School massacre in 1999, and yet 15 died and 23 were wounded. A final fact: in 2011 there were 51 people in the UK killed by guns; in the USA the figure was 8,583.

I’ve neglected my blog of late. I don’t wish it to morph into an extended Christmas Round Robin, a format that has been much in the news lately, and has also occupied the Telegraph letters pages. All over the country, people are eagerly awaiting the latest sickeningly proud news from relatives or friends about their children, pets, homes, second homes, holidays, wealth etcetera. ‘Three jeers for the Round Robin’ writes Oliver Pritchett. ‘Tis the season to be snooty!’ ‘For the fact is that however much we ridicule the GCSE triumphs, the pet tragedies, the over-detailed accounts of home refurbishment, the take-it-on-the-chin attitude to the disastrous walking tour in Wales and the latest hernia update, we would miss them if we didn’t get them.’

Another magnificent article by Neil Tweedie speaks of the authors as ‘overwhelmingly middle-class, invariably endowed with children of frightening precocity, and what management consultants would term “achievement-orientated”’. It can be found at

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/features/3635148/The-round-robin-that-makes-you-see-red.html

There is also a perfect example by Marianne Kavanagh – search ‘Telegraph Round Robins’ – giving a template which all who aspire to Gold Medal standard in Round Robin writing should read.

The art of criticism of the RR goes back quite a long way. As a friend who sends his own every year pointed out many years ago, a fine article in The Times stated that while reading the news from ‘friends’ that one never sees from year to year, ‘It is a matter of polite indifference to learn that a dog you never knew has died’.

After that, it would be de trop if I embarked on my own, so I’m just going to state that we are all still alive. I hope to put some photographs of our year on this blog, which I suppose in their own wordless way may also achieve what Round Robin authors do. My apologies in advance if this is the case. We feel however that our time of mobility and health may be limited, so ‘Carpe Diem’ is our watchword.

I would like to leave you with two other articles from British newspapers. One is by the veteran critic Clive James. The other by the young doctor, Max Pemberton, who is, I think, working as a psychiatrist. I always give at least a glance at his writings. He is a young man of much empathy, evident from the time that he first started to write as a medical student, or possibly as a newly qualified doctor. He has managed to give us a flavour of what is wrong with the British NHS today:

‘So much of what is wrong with the NHS was crystallised in a job advert that a reader sent to me last week. It was for a “head of brand” and the post attracted an eye-watering salary of nearly £100,000. It says so much about what is now valued in the NHS. The job is based in Leeds. A search for other jobs in the NHS in the same region exposes the reason why so many people feel that the NHS is no longer about patients but has become a cash cow for a select few. A mental health support worker is needed: £16-19,000; a senior staff nurse on a salary of £25,528; a respiratory middle doctor starting on £29,705; a dietician on £21,000. Now compare these salaries with what the paper-pushers get in Leeds. There’s an advert for a “corporate and development director” for £112,500; a “director of improvement capability” and an “improvements programme director” for £110,000 each; a “corporate governance manager” on £54,000; a “head of strategic intelligence” starting on £77,000 rising to £97,000. It’s an utter disgrace that those who are on the front line are so undervalued compared with paper-pushers who sit behind computer screens drawing pie charts and don’t actually do anything to help patients.’

Students of the British scene, and particularly the British television scene, will have been aware that for many years, at least until 29^th October 2011, a bizarrely costumed and bleached blond former wrestler and disc jockey called Jimmy Savile, was a regular feature on many programmes, mostly involving children. All too late it seems that the reason for the partiality for children has become clear when shortly after his death, the first of many allegations of sexual abuse surfaced. The BBC in particular has been criticised for withdrawing a Newsnight programme which researched the unsavoury aspects of Savile’s life. Clive James, the veteran critic and TV programme maker, now seriously ill with some form of leukaemia, has recently returned to writing about television programmes. I quote:

‘The Olympics were well done by their various deliverance commissions, and reasonably well done by the BBC. Earlier in the year, in an episode we need not dwell on the Beeb had royally screwed up their presentation of the Queen’s Jubilee river pageant. With the Olympics the Corporation got some of its act back together, although it was depressing to find that absolutely all of the presenters used the word “absolutely” absolutely all the time, even just to mean “yes”. If only for the weakness of the on-screen language, the BBC coverage lacked authority. It was notable that the Paralympics, which were held later on, drew, from Channel 4, an object lesson in how to do it. Ideally the BBC should be giving the object lessons, but it was a year in which the world’s greatest broadcasting organisation was hit by a series of blows. Most notable of these was the revelation about Jimmy Savile. I have never been much impressed by the sound of my own voice when exercising the privilege of hindsight. Other people are more comfortable with the noise they make when thus occupied, and I prefer to leave it to them. Like Saul in Homeland however, I can’t resist a wise word, and it is this: if you have a job open for a disc jockey and you are approached by an ancient clown with a brainless line of chat, try to grasp the possibility that he might be a waste of space anyway, even if he doesn’t chase children.’

I feel sure that if you have followed me thus far, you will be reaching for the Christmas cheer, so may I wish you the compliments of the season and good health and enjoyment of the same in 2013.

I should also mention that I have put in my notice of resignation to Poole Hospital, effective end March 2013, but I don’t think I am quite ready to stop working.

I hope that some photographs may now appear...