I am in favour of discrimination. That may be an unpleasant thought for many people – but let me explain. To ‘discriminate’ means simply to distinguish or separate one thing from another. In popular parlance the word has aquired the same meaning as ‘prejudice’ but clearly they mean different things. Prejudice is to discriminate in favour of one part over another for reasons of negative emotions rather than reason. To ‘discriminate’ then can be useful or not. Consider the uses.

I once went to Carmarthen in South Wales armed with a guide book to wild flowers. I had no knowledge on the subject and to me one flower was much like any other. But forty years or so ago the rural roadsides were abundant with wild flowers – prior to industrial farming and ‘agrochemicals’ much favoured by the custodians of the countryside – farmers – but that is another subject!

Anyway, I had to creep along edge of the road with book in hand learning one by one the different flower types. This is done by colour, number of petals, stamens, type of leaf. Everything about flowers in the British Isles was in this book because someone had been there before me and was sharing the results of their journey. Discrimination between one flower and the next was a journey not only to naming but unexpectedly – enjoyment. You might think that you do not need a menu to enjoy a meal and to some extent this is true. But to go to the absolute limit of enjoyment to understand the component parts and label them, makes enjoyment complete – ask any top chef.

Perhaps this is what spurred on our Victorian ancestors to travel the globe categorising flora and fauna and filling the museums of the home country with their findings. There are drawers of butterflies in the Natural History Museum in London, each with a label containing precise information, cross referenced and catalogued. Glass cabinets reach to the ceiling as places of last resort for the bodies of exotic birds each with genus and species recorded for all time.

There is a film called The Draughtsman’s Contract by Peter Greenaway (1982), which featured characters numbering the leaves in a tree. The flavour of the time was an art inspired compulsion towards list making and categorisation. Perhaps in it’s time it was a reference to the Victorian obsession with collecting and sifting and the insights it brings.

We are passed that now. Artificial intelligence can determine the contents of a supermarket shopping bag at the check out in a second. The counting, the establishment of order is not something humans do easily using conscious thought. From the tedium of that task we moved away into the promised land. We can switch off our need to understand how things are arranged, knowing that it has been done or can be done far quicker than we can ever do. The catalougisation is over.

Even the spaces between galaxies have been found to be full of the correct amount of anti-matter to match the visible universe (once 80% of matter was missing!) The stars have their numbers even though they are too all intents and purposes infinite in number, don’t worry about that.

Don’t believe me? Well The Sky at Night this month told me that even the spaces between galaxies have been found to be full of the correct amount of anti-matter to match the visible universe (previously 80% of matter was missing!) And what we can see – the stars – all have their numbers even though they are, to all intents and purposes, infinite in number – don’t worry about that.

In the twenty first century we may sit back, put up our feet and wait until such and such a list needs checking – pick up our phones or log on and see how everything is. Pity that. I liked to smell the flowers, watch the bees and hum a little myself. The space between words and numbers – well that always has been and always will be poetry.

Some people known as the ‘death doulas’ are determined to break down the barriers that make ‘death’ a taboo subject. There is a place called the ‘death café’ where people who are dying, meet the ‘death doulas’. On the menu are the following genuine questions;

(source; The Guardian Newspaper Wed 3^rd Feb 2016 article ‘Meet the Death Doulas’)

The answers are completely vacuous but intended to bring a scythe-like smile.

What makes a good death?

Taking out a law suit against Microsoft for using the message fatal error in Windows 10, applying for life insurance, applying for bankruptcy, buying a brewery, pretending to die several times in front of your relatives, access to plenty of cushions,

Can you prepare for death and dying?

Disable the air bags in your car, build a pyramid, pack a suitcase, learn the harp, enter a burning building without protective equipment to get an idea of ‘the other place’, empty the fridge, don’t buy green bananas, more cushions

What do you say to a friend who is facing death?

‘Cheer up,’ ‘I have to confess everything,’ ‘Well I am sorry I just thought a chicken costume would brighten your day,’ ‘weather is going to be better by next week,’ ‘ever thought of becoming a vegetarian?’ ‘I’m visiting you from now on – your husband has gone on a cruise,’ ‘ The hospice wants to start a bagpipe band,’ ‘ The Mafia are after me; would you live in my flat for a short while?’ ‘ The hospital are submitting their success rate figures this week. You’ve got to leave.’ ‘Sorry I gave you a shock – this scythe is for cutting the grass this afternoon.’ ‘Do you want a cushion? ‘

What can we learn from death?

The Highway Code is not as stupid as it seems, do not trust bungee jump instructors, some food is not as good as it looks, commercial airlines do not carry parachutes, tattoo your intended last words on your wrist, death is not all it’s cracked up to be, if I had gone to university what good would it do me now? Cushions are a blessing,

What does it mean to leave a legacy?

Empty the rubbish bins, mow the lawn, publish your school poems as an e-book, publish everything as an e-book, someone else is going to have to put those shelves up now – Someone else will like that pile of cushions.

Part One – A Clear Majority

At three o’clock in the morning, an official envelope was placed on the desk by the Chief Civil Servant, Sir Comfey, with an imperceptibly trembling hand.

‘The referendum result, Prime Minister,’ he announced in a calmly hysterical voice. This uncharacteristic ‘chink in armour’ produced a shudder of expectation around the room.

The gaze of the assembled ministers and staff was fixed on a magnificent ‘Victory Within Europe’ cake. It posed ostentatiously and nervously at one end of the Prime Ministers desk, surrounded by a galaxy of plates and silver cutlery. One of it’s candle’s, leant perilously to one side, as if presaging a cosmic domino effect.

The Prime Minister lifted the envelope with the tip of his precious ‘A Present from Malta’ letter opener. It reminded him of ex prime minister Churchill and how he saved small islands from disaster.

‘Should I be worried, Comfy? Is it…I mean…is it the result I am expecting?’ His eyebrows appeared to cross and float upward to his retreating hairline, like barage baloons in a Blitzed sky.

‘I think you should open it and see, Prime Minister…’ Comfy replied knowing that M16 had been all over it’s contents previous to the official sealing. A nervously calm hand slid the shaking blade into the corner of the envelope and slit it’s stomach; gutting the contents from which he read,

Votes for the UK to remain in Europe; 25,749,321

Votes for the UK to leave Europe; 25,749,322

The Prime Minister supported his forehead with his hand as he re-read the appalling news. His mind was skimming through a list of ‘implications and consequences’ in the way that only senior managers and the mentally ill can. Key amongst these was the realisation that this result would mean he will have to make an embarrassing resignation speech. All his life he has hated public humiliation and now, by one vote, he will have to grovel before the nation as a full-on loser.

But hold on reader, this Prime Minister’s political instinct (code named ‘pride in my country’) was smelling a rabbit hole to scuttle down. Read on.

‘Are you sure this is correct? It is, er, awfully close?’

‘NEOLVS – the new electoral on line voting system –  is faultless sir, which is why, if I may be permitted to remind you, you yourself championed it over the…(finger poised on lower lip ) what was that rather apt phrase you used, ‘prehistoric paper system open to too many convenient errors?‘

‘Yes, yes, you don’t have to remind me. It had to be my fault…it usually is…’

A nervous silence fell upon the room amongst the assembled special advisers, politicians and civil servants as they sensed the dark shadow moving across the country.

True statesmanship is often summoned by small gestures and the forthcoming moment of decision was signalled by the Prime Ministers left and then right eye brows coming back down to their more usual positions and the hand being removed from the forehead.

‘And am I correct in recalling, Sir Comfy, that this computer system allows us to find out who voted what…under extreme circumstances in which there is a threat to national security of course?’

‘Correct Prime Minister,’ (forever one step ahead), ‘and am I thinking that there may be such a threat contained in that envelope?’

‘Absolutely, Sir Comfy, the whole of the United Kingdom is poised to float off into the Gulf Stream!’

An imperceptible titter circled as a Mexican wave around the room.

‘I want to know…I need to know now, who was the very last person to vote at 21:59:59 hours on 23^rd June 2016. Who made this ill informed casting vote? Do you understand?’

The gusto with which the Prime Minister now was taking command, indicated to Sir Comfy that he was resolutely in pursuit of not making the resignation speech that he himself had taken such pains to sculpt to perfection, several weeks ago.

‘Such a pity,’ thought Sir Comfy, ‘such a fine blend of mock self sacrifice and unrestrained patriotism.’ But events were taking an un/expected turn.

‘Yes, Prime Minister,’ and clicked his fingers behind him as a non-verbal instruction to an aide, to return with this information within the next ten minutes or be on cat feeding duty for the next six months.

As the aide slipped out of the room, on cue, the No.10 cat, (renamed Cleggpuss in memory of a recent akward political partnership ) slipped in. The two black glossy doors shut in partnership.

After precisely nine minutes and ten seconds the aide returned clasping a nugget of computer paper which he conspicuously flattened out on the Prime Minister’s desk.

The PM skewered it with a cold sweaty finger and read;

Alice Mercury, 38, Clifton Terrace, Knightsbridge, London. Date of birth…

He squinted at Alice’s birthday, then grimaced with exasperation.

‘My God man, she had only just turned sixteen the previous day! If this blob of DNA had hung around in the womb a day or two longer, the United Kingdom would not be tilted on the edge of the precipice into which we are now about to precipitate.’

‘Need I remind you with total respect Sir, that you saw this as a’ …he cleared his throat with a high cough… ‘that vulgar phrase – a vote winner – namely reducing the minimum voting age from eighteen to sixteen Prime Minister…’

‘Yes, yes, but I remember you telling me quite plainly in that ‘know everything’ way of yours that all young people wanted to remain in Europe. Now one of them has wittingly or unwittingly, screwed the whole country!’

‘It appears so, Prime Minister. Under the rules of a referendum, as I am sure you know, a majority is a majority.’

‘Yes, but one nose ring infected school girl, effectively taking decisions of national interest! It, it goes against all common sense! And no Comfry! By that irratating ‘ironic’ look of yours I am not referring to myself, I am referring to this Alice creature!’ and he screwed up the offending piece of paper on which her name resided and tossed it angrily it at a strident Clegg Puss, missing by a whisker.

Sir Comfy had passively managed many important decisions in his blame evading career. Now he rose to the occasion with a deft sweep of his arm, ordering everyone, to leave the room. Clegg Puss was swept up in the arms of one of the junior secretaries and the doors slammed shut on the aborted victory celebration. Sir Comfy broke the sudden silence with even higher pitched cough.

‘Perhaps, I might suggest a remedial course of action Prime Minister. It may not work but then again…’

‘Go on…’

‘Well, if Miss Mercury could be approached discretely of course and persuaded to change her mind?’

‘Change her mind? What is the point of that? You yourself have said that the decision is final!’

‘I am thinking of a second referendum, Prime Minister, on the grounds that…oh…shall we say, the official server was hacked by the North Koreans or Russians, making the result of the first referendum unsound.’ Sir Comfy made a hardly perceptible but deeply significant bow as he beamed at the Prime Minister with this small – yet lethal, stroke of genius.

‘Sir, Comfy. Have I ever said,’ and a smile broke across the face of the Prime Minister, ‘that your mind should be preserved for all eternity in vintage Don Perignon?’

‘On one or two occasions, sir,’ bowing obsequiously and pitching a balding pate at the PM’s broad grin.

‘Well on this occasion you are approaching an ‘Order of the Garter’ or something higher. Is there an honour higher – in terms of intimate underwear?

His mind was veering off track and was quickly re-focused.

Now, I want this done straight away anyway. Get her out of bed if necessary. Persuade the changeling that leaving Europe is a very bad idea…you know all the impenetrable arguments. She has to be persuaded to be positive about ‘Britain’s leading role in Europe in the twenty first century…all that stuff. By what ever means, short of water boarding…or perhaps?

Sir Comfy interrupted the prime minister’s illegal thoughts.

‘May I suggest that we generously sponsor her journeying across the Channel and exploring Europe at the tax payers expense…’

‘Yes, yes, brilliant, send her over there to see what marvellous roads and railways they have from being members of the EU – hospitals brimming with doctors and nurses, border forces that actually keep out immigrants, mutual economic co-operation and trade, the Euro fighter, the Eurofighter song contest – Sir Cliff Richard, Euro football! It’s a fine and happy place Europe and clearly living in England has given her a understanding of only the worst aspects of European membership. Broken roads, haemorraging hospitals…’

Sir Comfy gave that imperceptible look that warned of a hole being dug and took a reverent pace backwards, walked out of the PM’s office and pulled the doors behind him.

‘Thank you Clive. Thank you.’

The PM leaned back in his creaky leather swivel chair and perched his shoes in the centre of his desk, linking both hands behind his head in the ‘thinking’ position.

This repulsive Victory Cake may still be voraciously consumed and I will continue in public office with my party and the whole country behind me.

If you have ever been to Morocco, you will have seen abandoned plastic taken to a new level of street art. The roads, once lined with cherry and almond blossom, now carry volumous remants of someone’s shopping, sometime ago, somewhere. Ironically the day I first travelled in Morocco, I was told by my guide (who sounded disappointed) that there is normally more plastic by the roadside. That day it had been cleared away because the King of Morocco was scheduled to pass by – evidenced by smartly dressed policemen at every roundabout.

As you drive down many some country roads in England you will see weird black shapes draped in the trees. These are amiably referred to by local folk as witches knickers, presumably on account of the low flying stunts some perform.

Plastic, in it’s most pernicious form – bags, is due to take over the world. It’s already doing a pretty good job in the seas and has appeared as a meal to many a hungry sea mammal and fish. Now, we are told that as we eat the fish, we are consuming micro plastic. There is a place in one Ocean where currents bring together a country sized raft made of plastic bags; a new shipping hazard and a clear sign that we are out of control as custodians of planet earth.

Kenya is leading the rest of the world, having just announced a complete ban on plastic bags. According to the BBC News website, anyone found selling, making or carrying a plastic bag could be fined 38,000 dollars or face four years in prison. Presumably this means that the purchase of a box of twenty Kenyan tea bags wrapped in plastic sachets will land you in prison for eighty years. Good luck with enforcing that law as the 24 million plastic bags used each month in Kenya are going to fill the prisons, not many being able to pay the 3,040,00 dollar fine for the box of tea bags.

So what is the alternative? Many will remember market stall holders popping apples and pears into brown paper bags, several decades ago. But we are told, also on the BBC News, that a paper bag uses three times more carbon in it’s manufacturer and transportation. I have to query the inclusion of transportation in this statistic as any bag needs to be transported; unless the argument is that paper bags are heavier, in which case don’t transport them in a lorry that goes one way and comes back empty as most do in the UK!

The conversion of wood into paper using as little carbon as possible is clearly something that needs to be researched now! Traditional Japanese paper making techniques use nothing more than large tubs, trays, a local river and a pair of hands. Surely this process can be unscaled and factories run on carbon neutral energy sources. The problem is viewed as how we do things now, rather than taking in the bigger picture and fixing the it with new tools.

I have just finished clearing out the boot of my car, hundreds of minute shreds of plastic from a ‘bag for life’ that tore down one side. Provided they are capable of lasting several decades in normal use, this has to be a good solution to the problem in theory, if not in practice. Such a bag we are told, must be used four times to compensate for the extra resources put into it. A good solution if it can survive five trips to the shops!

I don’t know where biodegradable plastic features in the debate, as it is rarely considered. I expect it is going to be more expensive, but its use would be one strategy to give due respect for nature. In countries where supermarkets charge for the use of a plastic carrier bag, the extra cost is administered as a sort of ‘fine’ to deter use and encourage re-use. The effect, although welcome, is never going to solve the problem. The money charged could be made to pay for a biodegradable bag, but I have never heard of this in practice.

I have a fun discussion with some friends over dinner the other night, about a supermarket that requires customers to weigh their own fruit and vegetables, place each type in an oversized plastic bag, weigh it and attach a price label. The system is absurdly heavy in it’s use of bags protecting fruit and vegetables which very often have already a protecting layer provided by nature. I began to think creatively about fruit and veggie boxes, designed to be brought to and from supermarkets by customers. The green townies have their fruit and veg’ delivered in reused cardboard boxes, so why can’t it work in supermarkets too. A box could be designed to have compartments suitable for particularly soft items, with moulded shapes and maybe lids. The compartment could be modular and replaceable for seasonal variations. However it might be done, there is a design brief there for an industrial designer with imagination. The public and supermarkets clearly have a demand for it.

The King has No Clothes is a well known story where the subject no one speaks about is the King’s nudity, because he is King. Perhaps it is about time that Kings are made to wake up to the massive problem of waste disposal, rather than everyone carrying on as if everything is normal.

America is a country with twice the number of gun owners than anywhere else in the world. This prevalence has been proven to be directly linked to the number of mass shootings. And yet, no administration has found the abolition of guns a vote winner. What do Americans want?

Many gun owners, when asked, say they carry a gun for self defence. In my view this is like saying they have a movie facility on their camera because they want to make block busting feature films. Storage, familiarisation, maintenance, firearm safety, traumamantic wound treatment, target practice, and scenario simulation is not something obtained from a gun store.

Why do police forces in America allocate time and resources to officers in the use of guns, whilst citizens do not?

What problem does citizen gun ownership solve? For the founding fathers who had seen revolution and tyranny in Europe, they wanted to know that a citizen militia could overthrow a malevolent government. That is understandable although raises the question what is the difference between a righteous citizen militia and a rebellious section of society seeking to challenge government by the use of force. Were the confederate soldiers ‘rebels’ or a righteous militia?

Why is the second amendment ambiguous? It declares the right for militias to be formed and then adds that the people can bear arms. Are these the same? Did they mean ‘people’ as in a militia made up from the ranks of the ‘people’? Whatever was intended, today the result is that anybody has the right to carry a weapon whether they are part of the National Guard, or not.

So Americans defend the right to amateurism at it’s most extreme, and are surprised when it all goes wrong mass shootings occur? Or parents mistakenly shoot their teenage sons and daughters returning late at night through the bedroom window.

Fighting is not natural to most people. Children include fighting in their learning, but after a certain age most abandon violence as a way to settle disputes. Self defence is usually only necessary when a random event takes place over which the victim has no control. For instance returning to a parked car late at night you are approached by a group of men in hoodies who demand your wallet and threaten violence. Even in this situation, violent self defence is not necessary. You just hand over your wallet. Self defence relates to one’s body, not property or territory, or even someone else’s body…except in the case of a parent and child or adult physically or mentally vulnerable person.

Many teenagers in the United Kingdom carry knives for ‘self defence’. They have watched the films where the Karate Kid or John Wayne magically over come an enemy. How about that showgirl who throws a knife and pins the sheriffs hat to the door. Great isn’t it? But real life is not as simple. Buying a knife is simple but knowing how to use it to defend oneself, is not. Ask a professional knife fighter and if you are still keen, sign up for a two year course and health insurance.

Even when you learn to fight with no weapon, the best advise I was ever given was run. That advice was given me by a European Karate Champion who was teaching street fighting.

So America, again I ask the question what problem are you trying to solve with gun ownership? If you want to feel safe in the streets there are a hundred ways of achieving this before you reach ‘carrying a gun’. If you don’t want a fool for a president, don’t vote for one. Walking into Washington as part of an ‘America for Americans’ armed militia  you will all be shot because the police and military train to do that, you don’t.

In reality America has created a public health problem as a result of gun ownership. Mass shootings are measured by dead bodies, but don’t forget the wounded. And as in all violent acts, there is a ripple effect of fear and confusion through the families and communities in which these acts take place. The health of American citizens is being seriously ravaged by gun ownership, and if a constitution ever needed amendment, now is the time.

I have had an inflatable globe for several years. It has helped me when searching for obscure countries described in the news. Or working out how the earth’s tilt affects seasons, just one last time before I forget again. Somehow the three dimensional view of planet earth is so much more interesting than those flattened impressions in books.

But, and here comes the problem, it lately started to deflate. A few days after blowing it up from the convenient valve in the north pole, my planet earth has begun to sag. And like all people who tend to think in metaphors, this elementary story made me explore in my mind how the real planet earth is beginning to sag. I mean, how much more damage can it take? After 2016 was measured to be the hottest in the last 800,000 years few can still support the argument against climate by saying change is normal. Of course change is normal; that is not what is being measured. What is apparent is a significant sag in the jowls. She’s looking like an old lady this wonderful planet of ours although she still has millions of years to live. The presence of these little things called humans is a thorn in her side and she is losing puff.

We can see this in many ways. One is the issue of ‘light pollution’. Photographs from near earth orbit taken of the parts of the globe in darkness, reveal a terrible beauty. Parts of Europe appear to be in the midst of fire-storms,. Cities and conurbations lurk in the centre of fibre optic pathways of light leading to phosphorescent coastal fringes. So much so that animals, insects and plants, living in those areas are confused in their diurnal cycles. Trees are coming to leaf too early.

And yet, of all the ‘environmental problems’ which land on ministers desks with an estimate or invoice attached, this is one of the cheapest to fix. We don’t need a lot of the light, for instance. It’s just light spilt from badly designed luminaires. Levels of light needed are assumed to be high, when in fact the human eye needs contrast rather than a lot of light. Many people feel unsafe in dark streets, and yet if they examined the situation more rationally, they might be safer in the dark. No one can see you in the dark. When I was in the army we learnt to operate in darkness. In training we had to polish our black boots in total darkness whilst maintaining an all round defensive position in a wood.

Getting used to less light is a small ask and actually, a cost saving measure. Until those who make decisions on our behalf can do the easy environmental fixes, how are they ever going to find the intention and the means to fix the big stuff? Trumpty Dumpty will have to maintain email links with his ‘climate change denial’ chums because it suits American big business.

I wonder if he was somehow propelled into space and looked down at a deflating earth, whether this change of view, would change his view on the global issue that generations of earthlings are spinning towards at astronomical speeds. Will he cry when he sees the half deceased Great Barrier Reef; the largest half living thing visible from spance?

Perhaps the scariest aspect of the dying earth scenario is the current plan to move to Mars.

The argument is that this is what man has always done. Explored. That is true in the historical situations when people could ‘go west’ into pristine, unspoilt lands. But that isn’t possible any longer. The people of Easter Island, knocked down all the trees and died out because there was nowhere else they could go. Mars is a similar Ocean away and unsuitable for sustained life. It is not heaven. Heaven is here on earth.

As a footnote I will say that at the north pole, we still have a quick fix. Pull out the stopper, blow into it and put the stopper back in tight. It worked on my globe for a few days.

Have you ever wondered what is the recipe for success? Well here is my recipe.

Ingredients

Two free range eggs – exploration, determination, potential

Half a pint of milk – love

1kg of organic home milled flour – substance, practicality

tea spoon full of brown sugar – happiness, optimism

pinch of salt – tolerance, compassion

Break the eggs into a mixing bowl. It is impossible to start any enterprise without losing something. Eggs are already perfect and contain the potential for life. However they must be broken before other processes can start, even if this is painful. The cook must be aware that the eggs begin a long journey of alchemical change and transmutation.

Next add the organic unpasteurised milk. It must be unpasteurised because heating to high temperatures destroys the life and goodness in the milk. So avoid any processes that involve destruction and negativity. However detached you are, processes that cause harm will always affect you. Organic means that it has not been treated artificially for the benefit of the farmer rather than the hungry. Beware of the motivations of others as they may not share your interests. Milk is a wholesome food, like eggs, at the beginning of a journey. As in life we all need as much goodness as possible to keep us nourished and expanding in body and mind as nature and the angels intend.

Now sift in the flour and stir into the milk and eggs. The sifting is necessary as not everything is as good as it seems. There will always be some lumps and bumps on the way that just have to be removed or avoided. This is not you but the flour at fault, and although it may feel wasteful, the interests of the final result takes greater precedence than avoiding waste. You may find some other use for the lumps if that really bothers you. The effect of the flour will be to bring the fluids into a more stable, solid state. It is good to be flexible but you can have too much of a good thing and the adding of a solid ingredient brings the mixture into a state of being solid and flexible. Much easier to work with and meet the desired result.

Now add a teaspoonful of brown sugar. The final mixture will be far easier to enjoy if it is done with the positivity and zest that we obtain from sugar. Anyone who is feeling down needs the boost that sugar provides. Go easy on the sugar though because too much can become harmful, even poisonous as ethanol.

Finally, add a pinch of salt. In this recipe it is vital that no dogmas are entered into. Following ideas and procedures blindly will produce consistently boring food. It will sustain for a while but eventualy the pattern becomes more important than the plate. When you see this happening to you, add salt to taste, even if you doctor has told you to avoid salt. All rules are made to be broken and in moderation will set a new and exciting direction to travel.

Now make the mixture into a ball and place it on a cold surface dusted with flour. Roll out the ball until it is a flat circle and place on a baking tray for twenty minutes at 180C.

Life is an alchemical process and we are transmuting base ingredients into something greater with every breath we take.

One final foot note. You might be feeling that this recipe could have been longer or shorter. It might have included some more exciting, interesting, unusual, bizarre ingredients. Of course it could. And I have jotted it down not so much as anything worldly or wise but lead up to an observation by the Chinese philosopher and mystic, Lao Tsu who said; a good traveller has no fixed plans and is not intent on arriving.

May I paraphrase him a little with the final ingredient;

The good cook has no fixed recipe and is not intent on eating.

A. A friend of mine, he’s a Tibetan Buddhist. He lived in a box for three years.

B. Three years!

A. Yes. Not a real box like a new television set arrives in. More like how a fire place has a low surround around the hearth. But that’s the deal. No movement.

B. I cannot imagine having my freedom taken away like that.

A. He was in search of an inner freedom. A spiritual freedom. Enlightenment. When you are no longer attached to things.

B. We live free country. That’s enough for me.

A. Really? You think you are free? And yet your thoughts have been conditioned since you were born. People, the environment, technology…they all take away your freedom don’t they?

B. How?

A. Well start with people. Your family. They all put in but at a price. Parents are always judging you and you are always trying to please them. Friends; they are fun to be with but hard work aren’t they? And then there is the rest of society; watching how you dress, drink, behave, consume.

Consider the environment. Books have been written on how the world into which we are born, stimulates and moulds us. We totally ignore our perceptions and information filters and think we are like cameras. But we are not. What we see is what we believe and most of the time we don’t see at all.

B. What do you mean?

A. Well, take this morning. Did you watch the sun rise?

B. No. I was asleep.

A. Well I stepped outside at four this morning and saw the stars against the great blackness. The moon was rising low on the horizon. A few hours later came the miracle which is sunrise. Have you ever thought how amazing it is that the sun rises every day?

B. Well it has to doesn’t it?

A. From our infinitely small perspective as human observers on the surface of a planet spinning at one thousand miles per hour, nothing guarantees the appearance of the sun each day. One day the earth will stop spinning and the sun run out of fuel. It’s an infinitely long way away but it will. And consider how the sun never actually sets or rises. That’s just because we are fixed to the earth, but if we could travel at th e same speed of the earth the sun would never set or rise again, depending on which side of the earth you are on.

B. That’s pretty amazing. I hadn’t thought along those lines.

A. All of our thoughts constrain or liberate us. We hold back from thinking and doing new things as much as possible out of fear. If we haven’t done it or been there, it’s going to cost us some emotional well being. But mountaineers don’t think like that. They do what they do because they are prepared to face their fears and if necessary encounter death. They know that the pluses of pushing to the extreme, greatly outweigh the minuses of sitting in the restaurant watching climbers through a telescope.

B. I guess I don’t all have what it takes.

A. You don’t have to climb mountains. That’s just an analogy. What I mean is that we need to face our fears, get out of our comfort zones in everything we do. When you drive to work, you always take the same route, yes?

B. More of less. It’s quicker.

A. That’s it. We justify our habits with rational statements, but never balance what we lose with what we stand to gain. If you deliberately found twenty different routes to work, you may have to start leaving earlier but you would be breaking free from your routines.

A. Seeing new sights.

B. Exactly and by analogy and literally, thinking new thoughts. A new environment can change our perception. That’s why we enjoy holidays. But some people go to the same place every year. They are not even beginning to be free. It’s just a replay of the year before. Just like our thoughts are replays. The same ideas we have had for years, since we were children even, stay in our heads and we repeat our ideas to those around us without ever realising how bored they are of listening.

A. But if your lived in a box or a cave wouldn’t that be boring?

B. To start with yes, but the mind is a cave in it’s own right. Prisoners in extreme solitary confinement will tell how after a while they began to hallucinate. They travel into their own minds and see, feel, experience things and places that those outside, could never imagine. Who then is really free?

I have a new App on my tablet called Earthquakes and Volcanoes. Do you know how many earthquakes there have been in the world in the last two hours? (at the time of writing!) Thirteen. None were over five on the Richter scale but still, measurable earthquakes.

Last night on the news we were watching the victims of the recent major earthquake on the Iran Iraq border in which over five hundred people were killed. Yet the media do not report the thirteen earthquakes in the last two hour. Why? Well obviously, minor earthquakes do not cause large loss of life and property and so, are not news.

It occurs to me that most ‘news’ is analogous to the reporting of earthquakes. Only the extreme stories are reported. It is not hard then to realise that by watching only news bulletins we can gain an extreme and unbalanced view of the world. No one intends this to happen (except in countries where the state control the media) but in the free press, only stories about the extreme are published.

There is an old saying that ‘one swallow does not make a summer’. We can all think of examples of the truth of this. Just because the new car has broken down once does not mean it is going to continually break down. Just because we had a bad day at the office does not mean we should resign. Aircraft do crash, but not often.

Mother Earth sustains these massive shocks on her tectonic boundaries constantly, but does not give up on keeping the lid on things. Imagine if we had had thirteen earthquakes the size of the one in the Middle East every two hours. We would change from living in a world where very occasionally horror and destruction hits communities somewhere in the world, to it being an hourly occurrence. The press would run out of superlatives.

In painting the occurrence of one unusual event in photographic detail, the press create two impressions at once. Firstly, that we live in a dangerous place and secondly that the risk to all of us is great. The first is true. The second is not. Newspapers do not provide each reader with a risk assessment for their situation. It would be impractical. But by not putting ourselves in the picture in a realistic way, we can become paranoid. Yes, earthquakes happen more frequently than we report to you, but most of them are harmless.

Consider crime and the fear of crime. The press in the United Kingdom report murders forensically but fail to point out how few happen each year. Neither do they reassure us that the victims of violent crime are generally young males. As people do not do their own research, elderly females ( the opposite of the real risk group ) live in fear in their own homes, don’t answer the door or go out at night.

If a political group has a message that is not being reported in the media, they might descend into extremism. Become a massive volcano and you are guaranteed world coverage. In the times of the Northern Ireland ‘troubles’ the UK government combated this by forbiddingthe  reporting of atrocities using what were called D-notices. The effect was to not throw petrol on the fire. Today however, I have to wonder how much the reporting of extreme news has contributed to misery, fear and at worst, depression.

The truth is that our houses are not going to fall down in an earthquake, we are not going to be murdered in our own homes, or die in a terrorist incident. And with that truth we should all sit back and agree with Louis Armstrong singing that song, ‘It’s a Wonderful World’. And you won’t read a statement like that in your daily paper.