Finally!

It took four weeks, but as of yesterday I can finally hear again. To say that is a relief is a massive understatement, but at least it's now over!

The reason this took so long is largely that every step required someone new involved. As I left things, I'd gone to the GP and gotten something for the infection. Ten days later I was back at the doctor, to find that the infection was indeed gone, and that hopefully it would now clear up by itself. A week after that, with it not having cleared up, I was at another place getting the blockage removed.

And then, suddenly, everything was fine again.

The State of Public Services

It's a fairly common refrain that one of the problems with public service provision is that people in the UK want European levels of service while paying US levels of taxation. Having spent some time in both the EU and the US this year, however, I'd submit that the UK is in a uniquely crap position, and further that the problem is not where received wisdom would have it.

The thing is, in the US public services are a lot more limited than they are here: the government simply does less for people. And that means that the cost of living is higher. (There are other flaws in the system, and the roulette wheel of being bankrupted by a medical emergency is particularly horrible. I don't advocate copying their system whole cloth.) However, tax rates are correspondingly lower in the US than they are here.

However, one big difference in the US is that while tax rates are lower, tax revenues are higher, because average wages in the US are much higher than they are here. 10% of $100,000 is rather more than 20% of £30,000!

The net effect of this is that while the government does less for people, the things that it actually does are individually much better funded.

Conversely, in the EU public services are much more extensive, and tax rates are correspondingly higher to pay for them. The trade-off here is that because public services are extensive and well funded, there's no need, or indeed scope for, things like private education or healthcare. The cost of living, therefore, with the notable exception of taxes, is much lower.

But, again, there's one big difference: average wages are higher, meaning that although the tax rate is higher, the amount of money left over is also correspondingly higher - 50% of €70,000 is rather more than 80% of £30,000!

(This also means that for a UK citizen, travelling abroad becomes horribly expensive - when going to the US there's a need for comprehensive, and therefore expensive, insurances; when travelling to the EU anything you buy, and of course accommodation, is much more expensive due to the taxes involved.)

There are, as far as I can see, two fundamental problems with the provision of public services in the UK:

• Wages are, fundamentally, too low across the board. And, indeed, we seem to have set up our system to discourage people to seek better - the income gap between someone on benefits versus someone on the minimum wage just isn't high enough to justify the time and effort required to get and keep that job, and then at each step up the latter the salary increase is too small compared with the additional time, effort, and stress required. Our economy has been too stagnant for too long, and the jobs ladder has become to compressed.
• Those providing public services are also trying to do too much with just too little money, with the effect that every service people actually interact with is desperately creaking.

And it's going to get worse before it gets better, because our councils (primarily) are almost all desperately struggling under impossible debt repayments and pension commitments, while simultaneously trying to deliver too many services with not enough money. Meaning that year on year they'll have to increase Council Tax as much as they think they can get away with while at the same time degrading every service they are delivering.

There isn't really a solution to much of this. Wage increases are a key driver of inflation, meaning that increasing them will just cause more pain for anyone who doesn't get them, and the notion of councils doing less has the recipients throwing their hands up in horror (and with good reason). So, basically we're just stuck.

And yet, I rather suspect that is exactly what is needed. Well... that and central government clearing the debts incurred by councils, so that they actually have some room to maneuver...

Facing the Hard Truth

When I was preaching a couple of weeks ago, my topic was "Setting His Face to Jerusalem", with my theme being about dealing with the thing you knew you had to do but also didn't really want to do.

Unfortunately, I find myself facing exactly this situation - there's a problem growing that will be absolutely horrible to deal with, but which if left unchecked will fairly soon have catastrophic effects. And so, much as I don't want to, I'm going to have to grasp this thistle.

I can't go into any more detail here. Indeed, there was an earlier version of this post that I took down because it alluded to too much. Suffice it to say, though, that the graph says that "if this doesn't change, then by the time we get here it will get very bad."

Now I just need to persuade everyone else of the problem... and someone has to think of a way out of the mess.

The Weakest One

I've been gradually reading the Strike/Ellacott novels by JK Rowling. The first of these was good but fell apart in the final chapter, while the others have been generally solid, and there have been a couple of really good ones in there. Unfortunately, "The Hallmarked Man" is not one of these.

The eighth book in the series, THM runs to 1050 pages, and could have done with being about 30% shorter. There's too much repetition in the "relationship" chapters of the book, while simultaneously not really moving much of anything forward except right at the very end. Meanwhile, the investigation is long and meandering, where the main problem is not "whodunnit", but rather who was it dun to - once that is clear, everything else falls into place.

But, alas, I clocked the eventual killer pretty much right away. I still didn't quite see why, or even how, but the who was pretty clear.

Unfortunately, along with the repetition in the "relationship" chapters, there was a lot of repetition in motifs for the series - there was another rival investigation company, there was another subcontractor causing trouble, there was a redux of Strike's disastrous relationship from the previous book, and there was a repeated mannerism that gave away the killer. Hopefully the remaining two novels in the series will offer something new, because otherwise this could prove to be a problem.

(I do wonder which way the next novel will go: will she do the "Empire Strikes Back" ending, where everything goes wrong before coming together for an eventual mega-happy ending, or will she end with our heroes seemingly happy, only for the final book to see Strike die some senseless, heroic death? (With Robin somehow miraculously pregnant with his child in order to provide the seed of future happiness...))

Anyway, that's a shame. On the other hand, there was a book I really didn't want to cite as my weakest book of the year, and that's now been escaped. So I guess that's something!

#25: "The Hallmarked Man", by Robert Galbraith (JK Rowling)

You First

For reasons that will forever be a mystery to me, The Algorithm has recently decided to deluge me with coverage of the "return of conscription" in the UK - supposedly something that's coming with the inevitable war with Russia.

Now, to a large extent, this is abject madness - the modern battlefield is one of drones and guided missiles, with very little place for masses of barely-trained and unwilling infantry. Plus, our country has a growing problem with angry young men who are feeling increasingly disenfranchised; the last thing our betters should be doing is training and arming them.

But our government is not exactly renowned either for its intelligence or its sanity, our military is sufficiently antiquated that "HMS Victory" is officially the flagship of the First Sea Lord (and, indeed, we have a First Sea Lord), and our print media, who are the source of this nonsense, are read primarily by people with extreme nostalgia for rationing, the Blitz Spirit, and a war that ended twenty years before they were born.

All of which suggests they might actually float it as a possibility.

In which case, I feel rather fortunate that I'm now too old to be conscripted, and both Funsize and Surprise! are too young. But we have nephews and nieces who are in the age range.

But...

The truth is that, despite our fellow feeling and inherent sense of justice, Ukraine aren't allies towards whom we have treaty obligations, and nor is Russia inherently a nation against whom we have any inherent animosity. The Cold War has been over for decades, and the ideology that supposedly threatened us is gone - Putin is very much not Stalin. So if our leaders choose to antagonise Russia and take us into war, that is a matter of their choice. (Most damningly of all, they would probably be doing so at the behest of the USA - a nation that has displayed through their recent actions that they very much do not have our interests at heart. They are, rightly, motivated by their own interests.)

So if our leaders want to take us to war, and think they want to drag our children into it, my answer is very clear: You first. If you want a war, you pick up a gun and go. And if you are absolutely desperate to send someone's children off to be senselessly slaughtered, start with your own. Can't bear to do that? (Not surprisingly - it's a downright psychotic thing to want to do.) Then stop your warmongering and leave us alone.

'Til All Are One

Peter Cullen, the legendary voice of Venger in the "Dungeons & Dragons" cartoon and Eeyore of Winnie the Pooh fame has died.

And he was the voice of Optimus Prime.

Other than perhaps Gary Gygax, I don't think there's anyone I've never met who has had such an important influence on my life. This had already been a bad, bad week, with the loss of Dolly and Tim, but this is a new and deep blow.

Thank you for everything, and rest in peace.

Poor Pup

Lion has been feeling rather sorry for herself this last week. On Friday, she was super excited when Grandad came around to take her for a walk to pick up Surprise! and Funsize from school, only to come home with a bad cut in her paw. This was cleaned and bandaged, then given a second layer of bandaging as she continued to leave bloody paw prints as she walked around.

Obviously, all of this necessitated a trip to the vet, which in turn meant a set of stitches. And all was well...

For about a day.

On the Saturday it became clear that something wasn't right, as she was again bleeding slightly. So back to the vet, to find that some of the stitches had burst. It was just a horrible situation. Anyway, the second time she was stitched up and comprehensively bandaged, and this time things seemed to be okay.

Yesterday she was back with the vet to have the bandage removed, the wound checked, and then a new bandage applied. It now looks like she's on the mend, we hope.

She has another follow-up tomorrow, when she might have the bandage removed altogether (which is a mixed blessing - on the one hand, that should speed further healing, but increases the risk of reopening the wound again).

Plus, to add indignity on top of injury, she's had to wear the Cone of Shame when being left alone for the last few days!

Ride or Die

We found ourselves in a slight lull, with nothing much banked up in our to-watch bucket, and so we decided to give "Ride or Die" a go. The upshot: it's a fun show, an enjoyable way to fill a few hours, and it's fortunate it's a comedy since all the characters are pretty terrible at their supposed jobs.

I think that's actually all I have to say about that. A second season hasn't yet been confirmed, but looks likely, and we'll almost certainly watch it if it comes.

#23: "Actually, I'm a Murderer", by Terry Deary

#24: "First Prize for the Worst Witch", by Jill Murphy (a book for Funsize, and the last book in that series)

Making a Debut

Over the summer our minister has been away, first on study leave and then on a well-deserved holiday. We have therefore had an eight week period when he has been away (strictly speaking, we've had seven, with one more to go). During that time the preaching duties have been shared: we've had a couple of guests, a couple of our retired ministers have taken a turn, and a couple of our elders have stood in. On Sunday, therefore, I made my debut preaching in the church.

However, as always when I'm presenting something, the story starts quite some time before the event itself - there is always considerable preparation to be done. In this instance, this started with the main sermon itself, and in particular the three points I wanted to cover. (Because, of course, three shall be the number of the points, and the number of the points shall be three. Four shall not be the number of the points, nor indeed shall there be two points, excepting that you proceed immediately to the third. Five is right out.)

While I was thrashing out the sermon, I also picked the hymns. This proved to be pretty easy: one of the great benefits of running the service is that you get to choose all your favourites. So I went for a number of the classics, most of which are really well known; one of which that congregation don't sing terribly often. (Also one that happened to come up three weeks before, but nobody seemed to mind very much.)

That done, there was a children's talk to work out, and then some prayers to compose. Those proved to be the hardest part of the whole, especially the Prayer of Intercession, which I wrote well in advance and so had to modify for events closer to the time.

Fundamentally, the work was all done a couple of weeks in advance - not because I was super-prepared, but because I was going away the week before and so wanted to make sure everything was in place.

Then came the day itself. Everything was prepared, everything was well rehearsed, and so the time had come. On went the traditional black suit (jeans and t-shirt not being quite the thing - I'm the youngest of the elders, but that would be pushing it a bit!), up to the church, a check on the presentation and the audio system, and then the waiting...

I do hate the waiting.

And then, come the appointed moment, on with the show!

It all went pretty well, I thought. At least, I didn't get struck down for saying something blasphemous, though that may be a low bar to clear. But everyone seemed quite positive as they left, I don't think anyone actually fell asleep, and so it's all good.

I guess I'll only really find out when the minister is next away - will I be asked back, or was I successful enough to not get asked back?

Anyway, that was my weekend.

The 'H' Fell Off

A couple of weeks ago we spent some time away as a family to celebrate Dad's birthday. Huzzah! This event therefore saw us returning to the site of family holidays of old, and of course the place where the famous "Squirrel Ballet" joke saw its genesis. I was excited to return there to see the plaque they'd obviously mounted in honour of that monumental event.

Imagine my dismay, therefore, to discover that there was no such plaque! And, indeed, while there were some squirrels in attendance, none of them were willing to converse with me on the topic of ballet. How disappointing!

But, luckily, we did have some excitement with local fauna...

On our first night, after Funsize and Surprise! were abed, I found myself sitting downstairs in our cabin reading my book, when I became aware of a moth flying around. It was a very big moth. Indeed, it was a very, very big moth!

In fact, it turned out that it was no moth at all, but instead a bat! In the cabin! How very exciting!

Anyway, we proceeded to turn off the indoor lights, turn on the lights on the balcony, open the doors, and allowed it to fly away. And that was the end of our adventure with bats.

Or so I thought...

A few days later, I woke relatively early and went into our upstairs bathroom to wash my face. I did not have my glasses on at this point, thus rendering me nearly entirely blind. Indeed, blind as a bat, one might say.

Anyway, as I was washing my face I felt a strange fluttering around my leg. And, glancing down, I again saw a bat, gently flapping away!

At this point I uttered a deeply manly battle cry, opened the window, and beat an heroic retreat out of the bathroom. We never saw the bat again, so I'm presuming it flew away, though perhaps it is still there, biding its time...

But it was only as I left the bathroom that I noticed the key point that explained this odd encounter. It turned out that the 'H' had fallen down...

Not Sounding Too Good

For the past couple of weeks I've been having some trouble with my ears - I woke up one morning with very little hearing on one side and a distinct feeling of being gummed up. I've had this once before, and while it wasn't any fun it did at least clear itself after a few days. No such luck this time.

So, yesterday I had an appointment to hopefully get it seen to, which started well and then stopped. At which point I was advised that I needed to see a GP as there were distinct signs of redness. Luckily, when I phoned the doctor's it turned out they had a same-day appointment, and so I was able to get seen right away. (That did mean my plans for the evening were cancelled, but never mind.)

Anyway, it now seems that there is indeed some sort of infection, actually in both ears, and I've been given a spray to hopefully fight it. Which, sadly, means it's not something that just gets dealt with and is then fixed, but should mean that it does eventually get back to normal.

In the meantime, though, I get to continue to pretend my Shakespearean interpretation of a Roman emperor: "Caesar is turned to hear."