Friday, 4 March 2011

How should one refer to a female adult?

On a radio programme today, which deals with listeners' reactions to what they've heard, a female listener rang in to berate a (male) doctor in an earlier programme who'd been talking about morning sickness during pregnancy, where he'd repeatedly used the word 'ladies' rather than 'women'. She found this condescending, insulting and demeaning.
I, myself, have always referred to 'ladies' because I feel that that word is more respectful than the other one. Actually, it's not the first time I've heard this viewpoint but she was so up-front and offended that I'm wondering if my viewpoint is a 'generation thing'. For the record, I also use the word 'gentleman' when talking to a third party about a particular male - and sometimes, when appropriate I'll say 'young man' (or young lady) which maybe compounds the original 'offence' - though I will concede that the word 'gentleman' has, for some, overtones of referring to a public toilet, as has the word 'ladies' - but I can't help that!
The word 'woman', because it contains in abbreviated form the word 'womb', makes me feel a tad uncomfortable to use in 'polite' conversation. But maybe my views can be dismissed as just those of an old-timer whose crusty attitude has been superceded by time and generally-accepted behaviour. After all, I'm still one of that dying breed who, while receiving glowering looks of disapproval from the men remaining seated, will give up my own seat on a bus or a train for a lady, oops, sorry - a woman!

Wednesday, 2 March 2011

Another disturbing film to keep me awake at night.

It's been 15 months since 'Paranormal Activities' (the first one) had pressed all the right 'scare- buttons' in my mind. So it was that yesterday I saw the next film to give me the most sleepless night for quite some time.
'Never Let me Go' is a British film about three young adults who, as children, had attended a kind of boarding school where all the pupils are reared (and this isn't a spoiler as it's evident in the early part of the film) with the sole intention of being organ-donors when they reach maturity. The story behind this frightening scenario has a fine pedigree - based on a book by Kazuo Ishiguro ('The Remains of the Day' etc) and given a screenplay by Alex Garland ('The Beach', 'Sunshine', '28 Days Later' etc.)
What I found particularly unsettling in this film was that the 'victims' accepted their fate without question and, furthermore, their highest aspiration was to survive long enough to denote as many as three varied organs over a relatively short period of time, while being progressively debilitated in the process. However, they are given to understand that they may, by demonstrating satisfactorily that they've 'fallen in love', defer their fate by being given a year or two's grace to enjoy their experience. Of course they don't know in advance which organs will be eventually removed from them. It could be something as survivable as the extraction of an eye or it could be their entire liver.
There is little, if any, visual 'horror' to be shown on screen. It's the very notion that is so disturbing and which made me almost break out into a sweat last night when all was still and quiet and my mind gravitated to where it wanted to dwell.
It's usually ideas, sometimes only suggested or implied, that tend to scare me more than full-frontal horror. For example, even though I don't care for the sight of blood I've never found the notion of vampires particularly frightening. Everyone has their own personal 'trigger-points'.
Incidentally, much has been made here that the trailer for 'Never Let Me Go' gives no indication of the seriousness of the storyline. If I hadn't known beforehand, when I first saw the trailer I thought it was just about a love triangle between two young women and a young man, and I wouldn't have bothered to go. But even though I was definitely disturbed by the experience of seeing it, I'm glad I'd heard about the reality of what it was about and I made the effort. So, if you're not entirely put off by what's involved, I'd say "Do see it. A good film."

Wednesday, 23 February 2011

Tony Blair - still a nasty after-taste.

It's impossible to glean any pleasure from seeing the Gaddafi-inspired horrors currently going on in Libya, but I do derive some gloating satisfaction in seeing our news channels replaying footage of Tony Blair's visits to that maniac, greeting him with the traditional double kiss, warm, smiling embrace and handshakes. Blair certainly never took too much trouble in choosing his friends (that buffoon, Berlusconi, was another of them!) and I can only hope he's doubled-up and cringing with embarrassment as he sees yet another aspect of his foreign policy history replayed to a world, a large part of whom knew at the time that he, Blair, was making such a fool of himself and would live to regret it. As he hides away in his multi-millionaire world, I'd love to hear him come out now and try to defend his acts at a time when money and oil did the talking. (Did I just say 'did'?)
Blair was always a conundrum. Coming to the fore in the 1990s as a champion of the working classes; a Prime Minister, many of whose domestic social policies were truly commendable, and for which he fought for against the odds; and yet when it came to foreign policy (one does not even have to mention Iraq) he was so ham-fisted and plain wrong that it's virtually impossible to square the circle. Meanwhile, nearly four years since his grudging resignation as Prime Minister, he now travels the world, receiving astronomical sums for giving speeches about his political experience laced with his advice and, erm, 'wisdom'. He ensconces himself away in his multi-million pound residence (I think he may have several), still protected by bodyguards (very telling that he still needs them!) which we British taxpayers have to pay for.

His wife, through her legal career even wealthier than he was at the time he was Prime Minister, is also on the speeches-for-money binge-circuit as well as receiving her regular fees for her judiciary work, which in many single cases would dwarf what most people earn in a full year. She also originated from a 'working class' background. (Her actor-father, a lifelong socialist activist, and still so, long since denounced his son-in-law's politics and refused to vote for his party.)
Of course one can say that if the Blairs are still receiving colossal sums, then good for them. But I do wonder how often they, in their ivory towers, think of their roots and the people they left behind, those very people whom they at one time championed. Or are they just too busy totting up their bank balances?

Tuesday, 15 February 2011

Rollercoasters - A fun I wish I'd done more of.

We surely all have regrets at not having done more of things we know we'd have liked. One of my major ones is not having visited more funfairs and riding on rollercoasters.
I've always been fascinated by fairground rides of all types, including roundabouts, waltzers, ghost trains etc., yet haven't had the opportunity, or the nerve, to try them out - usually because I've nearly always been alone and don't want to look conspicuous by being a solitary rider. But rollercoasters are the ultimate.
There's only been one occasion in my life when I had the chance to throw caution to the winds and go on all the rides I wanted. It was at the annual Munich Beer Festival of 1985 which I attended with a German friend, with whom I still have contact, though he's long since been married to his boyfriend. At that time the Oktoberfest funfair was the largest non-permanently-sited fair in the world, and may well still be so, and by now it's certain to be even bigger! But it was simply huge even then, with so many different rides that I wanted to try them all, with the exception of those that turned one upside-down. (I'd still be a bit nervous about that.) I suppose the rides would be considered tame by today's standards but I vividly recall how exhilarating I felt after each one. It was quite addictive, and we went on several more than once in one evening. As neither of us were great beer drinkers, rather than 'wasting' valuable time in a beer tent, we spent all our time being spun and whizzed around, shaken up, twisted, rattled and jerked this way and that - really great fun. That was my only time. Even as a boy with my brothers I never ventured onto anything but the very safest rides and recall seeing them on their first time on a big dipper (as we called them then) and I was too frightened to join them, remaining on solid ground but watching them enviously. But that time in Munich - at the age of nearly 40! - was my first ever time on one, and I loved it. And I've never been on any fairground ride since.
We've seen TV programmes here about people who travel the world just to ride on the most extreme rides, and I really do wish I could be one of them. I'm not sure that, even if I could, it would be advisable to try out the very most extreme as, although having no heart problems (or so I'm told), I do suffer from high blood pressure, so it might not be the wisest thing. But there are sure to be many other safer ones to enjoy.
I'm not giving up hope that some time in the not-too-distant future I might be able to catch up on something of what I've missed. In fact I have a fantasy; when I win our National Lottery (note the 'when'!) and I can afford to visit my transatlantic blog-pals, I'm hoping that there might be an amusement park within accessible distance of where they live so that they can take me there and ride with me - and in return I'd promise to try not to embarrass them during any rapid descents by emitting an ear-piercing, nelly-type scream. Well I'll try!