Ms Prudence Dailey (dwell on that name) is not surprisingly a guardian of tradition within the religious community and is the Chair of the Prayer Book Society. Today the Times reported her spat with Letts, the diary producers, who have printed 2010 diaries without the traditional Latin names for the days leading up to Lent. For instance they would normally have printed the Sunday before Ash Wednesday as Quinquegessima.
Prudence Dailey, from Oxford as one would expect, has a nice turn of metaphor when aroused by various assaults on religious tradition. When speaking, passionately back in 2008, about the possible schism in the Anglican Church over women priests she said , "..the ladder that women were attempting to climb was about to smash down through the Church's stained glass ceiling”. I dare say Pru that a man is footing the ladder but I am very charmed by your peculiar Englishness, eccentricity and delightful name which must, in itself, be a reference for us all in our daily lives.
Last weekend 12/13 December I succumbed to what I now name and know as a disruptive and very worrying development in ones psyche. Random Observation Syndrome (ROS) is the casual connection with prime time TV and the resulting fixation. Making us happy senseless viewers of anything the stations choose to lob down the cathode tube or whatever now serves as the vehicle which delivers our telly programmes.
ROS will hit you at one of those moments when you have set down your Kant or Kierkergaard, ignored the light relief of Rado 3’s Saturday night Rachmaninov concert and chosen, or in my case had chosen for me, the vaunted and much watched X Factor.
“Randomly observing” can quickly become compulsively addictive. X factor goes straight into the main artery and leaves you begging for more. And the “more” I took was firstly the Sports Review of 2009 (all 2 hours of it), the final of X Factor and a substantial hit of “Strictly” with regular rushes from the week’s frequent couch interviews with X Factor winner, Joe “Dimples” McElderry
Without even having to go to Lourdes or Fatima I was delivered of my addiction, the methadone being Fulham’s 3-0 win over Man Utd yesterday. Miraculous as it may seem I am now clean but must not forget those of you whose lives must be hurting with the loss of that turgid telly as all of it exploded over two orgasmic weekends, like a great big party popper
The joy of X factor and its allied psychotropic programmes that come from all the mainstream broadcasters is that one can get into some serious voodoo. We all deep down hate celebrities. Celebrities are never truly celebrated unless they happen to be, in my case, the Fulham midfield!
Let’s face it Louis Walsh is about as big a prat as you could wish to encounter. In the semi final the adorable George Michael opined dangerously close to little Joe’s ear that he must be nervous, particularly being “around people like himself and Robbie Williams”. Oooooerrrr, never a truer word spoken.
Cheryl Cole is redeemed by an accent which I associate with the good humour of the BT help desk in Newcastle and has the disarming ability to emotionally unfold at the sight of a wounded cockroach. Sadly she shares the same eyebrows as Danni Minogue who thankfully barely spoke during my exposure to X Factor.
Eyebrows are an issue for star making programmes and I remember, before I understood Random Observation Syndrome (ROS) that Susan Boyle had to have her eyebrows mown and it has not escaped me that Cheryl is a friend of Laura Luke, the lass from South Shields who is doing good business with beauty tips on YouTube; which are now published in the Guardian.
Having read the previous paragraph I recognise that I might have progressed beyond ROS and acquired the full blown ROS + which is “Rectal Observation Syndrome”
As for the rest of it, “Strictly” viewers did the decent thing by arranging the win of Chris Hollins, a less than svelte figure who won for all fans of John Seargeant, in my opinion. The Sports Review of 2009 had virtually no sport included, but lots of lights strobing the 12,000 person audience in search of an astonished expression which finally occurred with the announcement that Ryan Giggs had edged golden boy Jenson Button and Ryan appropriately looked like a rabbit in the headlights. Well done Ryan.
In time all our TV might be dominated by Simon Cowell. He is a funny little bloke who, publicly, stands with his head to one side as though he is seeking his mother’s approval.
Simon also has “Britain’s Got Talent” which this year lost it’s nerve as a man from Coventry prepared to decapitate himself with a chainsaw. I did not particularly want to see a man die on telly but I did realise that Cowell is just a ring master. He takes chances with other people’s lives and hopes that nothing will go too badly wrong
Getting a good dose of Random Observation Syndrome (ROS) has been very good for me and I hope the cryptography is well received and not misunderstood.
Becoming totally TESOLated by Friday last week (27th Nov), I am now in a position to restart the blog. I passed the exam, part of which was a 2 hour written paper composed of three sections: grammar; phonetics and lesson planning. This test was a personal triumph which I romped through gaining an exciting and rewarding 52%! A small miracle conjured from the course administrators, Lisa and Anna. They are either well paid or have a strange sadomasochistic spirit dwelling in their beings which tempts them to subject unsuspecting passers-by to an exhausting, excoriating, initiation in the art of English Language teaching. They are the Ant and Dec of TESOL
The course was a version of “I’m a Celebrity...” without the insects and food. Never have I endured such a nerve wracking 4 week period. The contestants (AKA as the student teachers), shed tears; smiled through gritted teeth; hugged and hissed; competed; in one case just sadly disappeared, and generally presented a public image of competence in delivering lessons to students of English who had volunteered largely, I suspected to keep out of the rain. Amazingly they seemed to actually learn English; which was the object of the exercise I was once pithily reminded by either Ant or Dec.
In order that the contestants (student teachers) could appreciate the difficulty in learning a foreign language and to understand the darkness and isolation that could envelope one when faced with a totally alien linguistic environment we were taught Norwegian by a jack-in-the-box called Jake! In my life I have never encountered anyone so animated in the face of complete ignorance. How he could have summoned up such enthusiasm can only be attributable to mind altering drugs or intense bouts of yoga. And I hope it’s the latter. Anyway if I am ever strolling the streets of Hammerfest I can now politely ask the name of a passing reindeer - Q. Hva heter du A. Jeg Heter Rudolph. If Jake stumbles on these words – “Respect!!!”
What I do now with the certificate, at my age, is beyond me for the immediate moment but I could never replicate these last few weeks. Never could I wish to engage with such a great group of contestants. As for Ant and Dec I know they know I love them really. For instance I hope that you don’t ever again have to consult your astrological chart to check out that the boyfriend isn’t shacked up with someone else. I hope also that I will receive good vibes sent down the appropriate channels.
To, Emma, Catia, Kat, Ben, John, Ania, Jane, Ivana, Cristina and to Gus who didn’t make the finale I offer you my greetings from Worthy Heights
To the course teachers (far left; far right and centre with chin in palm) thanks!
"Nice, very nice, yessssss, that was excellent, nice”
