During my quite long absence from this vanity of blogging I find myself at last with something to record. In literature Zola’s Therese Raquin saw me into the New Year. With the lighter side of that book being the very violent murder of the family cat I was pleased to have re-read Great Gatsby and more recently encountered the world of a book club part of which appears to be the amorous adventures of members and I am most certainly not complaining about that aspect although my first book reading, John McFarlane’s “The Wild Places “ reminds me that I am more urban than urbane.
On the art front the Towner in Eastbourne is now hosting a show transported from Tate St Ives, Dark Monarch, and I happily, though solitarily attended a preview which attracted a lot of interesting handbags and shoes. There was one handbag I could happily have been popped into but that’s another story. Damien Hearst’s Unicorn is there along with stuff I enjoyed much more such as a woman called Ithell Colquhoun. Sutherland, Moore, Hepworth are all represented. I rubbed shoulders with Grayson Perry again that night. I touched his raiment!!
French film took hold for some reason with Hidden, Mesrine and A Prophet getting under my skin. A Prophet is very very good, if you can handle the early, intense violence which is a necessary part of the movie.
But this is what really got under my skin during January and early February...............................
Tonight, Pancake Day, the Bishops Conference of Ireland will be in the Vatican in preparation for a meeting with Pope Benedict to discuss the abuse of children who were in the care of the Church in Ireland. Evidently the American Catholic Church had a similar opportunity which was not so well attended. I don’t know why the Americans didn’t show, but based on a previous post I made here last year they were probably having diocesan problems over bankruptcy. That’s financial not moral!
This early part of the 2010 has been an arid time at Worthyheights, me being a little pre-occupied emotionally and even having cause to lay some plans for new enterprises but all I need as inspiration to get back on the keyboard is that turgid rolling juggernaut of self-righteous, institutional bunk which is organised religion.
The year started with Northern Ireland and the laughable Robinsons. Can I ever forget Peter Robinson’s TV interview when he coldly described how he had dealt with his wife’s problem. That problem being the small matter of an attempted suicide, mental breakdown and an affair with a 19 year old. All that set against the bigotry of the Robinsons’ sanctimonious attacks on homosexuality and any other activity they deemed moral turpitude; naturally, sidestepping the issues that existed south of their border that the good bishops are now addressing in Rome.
Later in January, Cherie Blair, a judge no less but with questionable skills of judgement pitched in for religion by announcing in court, not once but twice that a defendant should not normally be violent on account of his religious credentials. As the wife of a previous PM it should not have escaped her attention that 9/11, the Madrid and London bombings and a whole raft of other atrocities around the world have been committed with a religious signature.
Once the problems of Ireland are put aside by Pope Benny he is off in our direction to reform the Reformation and he has already decided to interfere in the affairs of our state by commenting vociferously on employment procedure over gays and others who are unwelcome in state supported religiously based organisations
Anybody still clinging to the moral wreckage of a structured politically organised religion needs only look to the devastation of Haiti where a beleaguered people are victimised by the soul-savers who selfishly impose their religion on people desperate for a modicum of justice and redemption
As all these holy people bow their heads in quiet contemplation and in deference to their God I become concerned with the argument between French and British scientists about the existence of the G spot. Britain still believes in empirical evidence of its non existence, France has sound arguments for its existence, based largely on the fact that no woman could honestly simply respond to a Frenchman by having an internal orgasm. It would need to be a flooding explosion of appreciation of their manhood to compensate for their repeated failures on the battlefield. As for the British, I would tend to be wary of a profession, commenting on female sexuality, which is drawn from a class which bangs up its young men in all-male institutions.
Nice to be back
