I heard something on the radio today that made me think. It wasn’t a programme, report or news item but just a phrase.

A man mourning the loss of his wife stated that,  ‘She is just a memory.’

The use of the word ‘just’ could be taken to imply a lack of value being ascribed to the subject. For instance, I remember a tradesman complaining about his clients who would say, “Could you just fix that while you are here.” The implication being that the task in question is so insubstantial that little time and/or skill would be involved and therefore no extra cost would be incurred.

Now obviously a bereaved husband would not mean to underestimate the value of his late wife, but he may well not fully appreciate the value of her memory.

Memory is a real and tangible currency, in that it makes us what we are and could be said to constitute most of what we are.

We would perhaps do well to consider more carefully the value we place on the different elements that make up our world, both those within and without us.

What a shame last week’s sunshine and optimism  seems to have evaporated and we are back to grey skies and bitter winds, not to mention more gloomy economic figures.

Now, I am not one for talking things down, economic or otherwise, but we seem to be under attack from all sides. The exchange rate between the pound and euro has made  importers from Europe about a fifth more expensive and this at a time when budgets are already tight.

This should of course have a reverse effect on trade the other way but, and this is puzzling, the latest figures show a sharp drop in exports. How does that work?

One commentator suggested that the snow in January may be to blame and another derided this as a week excuse.

So there you have it. Darkness has fallen once again on the affairs of man. It’s no wonder weather forecasters, priests  and psychics seem to keep so busy.

All of humanity seems to be stumbling around in a thick fog, whilst suffering from a strange delusion that there is no fog and the way forward is crystal clear.

Oh well, I think for now I’ll have another beer.

What a day!

6.45am en route to work, creating a wildlife garden for a primary school, Today programme on the radio.

Mark Thompson, the director general of the BBC, announces that the corporation is to cut two radio channels and halve its website in order to concentrate resources on the production of quality programmes. Oh yes! The penny has dropped. I have been saying for years that they need to do just that. See previous post…

It’s not just that I like being proved right. I genuinely care about the Beeb; it’s a national treasure and the envy of the world. Have you watched  or listened to American or Australian TV and radio? If you have, you will be as I am, acutely aware of how much we have to lose if we let the BBC slip away. Well done Mr Thompson, now you have seen the light there should be no stopping you.

On site in the school wildlife garden things are hotting up. Rob the Digger was heard to comment that he couldn’t see what he was digging because of the sun shining in his eyes.

YES SUN!!!

What a blinding day!

A recent post solicited a comment from an old and good friend.

He suggested that my recent posts exhibited less rant and more comment and observation, or should that be observation and comment.

Anyway, perhaps he has a point.

Blogging seems to be acting upon me as a form of therapy. When I started I had thought that it may act as a kind of waste disposal unit, in which to empty all my frustration at the madness of the world.

This I figured, would make me a more relaxed and easy going individual. This would definitely be a good thing.

In reality however, the effect seems to have been even more profound than anticipated.

If even my blog posts are rant free, perhaps we have stumbled upon a treatment for a condition that seems to affect a large proportion of the over 40s.

Yes, I know it’s harder to imagine than a world without possessions or religion but …

A world without Clarkson, devoid of mindless ranting, everyone really having a nice day, oh my god it’s horrible.

Creeping Americanisation, so much positivity, huge helpings of going forward and not a trace of irony. It’s unbearably intolerably horrible.

Perhaps, after all, true perfection really does have to be imperfect.

How long is this depressing weather going to last?

It feels to me like we entered a tunnel back in November and four months later still can’t see the light. It’s worse than Eurotunnel! Well, perhaps not quite that extreme but still uncomfortable and  inconvenient and  irritating and I have had enough.

I need to see the sun and feel its warmth on my back. I need to get out in the garden to tidy up the beds and borders, not to mention repair the damage done to the lawn by Mr Mole.

In desperation I am close to contemplating a cheap flight to somewhere reasonably close to somewhere hot! Although with second thoughts that still won’t help me catch up on the gardening.

Perhaps after all these years it will be the weather that drives me into the clutches of religion. Pray God deliver me from cold, wet, gloominess.

I am off to look up Paganism on the world wide winter web.