Nostalgia, entertainment and war

There are three things I dislike intently, nostalgia, entertainment and war. I'm not trying to make a moral equivalence between these, but as I've just spent several hours experiencing all three in combination, I thought I'd lump them together for the sake of a blog that no one reads.

Bantock House in Wolverhampton is a perfectly fine place to spend a quiet afternoon. The parkland and gardens provide a nice escape from the City traffic, while the house itself is moderately informative about Wolverhampton's development, although the contextual information about Victorian households is nothing that can't be found elsewhere. The house also hosts regular events, including an annual music event which provides local acoustic musicians the chance to play at somewhere other than the usual circuit of nondescript pubs. The standard of performance is variable, but this reinforces the sense of watching a real musical event, rather than X-Factor or some such nonsense.

Today, they were hosting a 40s weekend. I attended for a variety of reasons far too tedious to go into here, but with low expectations. The event was also attended by a variety of people, most of whom too young to remember the War, dressed as soldiers, spivs and Vera Lynn-alikes. The official entertainment was a 'sing-along' of wartime hits, lead by a medium-sized group of the above soldiers, spivs and Vera Lynn-alikes, most of whom were too young to remember the War. All of this is perfectly harmless, and I really don't mean to sneer, but I did find it profoundly depressing.

Part way through proceedings, the host reminded us that the men who fought in World War II were fighting for the freedoms we enjoy today. It was at this point that I realised what was making me so uncomfortable.

I am not, when push comes to shove, a pacifist. When I was younger, I felt that I would have fought against Hitler, and I still suspect that I would have done, but that shouldn't prevent any of us questioning the myth-making that surrounds this period. If Hitler had lived, he would now be 122 (or dead). Even if we had lost the War and been invaded by Germany, things would have changed; we would not still be living under a fascist dictatorship. There would also have been internal resistance, which combined with the inherent instability of any form of dictatorship would have lead to the collapse of the Nazi Party. Ultimately, National Socialism would have collapsed the same way that Communism did. And, of course, Hitler did not rise in a vacuum: the treaty of Versailles created the political and economic conditions in which fascism flourished; Britain, as a nation, was complicit in this.

None of this is intended in any way to diminish the sacrifices of that generation; I simply feel that sitting back and enjoying a nostalgic sing-along romanticises and decontexualises a complex area. Personally, I would rather engage with someone singing about their lives, while struggling to play the guitar than be entertained by well-known songs that were originally intended to distract people from harrowing events. For similar reasons, I prefer history to nostalgia; I want to learn about context and causes, not hear about how wonderful it all was, and not just because it wasn't.

I am still not a pacifist: I would have fought against Hitler - Chamberlain's appeasement made this inevitable - and I would have fought against Apartheid. But, just as I prefer history to nostalgia, I prefer peace to war.

Warning - This blog has no point

Earlier today, I read this article by Charlie Brooker. It is slightly encouraging in that Brooker explains that despite a bungled educational background, he has managed to succeed in life. At the same time, it is rather discouraging for me personally, because I am the same age as him, but, despite having similarly bungled my education, I am still in the dead-end job.

Stories of people who have become successful despite not doing well at school are not particularly rare. What struck me about Brooker's article is the similarity with my own situation. Like him, I scraped through my A-levels; easily distracted, I got marks that were better than I deserved, but not quite what I needed to get a place at my first choice institution. Like Brooker, I was offered a place anyway; and like Brooker, I started a course at a polytechnic, that became a university while I was studying there. Also like Charlie Brooker - and this is the bit that really impresses me - I failed after three years.

For the uninitiated, the last is something of an achievement: some students drop out part way through; this is nothing to be ashamed of if you've made a bad decision, or simply find it difficult for other reasons. Very few students, however, stay for three years, but leave without a degree. In my cohort, I was the only one; by way of contrast, two students were awarded Firsts.

Like Charlie Brooker, I also spent my 20s with poor qualifications and no real idea about what I wanted to do. This is where the similarities between us end. He has since become quite successful, despite not having a degree; I went back to university as a mature student, and obtained a First - but, I'm still stuck in a poorly-paid, unchallenging job that I don't like very much.

There is still no real point to this blog. I'm not trying to suggest that Charlie Brooker is wrong, or I am unfortunate, or even that going back to university was a bad idea (it wasn't). I'm simply sharing a bit of personal history and trying to bask in the reflected glory of a mildly successful journalist.

A hacking great scandal?

As you might be aware, there has been a bit of a hoo-ha about phone hacking over the last few weeks. It is a story that significant enough in its own right and one that will, I suspect, rumble on for some time before we begin to see the full extent of the wrongdoing. The story is also significant, I think, because it is part of a longer-running power struggle between three large British institutions.

For a while (perhaps a long while) the press, Parliament and the judiciary have been at war (to use a tabloidism) over who holds the other to account. In the past two years, we have seen the press unveil details of MPs' expenses with varying degrees of relish. All this is justified (not unreasonably, I think) by the claim that part of the job of the press is to hold our MPs to account. The judiciary have joined in with the fun, sending disgraced politicians to prison.

The press and the judiciary, meanwhile, have been at war over privacy laws. The recent case of a celebrity footballer (no links, as you probably all know anyway) who attempted to prevent reporting of his sexual indiscretions illustrates the point well. The judiciary attempted to curb the press, granting an injunction preventing reporting of the issue (not to mention the very existence of the injunction). The press, of course, found various ways round this, aided by a certain social networking site. Ultimately, Parliament had its final say, with an MP using Parliamentary Privilege to name the player in question.

There are countless other examples of judges making decisions that press and Parliament (with an eye on their popularity ratings) find ludicrous; or, alternatively, judges mitigating Parliament's attempts to introduce outrageous or ill-thought out changes.

Ultimately, all three see themselves as the final arbiter. The press do not want to be over-regulated (or regulated at all) - who does? Most media commentators argue that a free press is vital in a democracy. This is perfectly correct and I think it could well be the case that we have to put up with a press we don't like as the price for this. It is also right to say that the press should not be above the law - written by Parliament and interpreted by the judiciary.

This seems to leave us chasing our own tails, but perhaps this is as it should be. Democracy is not perfect, but I don't think humanity has yet invented a less imperfect system. We have to accept compromises and inconsistencies. This doesn't mean, however, that we shouldn't work to improve the system, or at least our application of it.

We have heard a lot during the last few weeks about 'regulation' of the press; personally, I think 'accountability' is a more useful concept. I am wary of any attempt to stop someone publishing or saying what they like (it's a complicated debate best saved for another time). Accountability means that journalists, and proprietors, who break the law will be punished in the same way as everyone else - perhaps even more severely. The press enjoy a privileged position within a democracy and with that privilege comes responsibility. We should be able to expect the highest standards from our journalists, just as we should be able to expect them from our MPs and our judges.

Priorities

Apparently there is a big wedding happening in the UK soon. Personally, I'm not a big fan of the Royal Family. I'm not a republican - aside from anything else, I'm not convinced a president is necessarily a better option. So Prince William and Kate Middleton are getting married - I have no real opinion on this, other than to wish two people well: I won't be getting an invite, which saves me a dilemma, but not much of one.

This morning, I was in the room with someone who was watching BBC News. The item of 'news' they were covering concerned this wedding, in which I have little or no interest. The groom, apparently, will be giving the bride his ring, but will not be wearing a ring himself. This does not concern me; or you, unless you are one of the two people getting married (which I doubt). The show's editors, however, felt the need to run an item about this non-story for several minutes. They interviewed two 'experts' - I make no effort to check their qualifications - and several members of the public.

It won't surprise you to learn that I became increasingly irritated as this item wore on. This was partly because, as hinted at above, I'm not a huge fan of the Royal Family; it's also because I'm an irritable so-and-so anyway. Was there not, I asked myself, anything more important happening in the world? There was, and is: the story immediately before this piece of nonsense, informed us that Libyan civilians have been killed in a coalition air-strike. They had dedicated less than thirty seconds to that.

All of this probably makes me seem overly earnest, and perhaps naive. I accept that news programmes have to strike a balance (and I am a big fan of BBC news in general); I accept that the world isn't all doom-and-gloom (although it certainly seems like it some days); but surely, a serious news programme can do so much better than waste time on a matter that has little interest, beyond the two people immediately involved.

Overfed Liberal?

Today I visited an all-you-can-eat buffet. As I sat down with my first plate, the instore sound-system was playing 'Sowing the Seeds of Love' by Tears for Fears. It's a record that I thought was thrillingly inventive, when it was released in the late 80s. I now think it's musically fussy and ludicrously over-produced; the lyrics, meanwhile, are trite and naive. It was the lyrics that caught my attention this time. As I was about to start stuffing my face, I heard Roland Orzabal sing about "an end to need / and the politics of greed". How undiplomatic.

This set me thinking about what I was doing - eating at a restaurant chain that encourages over-consumption of 'Pan Asian' food in an affluent Western society. (By the way, I know that last link isn't strictly relevant, but I hope you appreciate my reasons for not advertising the chain in question). How many people across the continent (take note, George Bush) of Asia can't afford to feed themselves? And there I was, spending money I won't miss, feeding myself well past the point of need.

Some of you might think I need to get over myself, and start enjoying the (relatively) good life. Others will think I need to stop being a hypocrite and do something about global poverty, instead of stuffing my face. What I will actually do is continue to live the (relatively) good life, while feeling terribly guilty about it.

More Prescience?

My last post was loosely on the topic of how prescient I can be with hindsight. I was particularly miffed because I felt I had anticipated a particularly ludicrous government policy - as an aside, pedants, it is both the government and the policy that I think are ludicrous - but was unable to claim any kudos as I hadn't made the prediction public. This week, I feel slightly more smug.

Regular readers may be aware of a blog I wrote last year on the subject of Boris Jonson and David Cameron. Towards the end of the blog, I queried the now Prime Minister's professed love of the Smiths. I wouldn't want to question the man's integrity, but it has always struck me as odd. It's not so much the idea that he would listen to lyrics he would find it difficult to agree with that I find unlikely, but the idea of him enjoying a band whose whole aesthetic seems founded on a worldview he could not possibly share.

It seems that I am not alone. In the last two weeks, both Johnny Marr and Morrisey have attempted to forbid Mr Cameron from liking the band. Morrisey's comments are particularly pertinent: 'It was not for such people that either "Meat is Murder" or "The Queen is Dead" were recorded,' he writes. I don't like to think of people as types, but I think he sums the position up well. Cameron, I presume, came to the Smiths in his teens. This is an age in which music forms a huge part of many people's identity. In an era in which the country was divided, Cameron and the Smiths were most definitely on opposite sides of the fence.

Cameron is an intelligent man, and (as an Oxford undergraduate) must have been an intelligent teenager. How did he not realise that this band were speaking for people who were excluded from the life he and his Tory chums were enjoying? I'm glad that Morrisey and Marr seem to understand this, even if Cameron doesn't.

Museum of London

How do we judge fame? I'm sure we've all heard the comment "He/she/it can't be that famous; I've never heard of them." Personally I always tut to myself when I hear this - as if your limited frame of reference is the only criterion - but I'm just as guilty of doing it myself. Fame is, by definition, collectively defined. I may know everything there is to know about my nearest and dearest, but if no one else does they are not famous; by the same token if I am the only person in the world not to have heard of the crimewriter Theobald Urquart, the omission hardly disqualifies him from the epithet "well known".

This, of course, only applies in a negative sense. I am pretty sure that Wayne Rooney is famous, not only because I've heard of him, but because I've heard of him in lots of places. If I really am the only person who hasn't heard of the global celebrity that is Mr Urquart, how am I to know I am missing out? You could all be talking about him when I'm not around and I wouldn't know. There would be no point talking about him when I am around because I don't know who he is; even if you did, I wouldn't pay attention.

All this is a round about way of saying I visited the Museum of London last week. I was planning to eulogise about what an underrated gem it is, much more informative and friendlier than more famous museums in the City. It occurred to me, however, that it might actually be rather more famous than I believe. Simply because I hadn't heard of it before, doesn't mean that everyone else hasn't already visited it a thousand times. It was considerably quieter than other museums I visited during the week, but that might be because I am a terrible judge of museums, and while I found it charming and distinctive, you might have found it parochial and narrow.

I am no expert on the subject, but I will say if you are in London and looking for somewhere to visit you could do worse than try this museum (assuming, obviously, that you haven't already been there). I have found in other cities that museums with a local focus are the most interesting: museums that try a broader approach often fail to do anything distinctive. This is something that I thought wouldn't apply in London - the presence of world class collections ensures that there are significant exhibits in most museums and galleries - I have found, however, that even here the local focus provides a wealth of stimulating material.