Andrew Kelly 1958-2005

My Uncle Andrew died yesterday. It was quite unexpected until Thursday when the relatively minor problem he was in hospital with became suddenly more complicated. He was forty-seven years old.

Everybody is doing okay. Andrew had profound learning difficulties and pretty bad epilepsy along with an increasing collection of minor ailments, so there was always some fragility and this was by no means the first time that we had reason to fear for his life. My Granny's first response was that she thought he was about to die when his kidney's failed at twenty-three, so every year since was a bonus and a blessing. He died very peacefully with his brother's close by. Plus I know Granny was very concerned about what would become of him after her death. I guess at least she now know's he is all right. Catholicism helps with this sort of thing.

He lived with my grandparents up until his thirties so was a very significant character in my childhood, a playmate as well as being somewhat of a curiosity; this child in an adult's body. At one point, when a bad reaction to drugs wound up with him being under section, I used to come home from school to find him sat in his pyjamas on our garden bench having escaped the local mental hospital. He always seemed fine to me and it never seemed right for him to be dragged off by the psychiatric staff half way through whichever board game we were playing.

He didn't have a very good gauge of his own strength so we sometimes used to get pinched and pulled about in a painful if purely affectionate manner. Very occassionally he could get frustrated with his young nieces and once blutacked the enigmatic sign to his bedroom door "Keep Keep Wood Up". We thought this was hilarious at the time which is why it has stuck in my head. Weren't we evil?

He loved Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang and Lego, donating much of his collection to me at one point. He was also a fanatic collector of keyrings and bags, keeping one inside another inside another. He loved to spend time with us all and every visit or outing or humorous birthday card was welcomed like some tremendous treat.

Andrew had a very warm nature and an excellent sense of humour. Many of the most notable and dramatic incidents of his life were when things went wrong, when the drugs screwed him up or when the family struggled to get adequate provision for him. But the picture I have linked to at the top of his page, taken by my sister at my cousin Jenny's wedding in 2003 is pretty close to the way I shall remember him.

Bye-ee for now-ow!

How many nightshirts does a person need for nine nights? I have no idea. I don't know how often I change my nightshirt. I just do, when I need to. I mean, not when it is shuffling itself into the linen curboard, but I don't know, when I feel like it. I hate packing. It's like shopping. I defer these two tasks elsewhere whenever possible.

We're off to Suffolk tomorrow. Yippee! I know it's only visiting my folks but it shall be quite an adventure and I haven't seen them in six months.

While we're down there, I'll get to see my favourite Granny who has been very ill. My Granny Kelly is like rather a third parent to me, and is a very special lady - it is very difficult to come to terms with the fact she's eighty something and isn't going to be around forever. Hopefully I'lll get to see my good friend Vic as well. I really miss her and am developing my own teleportation device in my wardrobe so that I can see her more often.

I will also be obliged to visit my other grandmother, but the less said about that the better.

On our way down south we're dropping off a load of broken computer gear at a place called Airedale Computer Recycling outside Pontifract. It's really important to try and recycle white goods and computer equipment and it will be good to get all this stuff off our hands.

The fish have got one of those little disks which keep them fed for a fortnight, so they're all right, in case you were wondering. I shall try to check in with you at some point, but adios for now.

Frankly, Mr Shankly

Yesterday was a good day, but today I’m wading through the fog rather. I don’t know whether I shall blog while I am away, we’ll have to see. Today I have been trying get organised, which is never easy for me and also recording a tape for us to listen to during our journey down south. During this task I discovered my favourite song of the moment which is Every Day I Love You Less And Less by the Kaiser Chiefs. As soon as I heard it, I loved it, which is a rare event. It may just be today as it is rather irreverent. Download it. Go on. It’ll only cost you 79p and it may bring you a great deal of pleasure. It may not, but isn't it worth the gamble?

Other things I downloaded for our journey included Peaches by The Presidents of the United States of America. I always loved that song, it was one of the theme tunes to my early adolescence. I also recorded Love Will Tear Us Apart by Joy Division, Another Girl, Another Planet by The Only Ones and Have You Ever Fallen In Love With Someone You Shouldn’t Have Fallen In Love With? by the Buzzocks. Oh yeah and Frankly Mr Shankly by the Smiths. That one I would buy the album, but I can't afford to just now. I love that lyric. One of my biggest regrets about my chronic unemployment is that I have never had a job from which I could resign, playing that particular track over the tanoy. I shall copy the lyric at the bottom of this entry.

I don’t spend a fortune downloading, but I have a long list of songs I want where I have no intention of buying the album. Every now and again I download the equivalent of an album’s worth, usually from iTunes which is easier to navigate than anywhere else. I listen to most of my music through my computer. Couldn’t justify the expense of an MP3 player as I don’t move about that much.

I have a feeling as I'm typing this that none of this makes sense.

BTW one of my archives has a Googlejack with "Sandsend" and "cogniscient". That's cause I mispelt cognoscente in some bizarre manner and Sandsend is a place name. I am still searching for my very own Googlewhack. Does anyone know what the heck I'm talking about?

Anyway, Frankly, Mr Shankly by the Smiths (from The Queen Is Dead)

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held
It pays my way, and it corrodes my soul
I want to leave, you will not miss me
I want to go down in musical history

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck
I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck
I must move fast, you understand me
I want to go down in celluloid history, Mr. Shankly

Fame, Fame, fatal Fame
It can play hideous tricks on the brain
But still I'd rather be Famous
Than righteous or holy, any day
Any day, any day

But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled
Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill
I want to live and I want to Love
I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held
It pays my way and it corrodes my soul
Oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry
I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry, Mr. Shankly

Frankly, Mr. Shankly, since you ask
You are a flatulent pain in the arse
I do not mean to be so rude
Still, I must speak frankly, Mr. Shankly

Oh, give us your money!

Relativism (A Rant)

I had a good sleep last night and am now feeling much more with it. So today I’m going to rant about relativisim. This week the new pope and the vampire ruler of the opposition spoke out against it, but this is very silly because relativism is a logical error, not a moral philosophy. To argue against it is only a notch up from saying “No more non sequiturs!” or “An end to tautology!”. Since I am sure that Benedict XVI will be checking out my blog first thing this morning (Hi Benny! Congrats on the promotion!) I shall explain.

Relativism, in these term at least – in physics it mean something else entirely – is what happens when someone asserts that the moral truth of any given situation cannot be discovered, because the situation is only relative to the myriad influences effecting it. Uh, an example from The Simpsons. Bart begins to suspect that his employer Fat Tony is a crook so confronts him on the matter;

Fat Tony : Bart, um, is it wrong to steal a loaf of bread to feed your starving family?

Bart : No.

Fat Tony : Well, suppose you got a large starving family. Is it wrong to steal a truckload of bread to feed them?

Bart : Uh uh.

Fat Tony : And, what if your family don't like bread? They like... cigarettes?

Bart : I guess that's okay.

Fat Tony : Now, what if instead of giving them away, you sold them at a price that was practically giving them away. Would that be a crime, Bart?

Bart : Hell, no!

Rarely does anybody commit a crime or any sort of wrong-doing in isolation; something lead up to this, something provoked them, the victim may be a wrong-doer themselves or perhaps they can afford whatever harm is inflicted on them – usually when you hear the phrase “victimless crime” the truth is that there is a victim but it is a massive and wealthy entity – the Inland Revenue who you’re holding a few quid back from, software giants whose software you’ve pirated, a major chain-store whose low-cost product you slipped into your pocket.

And even as you read that you’re thinking that shop-lifting is a far more serious offence than software pirating – almost everybody you know has pirated software on their machine whereas you don’t know anybody who would go into a shop and actually steal stuff off the shelves. Maybe some of you are thinking that software is generally dearer than most items you could easily shoplift, so that is the greater offence. And everybody fiddles their tax return, right?

I’m not suggesting for a minute that anybody is going to burn in hell for this stuff or indeed that any of the above arguments are valid to some extent. However, the fact is that just because a offence appears to have little or no impact on others – and maybe you even feel like your taxes are badly spent and software giants are some evil imperialist power who deserve the losses – this doesn’t stop the principal of what you’re doing being wrong. It may be much less wrong than a lot of other things, but it is still wrong.

Relativism is the argument that eventually all the extenuating circumstances outweigh one another and there is no absolute right or absolute wrong. This is the argument to end all arguments as to be consistent, somebody who asserts this must then remain silent on all other issues – after all, anything if there is no right or wrong then it is pointless to voice an opinion, since that’s just your opinion, nobody need listen to it or take it into account in anyway.

Somebody could come up and punch you on the nose and you have no comeback. Their act of punching you on the nose is only relative to whatever act, knowingly or otherwise, you committed to provoke them, plus other things like this person’s background, what kind of day they were having, any genetic or cultural predisposition they have for punching you on the nose.

Morality is not all black and white, it is a spectrum of grey – but a spectrum, not just a general grey fuzz. The vast majority of issues can be identifies as being more than fifty percent black or more than fifty percent white. Although I believe in absolute moral truth, I recognise and fully acknowledge the fact that much of the time it is illusive, I am no more likely to be getting it right than anybody else and there are many circumstances where I struggle to put my finger on which side of the dividing line a situation sits.

The truth is that I have never met anybody who really doesn’t believe in absolute morality, it’s just that many people reject the idea because of the hash that organised religion and imperialistic governments have made of the subject.

Organised religion recognises absolute moral truth, which is great. This moral truth is unchanging and unchangeable; it is the same now as it was tens of thousands of years ago. Unfortunately, organised religion, being run by mere mortals, often makes mistakes. The biggest mistake it makes is about the fact that moral truth cannot and must not be applied in exactly the same way in all contexts. If you consider the absolute rules of physics, you can see that although the principals stay the same, these principals need to be applied in different ways to produce similar outcomes in different circumstances.

When I was young I read the Bible from cover to cover and was completely grossed out and shocked by Leviticus, which is a bit like a hygiene manual for the immensely superstitious; if you have this discharge, you must sacrifice this many pigeons. Leviticus is the book of the Old Testament, which talks most about undesirable sexual practices. It made so little sense to me and seemed inconsistent with other parts of the book.

However, I later began to understand that at the time of Leviticus, the Hebrew posse were out in the middle of the dessert, starving and with rock bottom immune systems. Any outward symptom of illness, any bodily fluid which could potentially spread disease, including menstrual blood had to be treated with the utmost caution. Non-procreative sex was a waste of resources, and indeed any unnecessary bodily contact was to be avoided. They didn’t have any soap or warm running water and certainly no sanitary products or condoms.

This is why the Old Testament manages at times to contradict itself and the teachings of Jesus; as Blackadder would say, “Needs must when the devil vomits in your kettle.” I couldn’t begin to list the number of ways in which the Catholic Church needs to reconsider how certain principles are applied to the modern world and it isn’t my place to do so.

However, it would be of benefit to the entire world, Benny-boy, if you recognised the difference between relativism and undesirable social change.

Today

Today has been pretty miserable. My brain still isn’t working, not really well enough to start writing on here but I am kind of down and I need to let off. It’s goth weekend here in Whitby and if I sit by the window I can watch all sorts of weird and wonderful looking people walking past, like characters out of science fiction movies, manga comics and period dramas. I wanted to go to the Bizarre Bazaar, a fantastic market selling everything from ornaments that would make your grandmother blush, jewellery which would breach the offensive weapons act, heavy-duty handmade corsets, lace parasols, New Rock boots (the ones with thick chunky heels and an excess of laces and buckles) and everything velvet and leather and lace and generally black. And then there’s the music of course.

Anyway, I couldn’t. Whitby Goth Weekend is at the Spa Pavilion which in my experience is fully wheelchair accessible, but it involves crowds. I did try to get as far as town just to have a look at the people but I had to turn back. I was so tired, and suddenly being surrounded by other people made me panic and retreat and come home and back to bed. I don’t have a phobia, but fatigue makes the whole world a scary place. And being in a wheelchair makes you feel naked at such times. I really can't articulate the point I want to make so I won't bother trying. And then there’s this envy thing which is still going on this week. I guess at least if I'm ever up to joining in with Goth Weekend I wouldn’t need make-up (if I was a Dulux paint I would be sea breeze white because my skin has a slight hint of blue).

[...]’s gone out this evening but there was no way I was up for it so I wasn’t even invited. And he stated that I’ve been ill and grumpy all week. [...] doesn’t often observe the subtle ups and downs of my health or mood so it must be bad. I’ve hardly touched my book this week and I’m behind on correspondences.

All sorts of other little things have gone wrong. [...]'s had trouble with the order for his outfit for R&A's wedding. The television died just as we were sitting down to watch a film. It was ex rental when we bought it six years ago, but it was bad timing. But much worse things happen at sea and I've really no right to complain. This is not a really bad spell. It's just a very frustrating one, because it's not like I'm so ill I am forced to abandon everything, but it's not allowing me to do much with the little energy I've got.

On the Election and Racism (A Rant)

First, a great little satirical animation at Spin On. Especially groovy for fans of The Clash and those of you who have a thing about squirrels (I know a lot of you do).

Secondly a test to see if you are racist from Harvard University. The test is for your subsoncious responses. I am not racist, I just don't like foreigners - especially those bloody Anglo Saxons! Those Angles from Denmark, those Saxons from Germany, coming over here, taking our jobs, building huts on our land, civilising us Celts and Romano-Britons (Italian-British) with their culture and technology. Of course, only have they been here five minutes as our guests when they start bringing over the Christians - that's right - bloody mono-theists! Next theyl start building churches - if I went over to Vatican City, I wouldn't expect to be able to erect a Heathen Temple, but it's one rule for them and quite another for the rest of us. And of course the rest of us, having been enslaved during the settlement, it's us what have to do all the work, scroungers they are, the whole lot of them. Bring on the Norman Invasion, that's what I say - that's the Normans who started off as Danes also but moved across Europe to France where they adopted French language and culture.

But on a serious note: Multiculturalism. It is pointless to write this here, but I keep screaming at the radio everytime the word is discussed.

There are three main definitions of culture.

1. The totality of socially transmitted behavior patterns, arts, beliefs, institutions, and all other products of human work and thought.
2. Intellectual and artistic activity and the works produced by it.
3. The growing of microorganisms, tissue cells, or other living matter in a specially prepared nutrient medium.

Now, according to definition 1., Multiculturalism is a bad thing because if everybody is doing their own thing and most especially, living under different moral codes, then the result is chaos. I don't mean when one group doesn't eat pork or another wears a certain item of clothing, but for example, if you had some strange group who liked poking one another's eyes out then that would be breaking British Law which would classify such behaviour, even under consent, to be assault. The law has to be the same for everybody in order to protect everybody equally.

However, by definition 2., Multiculturalism is about creative diversity and can only be a good thing. And as for definition 3., well yoghurt never did anybody any harm except those with lactose intolerence.

So you can't say whether Multiculturalism is a good or bad thing unless you first define the word. Of course some people say that even by definition 2., Multiculturalism is not great because it threatens the British Way of Life. But since we are living in Britain today, then surely the way we live is the British Way of Life, even if that doesn't involve warm beer or cricket, which frankly for most of us it doesn't.

Tomorrow I will rant about relativism. I bet you can't wait.

Sausages and School Days

This has got to be the weirdest news story of the week. A chap is driving along with his window open when a car passes coming the other way and he feels a sudden pain in his nose. When he looks down there is a frozen sausage and a whole lot of blood in his lap. His nose has been broken by a frozen sausage that flew through his open car window. Explain that.

Last night I had a dream in which it didn’t hurt and I didn’t need the wheelchair so long as I ran everywhere I wanted to go. It was only when I slowed up that it hurt and I had to sit down or else collapse. I run a lot in my dreams. Before I was ill I used to love running. Sometimes I would do it just for the hell of it, in any open space I came to. I was never fast but I could go for a long way. That was me and all physical activity; not much speed, loads of stamina. My co-ordination was never very good either but being tall I was expected to be good at tennis and netball (netball, my American friends is a sort of sexually repressed basketball; you can’t bounce the ball, you must stand still keeping one foot flat on the ground when the ball is in your possession and only girls in pleated skirts and knee-high socks are allowed to play. We even had garters as compulsory uniform to hold our socks up. And grey flannel gym knickers which we called baggies. There is nothing sexy about grey flannel gym knickers.)

Cross country running at school was great because we were surrounded by real countryside, so we would run down to the River Orwell (after which George Orwell took his name), along the bank a bit, up through the fields and back onto the school grounds. Yeah, I did go to a bit of a posh school, but I had an assisted place, a sort of scholarship for bright kids living in terrace houses.

Being a little socialist, I didn’t want to go. But on balance, it was fun, I’m glad I did just because it expanded my horizons so much. I felt like a freak that didn’t fit in but I imagine I would have felt that way wherever I was and at least at this school I had lots of excuses for being on the edges; I was working-class, I didn’t have a pony and I was proud of the fact. But what a place like that does for the imagination…

The building was a eighteenth century mansion which sat on a hill above the river, with landscaped gardens, a stable-block, chapel and a bit of a wood where there was a stone headstone to a pet dog that had belonged to the family when this had been a stately home. There were some modern school buildings and a massive theatre and sports-hall that had was brand new the year I got there. There were eighty acres of grounds to wander round (and navigate in between lessons). And it was so very easy to find somewhere to be alone indoors or out. And as soon as you were alone, especially in the old buildings, you had the feeling that you weren’t.

The education was also very good, I can’t fault it even though I haven’t managed to do anything with it. And I did have good friends and I did have a lot of fun. And I continued to rebel against the widespread, deep-seated snobbery, both individual and institutional. I think all that fighting back prepared me to deal with crippledom. Ah well, I really am rambling today so I best shut up and go do something useful.