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[ 4 minute read ]

Don't patronise me, you sexist pig

Good Crikeyness! I have just had another revelation at the kitchen sink this morning. I get sudden clear memories of instances and conversations from the past, but disappointingly only my past. I will never get rich from your past, or someone else's. While doing the washing-up this morning I was in a past situation with my sister, two past situations actually.

A long time ago, I bought my sister a set-top Freeview box to sort of bring her into the modern world of more rubbish to watch on the telly. Our niece was living with her at the time (our brother's daughter) and they excitedly decided to set it up straight away while I was still there. Surprised, they called out some channels they discovered which I jokingly pooh-poohed.

       'Boo! Rubbish! What you really want is football!' I have never expressed an interest in football. 'Blimey! No! You need car programs!' I have never expressed an interest in cars. Clearly, if they knew me they would know I was joking. Perhaps to some very sensitive people it might be considered teasing. But I thought they knew me as benign. Not so.

       'If we can only watch channels that men like, then you can take it away,' cried my sister. I was hurt. i meant nothing of the kind and I didn't even live there. That moment stuck with me.

Some time later, I was visiting my sister again and our niece was there. The tumble-drier was on full heat power and it read that it would run for forty minutes. I mentioned that a breeze past hanging clothes is highly effective in drying clothes and an electric fan would be cheaper. My sister was always complaining about not having enough money.

       'We don't want to do that', cried our niece.

       'Why are you so sexist, Martin? Just leave us alone to do what we want!' snapped my sister.

Like most people I think I am different to how I actually am. But, I am pretty sure I am not sexist. I believe in meritocracy. (Potentially moving into dodgy ground here but it is not intentional). Because I am thoughtful, and have PTSD, I record snippets of conversations and they jump out at me when I am not looking.

I used to deliver timber on a lorry and some of the timber would be pressured-treated with preservative. Part of my job was to deliver the timber to the treatment place and then collect it when it had dried. The drying facility was a long shed with a big fan at one end. I remarked that there was no heat, and the response was that the cold (Winter) air moving through the tunnel-like shed was sufficient. My sister did not have that information so I shared it with her to help her save on energy costs, except I shortened the experience into a pithy statement that cold moving air is still very effective in drying when compared to hot air.

       'Sexist!' This, solely because to her, I patronised her as though she, being female, was less intelligent than any male. The truth is her IQ is, like 97% of all males in the world, lower than mine and her experience in the world is entirely different. I believe she might have allowed my experience, memory and problem-solving aptitude to complement her life and reciprocated by sharing her experiences so I could learn from her. I know I would have.

My sister read, 'Women are from Venus, and Men are from Mars.' It was her Bible on how to hate men. A dangerous book to read if you want to use it to attack a partner, and not ameliorate a disruptive relationship. 

Bluntly, with a quite high IQ I cannot distinguish between male or female when it comes to not seeing thing clearly; I 'mansplain' to everybody. I also understand that circumstances will inevitably bar many people from achieving their goals or even equanimity. I should also confess to hardly ever seeing thing clearly; they jump out at me at the kitchen sink when I am not looking.

       'Hiya!'

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[ 5 minute read ]

Eggshells and me

Sally, my next-door neighbour left half a dozen eggs on my doorstep again. This time she was not reciprocating my gift-giving of tomatoes though. That's alright; good neighbours experience that special kind of relationship that others do not. I 'get' the weeds on my other next-door neighbours drive when he is not there; it stops him using weedkiller. Getting his weeds is easy; I just run a shovel along his concreted drive. After a few years of this treatment the weeds have learned to be obedient and don't put long roots down while I am still being vigilant. That special relationship might mean not talking to each other for a year or so.

Sally, is an enigma to me. She is the sort of person that can make me feel foolish and at the same time interesting. She intrigues me. But often I over-think things; simply because I have spare capacity to dwell. Maybe that is why people think I am a dim-wit: I follow too many rabbit-holes.

I don't know what to do. When I left tomatoes on her doorstep twice she left me eggs twice. Now there is a third half-dozen on my doorstep but I didn't give her tomatoes, did I...did I? It is the date of the egg-surprise that troubles me. 

A few years ago, I was thoroughly schooled in manners by a Chinese woman; from the mainland, I might add. To define her a little more, she spoke Mandarin as her first language. I have had dealings with the former Hong Kong Chinese; a little experience is enough to have an expectation of what to expect from the next encounter. However, the Mainland China Mandarin-speaking woman shamed me. 

I used to own a Europe-wide home and business relocation entity (business). Many of the moves would be international. I met the Chinese woman at Cambridge University for her move to London. She had just finished her final studies and was going to her London home. The arrangement was for the evening with a 8pm start in Cambridge. She was very polite and respectful; but Cambridge students invariably are because they know they do not have full control of the situation. I was always very respectful in return because no-one likes to be in a new situation with limited control. I knew I was in trouble when, once we were on the M11 to London she asked if she could ask me a question.

       'Uh oh!' I thought. 'What's this?' I wasn't worried about what the question might be but I recognised the measured and deliberately polite approach.

Years before I met the calm and polite woman, I had just returned from working in Greece and thought I would relax in the Republic of Ireland. At the time, I had an ear for accents and dialect and soon, because I find such things fascinating, integrated the Irish approach to asking for something into myself. Think respect for someone's time, attention and effort and you will be on the way to at least a peek through a hole in a fence at the wonderful Irish character of musical politeness. 

When I came back from Eire (Republic of Ireland) to my home village in England I, one early morning, went to the village newsagent to buy some tobacco. The woman behind the counter was busy doing something, but I didn't really want to wait. What should I do? 

       'Would you happen to have, and if it is not too much trouble, half an ounce of Golden Virginia? And would you mind, when you have the time, selling it to me, please?' I asked.

She stood, rising from her crouched task and briefly stared at me.

       'That is the most polite request I have ever heard', she looked at me in wonderment.

       'I have just come back from Ireland.' Further explanation was unnecessary.

So, I know that extreme politeness can be both a mark of respect and a mask for impatience, but how was the calm Chinese woman asking for permission to ask a question? I don't remember the question, because it wasn't even remotely close to invasive or weird. I only mention her extreme politeness because it was evidence of her culture. 

Once we had finished unloading her things, and I had met her mother who was also warmly respectful, the Chinese woman offered me some food. It was late and I needed to get home to rest because my team and I had a big job the next day. She insisted. I refused. She looked upset and insisted again, so I reluctantly acquiesced to eating with them. Her brother arrived with some food in those Chinese Takeway containers. he worked in a restaurant. I again told them that I cannot stay long. She insisted I take some with me but there were no more containers because the flat / apartment was empty. I reluctantly accepted, by now a little impatient to leave. 

Most people will recognise an honour thing going on here. Finally it occurred to me. She offered me all the food and so I took it just so I could go. I had no intention of eating it but by now I was intent on getting home where I would still have to spend another two hours working on the office stuff. My head was about work while hers was about relationships.

At the time, I felt like I had pulled the wings off a butterfly, carelessly picked the only flower from a plant that only flowers once every ten years or once in its lifetime. I felt like I had walked with muddy boots across a child's painting. I was a vandal, a brute with no sense of what is important in human relationships. If you understand cockney rhyming slang, a berk.

I don't always remember my crassness in London but I am glad that I can and gratified for the experience and that It is important to me today. The time in Ireland and the meeting with a remarkable Chinese culture through the fine Chinese woman and her family make it difficult for me to know how to deal with the eggs left on my doorstep by Sally, my next-door neighbour. They are not a reciprocation of a gift. Neither are they solicited. They were left on All Saints Day (1st November).

I don't know what to do. I thought about carving some little wooden figures and leaving them on her doorstep, like saints or angels or something, but......

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[ 9 minute read ]

Weaving, Sieving, 3D Printing, or Doing Jigsaws?

Without exception, I write blog and forum posts without planning anything or editing such as changing sentences or moving paragraphs: I don't have to heavily edit; I can write blog posts from top to bottom without really knowing what I will write, even though I have forgotten where I started (not quite). I ramble on until I remember where the beginning is, and then I love to make the whole writing journey circuitous by finishing where I started. For me, it is fun. Only the subject is important, and despite me just now saying I can't remember where I started, I always remember the subject, so I chuck anything in that vaguely adds to the point I want to make. I never remove anything I have written either. I start writing and then stop when I have finished. I only change typos, spelling and grammar. Absolute truth. Do you know how I can do this? I talk in a very similar way. I know what subject I should be on and I know what has been said and I am listening to any questions that arise from both, what hasn't been said, and what has been said. I only want to stop talking when I, or we, get back to the beginning. For me, that is the best conversation ever!

Of course, I am an Open University student and so I am somewhat constrained in what they want me to write, you know, for assessments and how they want me to write (essays or creatively). Like most people, I struggle because I don't know the subject well enough to use a sieve technique of making an essay. That is how I talk and write, like using a sieve, though many people might say 'using a filter'. I am not unique in this: Men talk differently when women cannot hear them, and women reciprocate. Adults don't swear in front of their bosses or children, etc. So, I have just highlighted what results we get from using a filter. But before the filter is applied, sieving must be done. 

       'Wait! What?'

My lexicon is fairly large and I have to select just one word from a collection that are similar in meaning (choice). Incredibly difficult, because it has to fit the context. Everybody does it, though. The point I am failing to make is that a whole stream of sentences are arriving in our heads simultaneously, and we have to get them to fit the previous one if we hope to make sense to someone listening. However, we don't have to make any real sense and random sentences and digressions are not usually trimmed out beforehand. That is how people talk. They expect the recipient to do the sieving. 

       'Here is a whole bunch of junk with some good ideas thrown in. Be a good chap and extract the good bits, would you?'

I don't think I do that as much as many other people. I do a lot of the sieving before I speak. So, I pre-think. People say to me, 'Why do you talk like that?' or 'I knew it was you because of the way you talk.' even though they don't recognise the sound of my voice. That means if I know a subject well enough I can just write stuff on a subject, and THEN edit it to fit word-count parameters. Job Done! So what? I bet you all think that is what we all do, Huh? I don't think so; because I have been thinking, and when I think, y'all better adapt. 

There are other ways to write posts, blogs, and stuff.

Weaving

On a loom there is the warp and the weft. The warp are the parallel pieces of string that traditionally go from the machine towards the machine user or weaver, and the weft is the string that follows a shuttle thrown from left to right. The weave is the pattern made by how the warp and weft strings interact. 

Most of us know how weaving is done on a loom and can imagine that a piece of cloth is woven much as an old printer printing line after line of ink on paper. If I just held one finger down on a single key on my laptop keyboard a repeating series of the same letter would, on my screen, go from left to right and then automatically go to the next line down and go from left to right again, until something else happens. It would just be a normal weave like a 'sheet'. No-one would read it. Lifting only some of the warp strings on a loom would simply be like pressing a different key on my keyboard. But more broadly, in weaving we can create a picture, with different coloured strings and by lifting different warp strings at different times. Yet, we are still working from the beginning to the end of the woven product until we need to stop. The important thing, to focus on here, is that there must be a plan and absolutely no changes can be made after the weave of different coloured strings and the lifting of the warp strings at different times has been completed, or really at any time during the process. 

In fact, so far, this is how I have been writing this post, weaving. However, because there is no pattern; I mean, I really have no desire to highlight any passage, so there is no pattern or recognisable shape; there is only a decision to only use certain colours at specific times in a rudimentary way; at the very beginning, in the middle, and at the very end. In this post, these are the paragraphs that follow headings.

While it is possible to write endlessly like this, sometimes I might get an itching to refer back to something I have already written to strengthen a point. Well, I suppose, make real, a bridge so strong that it becomes a feature. While texture can be created with weaving, and I suppose loops might be made (I think that is crochet or macrame), something more mechanical needs to be used to fabricate a post.

3D Printing

Like an olden-days ink-jet printer going back and forth from left to right and advancing one line at a time, 3D printers do the same, except they go over where they have already been. In an essay that would mean, when we first think of it, repetition, which we all know we shouldn't do. Perhaps, if we think a bit on it we might think of higher and lower planes, which would be areas of greater stress, focus, or emphasis. Making a bridge though is tricky for a 3D printer; it has to add temporary supports and make sure that those supports can be removed in the final edit, by the 3D printer operator. (came back here to edit in 'by the 3D printer owner)

What I am doing now is looking in my memory, while I write, for somewhere in the previous text for somewhere I can bridge back to from here, but I am having no success. Ah, I have it! The title! The word order in the title. Because I just now temporarily wrote about jigsaws in my head in such a way as to be islands of stress, focus or emphasis I can bridge forward. I ruined the surprise or the Wow factor, but I AM just writing as I plan (The only plan so far).

So, with 3D printing a layer of resin is laid, and then layers of resin are laid over each previous layer until the object has reached a certain height and is finished. I am imaging Tower Bridge in London, which to those who don't know it is the one where the span of the bridge lifts in two parts to allow ships to pass underneath on the River Thames. It is fairly functional looking, squarish really, and has an upper span that joins the towers on each side of the river. The first thing we notice that a 3D printer has done when creating a tiny Tower Bridge would be two square islands of resin. Later, these will need to be linked to create the spans of the bridge, or the road of the actual Tower Bridge. As far as I know, 3D printing has to create supports for all the spans. In an essay this is hard to do. Certainly, it would take considerable planning. I hate planning, so I am going to move onto the last section of this post and once done, come back and edit some former sentences in this bit about 3D printing instead. The link or 'bridge' will be 'islands'.

The two sentences in italics were edited in, in the final draft.

Jigsaws

When I don't know a subject at all, I have to take notes. These notes are really in a linear form. I can do mind-maps, but rarely do. Usually, for an essay I will write chunks of text that I know I will need to edit. However, the interesting thing is how we decide which pieces of a jigsaw we group together to make islands of colour and which bits make a frame for all the pieces, you know the pieces with the (normally) straight edges. When I do a jigsaw, like most people I find all the straight-edge pieces first, and link them accordingly, From the picture on the box we can find associated pieces such as the green for some tress, or pinks for the flowers, or something. These form the highlights of the picture on the box in terms of attraction, but in an essay are still as fuzzy as the edges of the islands of associated pieces. Doing a jigsaw means finding, first the obvious pieces, and then looking for connecting pieces. It is completely non-linear and a 3D printer would not be able to do this; one day they will be able to go from one island, or high-point, to another in a non-linear way, let's imagine multiple islands, but right now they have to follow rules that only allow linear movement. Laser cutters with CAD can do this and so can embroidery machines.

Conclusion

I probably use my jigsaw example in a first draft of an essay, but I don't have a picture to look at to tell me where to put the pieces. I suppose, I know where the edges are because there are parameters set by the question. To be honest, it has only just occurred to me to try different techniques. I am thinking that I might try to write freely all I know, sieving as I go, like weaving basic patterns that have areas of colour. This would not be like a jigsaw though, because it is entirely linear. Then, from that, I can see the 'picture', and I know the constraints so I can do a complete rewrite like doing a jigsaw, and then use my idea of 3D printing by going over the essay in a linear fashion, building on the islands of interest and making links and bridges as I go. Then, for the final draft, remove the supports in the edit (spelling and grammar and any superfluous linking sentences)

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[ 6 minute read ]

'I see Trees of Green (red roses too)'

How do you do?

Ooh! Wireless mice! I dropped one of mine and it went wonky. Either that or my neighbour got a booster for his wireless devices and his signal bled into my mouse waves. Every now and then my on-screen cursor would leap off to the side; so for a few hours I had a lot of fun moving it away to the middle again and just randomly clicking the buttons. I was hoping my neighbour was writing an email or putting data into a spreadsheet, or something that requires a cell or sentence to be selected. Eventually though, I decided that it was probably my mouse that was broken and so I bought one with a tail; a wired one. Modern laptops, I have heard, have only one USB port, so I make sure I don't buy new ones. I have four USB ports on each of my machines. Having a wired mouse is no problem because I only use three USB ports anyway.

I see posts on my module forum by students that remark that they fell a little behind on their previous module. I wonder why they are telling people this. Maybe they should study. Not necessarily though. One might ask the same of me. 

       'Martin, why do you spend so much time writing posts?'

I would reply, 'Because I am cheating. I am combining tasks for the early assignments to aid me in the End of Module Assignment.'

Just like some people cheat in actual exams by smuggling in information on their sleeves or written in tiny writing on their arms, or on the inside of the label on their water bottle, I am smuggling all the information I need for the EMA by storing it in my head. Yes, I know that I can access the course books for the EMA but I can transpose a good lot of the information I am learning at the start of the module into later TMAs. There is a huge amount of time from the module website opening to the cut-off time for the first TMA. I scan all the module and keep in mind what I need to know for subsequent TMAs. To someone who uses the internet for finding the meaning of words or as a thesaurus, it may be difficult to understand the efficacy of my method. 

If I need to find the definition or meaning of a word I use an actual dictionary or when I am really excited a Roget's Thesaurus. I usually need a sandwich if I go that deep though. The thing is the internet will give us the meaning of the word we don't know. Efficient! Not best though. There is a website that gives the word listed in a dictionary before the one we are interested in, the word we are interested in, AND the word listed in a dictionary that follows the word we are interested in. That is what a real dictionary does. Yet, the real dictionary always opens on a page that is not the one where the word we are seeking is listed. This means that we are exposed to extraneous words - I usually read those random words and definitions before I find the word I am seeking.

By understanding what the whole module requires of me - such as all the options for all the TMAs and the EMA, I can create a path of study that is closest to the best combination of study. I will then automatically absorb information from one unit to later collate with information from a subsequent unit. Although the information from any other unit at Level One will not fit into any TMA assignment, the information provides a perspective that would otherwise be unrecognised by me. 

So why am I not studying, right now?  Just like Louis Armstrong singing; 'The colours of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky...' is a construct that precedes, 'Are also on the faces, of people going by.' It is there to show variety, brightness and wonder that are evident in people at a particular time in a particular place. Describing my plan for the whole module allows me to add flavour and colour to it; opens me up for accidental information (I currently have one laptop accessing YouTube); and gives me time to subconsciously absorb what I have recently learned, with controlled interference. Many people will be familiar with the idea of meditating by looking at a candle flame in a darkened room. It, the candle flame, is a visual distraction that allows the subconscious to access the conscious and borrow information, shape it and put it back into the conscious mind when it is requested. Reading a dull book when we have something important to think about has the same effect; the eyes are distracted and the words are not consciously noticed, so the story does not distract us from our thoughts.

However, I would never write that I am about to fail at something until I have tried everything in my knowledge to find a way to succeed beforehand. Neither would I portray that I almost failed and then almost fail because I need to reach for comfort.

'I see friends shaking hands, saying "How do you do? They're really saying, "I love you". Comfort for the ones who are struggling at something, perhaps? Yet, I can't quite see any gain from seeking, 'There, there! Don't Worry!' when they need 'Here, Here! Everything is here!' Here, for me, is in my head, stored from previous accidental learning that applies to later assignments. Non-linear learning is, in our modern world, cheating!

'I hear babies cry. I watch them grow. They'll learn much more than I'll ever know...'  (non-linear)

Lyrics from 'What a Wonderful World' written and composed by George Douglas and George David Weiss, and first recorded by Louis Armstrong in 1967 - Wikipedia. 

Lots of things across the world happened in 1967 which have parallels with today's news; seeking national and personal independence, religion, famine and war. 1967 was also 'The Summer of Love' and the first human heart transplant was performed in December, in South Africa, by Dr. Christiaan Barnard (sic); and chaos ensued when Sweden started driving on the right hand side of the road. 

Contrast helps to cement information.

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[ 6 minute read ]

Weigh the Parents

This is not about politics. Leon Spence writes a good 'blog' on his perspective on the political climate. This is more about oligopoly; or market power within the hands of a few, which would, given enough freedom, I suggest, ultimately become a controlling force in a wider sense. I provide a link to one of Leon Spence's posts as is fair, since I may well overlap his perspicacious focus with my random fantasy world.  I prefer to write - 'Just Saying!' posts, while Leon writes tidy and clear declarative statements. Leon Spence Saturday 11th October 07:49

I would like cereal manufacturers to no longer add sugar to breakfast cereals. I can't eat them because they are too sweet for me. I lived in Holland, in The Netherlands, for a while, and met an English chap who had an 'English' Shop in Delft. Because I would travel back and forth to the UK, he suggested that I pick up a consignment of Kellogg's Corn Flakes in England to deliver to his English shop in Delft, The Netherlands. 

       'Why?' I asked.

       'English people have a sweeter tooth than Dutch people.' He explained. I think English people have a sweeter tooth than most of the European countries. I think it is also a thing that emerged around about fifty years ago. I think it may go further back to when there were still milk bars that didn't sell Coca Cola. Milkshakes were cool once.

Yet, I have to put both salt and sugar in CO-OP Baked Beans. Clearly, whoever controls sugar controls what the people eat. 

Let's imagine that the Government came up with a law that banned sugar being added to foodstuffs at the source of manufacture. The home cook can do what they like at home; but can't sell their sweetened home-cooked produce. Better still, they can't even give it away at garden fetes, to friends or work colleagues. Cake in shops might have to have a sachet of sugar included separately. But without going too far into the logistics of manufacturers stuffing sugar into the consumer, we will just consider that sugar is freely available, and there are no restrictions on anyone buying it in shops. In my weird market, we might restrict the sale of yeast being bought with sugar though; like you can't buy certain pain-killers together in one transaction.

Eventually, young children would be weaned off sugar. Feeders of children would be more closely aware of how much sugar they need to purchase to satisfy their addicted family. The new conundrum would be: Heat, Eat, or Buy Sugar.' Sooner or later, because sugar is not a dietary requirement in a healthy diet, it would soon attract a premium price set by the oligopoly of sugar refiners, that we currently have, I suggest that no Government would want to be known by the opposition as a party that encourages obesity by capping the price of sugar.

There is a problem though. Have you ever had one of those 'one in a million' cups of tea when everything is in the perfect quantity and it is the right temperature? There are a lot of variables involved to get a cup of tea just right. Likewise, spooning sugar onto unsweetened corn flakes or bran flakes or coco-pops will eventually lead to applying too much sweetness rather than too little. Most of us can stand something that is just a little too sweet, but are disheartened when it is not sweet enough. If the 'sugar-bowl' (bag) is to hand, might as well chuck a bit more on the cereal, eh?

Schools would need to weigh the pupils to keep a check on the parents. Fat children can only be fat from eating too much sweet stuff or too much ultra-processed foods, I think. So, Mum and Dad must be directly contributing to an unhealthy diet. 

       'All rise!'

       'You did willfully fatten your child with an overdose of sugar over a period of months, thereby inducing an addiction to a foreign substance. A substance, mind, that has long been used as a recreational drug to induce pleasure and the consequent release of dopamine and serotonin'

       'Your honour,' called the prosecutor, 'We should like to add the charge of willfully manipulating the electro-chemical mental balance of the child in question to make the child more malleable to further controlling influence by the parents. This, your Honour is a clear case of child abuse!' Her voice raised sharply in tone and volume towards the end.

       'Weigh the parents!' cried the Judge.

Clearly, no government is going to enact a law that entirely prohibits sugar being added to breakfast cereal. Yet, strangely, Shredded Wheat is 100% wheat.

In my mind, it is cheaper to not add sugar at the source of manufacture. Also, some vitamins and minerals are added to the breakfast cereal. This should mean that breakfast cereal would be cheaper to buy, so more kids get to eat before going to school AND they get iron and some B vitamins, to boot. Unfortunately, without simple carbohydrates like refined sugar, the now slimmer and healthier kids have less available energy in the bloodstream early in the morning to motivate them to walk to school. Best get in the car then, otherwise they will be late (if they don't get up early enough to metabolise the more complex carbohydrates that cereal is).

Oh dear! We simply can't have children getting up early and waking up a bit before school - this simply will not do!

If I was in control, I would pass a law that made it compulsory for every household to have at least one bee-hive in the kitchen. I would also be the owner of the only licensed business to produce a universal spigot that fits all bee-hives so honey is 'on tap'. Imports of Chinese spigots (especially if they are called Chigots on the black market) would be subject to 100% tariffs. I would also send officers to randomly check homes for beehives and foreign spigots. There would, of course, be even higher tariffs set if a foreign spigot was ever found.

       'All rise!'

       'You did willfully tamper with a bee-hive with the intention of promoting the rise of a foreign power that is bent on undermining the sociability of the British Breakfast Table.'

The people in the gallery looked at each other, confused. 'Social?'

       'Your Honour, this person has appeared before you only a week ago for using a phone while peeing.' The prosecutor added.

       'Is nothing sacred, anymore? Weigh the parents!'

While, the theme of this post, 'What would I do if I was a controlling influence in marketing that ultimately controls a country?', was thought up this morning while I was adding sugar and salt to my tinned Baked Beans, there may be parallels with Leon Spence's posts on what UK political parties may do, or try to do. At least, I think so, but not about sugar.

Such is my addiction to sugar that while I was writing this, I ate some Honey Monster cereal with milk. I am actually lactose-intolerant. However, I am a recovering sugar addict because I stopped myself drinking the sugary milk left in the bowl. Yuck! (I only have the Honey Monster cereal because my local shop-keeper gave it to me. I only have the milk because I have the Honey Monster cereal. I am so bad!)

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[ 4 Minute read ]

Mental Integration

I can't help thinking that there are people who are diagnosed with something that they don't actually have; mentally, that is. It seems that some people with autism are able to identify someone else with autism. I, myself, have been questioned many times by different doctors, psychologists, and psychiatrists on whether I have autism. First: why did they ask me? and second; why do some people with autism tell me? 

Easy! I present with symptoms of autism. I don't look people in the eye. I work better on my own. I am distracted by other people. I can work, completely solitary, for hours without a break. My focus is laser-like. 

All of those are because I have PTSD and a very high IQ with a good deal of patience and a desire to complete a task before I forget what I have done so far. Not looking someone in their eyes is because I had terrible uncorrected eyesight and looked at the thing I saw moving; someone's mouth. Nuances in people's eyes were not available to me, so I focused on nuances in their voices. This last is why I have no need for video-conferencing and telephone calls work better for me. Looking at someone's face is merely a distraction from their words. I don't trust smiles as genuine. I am trained to smile, simply because I don't as a natural condition. 

There is a single parent woman, down the road from me, who laments that her neighbour blanks her. In my village people like quiet times. This woman likes to shout at her kids because it works for her. It doesn't work for her neighbour. Here is where I get contentious. One of them has a greater mental acuity than the other. That is not indicative of who is right, or righteous, or kind, or empathic, or stupid. I have met PhD graduates that many people would consider to be struggling to find two thoughts to rub together. I am just going to have to put aside that people have diagnosable mental ill-health conditions as a primary source of their difficulties they may exhibit in any particular environment; this is in order for me to be able to introduce 'high IQ' as a source for subsequent mental ill-heath.

We think differently. I am amazed at how much rubbish comes out of some mouths; my own included, and I mean I talk rubbish a lot. The woman down the road likes to worry that her doorbell is not working and she NEEDS to get a new one. I told her that most medieval people never had doorbells; they just banged on each other's doors with pitchforks. Many sensible modern people don't have door-bells. Well, they wouldn't, if the paranoid people didn't. If everyone in my road has a Ring doorbell and I do not, I am the target for thieves. Thanks, you lot!

The 'shouty' woman down the road is scared to drive her car because an acorn fell on her car roof while she was driving it. She told me today that she is at her wits end because her teenage son is running her ragged. If he has three thoughts to rub together he might be impatient with someone with only two thoughts - contemptuous even. See? If her son is super clever, he cannot integrate into a family of mildly clever people. The way he thinks, if it is markedly different to his home family thoughts, I suggest, will make him tempestuous to everyone with less mental acuity than he has. Only someone with a high IQ can recognise a high IQ in someone else. The key, then, is to teach him not to be disrespectful to people with only the same thoughts to rub together. 'That's Life, Kiddo!'

Contempt, misunderstanding, and fear of something different. Sound familiar? Too topical, maybe? 

Now then; the clever lad down the road might want to protest that everyone with an IQ that is less than his, should leave his country. Rather, the other way around; because if his IQ is really high he will not integrate well in an average environment. 

I like to simplify things. Teenagers are sharp because they are trained to use their brains at school. Parents are dull because they stop using their brains after 'Uni' or whatever, or more likely, school. Fit and agile brains hate dull and slow brains, So, if you want to get on with your teenagers, don't send them to school; take away anything stimulating when they are between the ages of birth and eleven, so they don't form strong connections in their brains; and make them watch television. They should then be dull enough to integrate with the average family environment.

Me, I am going to blockade 'skools' so children can't get out and contaminate us with intelligence and knowledge. 

The 'shouty' woman told me that her son is going to be assessed by a mental health team. They will say he has ADHD, autism or some kind of sociopathy, she surmised. If the testing team don't have a higher IQ than him. that is all they will see. I suggest an non-integrated high IQ might exhibit ADHD, autism, or some kind of sociopathy, because they are not properly diagnosed as having a higher IQ than the tester.This is HIGHLY likely, I propose.

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[ 4 Minute read ]

Don't shake hands, wave instead

I have a book open before me. In it, it says that a person with a coarse, clumsy and thick hand, with a heavy palm and short fingers, an elementary hand formation, has the lowest type of mentality.

       'Okay, infants. Come here. Show me your hands. Oh dear! Not one clever one among you!'

       'Now then, children, according to this book, you need long, angular and bony hands. It is a philosophic hand shape. If you have this bony hand shape, kids, it means you will gain wisdom but not money.'

They went back to dipping their hands in paint and sticking them to paper laid on the floor. My bare-footed wife hopped around and trod on each piece of paper that rose into the air, until their hands came free. Some of the cuddly toys had made their paw-prints too. She spared me an arched-eyebrow haughty glance. Hand prints was my idea. She has long, angular and bony hands. She also has opinions, an excellent memory, and a brilliant sense of timing. Which is why later, when I cuddle up to her in bed, I shall make the decision not to buy her a gift tomorrow. She will not have money from selling my gift; that much is true. She doesn't sell them; she keeps them all - to remind me who I am.

During my ambling around the village, I like to cheerily greet the locals. After a while, I notice a strange hand-gesture that indicates that they want to carry on with walking their dogs or something. Their half-closed hand rises from their side and comes up to their stomach, almost reaching their chest and then drops back down to their sides. It is a sign that they are uncomfortable.

I like to sing and fancy that I might break into spontaneous singing in the street this Autumn. The problem is that too many people still remember what Elvis Presley sounded like and they might think I am a charlatan, a pretender. I am a crooner, so some Country might work. Of course, I shall have to be selling Hot Potatoes from a hand-barrow as a reason to be standing outside. I would be looking for gentlemen in top hats to touch their hats and nod at me, and ladies in long dresses catching their breath with one hand while they hold their wide-brimmed, lace trimmed hats with the other. I fancy a hansom carriage might pass, with a generous and cheery benefactor aboard. 

The locals in my village slowly hurry off. I see it as rude desperation. They, to me, seem ill-equipped to end a conversation amicably. What they have done, I feel, is not given enough effort to the discourse. They have not given enough of themselves into a real-time moment and have lost control of the direction the moment might take. I am, of course, boring them. 

       'Bravo!' A shower of coins thrown my way. My gaze might leave the blushing ladies and be cast down to the ground.

       'Ah! Hugo, you scamp!' I might expect Hugo, my four-year-old neighbour to be hoping to share in good fortune. He has an eye for serendipity and a quick podgy hand. The twinkling of silver has changed to only brown. He isn't stealing, he has not yet comprehended individual possession. Later, he will swap some coins for caterpillars or something with the bigger boys in flat caps and bare feet.

Alternatively, the village locals are overwhelmed with useless information. I give them information that has no value. It cannot be exchanged for something else. It is non-transferable. 

These are not people who are browsing in a Victorian market lit by candle-light and lanterns, who are keeping an eye out for an amusing gim-crack or gew-gaw. They are instead, seemingly, half-conscious. 

It is odd to me that people want to be asleep while they are awake. When I next see the little hand gesture that indicates that they are about to slam the door on communication, I shall look more closely at the shape of it. Here then, is where the real problem lies. I am reading them like they imagine a psychiatrist might. They don't want to give anything away that might incriminate them, or get them in trouble. Plainly, I missed the lesson on how to make banal conversation that never breaks the veneer of privacy, and the lesson that focuses on never giving facts as friendly conversation. 

Most alarming is this: When I am at home there is no noise from a radio or television, a phone, or music player. When I do answer the phone and have a short conversation, and the call ends, the silence is heavy and pervasive. It distracts me from studying or focusing on anything. That is not to say that I could focus on anything that was not the phone call. No, unfortunately, for a brief time I was awoken from my secret slumber and now I have no noisy distraction again. i am suffering withdrawal symptoms. I, it seems, am a junkie. Worse, I am a pusher. 

That hand that both cheerily and sadly waves goodbye, also uses the same wave to say 'No, thanks!'

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[ 2 Minute read ]

Continuing my theme from yesterday afternoon (15:29) on 'Things aren't quite what they seem' from 'Dangerously Lost in Translation'. click here: The Kate Bush Interview

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I haven't got a clue

I keep bumping into Matt; it turns out that, that is the name of the Don who runs 'The Tomato Plant and Apple Gatherer' family in my road. He looks and talks normal; so normal that I would never guess he has heard of Noam Chomsky or Ludwig Wittgenstein. He launched into a speech on language acquisition. The funny thing is; he says he is interested in their approach to language development in children. He said his interest is in how children pick up language in the home. I mentioned 'prosody' to show him I care! You know, a verbal hug. I then said, 'Aren't we talking about behavioural and developmental psychology?' He wanted to leave then. I suppose, I don't know what I am talking about. I haven't got a clue. 

Interestingly, he said I am soft-spoken. I have never been accused of that before! I told him there is a raging fury inside of me. He didn't blink. 

       'Measured.' he offered. 'You are soft-spoken with us.' He pointed to Hugo, his four-year old. He has already trained Hugo to get as many advantages as possible. I had just bought a four-pack of toilet paper and it was in my bicycle basket. Hugo wanted me to share it. Poor lad desperately wants to have a long conversation with me about really long sweets that taste of strawberry and mango. Bless him! I haven't got a clue what to say about weird sweets. I could tell him what I used to eat but describing something to a four-year-old is like re-learning a foreign language you never knew in the first place, but thinking you are fluent. Slippery language is essential for communicating with infants, I find.

Measured! Slow-speaker! Maybe that's why people walk off from me when I am mid-lecture. My monologues are always crisp, fruity and fun, except, I suppose, if someone listens too quickly. The trouble is, I never talk from my core; only from a solid rampart. I told Matt, the tomato plant snatcher, that my speech is measured because I am educated; I am guarded. I shall speed up my speech. 'Think excited, Martin.' That way people will think I am smarter, I suppose. Slow-speaker!

       'In a good way.' Matt assured me. 'Boring!' I thought.

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I prefer the end to the beginning

Beginnings are troublesome for me. It is like packing or a holiday by a British beach at the last moment and not knowing what to pack. Will it rain? Should I take some jumpers? Will the children need more pyjamas than when they are at home? Is there a launderette? Of course, all that is farcical but starting a new OU module has the same effect as being at the precipice of not knowing quite what to do.

I have a goal to meet and the opportunity cost of meeting that goal has to be measured against how I can operate in my other roles and responsibilities. This isn't a case of how many hours can I attribute to OU study; it is how much effort should I spend on which unit?

The start of the OU academic year means for me, more emails that demand my attention than all the other emails I receive in the rest of the whole year. I hate it. I am compelled to read anything that comes from the OU in case it is important. Invariably, I find it is superfluous to attaining my goal. I strongly dislike entities demanding my attention. I just want to be left alone to do what I do. Daily checking of my emails is dull and uninspiring. 

In the past, I have not gotten jobs I applied for because I did not want to contactable outside of work hours. I am mostly self-employed, with firm contracts that do not need discussing over and over again. I simply cannot understand how people seemingly want to change their minds all the time.

As an employer, I often had to use casual labour to fill in gaps in worker coverage at short notice. Securement of these workers was made around about three to five days before a job. I told each of them how much the job paid and guaranteed them half of the money if the job was cancelled by the customer. I knew that many people offered a days work next week will spend the money before they get it; so they borrow money with the intention of paying it back when they get paid. At £120 per day ten years ago, promising them half on a certain day, regardless of whether they worked or not, seemed to me to be the right thing to do. They had to turn up on the day though. 

Because I guaranteed the contract price and arrival times It was natural for me to seek consistency in all my undertakings. Now if I don't make changes in my interaction with people and businesses I get ripped off and people default on me. I paid thousands in penalties because someone else messed up. I never passed the buck and said, 'I'm not paying, it's not my fault!' I just pay and move on. I really can't stand wobbling.

I am looking forward to finishing my module so I can finish the next ones. Everyone else is looking forward to starting. My goal is to receive the information I need; not play around hunting for it. I need lists of requirements for a task to be tackled. There are a series of TMAs for each module. I don't see that, I see TMAs in parallel. There is a requirement to reach a certain percentage score or points; the way the OU work it out at level 2 and level 3 is beyond my spreadsheet formulation abilities, and I regard myself as pretty good at spreadsheets. With an EMA pass essential and this year worth 30% of the overall score; the first thing I am looking at, is completing the EMA. Most of us know the EMA is the last assignment. 

I know it all seems backwards, but I have a goal and I don't want to waste time on activities that add nothing to achieving my goal.

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[ 8 minute read ]

My Strange Village

My village is near other villages. We are not remote so if you fall into the pub, covered in snow from a blizzard, the locals won't go silent and, as one, turn towards you with suspicion on their minds. 

       'Oo are you?'

       'They're not from round 'ere, are they?'

You won't hear that in my village. We are used to not recognising people and, because we don't have a bypass, any one of you might stop at our Post Office shop. That shop is not like the ones you might find in hamlets such as one I stayed in Ireland (Eire). There, the Post Office was in the same house as the shop and the pub. You could go in the pub in the evening and buy a tin of luncheon meat or a loaf of bread. Maybe you wouldn't buy both at the same time though. I think Irish people are not rude. But, in that hamlet everyone knew each other, so making a cheeky sandwich wasn't something they might have done to avoid buying one over the pub counter anyway.

I hitch-hiked to that Irish hamlet, and the chap who stopped for me was driving the first car that came along. I told him I was going to Knockavilla.

He wryly smiled at me, "You wouldn't be going anywhere else." It is pretty remote in some parts.

He stopped a few times along the way, at a few houses, exchanging or trading a couple of rabbits or a cake or something else. It is possible he was just the local link between friends, who lived a distance apart.

My village is not like that. My village has another village no more than three miles away in all four of the compass point directions. My village is also five miles from a city. You can't leave my village without entering another village with its own shop straight away. It is possible to escape, but if you cross the main road that bisects my village and one to the south, you will instantly be in another village. There are no gaps. The shop, the only one in my village is a fascination to me. I am interested in marketing, but have only used my knowledge for my own business, and that only evident online and through signage on my vans and lorries. Of course, marketing extends through customer satisfaction and word of mouth as well, and a myriad of other ways.

The shopkeeper is from Sri Lanka, and although he has had three shops before he opened this shop in my village he still has had to feel his way in this particular region. I live in a village with almost no social housing. I think he has not given enough time for wealthy home-owners to recognise what he has to offer. I can cook, and although I don't tend to eat any meals that one might ascribe to any region of the world, I will mix up ingredients to suit my own palate. This shopkeeper, I think, has a lot of experience of a lower socio-economic group than the locals here. I suggest, might have never lived alongside or originated from. I exaggerate a bit, but they might see the Asian staple foodstuffs in the local shop as belonging to a lower socio-economic class that is India or Pakistan or Afghanistan, especially in light of the shopkeeper being from Sri Lanka. Of course, they also might not. So that probably means that only I do, but only because I am aware of poverty in India, the second most populous country in the world. But that is where my thoughts stop. Asian staple foodstuff belongs to the world, just as potatoes, tomatoes and maize, or corn, from South America belongs to the world.

He tried cheap cakes on us; we didn't bite. I told him that I am the poorest person in the village and wouldn't buy cheap cake. I don't buy cake anyway; but if I did, I wouldn't buy cheap cake. He has started to throw away less cake now that he stocks quite expensive cake. The expensive cake is sold before the sell-by date. He does, however throw away packaged sandwiches.

One of his chill cabinets has broken down. It is right at the front of his shop. It has been like that for over a month now. You know, the silver covering pulled down to preserve the chill overnight. Not a good look. That is where he kept the milk. The price he sells milk at, £1.69 for 2 litres, is not even a loss-leader (something that retailers sell at a loss to get customers into the shop). He makes a profit on it. At the moment, he keeps the milk at the back of the shop away from flighty customers' gaze. In fact, it is the last place a browsing customer would go to. It is in the furthest corner in the alcohol aisle. Along with it are the snacks that builders working in the area might buy for lunch, or the very small number of office workers working in the adjacent dentist, or the minders from the playgroup over the road. You get the picture; if you are not from round 'ere, you won't find the packaged sandwiches or Ginsters pies. Pretty dismal isn't it? Like I said, he throws a lot of packaged sandwiches away.

I pointed out to him that the locals only buying newspapers are probably never aware of the price of his milk. They are probably not aware he sells milk now, either. You see, the chill cabinet where the milk was kept is on the same wall as the door to the shop (in the front side corner). Most people continue to drink cow milk beyond their childhood and so they continue to produce lactase to break down the lactose in milk. I suggest that people who buy newspapers are not young people, and just might have milk in their tea in the morning while they read the paper. However, I never see newspaper purchasers buy milk in my local shop. They walk in and head straight to the newspaper stand with their backs to the redundant chill cabinet where the milk used to be (unseen) and where a small A5 sign waffles on about a broken fridge and the milk is now in the alcohol aisle. 

I have studied marketing to FHEQ level 7 Advanced Diploma. I am driven totally crazy by this man's reluctance to market his products. I suggested that the broken chill cabinet is an opportunity to engage his customers in conversation. Perhaps he doesn't like to talk. Perhaps his suspicion of people stems from shoplifters he encountered in his other three shops that he has serially closed, that is if he is suspicious. He might be timid, or not be entirely sociable; many shopkeepers are like that - 'Yeah, yeah! I don't make money from selling a single item. Just give me the money. You haven't paid enough to warrant a conversation.' Too cynical?

I suggested that he advertise the price of his milk with a little A5 chalkboard set up like an easel on his counter. The customer might ask where the milk is and he then has an opportunity to tell them not only where it is but also about the fine choice of charcuterie (Fr. prepared meats) including Polish sausage. I suggested to him that he very much should tell the customers wanting milk about the snacks and , because if he knows they want milk they will seek a large expanse of white from a background of vibrant colour. Once they see the white, they will hone in on it, and not look around. They won't look because they are in the alcohol aisle. The milk is at the bottom of the chill cabinet. The good stuff, that returns more profit, is at eye level, but not for someone seeking milk; they are looking floorwards. They expect to see only alcohol elsewhere. Alcohol is not something they want early in the morning. Because they don't want something they will blind themselves to other things.

The shopkeeper told me that he has entered into a contract with Premier, who will be his main supplier. In doing so, he will reduce his shop floor space by a third to make room for storage, thereby reducing his product range. The question I ask myself is; why has Premier compelled the shopkeeper to reduce his product range and desirability of his shop? Inevitably, the products that will go will be his unique selling point (USP); the Asian staple foodstuffs (Lentils and dried beans; Cassava or manioc; and the herbs, spices and condiments that add flavour). I did a straw poll in my village and there is a growing interest in trying the Asian foodstuffs. My shopkeeper doesn't know this because he won't engage the customers in conversation, or do any kind of market research. In a village close to other villages with shops and close to a city, I suggest, you need to talk. 

Why has Premier compelled the shopkeeper to reduce his product range in favour of creating storage space? It is pretty obvious really. More storage space means less frequent deliveries and because he has a low turnover of goods, Tesco, who owns Premier and Booker, and operate articulated lorries for deliveries, don't want to waste money on fuel and driver hours, making frequent top-ups of only a few units of only a few items. Also, being a village it is hard to turn an articulated lorry around. Tesco wins while the shopkeeper loses. Not only that all the villagers lose too. 

Only half a mile away, in a neighbouring village, is a Co-op medium size shop which stocks the usual fare and directly competes with all the rest of the supermarkets on price and product range. They sell reasonably priced vegetables. The shopkeeper in my village plans to stock perishable items (vegetables) at Tesco (Premier) prices (not cheap) instead of stocking frozen and dried produce / non-perishable products.

Well, who am I to be confused? I am not going to tell him how or what to think or what to do. I am not going to validate myself by showing him my certificates, or quote Philip Kotler or Seth Godin. I tried my best to point out how I shop. I will just go to the Co-op with the same prices as Premier, but with a wider product range and without the cheap cakes. 

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[ 15 minute read ] 3200 words

Stop Thief

A couple of days ago, my theme was on peripheral information, such as reading between the lines and people lurking in the shadows; and the relevance of peripheral information. That theme was picked up and minced to negate my meaning.

I do not have a hidden agendum and clearly state that content or themes in my posts are not written to bolster any agenda that others have, including agenda that is in line with a cult, religion, or self-promotion.Those three are often egregiously conflated. Any connection, whether by addition to, or negation of, other people's, posts published later than this, is fabricated to be so according to their own agenda, or agendum.

I have posted this as late as I can, today.

In writing an email, I formed an idea that many of us bolster ourselves by aligning with something we think is worthy of our attention, in the hope that association with something valuable will also show ourselves to be valuable. That is how marketers sell us expensive watches, cars, fashion, make-up, alcohol etc.

Many of us think that religion is something that we should ascribe our lives to. I don't have a problem with that; not one bit. In fact, I very nearly studied for a degree in Divinity. I find religion to be an incredibly interesting subject. I even studied 'Religious and Secular Ethics' with the, now defunct, London Bible College. It might have only changed its name, which is why if you Google, Wikipedia has this: 

'The London School of Theology, formerly London Bible College, is a British interdenominational evangelical theological college based in Northwood within the London Borough of Hillingdon.'.

I got 63% in my exam, as someone hovering on the threshold of giving up (in the wider spiritual sense, but not with an ultimate mortal finality). Really good course! I thoroughly recommend a similar one. Religion is among us and presents itself on a daily basis. I, like tens of millions of others, do not want it rammed down my throat by a fanatic cult member, or anyone who is associated with, or has been associated with, a cult. 

A conversation, I had, with one of my neighbours drifted into a conversation with his next-door neighbour. He is a Muslim. I have no problem with that, at all. Here is a deeply religious man; a man for whom I have a good deal of respect. Why? Because he reveres God; he makes time for his religion; and he will not be swayed from practicing his religion. But, if I can find reasons to respect him, I should already have at least one reason not to respect him if things were different, right? But, I suggest, we rarely look for flaws to substantiate our beliefs. That requires a different kind of thinking that, as far as I know, is not automatic in us. I was going to write: 'quite simply because we do not need to use it to survive'. I am not sure that is true though. 

From an A4 hand-written sheet on my wall: 'In Social Science, hypotheses are tested in their negative form. This form of hypothesis is called the null hypothesis. The intent is to prove the positive hypothesis.'

I suppose an example of this, is when we ask ourselves: If you could paint a picture of your own heaven or paradise, what would you put in your painting. I mean fine art - with scenes and objects, not modern symbolic art. Many of us would leave out a whole bunch of stuff which we only realise we would have included, when we consider the opposite environment; a most negative environment; hell, or hell on earth, however, you want to safely imagine it. When painting a representation of hell, canny people might paint a desert with no water, and have too much heat or cold; or an absence of living people, yet people are still represented, even if it is no more than destroyed houses in the painting. If we then go back to our painting on heaven or paradise, I suggest, we realise that we have not included water, or family and friends, or food, or love, or respect, or a whole bundle of stuff. What we have come to realise is that by recognising an opposite to something we love or crave, in effect, I think, we have a deeper understanding of what is important to us.

I respect my Muslim neighbour because he does not take anything from me. He does not demand my time; he does not demand my respect; he does not shove his ideas down my throat; important to me, is that his strong belief means he will not pass off something I have highlighted as his own consideration; and he does not try to indoctrinate people - he does not claim significance by being a Muslim. To him, his reverence for Allah prohibits him from using Allah as a signifier of his relevance. He is validated by following Islam - he validates Islam. And it is the last, indoctrination, that is a key signifier as to his whether he should be respected. In order to indoctrinate with religion, there is a tendency to back up one's words with quotes from religious text. In other words. 'Believe ME because it says so here.' I find that to be entirely despicable and abhorrent because the person is validating themselves. This is why I must state that I am not colluding with anyone to compel people to believe something.

My posts are completely out of my own head and many people recognise them as brutally and ruthlessly honest. I believe someone scrabbling for recognition and validation may use any religion to back up their words. Foolishly, they might also find something in any person's honesty and attach themselves to that. In my mind, what they are actually doing by stealing themes or padding out themes is diluting the truth. If it was truth that initiated any good thoughts, I believe I should not mess with it. Inevitably, we are going to queer it with our falsehood. The falsehood I am trying to outline and fill in with colour, is the need to present ourselves as similar to something that we find relevant or important to ourselves.

Being honest, is really hard. It is difficult because we are, I suggest, surrounded by falsehood. I wrote this a long time ago and filed it in the 'Religion' folder on my laptop:

Demons and Devils

Drawing attention to Oneself

       'The attention of the demon-possessed grows ever greater and gradually they creep forward, their ears pricking. Only when the believer swears or curses does the attention of the demon-possessed wane and turn elsewhere, As though the threat of detection is too much to bear does one allow filth to gush from one's mouth.

Or, perhaps the evident building of force from the demon-possessed causes the believer to swear, thus causing the believer to become further from God, We must hold hard. Our weakness is wanting to belong, to not be ostracised, to not feel threatened.'

END

It isn't really a story, but I have to distinguish it as such because it is an example environment that comes from my imagination, and as such, is likely to be untrue. I use the 'Sophia' icon to represent truth (my honesty at least).

One of my most hated character flaws is that I will lie. Years ago, I decided I would tell the truth, perhaps politician-like, but hopefully not, because paltering, which is what we hear when they don't want to tell us something, is also lying. In a TMA question on reflecting on oneself, I lied when I wrote that I enjoyed one subject more than the others. If the question was re-framed to be. 'Which unit or subject did you hate the least?'  I wouldn't have needed to lie. However, the question was on which subject or unit did I enjoy the most. Even if I did enjoy a subject, I didn't want to share that information to a tutor who will probably make a note of it. The fact that my answer was a lie and submitted over five months ago, and I am still very much aware of the lie, might give you some idea of how troubled I am about falsehood. I will never be able to recover from that. Just like a recovering addict, my tally of abstention was reduced to zero. Why did I do it? To make sure I passed the module and be able to move onto the next. I really don't know if it was worth it. I am thinking it was not. I would have passed without even submitting that TMA. I could have completely skipped it, but actively chose to lie throughout the whole TMA, quite simply because I knew what to write to pass the TMA. Shown in the open like that, each to a one, we condemn all me as a harbour for falsehood. I tried to use the French verb 'habiter' but couldn't bend it enough before it snapped. 'J'abite mensonge.' You see how I have corrupted something beautiful. Only fools are impressed by a fool.

So, when someone expands on anything in my posts to further their own goals I am livid. There is worse; when someone twists or expands on my themes or words to further themselves, I recognise a weak and feeble cheat; a charlatan. Perhaps my truth is weak and does not stand scrutiny, but it is my truth and I make sure that is known.

I have a few times stated that I shall never write a book. I do not want people to reference me, and I especially would not want a book reviewer seeking validation to gain any vicarious credence from my work. 

How ugly it is when things are shown in the light. The Open University teaches some of its students to critically analyse other people's words and write a review of their work. Unfortunately, there are some people who, in my mind, believe this to be an admirable quality to hone and perfect. It is parasitic. Without other people's efforts beforehand a reviewer ceases to exist. I shall have to review other students' submissions in forums. I find it so vastly abhorrent that I will get credence for being a parasite, and it is because I have already lied, and acted as a traitor to myself and disrespected everything I spent years working towards, that I have find myself with only four choices. 

1. Plead for an alternative test. 
2. Avoid commenting on any student's work, yet still submit my own.
3. Lie
4. Leave the Open University degree program

I now have three choices since lying is not going to happen, and from that list of three, pleading for an alternative test on account of any eligibility shall also be removed. I am not a quitter so I have no energy for leaving the degree program. So, I must avoid commenting on anyone's work as a task that would personally give me credit or approbation. I can tell the truth, but nobody wants that, and I would not get any points, so I would need to lie. Paltering, you understand, is lying. When I submit my posts in the mandatory forums I shall add that I invite comments only on what is wrong with my posts and comments on what can be improved. It is presumptuous for me to think that anyone might like something I might write. However, it is difficult for us to always find something positive to say. I hope to remove that onus from commentators of my work. I requested that my tutor for an earlier module give only correction and advice on what is wrong with my TMA submissions on the basis of not being able to fix things that are correct or done well. My tutor's job was much easier; the feedback was freely honest and did not need to be couched in encouraging terms and it was easier for me to understand. I really an that serious about honesty. I suppose trying to be honest requires accepting it from others too. Just my thoughts.

There are only two goals or agenda in my life: Be honest and cause other people to consider being honest as a option that will not necessarily harm them; and make sure that people know that being mentally unwell, whether it is frequent, infrequent, temporary or permanent, treatable or not treatable, is normal and interesting. An example is when we dream, and then say to someone, 'I had a weird dream last night', and then go on to describe a psychotic incident. Happily, we believe that we are not really like that. Aren't you? I am fairly certain that every one of us believes something about ourselves that everyone else cannot see in us. The problem we face, I suggest, is that we steal to feed our self-told lies. 'I am kind, and I am right.' should be: 'I give away what I do not need, and I fool myself because I have convinced myself that I have completely and fully understood something.'

I believe that, being honest means trusting ourselves. You might understand now why I am more than annoyed when anyone thinks it is okay to steal or expand on themes when they have not checked themselves for falsehoods. 

'Oh come on, Martin. A leopard can change its spots!' No amount of religion or worship can do that if we are dishonest with ourselves. I am not a writer. I have never written a book. I lack creativity. I have no talent. I freely admit it. I suggest that the first thing to give up is our desperate need to feed on other people, to make comparisons with liars, and give up trying to pull down anything that exceeds our abilities.

In an earlier post in which I published a pseudo-interview with myself I wrote:

'...I live in a constant state of searching for either escape routes or solutions that satisfy the situation, though not necessarily me. In real terms, this means, to me, Fight tooth and nail using smiles and kid-gloves to attempt to achieve an unrealistic vision of peace (which even worse, provides only succour) against people who would vindictively tear my guts out if I show my soft under-belly, simply because it is in their nature to do so.'

What did I mean by that? By being honest, I reveal myself to be flawed; by being honest, I reveal myself to have weaknesses; by being honest, I trigger the compulsion in others to try to overwhelm me and take advantage of me and anything I do. But no, that is less than a tiny bit of it. By being honest, the falsehood in people is pricked and they, like the demons and devils in the earlier imaginative piece, will seek to destroy and twist something that is merely my thoughts, to favour themselves and their indoctrinating natures. These posts are merely my own thoughts; they are not yours; they are not hers or his; they are not theirs. If you are inspired by them and feel you want to expand on them, you first need to recognise that these are not your thoughts that you are expanding on, so if you publish your expansion you have to reference me as the source of your expansion. If you do not, you are plagiarising me. Similarly, If you want to gain some credence for your new revelation and you post your thoughts on the same platform, juxtaposed to someone else, from whom you have agreed or disagreed with, you need to make sure that people know you are inspired, or angered, or in disagreement with the post you have chronologically posted next to, if the content is significantly connected to. To whit: If I write about my version of truth but you see things differently, you need to reference me. Of course, anyone who is not trying to popularise themselves would do so. You don't actually have to do any of that in an OU blog post. It is just polite, fair and sincere. I suggest that if you don't play fair, you are a charlatan.

Plagiarism is a no-no in academic study with the Open University; see this tutor's post: https://learn1.open.ac.uk/mod/oublog/viewpost.php?post=286521

Despite a sweeping mood of unrest sweeping the country at present, I cannot help recognising that my Muslim neighbour with his religious approach to his religion is far more respectful to me than a zealot that wants to further his own goal to popularise himself by aligning himself or herself with a few thoughts on honesty and quoting the Bible. My Muslim neighbour is advanced in his attitude towards his God. He would not entertain my thoughts at all when he considers his faith. He, however, would, if he talks from his own self thoughts. For him, when considering his religion and my thoughts, 'Never the twain shall meet'. 

With this in mind, and my repulsion from self-promotional individuals who claim to be better than truth would reveal, some people are not welcome to my thoughts, because it is like throwing pearls to swine. They gobble them up and all that comes of it is pearls covered in muck. Truth is shrouded and transmogrified into something evil-smelling by ego and falsehood.  

I have made statements that I resent my creativity and work being used to promote an individual, but still my posts get used in that way. My posts are not meant to be used to raise people or diminish them, including myself. If a reader can find some way to raise themselves through being honest, then you have my attention. If I say something about myself that is good, I hope I can also say that it is because I saw the opposite in me and that is how I have learnt. Why I have learnt is because I don't want to repeat my undoings.

Back to commenting on other students' posts in mandatory TMA forums: In adding my thoughts based on the practice of close analysis, I have to promote myself as being perspicacious no matter how well or shoddily the student has presented their work, or how much they have gleaned from the course. I must find a way to remove myself from praise or merit, while also showing that I have learnt from the task and the content published by my fellow students. I cannot expand on their work without weakening their effort. Being patronising is one of my faults. 

In the light of day: 'That is a wonderful painting of mummy and daddy, but people are not bigger than houses.' Someone who understands why the parents are represented as bigger than the home would know that the parents are more important to the child than the home. A crass person would patronise the child with physics. The child would be crushed. 

Please don't expand on my themes before you are certain I have not already covered it. Sometimes it is the exploration that is important; spelling it out in an expansion crushes and negates an experience. Please, don't steal that from someone.