Lowlife 98 – Cold Comfort

Cold Comfort

By Dominic Horton

The weather finally turned cold on Monday and as I was set to spend a couple of hours outside in the cold air at Villa Park it was time to engage in some old man behaviour; for the first time in my life I took a flask of hot cuppa-soup to the match. I bought the flask as an impulse purchase for £3 from ASDA a couple of months ago with the idea of taking it with me when I go on walks but I have yet to do that, so the flask debuted at Villa Park at what threatened to be a thoroughly miserable evening of football. Villa had not won in the preceding seven league games and were playing the high flying Southampton on a chilly evening, attended by a low crowd, with half the ground empty. So I was clinging on to the prospect of the hot soup at half-time as being the highlight of my evening.

Christopher Biggins as Luke Warm in Porridge.

The flask label assured me that the container would ensure that it would keep the liquid hot for at least five hours and as I had no reason to disbelieve the good people of ASDA, when I poured out the soup I was not in the slightest bit apprehensive about the heat of the liquid. Which turned out to be stone cold. Unlike Christopher Biggins in Porridge it wasn't even luke warm, which might have rendered the soup drinkable. I know that some fancy continental soups are meant to be served cold; you can call me an old fashioned Britisher but I like my soup piping hot thank you very much. And my tea for that matter. Dipping a digestive biscuit into iced tea doesn't quite cut the mustard, which should of course be English not French. Those of you that know me will (hopefully) know that I am not a small-minded, xenophobic philistine, far from it, but some things are sacrosanct.

My dear son Kenteke and I were disappointed at the damp (and cold) squib of the soup but luckily Villa were surprisingly winning 1-0 at half-time so at least the scoreline tempered the flask setback. And the word “tempered” transpired to be very fitting as I later learnt that I should have tempered the flask before use, which apparently means I should have acclimatised it with hot water before tipping in the soup. The label didn't mention tempering so how was I supposed to know? The only temper procedure that I enacted was counting to ten to try and calm myself down about the flask's failure and false claims.

On the way back to the car after the game (which for the record ended in a 1-1 draw) Kenteke, who is 10 years old, said to me, “Dad, you need to buy a Thermos.” Which of course is sound advice from one so young. I should not have been a miser in the first place by buying the competitively priced flask but of course one tries to minimise one's general expenditure in order to maximise one's beer buying potential in the Flagon & Gorses. But the soup disaster was soon forgotten on return to Codger Mansions and it was a case of who laughs last laughs loudest as I had left the central heating on a low heat, so when we walked through the front door the house was toasty.

Lao Tzu, after eating Ready Brek.

Also, having a car with a working radio and heater at long last has enhanced our football travelling experience no end. When I had my last car, Pat, being radio-less on the way home from the game I would moan about the football at Kenteke, who wisely wouldn't be listening as he would be curled up warm under his blanket and would be playing his video game. Now I have my new car (well, second hand but new to me) I listen to callers on the radio moan about the football so I don't have to moan personally anymore and the heater soon makes me warm, so it is an improvement. But the net result for Kenteke is effectively the same as he is still warm, with the heater replacing his blanket, and he still plays his video game and ignores someone moaning about the football.

I suppose a lot of life generally consists of adults moaning about one thing or another and children being oblivious to such rantings. In fact moaning, as opposed to constructive criticism, usually falls on deaf ears as if it was noted and acted upon there would be nothing to moan about. That said some people, and we all know who they are, would find something to moan about even in divine Utopia: “I say, it's nice enough here and all that and mostly idyllic and heavenly but I don't half dislike the name 'Utopia', it's horrible.”

In the office at the bank where I used to work there were world class moaners, whitterers and faffers and one colleague was a champion in all three disciplines. And he was more highly regarded by the company than all of the rest of us. But it was all a game you see and this fella used to be an expert at playing it. It didn't matter how good or bad you were at your job or how hard you worked at it, reward was granted on the basis of how well you played the game, if you were prepared to play it.

Ben Dyson, founder of Positive Money, doing a bit of
bingo calling on the side. 

Staff used to fall into one of three broad categories: those that knew the game and were prepared to demean and compromise themselves to play it in order to get on in the company; those that knew the game but were not prepared to play it or to demean and compromise themselves; and those who didn't know the game and therefore didn't play it. I was in the second category as I was not prepared to play the game as it clashed with my desire to try to be a decent human being.

Those in the third category were the happiest as although they didn't get on in the company they had no tricky decision to make as they were ignorant. Those in the first category got on in the company and enjoyed the associated financial gain but they couldn't be truly happy as in order to play the game they had made concessions to being a virtuous person. Those in the second category had kept their integrity intact but missed out on recognition and monetary reward by the company as a consequence, so they were sour and demoralised.

The irony of the game was that generally it was the disagreeable characters who rose through the ranks and prospered, the bullsh*tters, bluffers and and banking brigands. Talking the talk was more important than walking the walk. The game encouraged individualism and self interest in the pursuit of a bigger bonus and/ or salary; staff that worked towards the collective good were those that were usually not valued or rewarded.

And this is a worrying considering that bankers, not politicians, are in control of issuing new money into the economy, so they have an incredible amount of power. Only 3% of all new money that is issued is in the form of bank notes and coins issued by the Bank of England – 97% of all new money that is created is in the form of loans that are created by banks. And the motivation of banks is to maximise profits and not to act in the best interests of the people of this country.

Dudley Winter Ales Fayre, by request of Toby In-Tents.

The good news is that due to the dedicated lobbying of Positive Money (www.positivemoney.org) the first debate on money creation in parliament for 170 years (yes, 170, it's not a typo), since the Bank Charter Act of 1844, was held on 20th November of this year. Over thirty five Members of Parliament attended and twenty one of those spoke throughout the debate. It was acknowledged that banks create new money when they make a loan and there was a consensus among most MPs present that this is a problem. As importantly there was cross-party support for a proposal to set up a monetary commission in order to explore money creation in detail. This is only a small step and we are far from legislation to reform the way new money is created but at least parliament has finally recognised that the banks are largely in control and not the Bank of England.

As Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu said, “a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” And talking of which I had better get a shift on so I can make steps towards meeting Harry Stottle and the Coarse Whisperer in Dudley for the Winter Ales Fayre – I know Dudley is only a mere three miles from Halesowen but it seems like a thousand miles when you journey there on the 244 bus, I can tell you. But at least delightful real ales await me at journey's end. Here's to Miguel de Cervantes who said, "I drink when I have occasion and sometimes when I have no occasion.” Cheers.

© Dominic Horton, November 2014.

Email: lordhofr@gmail.com

Lowlife is dedicated to the memory of the late Jonathan Rendall