Public Toilet?
Dumping!
Imagine living in a block of 28 flats; and imagine each of the flats being occupied by people from different countries, each with their own customs, cultures and traditions. Then arrange a community meeting and see if they all agree. Some of the occupants will want a quiet environment, so no late-night parties for the others; some will be short of money, so request no costly maintenance; others may want to prohibit pets – the list goes on. As each person makes his demands known, others will resent being told what they can do. As time goes on, each person’s actions impact on the others. Neighbours who finish work late may interrupt those going to bed early; partially-deaf neighbours will have their television on loudly; dogs may be left alone, barking incessantly; and some may disregard the need to keep communal areas clean. There is a community charge to pay and, although agreed to by all, in practice not everyone can afford it and debts grow. On closer examination, the defaulters may have chosen to spend their money unwisely on new furniture, or a car that they can’t afford. The debts rise and the question is asked, ‘why should I subsidise the debtors?’ In reality, each flat owner may want to live in peace, but overriding that is their inborn selfishness. This is natural – no one wants to be inconvenienced by others while believing that their actions are socially acceptable. Now imagine that, one day, there is a fire on the second floor. The flames and smoke rise in the central yard of the block, so that even on the ninth floor the windows shatter and smoke engulfs the flats. Everyone is affected by one person’s error. Now expand this concept. Instead of a flat, think of a country; a block of 28 countries, each with its own agenda and trying to live together in harmony. Each inwardly wanting what is best for itself, yet outwardly presenting a veneer of accord. Yes, you have the European Community, or EU. Is it any surprise that the EU has problems? The heads of state, acting like heads of families, want to protect their own, and not all are capable of budgeting. Demands are made both nationally and internationally, and self-interest usually wins. The EU ignores national customs, cultures and traditions, imposing a ‘one size fits all’ system. In my opinion, it’s not realistic; it’s a mission impossible. What started as a Common Market, agreeing to expand trade within its member states, has now developed into a monster with ever-growing limbs probing into previously-forbidden areas, with little chance of finding unanimous agreement. It fails to recognize the needs of an individual state and is driven by its strongest members. Is it too late to step back, take time to reflect, and find a way to tame the monster before it destroys everything in its path? There doesn’t appear to be a clear way forward; perhaps the monster should be beheaded by a gallant knight; or is that only in fairy stories. There’s happiness when a baby is born. We anticipate that it will grow into a healthy child, a successful adult, and then enjoy a long retirement. But why, at the end of a full life, do we try and prolong it and feel upset when that person dies. It’s the most natural and ineluctable fact that a human being will eventually die and if it’s in old age there really should be a greater acceptance. Yes, it’s wonderful if auntie lives to be a hundred and receives a telegram from the queen, as long as she has the capacity to celebrate with us; but if she’s incapacitated, her mind has gone and she needs feeding, then we ought to be ashamed of ourselves for allowing her suffering to continue. If auntie could choose, it’s doubtful that she would prolong her agony, but with medical advances that is what happens. Then we congratulate ourselves that she lived for an extra year. There are times when I think about getting old. It used to be something that happened to other people – now I realise that it will happen to me. I don’t want to be like auntie, lying in bed slobbering her food. I want a dignified exit from this world when the time is right. And that is the crux of the matter – when is the time right? Then, once that is defined, how would my life end? I don’t want my life to end early whilst I’m still able to enjoy it. It’s tragic when a young life ends because of an accident or illness. People age differently and it would be impossible to state an age when I would want to die. Too early, and I’ll miss out on this wonderful world – too late, and I won’t know or care who I am or what I want. But if I don’t decide now, when will I? It’s probable that when I would want to die I would be too old and infirm to make the decision. This suggests a burden on others to make the decision for me, or to carry out wishes that I have made previously. Add in the factor that it’s still illegal in the UK to assist someone to die and it’s totally unfair on the other people concerned. The stories I’ve heard of elderly Eskimos choosing when to die has a certain tranquillity about it. Imagine the frail Eskimo stepping into a canoe and slowly paddling out to their sunset – never to be seen again. That isn’t an option in the west, and the equivalent may be people disappearing from a cruise liner. There have been thirty known cases in the last few years – many of them elderly. Did the passengers make a decision to leave this world, their life being near to an end? I would try and draw a distinction between suicide, as it’s understood, and ending one’s life when old. It may be an indefinable distinction, and the result is certainly the same, but I’m making a case for ending a life only when it’s reached its natural end – the point when usefulness has gone and there can be no reversal. In hospitals, the next of kin of an elderly patient may be asked by medical staff if they should attempt to resuscitate if necessary. This is as far as they can possibly go – legally they cannot assist in ending a life. An overdose of morphine is one way to relieve pain and take life to its conclusion, and I believe that this is occasionally used with discretion, because of repercussions. Ask a selection of people if they would choose to watch their loved-one suffer and in most cases the answer would be no. Ask those people if they personally should be allowed to suffer and in all cases the answer would be no. So why is it so hard to decide on a point in ones own life when it should end? Assuming that one gets to a stage when they cannot care for themselves, or are mentally unable to make decisions, it’s then reasonable to end that life. Whilst there are restricted medical resources it could also be argued that it’s selfish to prolong life as it prevents others from treatment. Two sets of circumstances need to be considered. If when old and of sound mind I have an irreversible illness that causes pain, I should be able to say ‘enough is enough’. And if my mind goes, I would hope that a previously written request to terminate my life could be honoured. An argument for misinterpretation of someone’s wishes is a factor, as is malicious misuse of procedure, but surely that can be overcome and commonsense can prevail. It’s a well-worn cliché that an animal would not be allowed to suffer the pain and indignities that we witness in fellow human beings – and that is disgraceful. So how does one end life? At the present time the method has to be surreptitious and sometimes desperate. To fall in front of a train or lorry is callous as that impacts on someone else’s life. To jump from a cruise liner may seem less personal – the reaction of fellow passengers is more likely to be aggravation because of missing their timetable of events if the ship turns to attempt a rescue. Pills and alcohol are used and are not always successful. Perhaps the most humane way is by lethal injection. One is able to prepare and say farewell in a dignified way. The problem is that someone needs to administer the injection, and for that the law in the UK needs to be changed. Let us be bold and change the law. It’s time to look at life – and death – in a new way. Accept that there’s a time span for everyone, and reaching the natural end is a reason for celebration. Our last memory of a relative or friend should be joyous and not distressful. We can enjoy a long life, quietly knowing that all good things come to an end and that the end is planned. When I read that Wayne Rooney was going to earn £300,000 a week kicking a ball around I thought, at first, that the world had gone mad. It's difficult enough for him to string a few words together to form a sentence. How can he be worth that much? But then, I thought, he's not being paid to speak, he's earning a vast amount because of his football skills. Is he worth £300,000 a week? Well, the powers-that-be at Manchester United think so. They've taken a business decision and believe they can re-coup that amount, and more, by having him there. If they didn't pay him that much, someone else would; the law of supply and demand. Bankers, those disliked, undisciplined moneymen, can receive bonuses in excess of £1 million a year despite of cries of disapproval from the public. Once again, they're only getting the market rate for the job. If the banker didn't get his bonus, he'd move to another bank which would pay him more. The banks deal in billions and so salaries and bonuses are just a small percentage of that. Is a banker worth more than a footballer? Difficult question! Actors, too, can demand huge fees after reaching celebrity status, with the top few receiving £30 - £50 million to star in one film. An incomprehensible sum for most of us, but only paid because the actor can help the investors re-coup their outlay. So my next query is why the UK Prime Minister, David Cameron, is only paid £142,000 a year (£2,730 a week). Surely, with his responsibilities, he should earn more than a banker, footballer or actor. Whether you voted for him or not, the Prime Minister is elected to lead the country 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Quite honestly, I haven't got an answer as to why his salary is so low. I know that, since leaving office, Tony Blair has gone on to amass a fortune, some £70 million, but it's the salary whilst leading the country that I would question, (ok, how Tony Blair earnt his fortune is a valid question, too). If the Prime Minister were to earn as much as a banker, first-rate footballer or actor, the public wouldn't accept it. His salary needs to be commensurate with those of his electorate and not with high-earners. Are we right to think that? Is there an underlying jealousy if our politicians earn more than us? The world seems topsy-turvy. We want to feel safe in the world and expect our Prime Minister to lead his government along a path that’s best for us. In private business, the head of a large company would earn a high salary and bonuses in recognition of success. Not so our PM. If he's lucky, he'll win a subsequent election and be given the opportunity to continue working for a further term for similar pay; if he loses, he'll probably leave politics and earn more than when he was in office. Did I say lucky? Now, if I could kick a ball, invest money and act a bit, I could earn a fortune, too. But if not, I could always run the country. In truth, we all have the same opportunities - it's what we do with them that makes the difference. “Write something controversial for a change,” it was suggested; so I thought, ok, I’ll write about pets. You either love them or hate them. The most popular pets are cats and dogs and, personally, I can’t understand why anyone would want to share their home with an animal. Cats are naturally self-dependent and dogs are demanding and will dominate if allowed to. At the risk of upsetting cat lovers (but I’m being controversial so it doesn’t matter), I see these pets as a flea-haven, anxious to share their prey so bringing it into the house, and yet independent enough to leave if given better treatment elsewhere. And, if I want to stroke a bundle of fluff, I’ll find my favourite mohair jumper. Dogs always want to be alpha-beast and need to be dominated. The trouble is that many owners will treat their dog as one of the family and it is not – it’s an animal with animal instincts. Watch a true dog-trainer at work and you will realise why animals behave as they do – most dogs are not trained properly. I don’t enjoy being barked at, being poked in the privates, or having to avoid smelly, dog mess. If I urinated against a lamp post I would be arrested – why is a dog allowed to? And the thought of putting dog’s poo into a plastic bag is repulsive; little wonder so many dog owners leave it where it’s dropped! It’s true that some pet owners act responsibly, get great pleasure from their pets, and can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t love their pet as they do. They’ll tell you how much love they receive from Fluffy or Rover and how much satisfaction they get from caring for their animal. That’s ok and their choice, but so often it intrudes into other peoples’ lives. If owners want to spend their time fondling their pet; visiting a vet at vast expense and more frequently than their own doctor; buying premium-brand pet food because their little darling won’t touch the cheap stuff, then that’s up to them. But their cat messing in my garden, or their dog constantly barking, is a nuisance that I don’t wish to put up with. When I was a child, my parents had a dog. I now realize it was either badly trained or completely mental as it chased cars, tried to bite men in long raincoats, and occasionally turned on us with bared teeth. I also confess that I’ve owned a cat. Pretty as I thought it was, I got fed-up with bird feathers in the kitchen and later settled for goldfish instead. No demands on me other than cleaning their tank and a pinch of food now and then; no need to take them for a walk; no chance of them escaping or being run over; no intrusion into the lives of others, yet relaxing and pleasant to look at – they were ideal. Yes, if you must have a pet, think of a fish (even a catfish or dogfish if you must!). |
About me Hi, I'm Robin Hardy. I was born and educated in London and followed a career in hotel and catering management. After taking early retirement, my wife, Beatrix, and I moved to Alicante, Spain. Archives
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