With one thing and another, time is very tight. So, following on last night’s complete failure to appear, here’s a cop out . . . .
In the UK, happiness peaks at 74. Teenagers rank their contentment at 5.5 on scale of 7. Levels then decline, dropping to 5.0 at 40. But they then rise to hit 5.9 at 74.
Social Indicators Research. Feb. 2010
In Eastern Europe, it's the countries which were too poor - or lazy - to dub their TV programs into their own language that now speak the best English. [Contrast Spain, where Franco’s efficient industry remains very much in place and English levels are low.]
The word “progressive” once meant something quite definite. In the early 20th century, it stood for the constellation of ideas on the margins of the socialist movement – free love, atheism and dietary reform. All middle class. The type of people George Orwell used to love to mock. Then something strange happened. The broad river of socialism dissipated into a mass of little rivulets – rights for women, for gays, for blacks, for animals, for anyone, in fact, except workers. The progressivists took over. They became New Labour. Now they are extending their grip over the Tories. We are all progressive now. Or at least pretend to be.
Finally, courtesy of an exchange with my friend Alfie Mittington, I’ve been reminded of this article which encapsulates my attitude towards salad. Alfie says it makes its point at much greater length than is truly necessary. Which might strike a few of you as a bit rum . . .