Tuesday, December 27, 2005

The March of Time

Kerry Packer’s death at 68 is a reminder that, however rich we be, one day we’ll die. But is this any comfort to those of us without as much cash as he had? For sure this faraway death makes me realise that my opinion isn’t fixed and is more prey to spin than I care to admit. When Mr Packer poached some of the world’s best cricketers I sided with the establishment. Time passes and, having heard the story from the cricketers’ viewpoint, I can now understand that that establishment was well past its best before date.

By chance Richard Morrison writes today in the Times about death and "the gloomy feeling that time is rushing past" as well as touching on the possible foolishness of the would-be future King George. Time, as Dylan Thomas noticed rather more poetically than I, passes. Over in the Guardian the ever earnest George Monbiot writes about some of the sins of the British Empire in his accusatory style which implies that they were all our fault. Max Hastings worries that history teaching isn’t what it was. Terry Jones, a comedian, rants on about Iraq and suggests that Tony Blair must be "finding it difficult to sleep"; looks like a triumph for hope over observation to me. Given Mr Jones’s jocular presentation of history on tele, one might expect him to take a long view of current events but no such luck. The Independent has noticed that the elimination of World poverty is a perplexingly complex task. And the Daily Mail is worried about snow and fuel shortages.

A good day to ignore the thinly padded newspapers and polish our resolutions.


At 01:06, Blogger Brownie said...

The 'elimination of poverty' sure took place at The Late Big Kezza's place.
A prominent Right Wing Death Beast had been asked to give the eulogy at his Memorial Service, same RWDB is Bestest pal of Our Fearless Leader, they are watching a lot of cricket right now, and must be chatting quietly between overs, because the news today is that this country will give the deceased A STATE FUNERAL.
If England had given one to Robert Maxwell, you would feel the way I do now.

At 18:08, Blogger Hughes Views said...

State funerals are bizarre and perplexing. What's wrong with twenty minutes at the municipal crematorium and then some pickled eggs and beer in, say, the back bar of the Somerset Arms? The Queen Mother got the full works over here, I guess she's several generations on from whoever it was first brought fortune to her family. I wonder if in a few hundred years Mr P's descendants will still be in 'high' places.....


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