On being free and the benefits of fresh air

(For the avoidance of doubt... Nothing that follows is true. None of the characters refer to real people, e.g. 'Dad' does not represent my father, I have no 'Uncle Nigel', etc.)

Kitchen table

It had been rumbling on for ages. Uncle Nigel wouldn't stop banging on about it. So finally Dad organised a round-the-kitchen-table chat. By a show of hands, and the slenderest of majorities (six to five), we're going to go for it and get a new roof.

Of course, there were plenty of arguments against the expenditure. Dad said he quite liked the roof, that it had always done right by us and we should respect its inherent structural integrity - and maybe replace a tile or two if there was a problem.

Uncle Nigel kept saying that it was a useless roof because the rain that gets in, even though he's said for decades that he'll keep a watch on it and would definitely let us know if it ever needed fixing.

He was talking over Mum, who was trying to explain to him that this will happen sometimes because she likes to keep the window open up there - and maybe if we could just arrange a system for closing the window when it rains, we could solve the problem.

Sadly though, Mum had given the window management responsibility to some company called Idiota and they'd gone round making sure that all the other windows are securely locked shut. So we still have occasional leaks and the rest of the house is very stuffy.

No one was really paying enough attention at our kitchen-table meeting. Despite the fact that we were definitely talking about replacing the roof, it turns out that we all only voted to have the roof removed.

Of course we were also talking about getting a new roof, but we didn't actually vote for one. No need, apparently. What sort of fool would remove a perfectly good, if slightly leaky, roof without replacing it?


Demolition

Well, it's now really kicking off. Dad was so upset to lose the vote that he's gone to hide in the shed at the bottom of the garden.

So Mum has taken over and it's like she's become a new person. Instead of sticking to her guns, and saying we just need to sort out the window situation, she's told us that she has to respect our wishes to have the roof taken off. She's booked the demolition company, paid in full (non-refundable) and has made a list of a few local roofers but not bothered to call any of them.

Just a few more weeks, then apparently we'll be free of the horrific constraints of the old roof. We will get a new roof, says Mum. But if she can't find one she likes, she'll have no roof. Because better no roof than a bad roof.


Any umbrella

Cousin Liam turned up yesterday in a clapped-out old van stuffed full of parasols, garden umbrellas and awnings. It was great news that the roof was finally going, he said, as it meant we could have different rain/sun/cold protection for each room, tailored to its individual needs.

He tried to demonstrate by dragging a huge umbrella to Mum's bedroom but she told him he absolutely couldn't put it up in there as it was bad luck. He'd have to wait until the roof had gone. Step-brother George looked up from furiously scribbling in his journal to point out that it would be a bit late to test it then, especially if it was pouring with rain, but Mum put her fingers in her ears and both pretended she couldn't hear him and also said something about him not being her son and perhaps he'd like to join his father in the shed.

Speaking of Dad - no word from the shed for a long time. I saw Dad briefly last week when he stepped out and paced around grandly (head back, chest puffed out) but went back inside when no one seemed interested enough to go and talk to him. Or even lean out of the window and wave. (Actually, that was because the windows were locked shut. It's getting really stuffy in here now. The hamsters are pining.)


Clouds gathering

I was slightly nervous about the pressure washer that our neighbour has been using, in case it's strong enough to fire a wet salvo over our walls and into our rooms. But that's nothing: the people in the nearby villages are fed up with having a wash-out at their weekend farmers' markets so they're investing in cloud seeding. I think we might have picked a very bad time to be roof-less.


Everybody needs good neighbours

In all the excitement, we've forgotten something very important indeed. We live in a semi-detached house and no one's thought what will happen to the neighbours' roof when we take our roof away. It's not even really a separate roof, obviously. I can't believe no one noticed.

They're very miffed that we've booked the demolition company before even talking to them about it and they're not even slightly convinced that putting a few struts in place will work.

Mum has told them not to worry and that they will continue to enjoy all the benefits of their roof once ours has gone. Only, she hasn't told them how on earth that will work and they clearly realise that she's making it all up as she goes along.


Hopes cruelly dashed

The demolition company rang up. They asked if we're absolutely certain that we want the roof removed as they've heard we don't have a new one booked in. They're being really kind. They said that they've got plenty of work on at the moment - so they'll even give us a refund (on our non-refundable booking).

Mum was furious with them. Really!

She didn't even want to replace the roof, let alone remove it, originally. And now she's definite that it has to go, because apparently that's what we all wanted (even though nearly half of us didn't - and none of us asked to go roof-less). She started accusing the demolition people of interfering with something that was none of their business.

If she carries on like this, I don't have a good feeling that they'll leave the edges smooth when they take the roof away.

Meanwhile, Uncle Nigel has gone back to his house across the street. He hasn't been over since the kitchen-table incident and has a very nice roof on his house. But he likes to shout at us across the street to ask why it's taking so long to get that roof off the house which he loves so much that he only pops in occasionally for dinner (whether he's invited or not). He never brings a bottle.


To be continued...

On allegations, innocence and entertainment

The world's greatest broadcaster (see video on the right, or wherever it ends up on your screen) is partway through showing a new adaptation of a novel by Agatha Christie called, deliciously enough, 'Ordeal By Innocence'.

It was meant to be shown over Christmas (because who doesn't love murder over Christmas?) but was hastily pulled from the schedule because one member of the ensemble cast had been accused of criminal acts.

Yes, I'm being vague. I could put names here but to what end?

The point I am making is that I (and you and you and pretty much everyone else) know nothing at all about whether the allegations are true. That doesn't mean I think they're false. But it also doesn't mean I think they're true. I simply don't know. How could I know? And what has any of it to do with me? (The answer you're looking for is 'nothing'.)

The allegations are just that. They're not criminal charges. They're not criminal convictions. As far as I have read, there have not even been any arrests. Someone has accused someone else of a crime. Yes, they should be taken seriously and the allegations should be investigated by someone who knows what they're doing. (For the avoidance of doubt, I'm referring to police, not journalists.) Trial by media is not part of the process.

But the world's greatest broadcaster has decided to spend a few millions of pennies reshooting as much of the programme as necessary in order to excise this actor fully from the production. An actor charged with nothing, convicted of nothing -- but accused of crimes.

A career in tatters over allegations. Yes, if it is proven in court then punishment (according to the judicial system) should follow. But if he's acquitted in court? What then? Put his scenes back in and rebroadcast?

Given this cautious (of what?) approach, will we no longer have a chance to watch any of the films of a certain runaway film director? I'm sure a good few of those have been shown on television over the last forty years or so. How about people variously accused of assault, armed robbery, shoplifting, drunk driving, embezzlement? While not equating any of these offences, surely a conviction for even a minor offence is more worthy of leading to a ban than an allegation of a hideous crime which leads to no charge?

Or alternatively, we could argue that these people are actors. They stand in front of a camera and read other peoples' words in a convincing way. What on earth has their behaviour in the real world got to do with it? Fair enough if others no longer want to work with them - but removing them after the fact - what purpose does that actually serve?

Elephant

One film maker has been accused, on and off, for about twenty years. He has been thoroughly investigated by the police and never charged. Not just no criminal record - no charge at all.

And yet, some people talk and write about him as though he were guilty and had been found guilty in a court of law. Do they have such contempt for the police that they think he would have been let off a heinous crime? Isn't it more likely that the police think he didn't do anything wrong?

One actor, who worked with him many, many years after the original flare-up and investigations has recently decided to state that he certainly wouldn't work with him again. Why not? What new information has come to light? Are you really saying that you were unaware of the situation at the time and have only recently bothered to read a twenty-year-old story? Or are you privy to information that everyone else has missed? (If so, what is that information? Where did you find it?)

Smoke

Ah, but there's no smoke without fire, some might say.

Be careful with that one. It's very close to contempt of court because it implies a firm belief that anyone accused of a crime must have committed it. Which suggests utter disrespect for the legal process, the meaning of an acquittal and, it could be argued, the entire judicial system. (I wouldn't be comfortable with that approach - would you?)

Anyone can accuse anyone else of anything. You! Yes, you there! I saw you do that thing what you shouldn't have done. Yes I did.

And just like that, the accusation is out there. What do you want to happen next? Lose your job and become unemployable? Find your friends drifting away? Getting funny looks from people you pass in the street? See your face on the front of the tabloids?

Or have the facts weighed sensibly and a thoughtful judgement to be handed down?

Don't get me wrong - if you did it, you deserve the full force of the law. But if you didn't, then shame on the accuser. (What do you mean, that was me? There's no proof.)

In conclusion

I didn't much like the programme anyway. Gave it up after twenty minutes of the first episode, thereby saving two hours and forty minutes. It was probably the butler what did it.

On frisking guests for spoons and other faux-pas

I don't frisk my guests for spoons when they leave. Do you? Does anyone? Maybe we move in rarefied circles in which such practice is unnecessary. Maybe we should check our privilege.

But that doesn't mean it's open season on my spoons: even though I don't put up a sign telling people not to steal my spoons (or to not look for cash in drawers in my bureaux; or to not pocket small paperbacks from my bookshelves that they like the look of). I also don't put up signs telling people not to end sentences with prepositions.

Apart from anything else (and this is not meant to be the best reason not to steal your friends' spoons), think of the message it sends to your children. Or the message it sends to the children in the family with fewer spoons.

"Oh, that must have been Great-Uncle Bob again! What a card he is! Always at the spoons. He jangles on the way out - but we just tolerate it. Ha ha ha. Just stir it with your finger, dear - we're out of spoons."

At a car park at a certain school, there are signs that say 'Strictly No Parking'. Sometimes they're hard to see because of cars parked in front of them. Sometimes they're hard to see when there isn't a car parked in front of them because they've been knocked over by cars and are lying in a ditch.

The reason for their presence is obvious. There are two lanes at the exit. If people park in the left-turning lane, the traffic that could easily and quickly get out by turning left into the empty part of the road is stuck behind a very long line of cars that are waiting to turn right but can't get out because turning right involves joining a slow moving congestion of vehicles.

(That slow moving congestion is caused by the inability of traffic to turn into the same car park at the entrance slightly further up the road. The reason they can't turn in is because the car park is full because traffic can't get out because... you get the idea.)

And what signal does it send to the children? "Yes, mummy doesn't have to obey these signs - they're for other people, isn't it convenient for us to park here?" "Yes, daddy's only going to be here for a few minutes so that's okay." "Don't worry about the honking, they're just annoyed that I got the space first."

We're going to get children brought up believing that they should just do what suits them and damn the consequences. We're going to get children who won't technically be ignoring the signs because they won't register them in the first place. Lock your cutlery drawer.