Some years ago I was involved in a two-day multi-cultural workshop, an introduction on things Chinese for an executive and his wife about to move to Shanghai. My job was to do a brief overview of Chinese history. This was something I particularly enjoyed because I knew practically no Chinese history from the beginning of the twentieth century onwards, and none at all from earlier. So it became a splendid illustration of the Alexander Pope principle that a little learning is an immensely useful thing (I may have got that quotation wrong).
It turned out that you really can do a class by being one book ahead of your students.
What struck me most about the extremely superficial knowledge I gained of Chinese history was that it is profoundly cyclical. Again and again China would rise to peaks of peace and prosperity that were literally unrivalled: at different times, Nanjing or Beijing would be the world’s biggest city and China would be the world’s most populous nation. It achieved technological advance far beyond any other nation. Canal locks. The chest harness allowing horses to be used for far heavier work than in the West, where they were harnessed by the neck. Paper allowing learning to be spread throughout the nation. Printing, which would revolutionise our societies when it reached us, or gunpowder whose impact was even more dramatic.
And then China would be plunged back down the slippery slope. By the end of the Song dynasty, for instance, China had a population of 120 million when Britain had not reached three. Then the Mongols arrived and the invasions reduced the population to 60 million. This isn't decline, it's catastrophe.
Things went well for a while after that, with the Ming dynasty giving the country another age of power and prosperity. Sadly when decline came again, it coincided with Europe’s surprising irruption on the world scene as a great power economically and, since the things go together, militarily. The Europeans, though perfectly happy to stab each other in the back whenever possible, managed to work smoothly together to make China’s life pretty miserable throughout the nineteenth century and most of the twentieth. Today, though, the country is clearly on another cyclical upswing and likely to overtake not just Europe but the continent’s upstart cousins across the Atlantic within a generation.
European history could hardly offer a starker contrast. Since the Renaissance, these nations have known almost constant progress in wealth and power. Yes, there have been setbacks. The thirty years War springs to mind, alongside various natural disasters and epidemics, to say nothing of convulsions such as the French revolution and the subsequent Napoleonic wars. Since the twentieth century however, progress has been pretty steady, if we set aside annoying interruptions such as a particularly ugly world war. And, OK, yes, there was a second one a bit later. But apart from those jarring incidents, it’s been peace and prosperity all round, especially since we learned the American trick of fighting our wars in other people’s countries, which keeps our casualties down and our infrastructure intact.
All this has conspired to give Europeans a shared sense of sustained progress. Things have got better and better for so long that we see no reason for them not to go on getting better and better for a lot longer still.
Perhaps it’s time, though, that we learned to look at history the Chinese way a bit more. Nothing guarantees our continued progress for ever and ever. Right now, the nations of Europe seem far more intent on proclaiming their independence from each other than in making of the continent as a whole a force to reckon with in the world. As for the Americans, they seem to have fooled no-one more than themselves with their constantly repeated claim to be the ‘greatest nation on Earth’. This may have caused them to lose sight of the fact that it wasn’t always so and needn’t always be so in the future.
Maybe a cycle can be broken. If so, I think we need to set about being a lot more positive about doing it than we have so far. Perhaps use a little less energy. Perhaps wage a little less war. Perhaps ignore poverty a little less in the midst of obscene wealth.
Otherwise I think the wheel is turning and, while China rises, we may be forced to find out that cycles have troughs as well as peaks. The hard way.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Monday, 26 July 2010
Mystery
Some months ago, a French family moved in a few doors away from us. Since I’m married to a Frenchwoman and we have three sons with joint French and British nationality, this was an event of some interest to us. That was particularly as Stafford, where we live, is a sleepy market town where one doesn’t expect to meet many residents from the Continent.
He was a doctor who, to my amazement, had left a job in a French hospital to come and work in the emergency department of ours. He explained that the money was better here than there, but it was striking that within weeks he’d left the hospital to go working as a locum GP instead, as he found accident and emergency services in Britain much too much like hard work. Certainly, it isn’t an environment in which staff have a lot of time to draw breath. He complained that he had to do things that in France would be done by nurses, which must have been hard for him, though I can’t help feeling that it’s rather a good thing when nurses stop being merely glorified assistants to doctors.
Meanwhile, we’d also met his Algerian wife. She and Danielle exchanged pleasantries and gifts of food, there was even talk of a dinner invitation but it fell through and wasn’t renewed. Every time our paths crossed, there were smiles on both sides and we’d talk for a few minutes, but we never really got beyond simple good neighbourliness.
They had two children who exuded warmth and some charm, although they wore that a bit thin, particularly with other families who had children, when they took to hanging around on their doorsteps rather too long and demanding rather too much attention.
All in all, though, we kept feeling that these were potentially friends, even perhaps good friends. And yet somehow on neither side did we take the step that would have made it happen.
Then on Saturday afternoon there were removal vans outside their house. On Sunday, the place had been emptied and the landlord was clearing up. They’d vanished without a trace.
I really mean without a trace. I don’t even know their names. I have no idea where they’ve gone.
The whole experience leaves a strange feeling. There’s a little sadness, of the kind conveyed by the expression ‘ships that pass in the night.’ On the other hand, though the friendship never got beyond the level of potential, it might never have been any better. Perhaps we got close to something that could have been good, and never spoiled it by making it real.
Above all though I’m left with a sense of mystery. Who were these people really? Where have they gone? And why did I never take the trouble to find out?
He was a doctor who, to my amazement, had left a job in a French hospital to come and work in the emergency department of ours. He explained that the money was better here than there, but it was striking that within weeks he’d left the hospital to go working as a locum GP instead, as he found accident and emergency services in Britain much too much like hard work. Certainly, it isn’t an environment in which staff have a lot of time to draw breath. He complained that he had to do things that in France would be done by nurses, which must have been hard for him, though I can’t help feeling that it’s rather a good thing when nurses stop being merely glorified assistants to doctors.
Meanwhile, we’d also met his Algerian wife. She and Danielle exchanged pleasantries and gifts of food, there was even talk of a dinner invitation but it fell through and wasn’t renewed. Every time our paths crossed, there were smiles on both sides and we’d talk for a few minutes, but we never really got beyond simple good neighbourliness.
They had two children who exuded warmth and some charm, although they wore that a bit thin, particularly with other families who had children, when they took to hanging around on their doorsteps rather too long and demanding rather too much attention.
All in all, though, we kept feeling that these were potentially friends, even perhaps good friends. And yet somehow on neither side did we take the step that would have made it happen.
Then on Saturday afternoon there were removal vans outside their house. On Sunday, the place had been emptied and the landlord was clearing up. They’d vanished without a trace.
I really mean without a trace. I don’t even know their names. I have no idea where they’ve gone.
The whole experience leaves a strange feeling. There’s a little sadness, of the kind conveyed by the expression ‘ships that pass in the night.’ On the other hand, though the friendship never got beyond the level of potential, it might never have been any better. Perhaps we got close to something that could have been good, and never spoiled it by making it real.
Above all though I’m left with a sense of mystery. Who were these people really? Where have they gone? And why did I never take the trouble to find out?
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Redundancy – a message from the gods?
Some years ago, when we were living in Germany not far from Baden-Baden, we used to go regularly to the baths there.
If you haven’t been, try to go: it’s a wonderful place. You can swim or just plunge in spa water at different temperatures, can move from indoor pools to outdoor ones, you can take saunas or Turkish baths. The most magical experience is in the winter – to be able to swim out under the night sky, in hot water, and feel snow falling on your face is quite extraordinary.
Outside the men’s showers, there are a set of scales. A friend of mine has a coaster with a cartoon of a woman standing on some scales and screaming ‘What? That can’t be right!’ I had that experience. I got on the scales at Baden-Baden and I won’t even demean this post by writing down the figure they showed.
Clearly it was time for serious action.
A couple of years later, I was a lot hungrier and the exercise had made me a lot tireder, but I was also a lot lighter. I felt very pleased with myself.
However, in recent weeks there’s been some backsliding. We’ve met friends and gone out for rather good meals. We’ve visited family and had some rather good meals. Having got into the habit, even when we were alone we sometimes had some rather good meals. A week ago last Monday, the 12th, I noticed that half the weight I’d lost was back on. A disaster.
Then I went into work. My boss has an office next to mine. I noticed his smile to me seemed particularly bright that day, as though he was making an effort to communicate warmth and good feeling. But I thought little about it. Then he called me into his office and asked me to close the door.
That was the point when I suddenly realised that the day wasn’t about to get a lot better.
Half an hour later, I left the place on notice of redundancy. I went home. I’d got up a little late that morning so I hadn’t had breakfast. I didn’t feel any desire for breakfast. Lunch time came round and I didn’t feel like lunch either. In the afternoon, I decided it was time to do something a little more dynamic, so I took the dog out for a run. She must have been delighted – it’s not something that happens very often during the week, in fact recently it hasn’t happened very much at all.
In the evening I had a light meal which was about as much as I could stand.
By next morning – why I was losing weight again at a wonderful rate.
The process has slowed down a bit as I get into the routine of looking for new work, signing on with agencies, applying for a couple of jobs, chasing up my contacts. But now my weight is back down to within spitting distance of where it was before.
My conclusion? I had become complacent. Hubristic even. The gods decided to punish the sin. And, boy, it’s worked. The arrogance has been much reduced. The weight too.
And as for the dog, why she’s having a brilliant time – someone around all day and a lot more walks.
Redundancy has its downsides, much too obvious to be listed here. But there are upsides too.
If you haven’t been, try to go: it’s a wonderful place. You can swim or just plunge in spa water at different temperatures, can move from indoor pools to outdoor ones, you can take saunas or Turkish baths. The most magical experience is in the winter – to be able to swim out under the night sky, in hot water, and feel snow falling on your face is quite extraordinary.
Outside the men’s showers, there are a set of scales. A friend of mine has a coaster with a cartoon of a woman standing on some scales and screaming ‘What? That can’t be right!’ I had that experience. I got on the scales at Baden-Baden and I won’t even demean this post by writing down the figure they showed.
Clearly it was time for serious action.
A couple of years later, I was a lot hungrier and the exercise had made me a lot tireder, but I was also a lot lighter. I felt very pleased with myself.
However, in recent weeks there’s been some backsliding. We’ve met friends and gone out for rather good meals. We’ve visited family and had some rather good meals. Having got into the habit, even when we were alone we sometimes had some rather good meals. A week ago last Monday, the 12th, I noticed that half the weight I’d lost was back on. A disaster.
Then I went into work. My boss has an office next to mine. I noticed his smile to me seemed particularly bright that day, as though he was making an effort to communicate warmth and good feeling. But I thought little about it. Then he called me into his office and asked me to close the door.
That was the point when I suddenly realised that the day wasn’t about to get a lot better.
Half an hour later, I left the place on notice of redundancy. I went home. I’d got up a little late that morning so I hadn’t had breakfast. I didn’t feel any desire for breakfast. Lunch time came round and I didn’t feel like lunch either. In the afternoon, I decided it was time to do something a little more dynamic, so I took the dog out for a run. She must have been delighted – it’s not something that happens very often during the week, in fact recently it hasn’t happened very much at all.
In the evening I had a light meal which was about as much as I could stand.
By next morning – why I was losing weight again at a wonderful rate.
The process has slowed down a bit as I get into the routine of looking for new work, signing on with agencies, applying for a couple of jobs, chasing up my contacts. But now my weight is back down to within spitting distance of where it was before.
My conclusion? I had become complacent. Hubristic even. The gods decided to punish the sin. And, boy, it’s worked. The arrogance has been much reduced. The weight too.
And as for the dog, why she’s having a brilliant time – someone around all day and a lot more walks.
Redundancy has its downsides, much too obvious to be listed here. But there are upsides too.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
ConDem, confused
Our exciting new government, formed by the ConDems, as we affectionately refer to the coalition of Conservatives and Liberal Democrats, leaves me perplexed and confused.
I mean, the idea of the huge cuts in public services that the government has announced is to save us from the kind of fate now being suffered in those ghastly Mediterranean economies, where people have too much sun, wine and olive oil, and not enough of our sterling qualities of earnestness, hard work and probity.
The PIIGS, as these Mediterranean nations are collectively known – Portugal, Italy, Greece and Spain, and of course Ireland, which is Mediterranean by religion – are in desperate trouble. They were spendthrift and foolhardy and look where it’s got them. Why Greece is having to make public spending cuts of 40% or even 50% just to try to avoid bankruptcy. We don’t want to share their fate.
So to avoid it, we’re making huge cuts in public spending. Health and international development are being spared, though ‘efficiency savings’ look like leading to tens of thousands of redundancies in the health service anyway. Imagine how awful it would have been if healthcare weren’t being especially protected.
Other Departments are expected to make cuts of 40%. Some, such as Culture – but who cares about Culture for God’s sake? – look like they’re going to have to cut 50%.
Now hang on a minute. Those figures look familiar. Am I missing something here? Are we trying to avoid the fate of Greece? Or to do exactly the same?
I merely seek clarification.
I mean, the idea of the huge cuts in public services that the government has announced is to save us from the kind of fate now being suffered in those ghastly Mediterranean economies, where people have too much sun, wine and olive oil, and not enough of our sterling qualities of earnestness, hard work and probity.
The PIIGS, as these Mediterranean nations are collectively known – Portugal, Italy, Greece and Spain, and of course Ireland, which is Mediterranean by religion – are in desperate trouble. They were spendthrift and foolhardy and look where it’s got them. Why Greece is having to make public spending cuts of 40% or even 50% just to try to avoid bankruptcy. We don’t want to share their fate.
So to avoid it, we’re making huge cuts in public spending. Health and international development are being spared, though ‘efficiency savings’ look like leading to tens of thousands of redundancies in the health service anyway. Imagine how awful it would have been if healthcare weren’t being especially protected.
Other Departments are expected to make cuts of 40%. Some, such as Culture – but who cares about Culture for God’s sake? – look like they’re going to have to cut 50%.
Now hang on a minute. Those figures look familiar. Am I missing something here? Are we trying to avoid the fate of Greece? Or to do exactly the same?
I merely seek clarification.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
Roman Polanski and overturned prejudice
It can be a terribly painful process to have your prejudices overthrown. You know, for years you believe that the US Republican Party is incapable of putting anyone into the White House who isn’t either a crook or a fool, and then suddenly you find a Republican President who’s decent, tolerant, honest and reasonable. You’d have to go through a fundamental realignment in your views and a probably quite painful reassessment of all your most deeply held opinions – or rather prejudices, as you would have to redefine them.
I’m not saying that anything like that is going to happen any time soon, of course - the Republicans don’t seem to have finished plumbing the depths of inadequacy that they seem to have made peculiarly their own. I’m just trying to illustrate the depth of readjustment that I’d have to go through if they ever did find a wholly human candidate with more than half a brain.
Just recently, I’ve had to review some pretty fundamental prejudices in a different area. Specifilly, I’ve had to reconsider my views of Roman Polanski. For a long time I thought that he was simply experiencing the legal troubles of a convicted paedophile trying to escape the consequences of his acts, and there was no reason to expect him to be treated more leniently just because he’d made some indifferent films.
Now I discover that his judicial issues aren’t quite as clear-cut as they seemed. I hadn’t realised that he’d had a deal with the prosecutors in his case, and only fled the States when it became clear that the judge was unlikely to abide by its terms. In other words, he went on the run when he realised that the judge was about to impose a far harsher sentence than had been agreed.
More fundamental still, I’ve had to revise my view of his films. They weren’t all Oliver Twist. First of all, I saw The Ghost some months ago and had to admit it was a good piece of work, close to the book, well acted, well adapted and well directed. I had to start rethinking my assessment.
Now I’ve finally got around to seeing The Pianist. It always takes me a long time to see films about the Holocaust: I just find them hard to take any more. A little girl in a red coat trailing along behind long lines of people heading for the gas chambers: I can’t bear that kind of image any more.
So it took me the best part of five years to see the film. And it has completed the overthrow of all my earlier prejudices. There are many brilliant details, not least the point at which a guard allowing the protagonist to flee shouts ‘don’t run’. In the book the instruction, on the contrary, is ‘run’. Polanski changed it because he had the experience himself and had been told not to run, not to attract attention – and it’s much more forceful to have that sharp reminder that survival can sometimes mean behaving counter-intuitively.
But much more powerful still than the detail is the overall structure. You have to wade through all the pain of the Holocaust material, the usual casual murders, the cruel humiliations, the transports leaving for the death camps. But it’s all made worthwhile by the climax, a moment of calm poignancy, of beauty and pathos, that not only justifies the pain of the build up to it, but actually needs it to generate its full force.
So now I have to say – congratulations, Roman, on your escape. And thanks for a great film.
I’m not saying that anything like that is going to happen any time soon, of course - the Republicans don’t seem to have finished plumbing the depths of inadequacy that they seem to have made peculiarly their own. I’m just trying to illustrate the depth of readjustment that I’d have to go through if they ever did find a wholly human candidate with more than half a brain.
Just recently, I’ve had to review some pretty fundamental prejudices in a different area. Specifilly, I’ve had to reconsider my views of Roman Polanski. For a long time I thought that he was simply experiencing the legal troubles of a convicted paedophile trying to escape the consequences of his acts, and there was no reason to expect him to be treated more leniently just because he’d made some indifferent films.
Now I discover that his judicial issues aren’t quite as clear-cut as they seemed. I hadn’t realised that he’d had a deal with the prosecutors in his case, and only fled the States when it became clear that the judge was unlikely to abide by its terms. In other words, he went on the run when he realised that the judge was about to impose a far harsher sentence than had been agreed.
More fundamental still, I’ve had to revise my view of his films. They weren’t all Oliver Twist. First of all, I saw The Ghost some months ago and had to admit it was a good piece of work, close to the book, well acted, well adapted and well directed. I had to start rethinking my assessment.
Now I’ve finally got around to seeing The Pianist. It always takes me a long time to see films about the Holocaust: I just find them hard to take any more. A little girl in a red coat trailing along behind long lines of people heading for the gas chambers: I can’t bear that kind of image any more.
So it took me the best part of five years to see the film. And it has completed the overthrow of all my earlier prejudices. There are many brilliant details, not least the point at which a guard allowing the protagonist to flee shouts ‘don’t run’. In the book the instruction, on the contrary, is ‘run’. Polanski changed it because he had the experience himself and had been told not to run, not to attract attention – and it’s much more forceful to have that sharp reminder that survival can sometimes mean behaving counter-intuitively.
But much more powerful still than the detail is the overall structure. You have to wade through all the pain of the Holocaust material, the usual casual murders, the cruel humiliations, the transports leaving for the death camps. But it’s all made worthwhile by the climax, a moment of calm poignancy, of beauty and pathos, that not only justifies the pain of the build up to it, but actually needs it to generate its full force.
So now I have to say – congratulations, Roman, on your escape. And thanks for a great film.
Thursday, 15 July 2010
Roman Catholicism: protection of minors, protection from women
You can really tell the nature of an organisation by the way it prioritises the issues it faces.
I was saying just the other day that the Christian Churches seem to be obsessed with sex. Fairness (and when am I ever anything but scrupulously fair?) obliges me to admit that my good friend San objected to my failure to distinguish between gender and sex. He’s right, though in my defence I would maintain that both gender and sex ultimately depend on genitals, and so though distinct they are at least related.
Now try, if you will, to imagine two scenes.
In the first, a priest has persuaded a young choirboy to join him in the seclusion of the sacristy. There he obliges him to strip off and, as the young lad, shivering with cold or trembling with fear, stands with his hands vainly trying to cover his private parts, the priest also begins to undress… I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
In the second scene, a woman deeply imbued with Christian belief, who feels a true calling to preach the word of God to the faithful, is in a line of postulants waiting to be ordained by a bishop and about to realise her lifelong desire to be a priest. The scene is public, in the nave of a cathedral church, in front of a congregation buoyed up by the sense of spirituality of the occasion.
Do these two scenes seem in some sense equal to you? Are they similarly depraved? Are they as sinful as each other?
There's an article you ought to read in the Guardian, but if you don't feel like clicking through to it, let me quote one paragraph:
The Vatican today made the "attempted ordination" of women one of the gravest crimes under church law, putting it in the same category as clerical sex abuse of minors, heresy and schism.
The sexual abuse of children and the attempt to ordain a woman are crimes of equal gravity.
Now, remind me again, why is it that people aren’t all flocking to join the Catholic Church?
I was saying just the other day that the Christian Churches seem to be obsessed with sex. Fairness (and when am I ever anything but scrupulously fair?) obliges me to admit that my good friend San objected to my failure to distinguish between gender and sex. He’s right, though in my defence I would maintain that both gender and sex ultimately depend on genitals, and so though distinct they are at least related.
Now try, if you will, to imagine two scenes.
In the first, a priest has persuaded a young choirboy to join him in the seclusion of the sacristy. There he obliges him to strip off and, as the young lad, shivering with cold or trembling with fear, stands with his hands vainly trying to cover his private parts, the priest also begins to undress… I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.
In the second scene, a woman deeply imbued with Christian belief, who feels a true calling to preach the word of God to the faithful, is in a line of postulants waiting to be ordained by a bishop and about to realise her lifelong desire to be a priest. The scene is public, in the nave of a cathedral church, in front of a congregation buoyed up by the sense of spirituality of the occasion.
Do these two scenes seem in some sense equal to you? Are they similarly depraved? Are they as sinful as each other?
There's an article you ought to read in the Guardian, but if you don't feel like clicking through to it, let me quote one paragraph:
The Vatican today made the "attempted ordination" of women one of the gravest crimes under church law, putting it in the same category as clerical sex abuse of minors, heresy and schism.
The sexual abuse of children and the attempt to ordain a woman are crimes of equal gravity.
Now, remind me again, why is it that people aren’t all flocking to join the Catholic Church?
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
World Cup: the agony and the ecstasy
Now that the World Cup is over, it’s time to take stock of its contribution to our lives.
It’s well known that if the national team wins a major trophy for a significant sport, there’s a general improvement in morale of the nation as a whole. This has to be a good thing and should be encouraged, even though there is a downside to it: sadly, the government also generally benefits from the upsurge. Since governments tend to be more than sufficiently self-satisfied anything that contributes to them feeling better about themselves is probably best avoided.
Still, whatever helps ordinary people is welcome. And obviously the people of Spain need a boost more than most, given their parlous financial state and the looming risk that it’s about to get an awful lot worse. So good luck to them.
On the other hand, wouldn’t it have been nice if the Portuguese, the Greeks and the Italians could have had a similar boost to their self-esteem? After all, they along with Spain and of course Ireland – which didn’t even qualify for the World Cup, denied by a scandalous and insufficiently punished handball by France – form the PIIGS group of Eurozone nations most badly affected by the financial crisis.
And that’s the problem with this kind of competition. One nation gets a boost, gets its spirits lifted – but there were 32 taking part in South Africa. The other 31 all came home more or less disappointed – including Ghana, denied a place in the semi-finals by a scandalous and insufficiently punished handball by Uruguay – leaving their compatriots un-lifted or even downright dejected. The latter was the case, in particular, in England, though I don’t share the general depression: I believe the England team to be outstanding only in its capacity to disappoint, so I didn’t feel let down at all.
The overall picture is of one country getting a fillip, while 31 came home disappointed, while others didn’t get to go at all.
Where’s the mileage in that? It’s hardly the greatest good for the greatest number. This really isn’t the most effective way of spreading the feel-good effect around the most possible people, is it?
Still, the upside I suppose is that 31 smug governments – not to mention Ireland’s – at least got their wings clipped a bit.
It’s well known that if the national team wins a major trophy for a significant sport, there’s a general improvement in morale of the nation as a whole. This has to be a good thing and should be encouraged, even though there is a downside to it: sadly, the government also generally benefits from the upsurge. Since governments tend to be more than sufficiently self-satisfied anything that contributes to them feeling better about themselves is probably best avoided.
Still, whatever helps ordinary people is welcome. And obviously the people of Spain need a boost more than most, given their parlous financial state and the looming risk that it’s about to get an awful lot worse. So good luck to them.
On the other hand, wouldn’t it have been nice if the Portuguese, the Greeks and the Italians could have had a similar boost to their self-esteem? After all, they along with Spain and of course Ireland – which didn’t even qualify for the World Cup, denied by a scandalous and insufficiently punished handball by France – form the PIIGS group of Eurozone nations most badly affected by the financial crisis.
And that’s the problem with this kind of competition. One nation gets a boost, gets its spirits lifted – but there were 32 taking part in South Africa. The other 31 all came home more or less disappointed – including Ghana, denied a place in the semi-finals by a scandalous and insufficiently punished handball by Uruguay – leaving their compatriots un-lifted or even downright dejected. The latter was the case, in particular, in England, though I don’t share the general depression: I believe the England team to be outstanding only in its capacity to disappoint, so I didn’t feel let down at all.
The overall picture is of one country getting a fillip, while 31 came home disappointed, while others didn’t get to go at all.
Where’s the mileage in that? It’s hardly the greatest good for the greatest number. This really isn’t the most effective way of spreading the feel-good effect around the most possible people, is it?
Still, the upside I suppose is that 31 smug governments – not to mention Ireland’s – at least got their wings clipped a bit.
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