Thank you to DWP Wester Hailes

This post is by way of a thank you to my colleagues at the DWP office in Wester Hailes, Edinburgh for their fantastically generous donation to Maggie's Cancer Centre.

I have now retired from DWP and yesterday my pals in Wester Hailes had a dress down fund raising day to celebrate my retirement, with all the proceeds going to Maggie's Centre. I brought in some cup cakes and chocolate doughnuts to say thanks for having me in the office for the past eight years and they raised the amazing sum of £174. I think I'm allowed to use the word amazing in this context, if it's good enough for Brian Cox, it's good enough for me.

Amazing as there were only about 30 folk in the office yesterday. I am so impressed, I can't say thank you enough. You are a fine bunch of people.

Special mention to Liz and Lesley for organising it all. I've known Liz for many years, too many to mention here, and Lesley for quite a few, and I know the amount of work you do fund raising for so many good causes over the years. You deserve lots of praise for your efforts, and a medal would be awarded if it was up to me. I know we tend to hide under our desks whenever you appear on the horizon, but we love you both really.

And I've not forgotten Liz that you are waiting part two of my Leaving DWP post, and I promise it will be here soon, and you will get a mention, for sure. But I won't reveal any of your secrets, so don't worry!!!

Anyway thank you very much to all the fine staff at Wester Hailes DWP. Your generosity touched my heart and I'm sure Maggie's Centre will be hugely grateful and impressed. THANK YOU.

This afternoon I'm having lunch with my DWP visiting team colleagues, and then my farewell event in the Newsroom tonight. Celebrating forty years of debauchery in DWP!!! Wonder who will turn up?

A Joke

Airplane is coming in to land and pilot is announcing arrival etc, but then forgets to turn off the speakers. He can be heard asking his co-pilot what he's planning to do later.

Co-pilot says he's planning on having a couple of pints, and then getting the knickers off that new stewardess. Uproar in the cabin, and the aforementioned lady is running towards the cockpit.

She's stopped in her tracks by an old lady who says, there's no need to rush dear, he's going for a couple of pints first.

If that's in bad taste, blame Tam on Radio Scotland...

Eighteen Weeks, Dylan and Toibin

Last Thursday I had an appointment with Dr McLean, my oncologist. I was expecting a quick once over so she could be sure that my body had survived the five weeks of chemo and radiotherapy without lasting side effects and that I had no ongoing problems.

All seemed to be in order and going according to plan. She confirmed my scan dates and appointment with Mr Speake, who will operate on me sometime in October, and told me that the team would discuss my case on 3 October and Mr Speake will put me in the picture when I see him on 9 October.

She then told me that she would not see me again until early December when she would be arranging more chemotherapy for me, which will last for eighteen weeks. I knew that more chemo was a possibility after my operation, but eighteen weeks came as a nasty little shock, and means my treatment will still be going on come next May, when I had hoped to be seeing the back of it all.

I was so taken aback by this piece of news, that I couldn't think what to ask her and now, of course, I'm full of questions that I should have asked but didn't. It has taken me a few days to adjust to this but I think I've got my head round it now. I assume that Dr McLean has known this all along but didn't want to burden me with too much information all at once. She must have been thinking, let's get him through the radiotherapy first and then hit him with the eighteen weeks. But I think I would have preferred to know from the beginning what lay ahead of me.

I still feel optimistic, hopeful and determined to make it through this mess, but I must say the past week has been confusing if not a bit frightening. I mean eighteen weeks, come on now comrades as old Duncan Hallas used to say to us, get a grip here, what with me planning to go to South America next year, they will have to get a move on in 2014.

I'm listening to the new (old) Dylan album, Another Self Portrait, as I write this. He helps me make it through. Where would we be without him? Lost? The album is terrific, Dylan at the height of his powers, song writing, musical and singing. Greil Marcus said in reaction to the original Self Portrait, in 1970, "What is this shit?", but he writes the liner notes for this one. He has changed his mind about it obviously. So many great songs even one called "Spanish is the Loving Tongue"  soft as music, light as spring, adios mi corazon".... lovely, Bob.

Been finished reading Colm Toibin's new book The Testament of Mary. It's a fifth gospel told from Mary's  point of view. Beautiful piece of writing, sad and moving, but inspiring, and daring. The holy father will not be amused I'm sure. If it doesn't win the Booker I shall be surprised, but as the chair of judges is Robert Macfarlane I'm sure whoever wins will be well worth it, and I will needless to say eat my hat if Toibin doesn't win, and of course read the winner. If I have time.

With Emer to see What Masie Knew

That's three weeks now gone by since my last dose of radiotherapy, slowly beginning to feel less tired and able to go further for longer. I have a new system for my stoma, a big improvement, much easier to use and less intrusive. Thanks to my stoma nurse Mary S. Three more weeks to wait now for my scans, for which I now have dates. Will be seeing my oncologist, Dr Mclean on Wednesday for general check up, and to make sure the chemo isn't killing me, or something. It's strange how she has become my oncologist. Very possessive, but it seems right somehow.

Now that I'm feeling fitter I have managed my first ride on the top deck of an Edinburgh double decker bus. There is no better way to see Edinburgh than from the front top seat of a double decker. Well there may be but I can't think what it might be right now. I've also managed my first walk down the High Street for about four months, and it felt fantastic. Is there a more beautiful, historic, exciting High Street anywhere else in the world? I think we all know the answer to that one.

I've also signed on for a couple of classes with City of Edinburgh Council and been to my first cancer support group at Maggie's Centre, which was excellent, will write more about it another time. I met a Stornoway woman there, who turns out to be known to two old friends of mine.. although she only knows about one of them at moment. Smallish world.

Not only all that but I also managed a second trip to the cinema, to see What Maisie Knew, with my good friend Emer. Good movie, with Steve Coogan and Julianne Moore playing two terrible disgraceful parents giving a no holds barred exhibition of how not to parent. Excruciatingly painful at times but also very funny. It's based on a novel of the same name by Henry James. The stand out performance is by the wee girl playing Maisie. She does not say much, though she's on screen most of the time. But she does not have to say much as she must have one of the most expressive faces I've ever seen and gets through enough emotions to last her a life time and a half. Extraordinary and delightful performance. Her name is Onata Aprile and I'm sure she has a huge career ahead of her, which I hope to witness.

Thank you to Emer for coming with me, but not just for coming to this film, but for being my good friend for over twenty years. I won't say how many as don't want to give your age away. Thirty something I think you told me last week!! Thank you for all your support, not just for past few months, but for what seems like a lifetime, which it is I suppose. You are a beautiful person, I doubt if I will ever be able to pay you back for everything. I have many memories of concerts, and bands and films we've seen together or with other people. So many and too numerous to mention. Maybe we will make a list next time we meet. Anyway Emer I love you.

Louise Michel

I was listening to Great Lives on Radio 4 this week and was very pleasantly surprised to hear that Paul Mason had chosen Louise Michel as his subject, in fact I was astonished that he even knew about her, never mind that he would rate her so highly as to choose her as his Great Life. So thank you for that Mr Mason, and I shall listen to you more intently and carefully in future, and maybe even read one of your books.

I first heard about Louise Michel in 1979 when the late great Paul Foot delivered a brilliant talk about her at the SWP annual Easter Rally. In those days, from the late seventies to sometime in the mid eighties SWP used to gather in the thousands to hear the best speakers and left intellectuals in the UK speak on various topics. You had to be there.  The cream of British Trotskyism was there, Tony Cliff,  Duncan Hallas, Paul Foot, (all dead now) Eamon McCann, Nigel Harris and many more. Every one of them a superb speaker but Paul Foot exceptionally talented. Maybe we shouldn't all have gathered in the one place; easy targets for the British state don't you think?

When I heard that Paul was doing his talk on Louise Michel I thought to myself, what is this shit? Well I didn't really, but just couldn't resist a wee dig at Greil Marcus who opened his review of Dylan's Self Portrait album with these words, though he now says he was misunderstood, but that's what they all say Greil my man. Just accept that you were wrong to be so nasty to our Bob.

Anyway back to Louise, who was brought totally to life by Paul. Some of you reading this were there at the time and probably heard the talk. Let me know if you remember it and your memories of our times in Skegness. Derbyshire Miners Holiday Camp I seem to recall we used to take over for the weekend. Wonder what became of the Derbyshire Miners and their holiday camp?

For those who don't know her or have never heard of her she was a French revolutionary socialist, anarchist, teacher, poet, writer, fighter and one of the leaders of the Paris Commune of 1871. One of the greatest and most important episodes in European working class history and she was central to it. Paul Foot of course told us all about her story as he described the Commune and why it was important to our history. Unforgettable performance and Louise Michel has been a heroine of mine ever since. How could I have doubted Paul Foot? Ridiculous.

Those of you reading this who never heard him speak have missed something special. He delivered some brilliant talks on Shelley the one on the revolutionary nature and power of Ode to the West Wind being spellbinding in it's brilliance. Lots of thanks to Paul Mason for reminding me and I would recommend a listen to him on BBC iplayer. It should be there till Monday at least. Lets finish with Shelley himself and his Ode to the West Wind:

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,

Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawakened earth

The trumpet of a prophecy? O, Wind,
If Winter comes can Spring be far behind?

That will do me, couldn't put it better myself.

Eh Joe and The Great Gatsby

I didn't make it to much at this year's Edinburgh Festival, what with one thing and another and me being so tired after all the therapies, so it was a huge delight to get to my one and only show, a Samuel Beckett play for TV adopted for stage by Atom Egoyan and presented by the Lyceum Theatre and starring the great, the one and only Michael Gambon, as Joe, one of my favourite actors of all time. I went with my wee brother, who seems to follow me around to all Beckett productions, these days, most of them anyway, or so it seems. It's a pleasure having you on board of course young man, and you do seem to know more about Beckett than anyone else, so an expert in the family is always a good thing to have.

Joe sits in his bedroom, alone, checks the doors, windows and cupboards, draws the curtains, which are even on the cupboards and doors, just like my mother had in Aird Tong. Then he checks under the bed, and who hasn't done the same, just in case the bad man/woman is hiding there? Thankfully I've never come across anyone hiding under the bed, so far, but one can't be too careful with that sort of thing, I could well understand why Joe was being so careful.

We then see him, centre stage on his bed, sideways to the audience, and he hears a woman's voice, an ex-lover, remonstrating with him. His face is projected front stage, at least six feet tall, craggy, saggy, baggy, lined, every movement or no movement, full of depth and meaning, every emotion there, from a to z, as  quietly, revengefully, threateningly, the almost friendly voice, reminds him of his past misdemeanours and tells him the story of another rejected lover who killed herself, very slowly over days. Gambon never says a word, but it's more powerful for that. The disembodied voice is Penelope Wilton, whom we never see, but who dominates the theatre.

Both performances are mesmerising and a little bit spooky, disconcerting and totally engrossing. The words of course are what matter and give all the pleasure.... she says to him "You know that penny farthing hell you call your mind....that's where you think this is coming from, don't you?" and later when she is talking about his father she says to him "mental thugee you called it." though I'm not absolutely certain what or who he/she is referring to.  Neil reckons that by the end Beckett is doubting his atheism, at least I think that's what he meant. If not maybe he will come and tell us.

I've also had my first trip to the cinema since being told of my tumorous colon and very enjoyable it was too. It's so exciting being in the cinema, I forgot how much I missed it. I went to see The Great Gatsby, with my good friend Gordon. Excellent movie and superb performance from DiCaprio, who's matured nicely and looks magnificent. I think he's going to be one of our finest actors. He's been in tow of the best films I've seen this year. Tobey Maguire was perfect as Carraway, and Carey Mulligan was beautiful looking and acting wise. The film was in 3D which I had not expected but seemed to add something to the whole feel of it. Gatsby's parties were terrific in 3D, as was his view across the water to the green light across the bay on East Egg at the end of  Buchanan's dock.

"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."

DWP no more - part one

Last week I retired from the civil service after 40 years of dedicated, or sometimes  not so dedicated, service. I feel a bit like Samuel Beckett, who according to Seamus Heaney, when he was an old man, was sitting in a Parisian cafe with a friend, who like Beckett himself was somewhat socially shy, and after another gap in the conversation, turned to his pal and said "I've been waiting all my life to be old." You can maybe hear his voice if you just close your eyes and listen. Well I've been waiting a few years now to retire and had lots of plans for world travel, if not world domination, but due to the arrival of my tumour nothing is quite as I had hoped or looked forward to. But let's make the most of what we've got and next year is looking good to me.

I've not been working for the past couple of months, due to being in hospital and radiotherapy and other stuff, so it's not quite been the retiral I had imagined. I went in to see my colleagues on my last official day of work, 28 August , and it was good to see them all again. We've arranged one or two celebratory events, which I might tell you about nearer the time. But this posting is by way of a brief reflection on 40 years. So many memories, people, happenings, successes, disasters, friendships, too numerous to list, it's hard to know where to start.

Let's start at the beginning then, why not, seems like a good idea. I began work for DWP, or DHSS as it was back then, on 23 July 1973. A good summer, I'd been living in Glasgow for a year or two, and at the time sharing a flat with my wee brother Neil in Great Western Road, or was it Bank St? We shared so many flats in Scotland's second city I get confused now putting them in order. Anyway he had just told me that my presence was required at his marriage ceremony to the lovely Elaine. It was a bit of a rushed business altogether, because Neil had been a very naughty boy indeed, witness the fact that Gayle is the same age, more or less, as my civil service career. The ceremony was attended by the masses of Glasgow and the reception followed was in a Reo Stakis steakhouse somewhere in the city centre. They were a very popular in Glasgow at the time. Wonder what became of Mr Stakis?

Having seen them off on their honeymoon we set off down the M6 to Cheltenham, where the Department in it's wisdom, had decided to send me -  perhaps they felt a Scottish presence was needed in Gloucestershire. I still remember the drive down there, the first of many, in my Fiat 124 Special T, which I had very recently bought from the compensation money I was paid for losing my elbow in 1969. A pitiful amount, I hasten to add, but was the best I could get without going to court, or so I was told.  Just as well that  I bought that car as there was not much left soon after.

The Special T was very powerful, very fast,  and red. Or was it green? The most powerful car I've owned. There are videos to be found on You Tube of it being raced, if you like that kind of thing. I should not have sold it. I miss it more than any other car I've had, unless you count the Ford Cortina?  I think we drove down overnight for some reason. Maybe because we were young.

I need an editor for my blog, as I seem to have lost the plot here. Where was I again? Ah yes just arriving in Cheltenham where we managed to rent an excellent flat in Lansdown Rd, an excellent flat, in a beautiful old house, with an orchard at the back and other fruit bearing trees. The caretaker was an old lady who very much enjoyed her little tipple, but kept us in supplies of free apples and, which she liked to bring up to the flat at the most importunate moments. She would offer a drop of her sherry, for that was her favourite tope, as an excuse, but she always came  with a pie or some other delectable delight.  It would have been ridiculous to refuse her. She used to sit round the back keeping an eye on things, watching the world go by and putting it to rights as she saw fit. Once or twice we found her the worse for wear and had to help her to her flat. She was a funny old soul.

My first manager was  Mr Gent, and he was true to his name. Most of my time down there in Gloucestershire I worked as a visiting officer, covering most of the Cotswolds, and there are not many more beautiful places to spend your days driving around, than the Cotswolds. As I remember it the sun always shone and it never rained, but maybe my memory is playing  tricks again.

The names of all the places I still remember with fondness. Stow on the Wold, Bourton on the Water, Lower Slaughter and Upper Slaughter, where there was a ford I used to have to drive across, Moreton in Marsh, Chipping Campden and Chipping Norton, Cirencester and Tewkesbury and many more. It seems hard to believe but there were lots of poor folk in the Cotswolds at that time and probably still are today despite  PM  Dave and other rich bastards living there.

The other visiting officer for the Cotswolds was my friend Ivan, a Welshman, from Haverfordwest  who was a lovable rogue and always setting up or closing deals. I never knew exactly what he got up to but he seemed quite well off. I remember that he never used a brief case, always carried papers and files in the boot and under his arm. Would be sacked for that today, but those days we didn't carry laptops and memory sticks, everything was in our heads, I think. 

Ivan and I used to meet once a week in a pub in Chipping Campden where we played dominoes with the locals for money. I don't remember making much money out of it but we had good times. All the work got done of course. Back in the office in St George's Rd we had Betty keeping us on out toes and controlling everything. Our office looked out onto Cheltenham Ladies College playing fields and Betty would remonstrate with anyone caught spending too long staring out the window. Not that I did I hasten to add.

This is way too long but I'm not up for editing it, so will leave it at that with me stuck down in Cheltenham, waiting to return to the land of the brave. So lets call this part 1.