Nieces and other niceties

I am surrounded by negativity. It’s my choice; it’s part of the job I do and enjoy. And if I am the whipping boy taking the hits for others, that is my lot and life and I accept their generous payment for that. I also think I am helping the moaners, the groaners, the malevolent and the malcontent. They have as much right to be listened to as anyone and I do have the ability to shut up and listen, even if my mind is wandering back to Rarotonga or forward to the single-malt I shall relish tonight. So, surrounded I am. But like the 1900 Foreign Quarter that for 55 days in Peking was surrounded by the lethal Boxers, relief is at hand. It comes in the form of lasting friendships—personal friendships—formed, often in adversity, with those with whom I work. You know who you are. It also comes from a relatively new quarter for me—kids: nieces, nephews and goddaughters. I seem to have a plethora of them now, and they are all delightful. Before knowing them, I thought of them as foreign objects and God knows what they thought of me. But not now. Now they enrich my life and provide it with a new perspective. Two of them are staying with me now, and another is corresponding with me. It’s making for a special Labour Weekend. So, getting back to my malevolent malcontents. Yeah, I’m still there for you, I’ll still listen to you. But I have noticed a common element for many of you: no kids. So, whereas in the past I might have been tempted to say to you “get a life” my revised suggestion is “get a kid” borrow one, if necessary. They do help you stop acting like one.

An Old Fryday

Derived from the French "chevalier" for horseman, chivalry was originally linked to the code of behaviour associated with knighthood. These days we have restored Knighthoods but chivalry seems a dying art. An art form it is—or was—there are certain techniques and protocols and there is a skill in pulling it off without seeming patronising or, increasingly and sadly in these PC days, sexist. Personally I don’t give a shit how it or I look when I practice it. I will continue to open doors for women regardless of age—of the woman not the door; I recently did it for a 10 year-old. I know to walk on the outside of a footpath and I will stand to greet a woman. That’s what my parents taught me and something I hope I have taught my own boys. But what I am wondering is why even writing about chivalry makes me feel so old.