Thought Picnic: Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Quiet Pursuits of Excellence

Sometimes, I reflect on the fact that I lead a number of public lives which revolve around simply doing what I love, without seeking acknowledgement or reward. Something in my upbringing, in the observation of my parents and mentors, drives me towards excellence.

Much as I seek perfection, I quite frequently fall short. I upbraid myself, accuse myself, and talk to myself in a voice that calls me by my own name, because there is a conversation to be had before someone else has it with me. I would rather be my own critic, so as to be prepared to receive a better critique, one of recognition, of merit, and of acknowledgement.

Stories That Once Scared Me

There are stories from my past that frighten me, where the infirmity registered in the ravine of failure offered no opportunity or facility for recovery. It was unsalvageable wreckage, beyond repair, and utterly hopeless.

Yet, I have a better story to tell. No narrative I share today wallows in helpless resignation, for I am blessed beyond measure with testimonies of goodness, success, victory, and triumph.

The Pleasure of Work

At work, I enjoy what I do, not for the remuneration, of which I have once earned stupendously, but for the satisfaction that the knowledge and expertise I bring to bear on the mundane and the complex still matters.

I get to learn as much as I help others learn. I do what I do, not to get noticed, but to make things work. In the process, acknowledgement, respect, and rewards may well come. My motivation, however, is the pleasure.

Appearance and Carriage

In appearance, I have my own kind of dressing, something I pay attention to, because appearance and carriage matter. There have been times when I have been stopped so that pictures could be taken of me.

Once, a young man, after complimenting me, said he would love to have the confidence to dress like me. I suppose hardly a day goes by without some sort of recognition from strangers, and yet I am not out to attract attention. My motivation is simply looking good.

The Wealth of Expression

On this blog, I write about anything that takes my fancy, not for want of engagement or readership. To think there was a time when I hated writing, even though I had a great deal to say in conversation.

I am easily shy, quite introverted, and socially awkward and nervous in organised meetings where people are networking. It is in the use of words that I truly flourish. My motivation is the wealth of expression.

The Story of a Man

What all this says to me is to keep doing what I know to do, in the best possible way, with every aim to impact, improve, and perhaps impress. I will never be everyone's cup of tea, but I hope those who drink this tea enjoy it tremendously.

Decades of work, portrayal, and expression all become the story of a man. Thank you for coming by.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Essential Snobbery 101: Ritzy on Piccadilly

A London Weekend

A fascinating London weekend it was, in which most of what was intended was achieved, including the benefit that being over the age of sixty offers; a third off transport fares, if you remember to show up with the bona fides for your age.

On the Piccadilly line of the London Underground, the glimpse I caught of buttons on the back of a jacket suggested an untucked, ruffian look from the front; with a tie rather than a bow tie or cravat, it was a tailcoat of undecided pretensions to putting on the Ritz.

The Ritz and Recognition

Indeed, I did alight at Green Park and exited onto Piccadilly on the side of The Ritz London, one of the swankiest hotels in the city, opened by César Ritz in May 1906.

I could never walk down Piccadilly without being acknowledged, and I was quite dressed down, standing out simply because I wore a straw hat, carried a walking cane, and had a jacket finished with an elaborate pocket square collage.

The doormen at the Ritz doffed their top hats and even muttered a greeting, which I returned.

Heading to Fortnum's

I was on my way to Fortnum & Mason, a walk that takes you past The Wolseley Piccadilly, the Caviar House, Burlington Arcade across the street beside Burlington House, the home of the learned Royal Societies too.

Fortnum's is always busy, yet a very different busy from Harrods in Knightsbridge, which I only ever entered once at someone's behest; the less said of the garish, gaudy place, the better.

Inside Fortnum's

In existence since 1707, this shop is famous for its teas and other exquisite foods. It has been picketed many times for selling foie gras, the making of which does not greatly concern me, as the taste is as different from pâté as fish roe is from beluga caviar.

I have a predilection for Earl Grey tea, and they have many blends, of which Smoky Earl Grey wins every time. It is best to have the loose tea dispensed at a counter by weight rather than buying packaged tea bags or the ready tins, which can be more than 33% dearer.

Along with some Lapsang Souchong aromatic tea and Strawberry with Fortnum's Champagne Preserve, which takes the edge off the sweetness of the jam, that was my first visit in about seven years.

Leaving Piccadilly

As I left for the station, the doorman at the Wolseley offered a greeting; not the one who always took time to compliment my dressing, but they do see enough to know the difference between being dapper and just snooty.

He had a bowler hat on, and I had to ask where he got it, as mine, bought from a gentleman's outfitters in Ipswich some thirty years ago, was looking the worse for wear.

He recommended a milliner near Liverpool Street, but that might require another visit to London.

There is a quiet, unbothered sophistication about Piccadilly; the London tour buses gather at the entrance to Green Park just as a patron of The Wolseley urges his dog to take a pee. The carefree appearance demands a dress code enforced on the serving, whilst remaining non-existent for the served.

Putting on the Ritz

A short note on the places that punctuated this walk: The Ritz London, opened in 1906, was the realisation of César Ritz, the Swiss hotelier whose name became shorthand for refined luxury. Fortnum & Mason, founded in 1707 by William Fortnum, a footman in Queen Anne's household, and Hugh Mason, his landlord, has supplied the British establishment with provisions for over three centuries.

The Wolseley, by comparison, is a relative newcomer; a former car showroom turned grand European café, it opened in 2003 and has since become a Piccadilly fixture in its own right. Burlington Arcade, opened in 1819, remains the original covered shopping promenade, still patrolled by its top-hatted Beadles. The Royal Societies along Piccadilly include the Royal Academy of Arts at Burlington House, where the learned and the artistic have gathered since the eighteenth century.

It is no accident that the Ritz lent its name to a song. When Irving Berlin wrote Puttin' on the Ritz in 1929, he was reaching across the Atlantic for the very idea César Ritz had built into a brand. The original lyric pictured "Park Avenue", with its "high hats and Arrow collars, white spats and lots of dollars", as the place to dress to impress.

The 1946 revision moved the scene to "up on Lenox Avenue", but the spirit remained the same; to put on the Ritz was to wear your best and walk as though the pavement belonged to you. 

Piccadilly, in its quieter, more unbothered way, has always done the same. Park Avenue performs its wealth; Piccadilly assumes it. The doormen still doff their top hats, the bowler hats still need replacing, and the tailcoats of undecided pretensions still ride the Underground, hoping nobody notices the buttons on the back.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Three Degrees: Hailstones, Shorts, and Slippers

A Nation's Favourite Topic

If there is anything the English can always make conversation about, it is the weather; there is always something to say about it.

I looked at my mobile phone this morning before leaving home and noticed it was just three degrees Celsius, in the middle of April. I had turned off my heating a couple of weeks ago, as we eased into British Summer Time, which is everything British, but nothing like summer, and barely feeling like spring.

One good thing: there was no forecast of rain, a reputation some people are keen to attach to Manchester more than reality suggests. It does not always rain in Manchester; it just happens to coincide with when those observers visit.

Pelted by Hailstones

Yesterday, I thought of going out for a walk. It was pleasant enough, though I had only anticipated a drizzle. When the heavens opened, I was pelted with hailstones the size of opaque tapioca pearls. Come to think of it, I have never been caught in a hailstorm before; the most I have experienced of it is watching from indoors.

Lest I forget, we also had a hailstorm a couple of weeks ago. I hope it is not becoming a regular occurrence. Then imagine my surprise, knowing how cold it was, to see someone about fifty yards ahead of me in shorts. Are you crazy? I cannot complain, though, because when I am in South Africa, my tolerance of the cold makes others think I am crazy.

Sights on the Street

Hardly had I put that out of my mind when a lady of a certain age, a sexagenarian at the very least, stepped out of her hotel for a cigarette in a white cardigan, just long enough to cover the detail. You might have to lop off three to four decades to raise any interest.

She was wearing those disposable hotel guest slippers. You want to say to her, “Oh, darling, you should never have stepped out of your hotel room like that.”

Then again, if you have a nicotine addiction, what is the cold or decency, when you need to light up and feel the warmth of your lungs filled with smoke? The sun is shining, we are in double figures, and from everything I can see on the street, there is another man in shorts whilst everyone else is behaving.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

The UK: Scoring low on the good skirt test

Help!

Anyone who reads my blog will more or less conclude that I am a liberal. I am probably a liberal, I do have certain conservative views, but I would hope that I practice a sort of pragmatism tempered with a broad accepting reasonableness.

My last blog addressed the issue of the regulation of women’s as a fascination and a mode of gauging the level of morality in certain societies. One can easily sententiously subscribe to the view that a certain mode of dress as accepted in certain places is the level of tolerance of permissiveness and an exacerbation of the lascivious, but I refuse to entertain that as embracing of the freedom of responsible expression by adults.

However, I was met with a serious challenge to my generally liberal views of dress as I arrived at work and in the process of disembarking from my taxicab, the passenger in the taxicab in front stepped out, blazing red Christian Louboutin shoes, black blouse, and jacket, over a black skirt. In tow, a trolley bag and a catwalk gait to the office block.

The good skirt test

I dare say, from basic observation, the good seamstress test was suffering in extremis, the skirt appeared to be not long enough to cover the detail, and it was short enough to maintain too much of a lingering interest as to forget that there was someone wearing the clothes. The good seamstress or tailoress as I found was the archaic term for dressmaker at the Leeds Industrial Museum over a week ago suggests, ‘a skirt must be long enough to cover the detail, whilst short enough for keep the interest.’ Not a lingering and lewd interest, though.

The skirt struggled to pass the basic test on both accounts for the occasion when it probably would have wowed the fashion watchers on a celebrity red carpet. Then I cannot comment on the appropriateness of the attire if the wearer is comfortable in what they choose to wear, but I would be surprised if it did not draw some commentary anywhere she went around the campus on Monday.

My companion did quip as we got out of the taxicab, inquiring if I did see what she thought she had seen. I guess a lot more people had their heads turning for the want of some understanding.

It’s summer, but at the office

Then I was intimated of an event some summers ago, when the mercury put the UK in Mediterranean bliss and with that, the business sense in dress was discarded for a laissez-faire beach casual look. This compelled the management to remonstrate about presentation and manner of dress with regards to the appropriateness for the office, however, without listing the prescriptive items of clothing that appeared to suggest contempt for comportment and decency.

I still feel adults should behave responsibly on matters of presentation and appearance at work without having to be told how. Then again, some sometimes forget and need to be reminded of where they are, so that they can make adjustments where necessary.

However, what could happen is if management is too timid to be particular with individuals, the scattergun approach of a circular might also come with certain put-upon staff constituting a vigilante fashion police mob acting beyond their areas of core expertise.

Nobody should have to be told how to dress, but somebody needs to intervene when the manner of dress draws attention away from the wearer, especially when the wearer is not on a catwalk.

London: Making light of irksome sights

A small centre

London still remains a place of new discovery for me in many ways just as I never knew that I did not need to change at Leicester Square for Charing Cross to get to Trafalgar Square almost 25 years ago, or that if I got off at Liverpool Street, I did not have change trains to get to my office between Liverpool Street and Moorgate.

I have taken to walking as much as I can within London having realise that the London Underground, known as the Tube sometimes makes central London feel a lot bigger than it really is.

For instance, London Euston Station to London Waterloo Station is just 2.1 miles or 3.36 kilometres, it is literally one straight road down and over the Thames – give it about 50 minutes of a brisk walk. It is better to do this than get on the Tube.

The bastards of Westminster

Then, I have walked from London Euston Station, through Old Street to Liverpool Street and then London Bridge before walking the south embankment of the Thames called the Queen’s Walk all the way to Vauxhall.

As I pass Westminster Bridge, I see the mother of parliaments, the Palace of Westminster and lament the whoring that has given her bastards for children.

The many politicians who have never had a life outside politics, rent seekers who are leveranciers of the poverty they portend as policy. Looking upon them from the tower is Big Ben that I pray when next she tolls at the point we are asked to find new leaders would toll for this lot.

Dressed to ostracise

Yet, London presents fascination from mundane observation, like walking into a T. M. Levin shop full of seemingly formal wear to find that the shop attendant does not know what a cravat is. I could not muster the strength to be aghast, I was beyond that. What training do these label readers and payment till get to man these shops? Perish that thought.

Further along the road was a family out for the day, the man proudly strutting along with his wife and two children. Well, I am not sure of the kind of pride in a man that would have his wife all covered up except for the slit in the garb made for her eyes to peer through.

If the lady were walking alone, maybe it might ward off interest, but with her husband and family, it is more about the man than the woman. The concept of dressing to cultural and religiously defined codes in a very secular society does sometimes make one wonder about societal cohesion and integration – this applies to all, by it Muslims, Jews or even Sikhs – these being the ones that come easily to mind about men, women and their dress sense.

I paid for better than this

Off clubbing we paid to use the coat check and were given numbered tickets to identify our things. At the end of our revelling, we presented our tickets and told them the initials as a security safeguard against them giving our bags to others.

Unusually, we were ask what our bags or jackets looked like and 10 minutes on they were still looking for my bag just as the mess in the coat check storage had become too chaotic for words, it was disheartening and annoying in the same measure.

I remonstrated and I was asked to calm down at which point I smacked the counter with an open palm loudly stating I paid for the service beyond which it was just unacceptable to have to wait this long to find my things.

The supervisor then came forward to take control of the situation, but it was not before one of the team took exception and offence to my attitude. I was having none of it, we celebrate incompetence to the point of excusing atrocious customer service, even apologising for poor customer service that we have paid for, not if I could help it.

Eventually, after a third time of describing my rucksack, they found it, I was not effusive with thanks, I was infuriated. Am I supposed to demand for the service I paid for or allow people act without responsibility for the jobs they have been hired for? I think I am just getting too old-fashioned for the lack of attention to order or detail, but I would not tolerate it.

Opinion: Before the law, the veil is removed

Our open outlook

There are many reasons as a Western European I love living here even as a minority of many sorts. Despite the occasional negatives of racism, deprivation, inequality and much else, we as a people are probably still the most tolerant, accommodating, liberal and gregarious of all humanity.

That might be disputed but on the whole, we live and let live; very rarely do we impose our views on others and apart from populists and rabble-rousers for political gain, we are a peaceable people.

Garb and barb

However, over the last decade or so, our liberal democratic values of separation of religion and state to varying degrees have been challenged by the ingress of cultures, traditions, beliefs and attitudes that are not fundamentally what we might call our historical Western Judeo-Christian heritage – some have balked, but most have acquiesced, we make allowances, many allowances at that.

Recently, it has been about religious garb, the matter of coverings and modesty vary just as our interpretations of what constitutes those might differ depending on our beliefs and customs.

Germans for instance are not afraid of nudity, in fact, it is called, Freikörperkultur (FKK) which translates literally to Free Body Culture, it is a movement quite different from nudist sun-bathing and any other forms of public nudity, but that is a topic for another day. [Wikipedia]

To veil and to reveal

Yesterday, in the UK, we pussy-footed around the issue of the use of the full veil in relation to Islamic tradition when a lady appearing in court for a completely different issue of witness intimidation took us on a legal distraction as to whether she could appear in court fully veiled and never have the requirement to take it off. [BBC News]

The wisdom of judges must be commended when they give their opinions on these very sensitive issues, because in this case, the judge was accommodating of the lady to allow her wear her veil in court during the proceedings but that veil had to be removed when giving evidence.

Indeed, anyone who takes the witness box should only be accorded privacy and the possible invisibility for their safety and privacy as we do with minors, however that cannot be extrapolated on religious grounds to prevent an essential instrument of recognition and expression critical to jury observation and assessment, court is beyond just the hearing of words in answer to questions and cross-examination.

The visage of safety

The primary mode of identification for the elimination of doubt and the building of communal trust is the face as far as Western Europe is concerned, if you must access the public space for the convenience of the majority, which implicitly includes safety and security, the face must be visible.

We are conditioned to believe that a covered face is indicative of an assumed criminality, and whilst a religiously modest and pious woman might well be the most law-abiding citizen around, having a veiled face introduces an unnecessary threat, redefining our conditioning whilst it also can be exploited to ulterior ends – it is an unnecessarily difficult accommodation that we have to tolerate.

Dressed to digress

Back to Germany, it was a case of whether a girl could be allowed to wear the modest burkini if she were forced to attend compulsory swimming classes and then the extended religiously-tinged demand of her parents to prevent her splashing around with scantily clad boys in the pool. [Wikipedia][Economist]

Whilst, the burkini is almost too much dress short of a wetsuit with the attendant issues that do not need much exegesis, it is quite an accommodation redolent of our liberal and tolerant disposition to many cultures different from ours, we find it acceptable enough to not only condone it but accept it as wholesome and fashionable for those who choose to don that garb of presumed modesty.

Freedom and entitlement

However, judges found this accommodation that first could not exempt the girl from co-educational swimming classes which is the norm, by stating that, “the basic right of religious freedom does not confer any entitlement to be spared from encountering, at school, the behaviour of third parties... [behaviour] which is widely observed in daily life, outside school, at certain seasons.”

This construct should become both precedent and fundamental, because once again, the judges have identified the community of daily life as an unavoidable space of interaction available to the general public in which as human beings we are by choice allowed to participate and we cannot exclusively curtail that environment for the convenience of the few.

Freedom and allowance

The basic right of religious freedom is sacrosanct, you can practice it as fervently and fanatically as you will, but if you do not want to encounter the public in the observance of your beliefs, then the best accommodation we can afford is for you to absent yourself from that setting as a matter of right and privilege if of the age to exercise such a prerogative.

However, as a minor in Germany, where you must attend school and participate in activities that make up part of the curriculum, no entitlement is reserved to create exemptions to the point that each consideration if that situation arises creates disorder and chaos.

Adapt or depart

The broader point without stating it is the cliché - when in Rome, do as Romans do, and if you so feel that you cannot do as Romans do, the Romans should not have to change or adapt their Roman ways to your requirements as an entitlement, else they will no more be identified by their Roman ways, nevertheless, you having arrived in Rome might well find ways to adapt to what Romans do or extricate yourself from Roman influence by being in a recluse or leaving Rome entirely.

Beyond this, we must be concerned about the influx of ideas beyond the need for safety and security in the public space that informs the regulation of the public space by granting specific entitlements to certain persons, groups or beliefs which will curtail the freedoms and liberties we as a majority have for the satisfaction and accommodation of others.

The blunter point in terms of these conflicts of religious adherence that challenge the freedoms we all enjoy is that the law is finding better ways to say; adapt to your current environment and circumstances or depart to where those beliefs you so espouse have unquestioned currency.

Surrendering her serpent seed

A fashion for churchianity

A lot of blog traffic has been generated on the women’s wear debate going on in Nigeria. Funmi Iyanda talked of her experiences, Chippla’s World covered the matter and various other blogs have put in their tuppence worth.

I really have striven to keep my peace on this matter because I thought all that could be opined on this matter had been said till I read a comment on a blog by “My Pen and My Paper”, something about “unless a woman has to repent and surrender her serpent seed” by one michellamarie (address unknown) – Errr! Serpent seed? This is well beyond me.

Now, that blog does have all sorts of opinions and women's wear in church, prejudiced and myopic as they seem because of some preconceived mindset as to what a wife should wear or what a mother should wear, beyond that, people are beginning to externalise spirituality as if clothes decide whether the Holy Spirit would to use one person over another.

The ascendancy of Churchianity over Christianity is becoming a worrisome development.

Dress the world from church

The whole argument that women entice men to lasciviousness and immorality is beyond the pale, the men are either weak-willed or not disciplined in their spiritual upbringing, it is the work of church to teach people how to deal with temptation when they encounter such.

Attendance at church hardly takes 24 hours of a 128 hour week, how do you protect these men from the sights and sounds they encounter on the streets?

The temple should and must also have an open door policy to all those who desire to visit to worship, it is, I believe the work of the Holy Ghost to convict of sin, especially, if He is allowed to do His work without being constrained by the teaching of traditions of men for doctrines of God.

Secular and smart

Amazingly, I find that secular establishments are better equipped for dress code imposition; I have been to restaurants or formal settings where a dinner jacket or a black tie is required. Rather than being turned back, the maître d' would discretely take the person aside and offer suitable dressing to accommodate the guest.

Nobody, I think should be turned away from church; rather, the zealous ushers and Keepers of the Modicum of Church Dress should after their subjective assessment of the poor spirituality of their quarry offer tagged laboratory coats in the garish colours to those who have sincerely come to worship and forgotten how to appear “decent”, then coral then to a section of the church where they can in purity of heart serve their God whilst being subjects of human ridicule, if that helps elevate the worship of the more properly dressed.

Losing our religion and keeping fashion

There is no doubt that there is need for church discipline, but who paid the greater price, the annoyed leader of the church who hates to see various states of undress or the lord of the leader who died on the cross for the naked and the overly dressed?

Trousers in themselves are just symbolic, well tailored and fitting trousers should be acceptable anywhere, the issue of them being men’s clothes rather than for ladies, borders on the hypocritical.

As Chippla rightly noted, these 3,000 year old laws of Judaism being applied to modern times is as selective as any would get because the selfsame chapter that rules against cross-gender wear also says people should not wear clothes of mixed materials. Leviticus 19:19 & Deuteronomy 22.

You only have to check the source material of the underwear, the shirt, the trousers, the socks and how all of them are mixed in different grades to provide different qualities.

In cultures where both men and women wear the same clothes like using wrappers and the difference is the way the wrapper is tied or held, this whole matter begins to border on pedantry.

Then, after some evangelistic success, would churches forcibly clothe the natives in strange apparel to promote seeming decency?

Leather and fur from the God Collection

It just does not add up, in the end, if we must be so fundamental about dress, maybe we should go back to Genesis where after Adam and Eve fell, God made coats of skins for them and clothed them. Genesis 3:21

Nothing said that this was some fashion statement or that there was any difference between what Eve wore and what Adam had – the only danger might be the church would be picketed by PETA when in fact the church has only opted for the prime example of the Creator, clothes of leather and fur, some circles might even find that quite kinky.

Basically, we should be smarter about this matter and more resourceful about tackling it, if it is so much a big issue for some, so far, it has been overrun with absurdity and unseemly publicity; the pastors might weather this storm but have done no good in proclaiming the gospel.

As for serpent seeds – I am not qualified to take on such a deep theological analysis or preposterous falacy.

References

Deuteronomy 22

Leviticus 19

Genesis 3