<![CDATA[Welcome To The Website Of The 'Workaday' Writer K.D.Knight. - Home]]>Fri, 10 Nov 2017 01:18:09 +0000Weebly<![CDATA[MY UNADULTERATED DISLIKE OF UNIFORM.]]>Thu, 09 Nov 2017 16:13:26 GMThttp://kdkworkadaywriter.com/home/my-unadulterated-dislike-of-uniform​My dislike of uniforms could be and should be diagnosed as on a par with those poor unfortunate people who cannot tolerate peanuts. That may be an exaggeration. So perhaps I should say on a par with people who fear standing on the cracks in the pavement, though I have always viewed such people as borderline bonkers. And though untested I do believe myself completely sane. Or as sane as anyone can be living in a world where a mouthy failed t.v.star has his finger on the nuclear deterrent and someone called Jeremy is favourite to be the next Prime Minister of Great Britain.
Now, let’s be clear; I am not talking about proper uniform. Decent, professional uniform, the sort policemen and army personnel must wear is both appropriate and desirable. Indeed if it were likely that nurses were to be allowed to wear their own clothes on the wards I would be the first person to start a petition in protest at such a deviation from tradition.
It is company work-wear I abhor. The style over substance work management ethic that if everyone looks the same the team will perform to a higher overall standard. This lookey-likey concept may be good business for work-wear manufacturers who have cleverly developed the marketing opportunities down the years but it is my experience that the standard of performance on the work-floor remains exactly the same as before the ‘company look’ became mandatory.
It’s not as if I do not appreciate the need for a company employee to look markedly different from a customer or client and it would be plain ridiculous for Manchester City, say, to turn out on a Saturday in a kit of the individual player’s own choices. After all one dark skinned, tattooed, corn-rowed, muscled millionaire looks very much like any other muscled, corn-rowed etc etc. I may have used a poor example using the football team currently walking away with the league title but it’s not the team strip that makes them play to a higher overall standard. They are simply better fancy Dans than their opponents. F.Y.I. When I say fancy Dan I refer to a flashy ostentatious person who doesn’t have any particle skill and not the Fancy Dan who was one of the founders of Marvel Comics ‘The Enforcers’ and was proficient at judo and karate.
Restaurant and café workers need only wear an apron and a hat to inform customers of their role in life. Factory workers only need protective clothing to alert their bosses to their positions within the company. The fact that a man is actually on the factory floor sweating his butt off, though, should be evidence of him being on the payroll.
When the wearing of company work-wear snowballed from novelty to revolution I could not help but be reminded of Mao Tse-Tung’s Cultural Revolution and the uniform of the Peoples’ Revolutionary Party. Everyone the same; individualism repressed, individuality erased. Style worshiped, substance given second billing.
And I haven’t yet deviated on to my loathing for reflective jackets. There was a time when reflective clothing was the mark of someone with authority like the police or firemen but now every Tom, Dick and Harriet walk around with the cool swank of walkway dayglow houte couture. A crocodile of schoolkids went passed my window the other day. It looked like their teachers were taking them to the scene of a traffic accident.
The reflective jacket thing maybe paranoia. Or it may be the most radical aspect of my belief that I can take care of my own safety and damn the consequences if I should be mown down by a one-eyed idiot who believes he has the right to use his mobile phone whenever he damn well pleases. But the reflective jacket thing is separate to my phobia of work-wear.
You see the work-wear thing is based on good observation as well as personal dislike. Firstly it makes no difference if you work indoors or out as in the majority of instances the work-wear provided is identical. Short sleeve top and perhaps a fleece of debatable use in a chilly wind. And no matter if you work 5 or 6 days a week you are given only, at best, 3 tops and 1 fleece. No matter if you are a free sweater or someone who believes personal hygiene to be the highest of virtues, all you ever receive is 3 tops to last the week. Which is why my argument that work-wear is the ethic of style over substance is unarguable.
The world, I can assure you, began its walk to Hell in a handcart the day company work-wear became de rigueur – the fashion of the masses. And as the majority of work-wear is manufactured in the sweat shops of China perhaps it would be appropriate to end with – Long Live the Revolution! Though to be consistent I should paraphrase it to - Down With The Work-Wear Revolution!
<![CDATA[THE BEGINNING OF THE END.]]>Sun, 05 Nov 2017 15:47:12 GMThttp://kdkworkadaywriter.com/home/the-beginning-of-the-end​My life is presently given over to watching, and being of assistance when required, my other (and sometimes better half) care for her terminally ill father. What she does for her father, the commitment to the cause of trying to make his last days as comfortable as possible, is not something I could do for someone. Not even myself. Perhaps I could for her, though I would commit to any deal with any devil to prevent her suffering a similar fate. My role, I have determined, is to support her in every way possible so that she can achieve her ambition of giving her father all the help he requires between now and meeting his maker.
I have always thought businessmen, sportsman and entertainers are overly rewarded for their contribution to society, while people in the medical profession are largely ignored and, though they seek no award or acknowledgement, carers of family members are far more deserving of knighthoods and honours than people whose achievements have rewarded them with enormous pay packets, more than one home and top of the range motor cars for all the family.
My other half’s father has a progressive tumour attached to the outside of the windpipe. Eventually his windpipe will collapse under the weight of the tumour and his life will come to an end. This journey to the precipice of life is proving neither quick nor untroubled. We have entered the period known as the beginning of the end. We have the ‘just in case’ box and the telephone numbers of those in the medical profession who will take over when loving care is no longer enough. He is now progressed to experiencing periods of confusion, hallucination and delusion. At first this had a humorous element to it, with him convinced on one occasion that there was a ‘hole the size of a shovel’ in the bedroom floor ‘full of snails’. One night he woke us up as he was wanting to turn off the electric as ‘he needed to stop the noise’. Now the confusion, and we suppose hallucinations, has led to ‘bed wetting’ and what is even worse peeing into an imaginary toilet or receptacle. He is also displaying signs of dementia.
This is no way for a man to end his life. Where is the humanity in allowing a human being to lose his dignity, and we must suppose self-respect, before he is allowed to die? And for the loving daughter it verges on cruelty to have to bear witness to the bit-by-bit destruction of a father she has loved all her life.
Those who believe it is ‘God’s’ decision when someone must die are forcing their beliefs on good human beings who want only the best for those they are caring for. Doctors who hide behind a Hippocratic Oath drawn up in the 4th or 5th century and that is wholly at odds with modern mores are, I believe, more neglectful of their duty to their patients than respecting them.
It is without doubt sinful to end a life that may be extended by medical intervention for years but it can only be considered a kindness to end misery and suffering in people with terminal illness.
A couple of years ago one of our much loved cats developed a brain tumour. When it was obvious nothing could be done for him we had a vet come to the house to end his suffering. She sat on our kitchen floor, cradled him on her legs, gently gave him a sedative before administering the fatal doss. It was peaceful and kind. I said at the time that when the time came that is how I would like to end my life. Not that it will be allowed to happen. If diagnosed with a terminal illness the law will demand I die with the same indignities and misery my other half’s father must endure. If I am similarly afflicted I have determined to forego medical treatment and allow the River Torridge to unburden me of my terminal condition. If God should object, allowing for the unlikeness of their being a deity, a heaven or if both are real, someone of my ilk (an atheist) entering such an esteemed resting place, I will debate the issue with Him and get Him to see the error of his ways. Though I suspect he will deny any involvement with Hippocratic Oaths or the religious suggesting it is ‘God’s Will’ for people to suffer and die painful deaths.
I only hope those who oppose euthanasia, come the last days of their life, suffer as my other half’s father must suffer. They will only understand the issue if they experience it from both sides.
<![CDATA[IF I ONLY HAD A BRAIN.]]>Wed, 25 Oct 2017 11:04:38 GMThttp://kdkworkadaywriter.com/home/if-i-only-had-a-brain​‘Why I write’ is as perplexing a question to the insignificant man as ‘what is the meaning of life’ is to the great philosophers? For people afflicted with an inability to keep their thoughts to themselves, writing is a habit no less addictive than drugs or alcohol. There used to be a cure for the affliction but since the advent of the computer and the internet the cure of professional rejection has become impotent and people of no great distinction like myself can now claim to be a writer without any validation from the professional elite. This of course is the true democratization of publishing, where only hundreds of thousands of pounds is required for marketing and promotion to achieve glory and a small income, whereas nerve and ego are required more than talent.
There is a saying in horse racing that I believe is relevant to this subject: to win a small fortune at racing you need to start with a much larger fortune. The same, I believe, can be said of writing, and certainly when it comes to self-publishing.
The great stumbling blocks to my own efforts at professional literary validation is dually my lack of a formal education and a brain that at best illuminates at a level that can be measured by candle-power and at its worst can freeze solid in mimicry of a computer screen on a really bad day. I cannot believe that J.K.Rowling and writers of her esteem suffer likewise. In my own defence I have fallen off a lot of horses in my time and on several occasions suffered kicks to the head that required short stays in hospital.
I must add that my computer skills are also sub-zero and any five-year-old could baffle me with what I consider high science but which to them is as easy as a riding a bike. When forced to upgrade from my beloved electric typewriter to a computer I bought a copy of ‘Computers For Dummies’ to help me along with the new technology at my fingertips; it baffled me then and continues to do so, which places me worse than a dummy in the interaction with the dark arts contained within the algorithms, software and random access memory of the all-dancing, all-singing computer that is my ego’s lifeline. The actions of the majority of the buttons on my laptop remain a mystery to me to this day and if it were not for the escape button I would have suffered a mental breakdown years ago and would now be certifiably committed to a secure unit in an asylum for the computer illiterate. Even now, at least once a month, I find myself asking the computer ‘why did you do that?’ I dare say computers that cost thousands no doubt rely with an opinion, suggesting it was operator error, when those of us in the know know that the devil has its demons in-built into every computer.
To return to my original question. I write as I have opinions and ideas that do not necessarily need perfect syntax and correct spelling to be worthwhile reading for the small number of people who visit either this website or my other site horsracingmatters.com. It is my ambition to write something within my lifetime that is so good or considered of such great importance that my name will be remembered decades after my death. My other half would much prefer me to write something that would earn money now and bring in royalties long after I’m dead. I fear we are both likely to remain disappointed for some time to come.
So disappointed have I become with e-book self-publishing that I have withdrawn from sale all of my novels and short story collections except ‘Linda Versus God’ as I believe the novel contains an important message that if adopted by the majority might help bring the world back from the brink. On this website, though, ‘The Abomination’ is published, a scurrilous novel that rewrites part of the gospels, explains the relationship of Jesus, the disciples and Mary Magdalen and climaxes with the bringing of religion to Britain. It is not a novel that lacks scope or indeed nerve.
For me, someone who is possibly more intelligent than he is educated, with great ideas and good opinion that he cannot express with enough adequacy to convert his readers, I write because writing, expressing what I believe to be true and occasionally insightful, is the meaning of life. To others it may be singing, religion, politics or horticulture. To me it is writing. I write, therefore I am, as Friedrich Nietzche very nearly said. The meaning of life, I believe, is what you are dedicated to, not necessarily what you are better at than the majority.
In summary; continuing to publish my writing, despite all the evidence to suggest I should leave the arena while I still have a shred of dignity left, is my way of pointing two-fingers at the literary establishment for the undemocratic, market/profit driven methods they apply when choosing who deserves publication or winners’ cheques. I may be wrong in this opinion but you cannot keep kicking a writer when he is down and not expect him to become a miserable cynic.
And there is no better proponent of the miserable cynic than me.
<![CDATA[LET THE GREAT POLITICAL DEBATE BEGIN.]]>Thu, 19 Oct 2017 11:22:10 GMThttp://kdkworkadaywriter.com/home/let-the-great-political-debate-begin​Ridding ourselves of political parties is one of my pet subjects and now and again I feel an urge to put my current ideas down on paper in hope of someone with influence and of a similar mind-set will pick up the ball and run with it. So here I go again.
Unlike society, politics in this country is not evolving. More and more Westminster resembles a fiefdom fought over by two gangs of sober-suited university drop-outs with a medical condition that prevents them being all grown-up. There is no innovative thought from any member of the house. Or if there is it is blocked by those who protect the interests of Ministers. Debate in the house comes hand-in-hand with inter-party shouting and snide-remark competitions rather the informed debate you might expect from intelligent people educated to and beyond the standard of veterinary surgeons and structural engineers.
The last great shift in British politics occurred way back in 1649 when Cromwell had Charles beheaded and himself installed as chairman of the Council of State and Lord Protector of all he surveyed. The abolition of the monarchy did not last long, of course, but with Parliament the arbiter of rule rather than the monarch the British political establishment was turned on its head forever, allowing James a gay old time of things.
We need a similar great shift now or the freedom of the people will be forever negated. Politicians have too much an influence over the people and like poor old Charles they must be, though only figuratively, removed of their chattering heads. Power must always ultimately be in hands of the people.
Politics is about power. It shouldn’t be. Politics should be about the lawful running of the country and should mirror in a far grander way the mother bringing up her family in peaceful harmony.
When the Conservatives are in power Labour will resort to any low blow to undermine them. When Labour are in power the Conservatives will do likewise. Only in the most extreme of instances do political parties work together for the benefit of the country. Yet within each Political Party there must be good, honourable men and women who would serve the country ceaselessly, yet to serve their Party at the moment they must act and speak negatively of the ideas of others. When was the last time an opposition politician stood up in Westminster and said. “That’s a jolly good idea, minister. Please allow me to extend my congratulations. It shames us that we did not consider it ourselves.” Ministers must have good ideas, if not ground-breaking ideas, occasionally, don’t you think? They must do, surely.
If we abolished Political Parties, all of them, including the minor parties and the mad, bad and sad ones, and Westminster consisted of 600 Independent Members voted into Parliament by the electorate to work as servants of the people, 600 minds would be freed to inject new verve into the political arena, with every backbencher equal, with every Minister, including Prime Minister, able to be voted out of office if they do not perform to the benefit of the people, with the country put first, whereas at the moment it is very much Party first, country second.
So how would this new style politics work? Between the announcing of the election results and the establishment of the new government there would be an inevitable hiatus while the new Prime Minister and Cabinet Ministers are decided upon. The first job of Parliament will be to vote for the new Prime Minister. The member with the highest number of votes will be invited to lead the country. No one would vote for themselves and of course the vote would have to be overseen and conducted by an electoral panel. A similar exercise will see all the senior Cabinet posts distributed, with any hung vote decided by the Prime Minister. Once the country has a full complement of Cabinet Ministers the work of Parliament can begin.
I dare say what I describe is over-simplified and politicians are sure to make implementation of such a radical reform difficult. But it is a good starting point for any debate.
Obviously for a number of years political cliques will operate but over time as the terms socialist, conservative, liberal, etc, fall into disuse Members of Parliament will become truly independent of spirit and thought.
Of course this new way will streamline Westminster as there will be no need of Whips Offices and all those unelected advisors that seem to cause more problems than they solve. And with no Whips Offices politicians will no longer be able to have their sins and guilty secrets kept hidden from the public as the Liberals did on behalf of Cyril Smith and the Conservatives and Labour have done for their side of the house.
So let us debate this issue. Do not allow Politicians any more power over us than they do now. And remember, politicians are servants of the people. It is not the other way about.