Friday, March 11, 2005
Charity And Weariness
I got up to take Laura to school as promised, though I was totally knackered. All these late nights writing to the early hours have caught up with me and I struggled to get to a decent level of consciousness. Wearily, we made our way to school; me with my bunnet on wishing I was still in bed, and Laura with her pyjamas on and pigtails done into wild bunches. Why? It's Red Nose Day.
For 10 years now, Britain has devoted a Friday in March doing stupid things to raise money for charity, and then in the evening the BBC dedicates the whole night to live television comedy sketches and charity appeals.
Millions are raised this way and the money then used to enable people in Africa to rebuild their lives from starvation and disease to being self-supportive and healthy. The money raised also goes to helping the young in the UK and the problems they face including drugs, homelessness and prostitution.
I do wonder though, if there is a maximum saturation point at which people cannot give any more. It's a worthwhile cause, of course it is, but after the recent Tsunami appeal, which was a global plea for money to help out the victims, I do wonder if they will be able to raise as much money tonight as they have in previous years and which the project deserves.
Everyone can spare a few of pounds to help those out in need - and I always do - but there is a tendency to feel guilty when you walk into a shop and avoid the cash bucket because you already put a fiver in the bucket at the last shop. So you feel guilty and pressured into giving another few pounds.
Then you are in the street and are approached by someone collecting, and they dance about giving you rehearsed lines about what a worthwhile cause it is and if you don't give them something you are a miserly git. You're told how lucky you are to live in a country such as this, so you feel pressured into giving again.
And so the cycle goes on, but for how long? People, at the end of the day, do have their own responsibilities and there can only be room for them to give so much of their money. Higher earners should rightly be able to give more; simply because they can. But they are under the same intensity in the streets from charity collectors as the jobless bloke who can't sleep at night for worrying if his next dole cheque is going to keep his own family in food for the week.
The point I am making is this; give to charity by all means, but bear in mind just because you might live in the UK doesn't mean you have it good. If you can't afford it, then don't feel guilty about saying "no." If you have given what you can, you aren't going to go to hell for declining more money into another charity's bucket.
Back home I made myself a coffee and breakfast and sat down to read the paper and a couple of writing magazines. Then I tidied up around the house and got the place half-decent so I wouldn't have to do much later before Gail got home.
The tiredness grew worse though and when I sat down to my laptop I just couldn't concentrate. I wrote very little and ended up nodding off for a couple of hours. When I woke I felt dazed, as though it was the middle of the night and I hadn't slept at all. I can see an early night ahead tonight.
I prepared a nice dinner for Gail and Laura coming home; Thai Chicken curry with coconut and bamboo shoots. Delicious!
Then I got down to write for the evening. It was slow and mostly dialogue so I am going to have to go through it again in detail later. Now that the story is on the way to the flip-side score, I have more decisions to make with regards to handling certain plot lines. I got an issue written, but it proved to be a disappointing day overall.
On a sad note, I caught the news just before I hit the sack (early). Dave Allen died today. I remember watching him at my friend's house every week when his TV show was on the telly. He did sketches but I thought he was always best sitting on his stool with his glass of water talking to an audience. He wasn't afraid to make fun of anything, which is why I think I liked him so much. The Catholic Church was a favourite target for him, but as a devout Irish Roman Catholic himself, he was allowed to. It's the old Celtic thing again: "We can take a joke about ourselves, so we reserve the right to laugh at anything we want" attitude.
And so I'll finish up this blog entry. Tomorrow I will be spending kilted up in the hostelries of Rose Street as we entertain the Welsh who are in town for the Six Nations Rugby match. It proves to be an exciting weekend.
In the words of the late Dave Allen RIP: "May your God go with you."
For 10 years now, Britain has devoted a Friday in March doing stupid things to raise money for charity, and then in the evening the BBC dedicates the whole night to live television comedy sketches and charity appeals.
Millions are raised this way and the money then used to enable people in Africa to rebuild their lives from starvation and disease to being self-supportive and healthy. The money raised also goes to helping the young in the UK and the problems they face including drugs, homelessness and prostitution.
I do wonder though, if there is a maximum saturation point at which people cannot give any more. It's a worthwhile cause, of course it is, but after the recent Tsunami appeal, which was a global plea for money to help out the victims, I do wonder if they will be able to raise as much money tonight as they have in previous years and which the project deserves.
Everyone can spare a few of pounds to help those out in need - and I always do - but there is a tendency to feel guilty when you walk into a shop and avoid the cash bucket because you already put a fiver in the bucket at the last shop. So you feel guilty and pressured into giving another few pounds.
Then you are in the street and are approached by someone collecting, and they dance about giving you rehearsed lines about what a worthwhile cause it is and if you don't give them something you are a miserly git. You're told how lucky you are to live in a country such as this, so you feel pressured into giving again.
And so the cycle goes on, but for how long? People, at the end of the day, do have their own responsibilities and there can only be room for them to give so much of their money. Higher earners should rightly be able to give more; simply because they can. But they are under the same intensity in the streets from charity collectors as the jobless bloke who can't sleep at night for worrying if his next dole cheque is going to keep his own family in food for the week.
The point I am making is this; give to charity by all means, but bear in mind just because you might live in the UK doesn't mean you have it good. If you can't afford it, then don't feel guilty about saying "no." If you have given what you can, you aren't going to go to hell for declining more money into another charity's bucket.
Back home I made myself a coffee and breakfast and sat down to read the paper and a couple of writing magazines. Then I tidied up around the house and got the place half-decent so I wouldn't have to do much later before Gail got home.
The tiredness grew worse though and when I sat down to my laptop I just couldn't concentrate. I wrote very little and ended up nodding off for a couple of hours. When I woke I felt dazed, as though it was the middle of the night and I hadn't slept at all. I can see an early night ahead tonight.
I prepared a nice dinner for Gail and Laura coming home; Thai Chicken curry with coconut and bamboo shoots. Delicious!
Then I got down to write for the evening. It was slow and mostly dialogue so I am going to have to go through it again in detail later. Now that the story is on the way to the flip-side score, I have more decisions to make with regards to handling certain plot lines. I got an issue written, but it proved to be a disappointing day overall.
On a sad note, I caught the news just before I hit the sack (early). Dave Allen died today. I remember watching him at my friend's house every week when his TV show was on the telly. He did sketches but I thought he was always best sitting on his stool with his glass of water talking to an audience. He wasn't afraid to make fun of anything, which is why I think I liked him so much. The Catholic Church was a favourite target for him, but as a devout Irish Roman Catholic himself, he was allowed to. It's the old Celtic thing again: "We can take a joke about ourselves, so we reserve the right to laugh at anything we want" attitude.
And so I'll finish up this blog entry. Tomorrow I will be spending kilted up in the hostelries of Rose Street as we entertain the Welsh who are in town for the Six Nations Rugby match. It proves to be an exciting weekend.
In the words of the late Dave Allen RIP: "May your God go with you."
Colin 9:44 am