Work!

Work! A means to an end? An end in itself? Something to be avoided at all costs? Where would I place myself on the 'work to live....live to work' spectrum? Probably just about here, without giving too much away: always intellectually stimulated, rarely exploited, often emotionally fulfilled. I've been lucky. I'd like to think I'm just about the full pyramid. (See Maslow's hierarchy illustration further on.)

"When Adam delved and Eve span..."

We all started off (as a species) working to live... finding/growing food, building shelters, making clothes, fulfilling the most fundamental physiological needs. Husbandry and wifery (as above, farming and clothes-making), among the top jobs along with building (brick-making, carpentry, stonemasonry), hunting and fishing. Doctors, priests, teachers and soldiers followed, along with philosophers, prostitutes and poets (of course), fulfilling safety and societal needs. It could be argued that by this stage some, with their basic needs catered to, were becoming vocational and living to work. I'll leave you to ponder the pyramid below if you're not familiar with Maslow's ground-breaking 1943 work.

Maslow's hierarchy of needs

I'm not going to get into religion and the rise of capitalism, overlords, underlings, exploitation, slavery and all that. Far too complex an area to cover in 500 words (which is approximately the length a blog should be, though I often disregard that rule of thumb). 

Anyway, I'm retired now, though I still work voluntarily as the Supporters' Liaison Officer for Blackpool Football Club and as the organiser of other volunteers from the fanbase who give of their time on a regular basis to help clean the stadium ready for match days and litter pick the rubbish that is left behind on the terraces after every game, despite tannoy requests to deposit it in bags at the turnstiles on exiting the stadium.

volunteering at Blackpool FC

It was while cleaning the stands at Bloomfield Road recently thar the idea for today's cheeky poem came to mind. It's not to be taken too seriously but there is truth in and between its lines. Any similarity to Henry Reed's famous poem 'Naming Of Parts' is purely intentional. 

Cleaning Of Stands

Today we have cleaning of stands. Yesterday,

Saturday there was a game in the stadium

with the team mis-firing again, And today,

today we have cleaning of stands. Buddleia,

roses and dahlias flower in the neighbouring

gardens, and we have cleaning of stands.

This is the North Stand, the Kop. And this

is where the Ultras sing and swear and drop

pie cases, cigarette butts (though smoking is

banned), plastic bottles and chewing gum while

in the gardens, tangerine blooms sway with

an eloquence our Ultras have not got.

This is the South Stand, which is never full.

It is cold and doesn't get the sun. Its terraces are 

littered with hot dog wrappers, wooden forks, 

empty bovril, coffee, tea and hot chocolate cups. 

Its fans are fragile and motionless, rarely letting 

anyone see a spark of joy or anger.

This is the West Stand, the most expensive seats,

beloved of families whose younger kids slide

excitedly backwards and forwards. We clear up

the remains of picnic lunches, dropped chocolates,

sweet wrappers, an occasional nappy. Those happy

clapping youngsters are tomorrow's Ultras.

And this is the East Stand, it holds the away fans.

It's open at the back, so if the game's boring they

can admire our gardens with their tangerine and topiary.

It's full of plastic beer mugs, pie cases, empty vapes

burst inflatables, stickers  and torn up match tickets,

and today we have cleaning of stands.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Summit Up?

Ever one to strive to avoid the obvious, the Saturday Blog in tackling the theme of  summit  will make no more than passing reference to mountain peaks or high-level political pow-wows (and that was the passing reference.)

In fact, gentle reader, I'm going to subvert it somewhat, tip it upside down and see what truths fall out of the generally accepted notion that being at the top is a permanently happy place.

Those of you familiar with Maslow's Hierarchy will know he suggested that human beings have five levels of need. In ascending order from the most basic they are: physiological (food, water, sleep, shelter et cetera), security (personal, emotional, financial et cetera), social (family, friendship, grouping, coupling and so on), self-esteem (confidence, sense of worth et cetera) and self-actualization (utilising abilities and talents, seeking happiness...the idea that "What a man can be, he must be" - and for man, read human being).

Maslow's basic premise was that you only start getting to grips with a level of need once the one below it is catered for. It's a bit rigid as a concept although it contains some obvious good sense especially at the base end of the pyramid - who after all worries about self-esteem and self-actualization if they're are consumed with finding food to eat or somewhere to sleep safely at night? - but I contend that the sequence of fulfilment becomes a bit topsy turvy the higher one moves up the rank of needs... the social, self-worth and transcendent happiness bits mix up, wax and wane. We can't be constantly "going at our peak" (to quote the magnificent Game Theory).

For example, here I have to quote Hamlet (from the play of the same name):
"What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties, in form and moving, how express and admirable in action, how like an angel in apprehension, how like a god: the beauty of the world; the paragon of animals; and yet to me, what is this quintessence of dust?"

Powerful prose, don't you agree? But he was one depressed (and possibly repressed) Dane; though the point is that no matter what we aspire to in the belief that it will bring us lasting satisfaction (a good job, a happy union, financial well-being, lots of stuff) there will be times when that 'whatever' won't appear to do the trick (unless we are very hollow).

Hollow Henry Hoovering Happily?

Mankind (human kind) may appear to be the crown of creation but that is no cause for arrogance or complacency. Our place on the podium - as individuals and as a species - is not guaranteed.

As if to prove the point, here's something I wrote for World Mental Health Day about the curse of the cur, depression...

Black Dog
When it followed me at first
I thought it must be
someone else's hound
lolloping soundlessly at heel
through the park at dusk,
but there was no one else around.

I shook it off that time
but when it joined me next
as I took my customary evening stroll
I guessed it must have searched me out.

Several times it even followed me home
and I figured it for a stray.
I always turned it away.

More recently I've woken
to find it waiting at the gate.
It never barks, just glowers darkly.
I'd put off venturing forth
till it was gone
although it sometimes made me late.

And now, I don't know how,
it's found a way into the house.
I hear it pacing, breathing,
right outside my bedroom door.

I think I'll never leave my bedroom
anymore...

Hollow Henry's Hellhound

Okay, to lighten the mood, I leave you with a musical bonus: Jefferson Airplane performing  Crown Of Creation  (Just click on the song title to activate the hyperlink.)

Thanks for reading! To thine own self be true, S ;-)

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