Last weekend Rozanne, my sister Fiona, her partner Gordon and I decided to spend the weekend in Lisbon, especially since it was Rozanne’s birthday. Where better for her to celebrate? Lots to do, lots to see, lots to eat and, importantly, lots to drink. We left home on a mild, damp Friday by train. Rozanne is becoming more wary of my driving in confined spaces as I get older, hence the train. Also, if you have visited Lisbon, finding your way around with the added hazards of narrow streets, impatient drivers and trams that give way to nobody is exceedingly complex. Interestingly, other than being hospitalised, the three nights would be the longest I had been away from home in over a year. While my luggage is no heavier, it has become much bulkier to ensure that my daytime and nighttime hygiene does not become uncomfortable to me or offensive to others. Pills and medications are easy accompaniments for a trip; it is the other paraphernalia I have to have at all times that makes it a bit more of a challenge, especially to get my head around before staying away from home for more than two nights. It is not difficult to carry. It is the mindset. Ill health, in all its forms, needs a different perspective to ensure things around you remain as normal as possible. Like age, you have to learn to accept it. How you tackle its imposed limitations will dictate how much it will change your life. Luckily, Rozanne has proven to be an excellent ally, ensuring any negativity is quickly despatched.
“If allowed to, your mind will make your health much more debilitating than it really is. Activities and humour are the best weapons in combating this inner enemy.” - Peter McSporran
It was a fantastic weekend with me doing and seeing many things I have never done or would have done in my younger years. Gordon and Fiona, being antique dealers and followers of the arts, ensured that Rozanne enjoyed a more cultural time than if she had just had me as a companion. I know Sarah Dean, a Zambian friend, and she had a great weekend there last year in Lisbon on their own, but while they saw many sights and sounds in the city, they did not focus so much on the culture.
The first night, our dinner was accompanied by ‘Fado’ music. It is traditional music typically sung with the accompaniment of a mandolin and guitar. The lyrics are about the trials and tribulations of the poor and fishermen of Lisbon. No microphones, just strong voices and brilliant musicians on the guitar, especially the mandolin. Stupidly, as it was Rozanne’s birthday, I said I would pay before seeing the cost. Never too old to learn, are we? But this did not in the least dampen the spirit of the evening despite Rozanne being smitten by the dexterity of the fingers of the mandolin player. Or was it the mandolin player? I broke my drinking limit by having a couple of pints of beer followed by red wine during the meal. I also paid for that physically the next day.
The next day, Rozanne and I started later in the morning due to my self imposed debilitation while Gordon and Fiona set off early to the market to see if they could find a bargain antique or two. My second mistake of the weekend occurred immediately upon leaving the confines of the hotel. For those that do not know, Lisbon is built on seven hills, so everywhere you go it is either up or down a hill. Rather than take the funicular tram down the hill, we decided to walk, which nearly destroyed my arthritic knees due to its steepness and the uneven cobbles. This ensured that the rest of the day’s walking would be painful. Despite this, we walked and walked before joining my sister Fiona and Gordon on a three-hour tuk-tuk tour, with the now painful knees cramped around my chin. Such pain to follow that night, although another splendid meal celebrating Rozanne’s birthday was actually on that day. Gordon paid this time; thereafter, we agreed to go Dutch. Not to be outdone, according to my phone, we walked another nine thousand plus steps that day, a remarkable feat for someone whose best since the last surgery has been two kilometres. We visited several viewpoints, churches, tropical botanical gardens, more walking, and historical buildings over the weekend, not forgetting an art gallery—the things one does for love.
What did I learn? The musicians of the Fado impressed me more than the singers, maybe because I do not understand the words; there is a considerable amount of different cultures in the historical past of Lisbon; the churches had colossal wealth, as did many of the merchants of Lisbon, and Lisbon, despite the hills, with its friendly people is a place well worth a visit at any age.
I hardly looked at the TV over the weekend other than to see the status of the fires in California, but on returning home, I stupidly put on the ten o’clock news to hear that AI will rescue Britain's economy and guarantee growth. It was depressing enough watching the news of the fires, with one failure after another being exposed due to the self-proclaimed ‘politically correct’ Governor of California and the Mayor of Los Angeles. Like the wildfires that devastated Australia several years ago, it seems that the environment is best left to control itself rather than have human intervention, which may destroy some obscure flora or fauna. These people have the same mindset as those making the environmental rules in Europe and Britain. Do not ask farmers and countryfolk how best to manage the environment; instead, impose laws and rules based on theoretical perceptions rather than practical experience. As I watched, I was further dumbfounded that by the admission, the Mayor and Firechief had previously announced their focus would be on diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI), spending much of their money and energy on it. OK, but surely not at the expense of experience, efficiency and the infrastructure and equipment ability to do the required job. Reservoirs were empty, and fire hydrants had no water, no means of communication and a lack of experienced leadership all added to the tragedy—a fiasco brought about by poor leadership installed under the self-declared piety of DEI.
“Nowadays socialism is more often dressed up as environmentalism, feminism or international concern for human rights.” - Maggie Thatcher
I have been following events in the UK as it is the place of my birth with trepidation, as there is no point in looking at the self-interested leadership of Zimbabwe. We all know how self serving and bad that is. The UK budget was socialistic-driven, not growth-driven. It was about future consumption, not the growth required for this, unless you want to suggest that net zero infrastructure or higher public servant salaries are measures of growth ignoring the costs. I do not think so; it is the opposite; efforts to achieve net zero will cost many jobs, not only in the fossil fuel industry but also those industries that require cheap energy available at all times, not just when the sun shines and the wind blows. Funnily enough, AI is a huge consumer of energy; I wonder if they considered that before the announcement. But who am I to comment on Net Zero when we have idiots, like J'ust Stop Oilits' some of its strongest exponents, defacing Darwin’s grave in its promotion?
Further, and perhaps the scariest of it all, it attacks the farmers, the custodians of the countryside and the environment along with being the providers of the food even these foolish politicians eat. For Keir Starmer to get up and out of the blue to unilaterally say AI will create wealth through growth in the country without any logical argument strikes me as proof of a desperate man with poor leadership qualities. Up to now, he has been able, as all poor leaders do, to blame his problems on those that came before; Time is now making that argument thin, as it did for that nasty lady North of the border who has just dumped her husband of convenience at no surprise to anyone.
“Managing expectations is a leadership skill. Promising the impossible totally undermines one's leadership.” - Peter McSporran
In Rhodesia, most adults learned about leadership by being involved in the army during the war. The test of good leadership comes out when there is a crisis like the war in Rhodesia or the fires in California. It becomes necessary, and those with weaknesses and poor leadership qualities are soon rooted out. For those of you who do not know, leadership qualities in the Rhodesian army were not just restricted to the officer corps; in the bush, the leaders of the four-man ‘sticks’ combat groups had to have fantastic leadership qualities requiring them to act in any given situation using their leadership skills for their and their ‘troopies’ survival. These leadership qualities were further proven by their success despite, on nearly every occasion, being greatly outnumbered by the enemy—men who were not scared to make the hard decisions without being encumbered with the superficial like DEI.
“Respect is won, not given. Station is given respect, not necessary, of the individual that only comes from one's leadership attributes or ability to carry out your role skillfully.” - Peter McSporran
Looking back, my time in the army gave me some leadership qualities that helped me through my later life, especially my time at the CFU. The nice thing about farmers is that they are not shy to tell you about your flaws to your face. Nor were their wives, for that matter.
“Man (woman) management is the most valuable skill of any leader, in peacetime or war.” - Peter McSporran
As the days came close to my departure from the CFU the usual round of Association and Branch AGMs occurred in preparation for the Annual CFU Congress held in August 1996 I would then hand over my presidency to the next incumbent taking up the leadership of the CFU. In many instances, cocktail party is a rather posh description of these events, with beer and spirits being the favoured tipple.
One night, or rather early morning, in July of that year, I was returning home from the cocktail party that always followed these meetings. Some old hands had told me that when driving home late at night, you should make a special effort to stay alert once you are near home as most accidents occur within the last ten kilometres as you relax, thinking you have made it home safely. That night I did not heed them. After turning off the main Darwendale road at the first corner of the gravel road, I lost control of the car, maybe even because I drifted asleep, I cannot recollect, and shortly thereafter found myself upside down with the car engine next to me in the passenger seat. The gearbox was in the backseat. Luckily there, as if either had been on my side, I would have been dead. I struggled to get out, having the side window as the only escape route. I dropped out into the frozen water at the bottom of the ditch and set off to wake the nearest farmers, friends and neighbours, Hamish and Nancy Black at Wellesley Estate. Hamish delivered me home to an irate wife, Diane, as I looked forward to the ridicule I would receive from the staff and elected members at the CFU when I returned there the following Monday. I did not expect or get any sympathy; the car, a Daewoo, was a write-off, not the best way for the leader of the CFU to depart. To be truthful, the ridicule was much more humorous than critical, and as for the car, the CD player never worked on the gravel roads anyway.
Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.
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