Saving the Planet

What clever clogs we are, geniuses, geniuses at spoiling the planet. Already there is the belief growing more and more that, if humanity is to survive, other planets need to be populated, no doubt sooner or later to go the same way as mother earth, human beings in some ways being as stupid as they are.  It’s like that list someone made up of the Muslim countries in which Muslims were unhappy followed by a list of where they are happy; the US, Britain, France Holland, Sweden, Australia,  etcetera, as they try to turn these host countries into ones similar to the ones they left in which they were unhappy.

It is estimated the Brazilian rain forest has been degraded 28% this year. 28% doesn’t sound so much until one realises it is over a quarter.

Whatever one might feel or not feel about the shark, it is a part of the eco-system and its numbers off the coast of Costa Rica are diminishing at alarming speed. This is because the fishermen believe they have found a way around the law forbidding “finning.” Before the law was passed the shark’s fins were cut off and the shark tossed back into the sea to bleed to death. Apart from the cruelty involved, the sheer wastage of using that small portion of the animal for a delicacy food is deplorable. The fishermen have evidently come to the conclusion they can bypass the law by not tossing the shark into the sea but leaving it to die in the boat before doing so.

American customs have crushed six tons of illegal ivory from small artefacts to full length tusks, the amount they reckon to have come from the death of 2000 elephants.

Got any news or Gossip? Send it …

Locals call the area between Naples and Caserta the "Triangle of Death" because of toxic fumes after waste burning. Some 10 million tonnes of industrial waste has reportedly been dumped in the region over the past 20 years. A spokesman for the environmental group Legambiente, which organized a protest involving 10000 people parading trough Naples, said nearly 440 businesses in central and northern Italy had been taking part in the illegal activity. As more and more illegal dumps are found, the Italian government says it is starting an extensive project of cleaning the contaminated area. The local mafia, the Camorra, is suspected of securing lucrative contracts to dispose of waste and then dumping much of it illegally.

But here are two contrasting stories, one of which gives out just the teeniest bit of light to illuminate our darkness.

 Melissa Bachman, an American hunter has sparked outrage from South Africans after she posted pictures on Facebook of herself smiling behind a dead male lion she killed on Nov 1.

Bachman has a hunting show on US television called Deadly Passion. Her recent hunting trip to South Africa has been met with outrage and resulted in petitions to stop her hunting and getting a visa to return to SA. One can’t help but notice in the photograph that the gun she holds is equipped with a high powered

telescopic sight so the lion was hundreds of yards away, probably static and there was absolutely no danger to the intrepid hunter! What kind of pleasure, what kind of thrill, what kind of satisfaction can that bring? You might as well be shooting at a fair ground target.

And here is the contrasting story. A group of Somalis over a four mile run ran to earth a pair of cheetahs that had been killing their goats, captured them and handed them over to the Kenya Wildlife Authorities. How, one wonders did they manage to pit themselves against one of the fastest animals on earth? Evidently they waited  until the hottest part of the day and then simply kept going until the animals were exhausted – exhausted but still alive – no fucking stupid, grinning American bitch here with her high powered rifle and telescopic sight. Just, what you might call, a bunch of primitive herdsmen who showed her up for what she’s worth and who for me, gave the world, momentarily, that tiny spark of light.

When the last tree has been cut down,

When the last fish has been eaten,

When the last river is poisoned,

Only then will you realize that one cannot eat money.

Teaching maths

Just how I wonder is the world going to get out of this terrible recession that grows worse by the day? Youth unemployment seems to be on a consistent rise with no solution in sight and not just here in Greece. Young Greeks are heading off to other European countries in the hopes of finding work and at the same time youth from those countries are heading for Australia with the same hopes despite the fact that youth unemployment in some places there is as bad as it is here. It is something of a Gordian knot and there is no Alexander to unravel it. As the population explodes and computers advance in technology almost day by day taking over tasks once performed by human beings the situation can only get worse.

Received this from a friend and it is positively so brilliant it makes up today’s Blog.

Subject: Teaching Maths in Britain


1. Teaching Maths In 1970
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100..
His cost of production is 4/5 of the price.
What is his profit?

2. Teaching Maths In 1980
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is 80% of the price.
What is his profit?

3. Teaching Maths In 1990
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is £80.
How much was his profit?

4. Teaching Maths In 2000
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is £80 and his profit is £20.
Your assignment: Underline the number 20.

5. Teaching Maths In 2005
A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habit of animals or the preservation of our woodlands.
Your assignment: Discuss how the birds and squirrels might feel as the logger cut down their homes just for a measly profit of £20.

6. Teaching Maths In 2009
A logger is arrested for trying to cut down a tree in case it may be offensive to religious groups not consulted in the felling license. He is also fined a £100 as his chainsaw is in breach of Health and Safety legislation as it deemed too dangerous and could cut something.. He has used the chainsaw for over 20 years without incident however he does not have the correct certificate of competence and is therefore considered to be a recidivist and habitual criminal. His DNA is sampled and his details circulated throughout all government agencies. He protests and is taken to court and fined another £100 because he is such an easy target.

When he is released he returns to find 'travellers' have cut down half his wood to build a camp on his land. He tries to throw them off but is arrested, prosecuted for harassing an ethnic minority, imprisoned and fined a further £100. While he is in jail again the 'travellers' cut down the rest of his wood and sell it on the black market for £100 cash. They also have a departure BBQ of squirrel and pheasant and leave behind several tons of rubbish and asbestos sheeting.

The forester on release is warned that failure to clear the fly tipped rubbish immediately at his own cost is an offence. He complains and is arrested for environmental pollution, breach of the peace and invoiced £12,000 plus VAT for safe disposal costs by a regulated government contractor.

Your assignment: How many times is the logger going to have to be arrested and fined before he realises that he is never going to make £20 profit by hard work, give up, sign onto the dole and live off the state for the rest of his life?

7. Teaching Maths In 2010
A logger doesn’t sell a lorry load of timber because he can’t get a loan to buy a new lorry because his bank has spent all his and their money on a derivative of securitised debt related to sub- prime mortgages in Alabama and lost the lot with only some government money left to pay a few million pound bonuses to their senior directors and the traders who made the biggest losses.

The logger struggles to pay the £1,200 road tax on his old lorry
however, as it was built in the 1970s it no longer meets the emissions
regulations and he is forced to scrap it.

Some Bulgarian loggers buy the lorry from the scrap merchant and put it back on the road. They undercut everyone on price for haulage and send their cash back home, while claiming unemployment for themselves and their relatives. If questioned they speak no English and it is easier to deport them at the governments expense. Following their holiday back home they return to the UK with different names and fresh girls and start again. The logger protests, is accused of being a bigoted racist and as his name is on the side of his old lorry he is forced to pay £1,500 registration fees as a gang master.

The Government borrows more money to pay more to the bankers as bonuses are not cheap. The parliamentarians feel they are missing out and claim the difference on expenses and allowances.

You do the maths.

Gesture

The Pope has done something quite remarkable, a gesture I should think none of his predecessors would have made. During a walkabout he stopped to intimately embrace a man so hideously deformed that in the photographs one cannot delineate his features. I have to admit even just looking at those photographs it is a bit gut-churning. I doubt very much, no I know, that I would not have been able to do it. This simple gesture must have endeared him to millions, even folk like me who have no truck with religion and who look upon he pope simply as CEO of a very large, mega rich universal corporation probably, taking everything into account, one of the richest corporations there is. Just think of the real estate for starters.

What does one know about the city of Naples, except Elmer Rice wrote a play titled “See Naples And Die” and that it is a hotbed of Mafia type Activity, known as the Camorra, evidently the most ruthless and bloody-minded criminal organisation in the world? Oh yes, there are the naughty murals of Pompeii and there’s Vesuvius of course and but did you know Naples’ patron saint is Gennarius who happens also to be the patron saint of volcanoes? Sounds pretty reasonable.

The Vatican is showing off the sumptuous 'San Gennaro' collection of gems said to be worth more than England's crown jewels; treasure formed of objects donated in tribute to the saint, 70 pieces of sumptuous jewellery transported under heavily armed guard to a museum in Rome. The exhibit features an empty reliquary purportedly holding San Gennaro’s Blood. Blood legend says that 'miraculously' liquefies during religious ceremonies.
Hidden away for centuries, the Treasure of San Gennaro is formed of precious objects donated in tribute. It has rarely left the city and spent centuries locked in a vault, largely forgotten by the wider world.
Known in English as Januarius, the bishop of Naples was martyred in the 3rd century under the Emperor Diocletian. First of all he was supposed to be attacked by wild animals but apparently the animals were loath to do their bit so he was beheaded.
Thousands gather three times a year to see whether a vial of his coagulated blood will turn to liquid, which they believe to be a miracle bringing good fortune to the city.
In the 1520s when Naples was struggling with plague, war and the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, surviving citizens pledged to build a chapel for the saint in return for his protection.
The hoard includes what is thought to be one of the most precious pieces of jewellery in the world - the necklace of San Gennaro, begun in 1679 to adorn a gold and silver bust containing the skull of the saint.
Separate ornate pieces of jewellery were forged together over centuries to make a necklace. These include a cross of diamonds and emeralds donated by French Emperor Napoleon and many gifts from monarchs dating from years when the Kingdom of Naples was a major power. This necklace tells the history of Europe, and includes a relatively humble pair of earrings, the only possession of a commoner spared in a disease epidemic in 1844 who donated the family heirloom to the saint.
But most breathtaking of all, another centrepiece is an enormous golden mitre, the ceremonial headdress of bishops, commissioned to crown the saint's bust in its annual procession and made of 3,300 diamonds and hundreds of rubies and emeralds, given in many separate donations.
So much for the vow of poverty and just add that mitre if nothing else to Rome’s riches.

So where in the scheme of things does money come in as far as god is concerned?

Bill Maher (love the man) on television recently said that southern fundies have given up on Christ’s basic teaching in favour of a ‘f*** you, drop dead’ philosophy applied to anyone who isn’t of their particular persuasion. He tells two stories about tipping in restaurants. In one a group of Christian diners refused to give their young waiter a tip because of his homosexual lifestyle, although they admitted the service was excellent. If they seriously believed by denying him a tip it would change his lifestyle shows you just how stupid, ignorant and bigoted these people can be. The second story involves a receipt across which is scrawled, “I give 10% to God, why should I tip you?”

This is arrant nonsense, what possible need or use has god got for her ten percent? The money isn’t going to line the pockets of his robes but the pockets of her charlatan pastor whose mega-church makes him millions and which he informs his congregation is a gift from god. No, it is not. It is a gift from the gullible, nothing more, nothing less.

Dead to the world

Spent all morning in the doctor’s surgery and all afternoon sleeping to recover so forgot to post Monday’s Blog. Monday is always a bad day for a visit to the doctor and the surgery was packed but Elizabeth won’t be thrown by this. She takes all the time it needs to see to each patient and she must be totally exhausted at the end of the day.

This has nothing to do with my visit but last Saturday I died. You might not find that very interesting but it is very interesting to me as it is always what I imagined death to be like. I was sitting here at the computer and I suddenly realised I had blacked out. I don’t know how long for before I came too in the blink of an eyelid; it could have just been a matter of seconds, could have been longer.

For a while now I’ve tended to doze and drop off and it is when I tend to topple over sideway on the chair that I wake up but this was entirely different.

There was no feeling of sleepiness, no drowsing, no dozing off and, in fact, I didn’t know it had actually happened until I found myself, still sitting upright, staring at the screen slightly bewildered until I realised what had happened – instantaneous black, nothingness, Did my heart for a time stop beating? I don’t know and there was no way of finding out. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. Anyway it was a unique experience.

The blood tests from Monday’s visit to Elizabeth indicate that I have to cut down drastically on the rat poison. Glad of that, I hate the stuff especial as it discolours my arms and hands in so ugly a fashion. The second test indicated anaemia which is probably the cause of (a) dozing off all the time and (b) breathlessness and (c) legs that grow steadily weaker, so Douglas reckons he is going to beef me up on broccoli (hate it) and ox liver (hate it) but I suppose I might as well submit or give way to a wheelchair (hate the very thought.)

The first couple of years I was in England I wrote my first play, “The River of Sand,” set in South Africa natch and a story around the Boer War. Apart from a play reading many years ago it has never been done but I suddenly, a few days ago, decided to look at it again and maybe do some work on it and I am so glad I did. I’m also glad that Chris read it, made some astute criticisms and I realised time- scale wise and character wise I was all over the place. Father at one point became grandfather, brother at one point became nephew etc.So that has now all been set to rights and Chris meanwhile has more ideas I’m waiting to hear about.

The situation in Greece gets worse and worse. The government, having raised the price of heating oil to such an extent that most ordinary people can no longer afford it is now banning wood burning stoves in cities because of smog. How are people expected to keep their houses warm and dry. Already the temperature has dropped and the rain set in.?

Intersex

Story from Facebook - Conversation I had while at work today.

Me: So what do you want to be for Halloween?

Little Girl: I think I should be Thor.

Her Mother: You know that’s a boy, right?

Little Girl: Yeah, and I am a girl and I want to be Thor.

Her Mother: Don’t you want to be something pretty?

Little Girl: Thor is pretty.

Second story – from a proud mum whose seven year old son had broken his arm and, when asked what colour caste he would like, asked for one in pink. The smiling doctor objected, saying pink was for a girl, to which the boy replied with words to the effect there is no blue and no pink, no boy and no girl which wiped the smile off the doctor’s face and the boy got his pink caste.

There have been many instances of actors and actresses successfully entertaining as a member of the opposite sex- drag as it is called, britches part, (female) or female impersonation (male).

Elliot Sailors had a successful career as a female model until she hit thirty. Facing a dramatic decrease in job offers, many models are forced to shift gears as they age. But instead of turning to behind the scenes fashion work or hosting shows like America’s Next Top Model, Sailors pursued a career as a male model. To make herself appear more conventionally masculine, she binds her chest, cuts her hair, and highlights her jaw. She believes that transitioning to male modeling has afforded her more time in the industry as men don’t face the same limited standards of youth: “Men don’t need to look as young as possible, so I have a lot of time,” she tells New York Post. Her life has changed since taking on a male role. She and her supportive husband are often considered to be a gay couple, and she realizes that people rarely hold doors open for her. She now prefers dressing down and going out without make-up. Let's hope her actions encourage others to challenge gender norms in fashion and lead to less rigid standards for youth in female modeling. 

 “Male and female created he them” and there you have it, one or the other, masculine or feminine and nothing in between. Unfortunately for those of a religious bent who believe this it simply isn’t true. M. or F. on a birth certificate places a person squarely in one corner or the other but what if a person doesn’t’ exactly fit in either box?

Research in the late 20th century has led to a growing medical consensus that diverse intersex bodies are normal—if relatively rare, 1 in 1500 or 1 in 2000 —forms of human biology. The great designer either meant it or his screwdriver slipped along the way.

This pink and blue thing is nonsense'

 Germany has become the first country in Europe to allow babies with the characteristics of both sexes to be registered as neither male nor female, with the introduction of an X designation on passports to follow. Parents are now allowed to leave the gender blank on birth certificates, in effect creating a new category of "indeterminate sex". The move is aimed at removing pressure on parents to make quick decisions on sex assignment surgery for newborns. Sometimes surgery is done on the baby to turn its physical characteristics as far as possible in one direction or the other. In one case, a person with no clear gender-defining genitalia was subjected to surgery. The person said many years later: "I am neither a man nor a woman. I will remain the patchwork created by doctors, bruised and scarred. Hopefully those days are over despite the problems intersex may cause.

Sarah Graham, an intersex woman says there is "absolutely no visibility for intersex people in the world." She said many intersex people were happy with their gender, but "it would be nice... to have a box where you can choose to come out... as an intersex person."

How many intersex persons like gays unwilling or unable to admit their sexuality are still in the closet? But the world in parts is changing.

Australians have had the option of selecting "x" as their gender - meaning indeterminate, unspecified or intersex - on passport applications since 2011. A similar option was introduced for New Zealanders in 2012.

In South Asia, Bangladesh has offered an "other" gender category on passport applications since 2011.

Nepal began recognising a third gender on its census forms in 2007 while Pakistan made it an option on national identity cards in 2011.

India added a third gender category to voter lists in 2009.

Though transgender or intersex people have long been accepted in Thailand and are officially recognised by the country's military, they do not have any separate legal status. But, Germany now apart, in our Western world they don’t even have recognition.

Audiences

The famous nineteenth century American classical actor, Edwin Booth, noted particularly for his Hamlet said to be the greatest ever; brother to the probably better known John Wilkes Booth, also an actor but more notorious for his assassination of Abraham Lincoln during a performance of Our American Cousin  at Ford’s Theatre, would have no truck with noisy audiences. He played the major theatres both in America and Europe and earned for himself the accolade “The prince of players.”

One story has it that Booth was playing in Boston on a winter’s night that must have been cold and wet and the audience were coughing; the coughing seemingly getting worse as the evening went on until finally Booth had enough and walked offstage leaving the audience slightly bewildered as to what was going on.

He was away for some time during which they coughed and whispered among themselves wondering what was happening. Eventually he returned and stood downstage centre with one arm behind his back, making no move until you could hear the proverbial pin drop at which point he withdrew his arm and threw a large fish into the audience with the remark – “Get on with that you bloody barking sea lions and we’ll get on with the play.”

In more recent times, John Wood in ‘King Lear’ stopped the performance to politely say, “Will you please stop coughing?”

What’s prompted this Blog is a recent newspaper article – Noisy drummers, mobiles ringing, people chatting and late-comers are among the reasons performers have been compelled to take action.

The drummers were evidently busking and Dame Helen Mirren left the theatre to remonstrate with them. Modern audiences are expected to be quiet but this has not always been the case. It may have started off with the Victorians who never said they were going to “see a play,” but “going to hear a play.” With the advent of film and particularly television we are more inclined to watch than to listen which is why maybe modern actors don’t know how to speak but mumble their way through performances. Sitting at home watching television one can usually chatter to one’s heart’s content or at least pass remarks loudly and unfortunately it would seem this behaviour has been carried over into the theatre by many and any amount of shushing around them only makes matters worse. Also with modern cutting in film audiences are not expected to sit through long dialogue scenes and in consequence with many their attention span is decidedly limited and with time seems to get shorter and shorter.

Except for comedy when laughter is encouraged (an actor cannot hear a smile) an audience is expected to maintain a certain decorum. Acting requires intense concentration that can be broken say by the sudden ringing of a mobile phone. On one occasion evidently the actor Richard Griffiths was so incensed he told the unfortunate culprit to leave the theatre and never come back. Kevin Spacey was more stylish snapping out “Tell them we’re busy.” Unfortunately it is not just the ringing that is a curse in the theatre. People are so addicted to their phones they are simply unable to leave them alone: tweeting, texting, Googling, emailing or photographing. Put the phone away for a minute and they start suffering withdrawal symptoms.

Variety shows and that strange hybrid Christmas entertainment the modern pantomime are different of course. With pantomime the audience is encouraged   to make as much noise as they like joining in the jollifications. It is probably the first experience a British child has of the theatre and, as Arthur Askey so famously said, leaving it with the smell of oranges and pee-pee.

Before the curse of the mobile phone actors  had other reasons to wish an audience better behaved though possibly they were so used to mayhem in the theatre it didn’t phase them one little bit. Elizabethan audiences, Restoration, Georgian used the playhouse as a meeting place, to see and be seen, to gossip, to pick up prostitutes. A favourite few were granted the freedom of the green room backstage and the privilege of being seated on stage and becoming almost a part of the performance. Duels were not unknown and claques were paid to disrupt with as much noise as they could manage, and occasionally there were riots. When in the theatre of today did we ever have a riot?

I can join the distinguished few who have stopped a show in order to remonstrate with an audience. In my case I was playing George in “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf” in Hamburg, a school matinee and the auditorium packed. At the top of Act Two George has a very long speech that requires the utmost concentration and the noise was getting worse and worse until halfway through I stopped, turned to face them, and came up with a little impromptu speech of my own which went something like, “Is it too much to request that you make a little less noise please?  This is not a television show, neither are you in a movie house. We are flesh and blood up here. If you can hear us, we can hear you. Now, if we can have a little less noise, I will start all over again.” Which I did to a deathly silence which continued until the moment George gets knocked down in a fight. This raised a universal spontaneous cheer which I have to admit made me smile. They liked that and showed it with a round of applause so we were friends again.

I believe the noise problem in this case was more understandable because the kids were listening to a play in a second language and if there was something they didn’t understand they might very well have been asking their neighbour to explain. I think they can be forgiven for that. At least none if them used their mobile phones – that is, I don’t think so.

In the Stars

Man proposes, God disposes or, in my case as I don’t believe in God, fate disposes or, the best laid plans of mice and men gang aft aglae – Robbie Burns, the common man’s philosopher. Did he also say ‘If at first you don’t succeed try try again? Nobody seems to know who was the first to say that or something similar but if you took it to heart you could end up either exhausted or bankrupt in more senses than one. Then in the words of a popular song, “Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again.” It’s comforting I suppose when ruminating on one’s failures in life rather than blaming oneself, to be able to place blame fairly and squarely elsewhere. Born in the wrong place at the wrong time, being of the wrong colour, the wrong religion, the wrong sex, having the wrong appearance, the wrong physical make-up, genes, an unhappy childhood, bad parenting, no parenting, the people one has loved in vain, the people who have loved you, the people who haven’t loved you, disliked you, maybe even hated you, lack of opportunity, opportunities missed, it’s all in the stars and, of course, ultimately God, the lap of the Gods if you’re religious, or fate. if you are not.

There are a number of reasons why a play fails, should it ever get as far as to be produced in the first place, and nobody has ever discovered the magic formula for achieving this miracle. It could of course be a not very good play in the first place but otherwise it’s the fault of the producer who didn’t foresee a sea of troubles that could have been avoided, it’s the wrong director (too often he believes he is a better playwright than the playwright, his ego won’t permit otherwise, this also applies to certain actors.) It’s the wrong time, the wrong cast, the wrong venue; it’s the weather, and the critics. Take Joe Orton’s “Loot” for example. Directed by Peter Wood it opened in Cambridge in 1964 with Geraldine McEwan. Kenneth Williams, Duncan Macrae and Ian McShane and the play was a complete flop due to problems with repeated script rewrites, uneven direction, wrong set design, miscasting and bad reviews. It was successfully revived the following year at the Jeanette Cochrane Theatre with a different cast and directed by Charles Marowitz. It then transferred to the Criterion, opened on Broadway, A huge award-wining hit it has since played theatres all over the world and filmed in 1970. As well as delighting audiences the actors love it as I know from personal experience having been cast as Inspector Truscott in a production at Derby.

I can personally come up with three examples of bad timing: before its time ‘The River of Sand,’ set in South Africa, sent to Granada TV. The reply? ‘Who’s interested in South Africa?’ Later came Sharpeville and suddenly the whole world was interested in South Africa. Of course it couldn’t be produced in South Africa because of apartheid and its mixed cast. ‘The 88’ produced at The Old Vic opening just a few days after the murder of Louis Mountbatten and the critics had a ball, admitting they were incensed that the play, being an Irish subject, should have gone on though the play had absolutely nothing to do with the IRA. The first play I had produced at Ipswich ‘Oh Brother’ has a black man as its lead. It got favourable reviews but a well-known London impresario came up to me after a performance , said what a jolly good play it was, but who was interested in seeing a black actor playing the lead in a West End theatre? Some years later the RSC even had a black actor playing an English king. Actually there was a fourth piece of mistiming, ‘Between two Sighs,’ but I have already written about that one.

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves? So what about the stars?  Many years ago when I was much younger I religiously bought “Prediction” magazine every month in the hope that my stars would tell me of some immediate or close by good fortune just waiting for the right alignment. Was it Gypsy Petrolengo who was the resident astrologer? I forget. Like I say it was a long time ago. Every Friday now we get The Daily Mail as it contains film, theatre, and book reviews and every Friday I turn simply from habit to Jonathan Cainer to read his prediction for the week ahead. Is he any better than Gypsy Petrolengo or Mystic Meg? Well he is certainly more literate, fanciful and more interesting in a chatty sort of way with none of the Uranus is retrograde, Venus in the ascendant stuff but actually he doesn’t tell you much. Yes great things are going to happen but each week follows each week with little if any change. The change is usually announced in a footnote, a footnote I might say that is exactly the same for every star sign. “I looked into your future and recorded a very special forecast. It will touch your heart and lift your spirits.” Needless to say it will cost you a phone call to find out what it is.

So having long since stopped believing in the efficacy of prayer or in a supreme divinity it worries me not what the stars might foretell. There might be more things in heaven and earth, Horatio than are dreamt of in your philosophy but che sera sera, I am happy just to be who I am. It has on the whole been a good life for which I am extremely grateful and who knows? The stars might produce the goods yet.