Because you're worth it?

Old is bad. Young is good. In our western world, we are constantly told that the ageing process is something unnatural, worth avoiding at all costs.

It upsets me to hear about how old people have been objected to ageism. A TV presenter finds himself sacked, because fresher and trendier shoots want to enter the studio. An old lady - somebody's Nan - is put at the back of the hip operation queue, even though the pain is unbearable and the injury will now become worse, before it gets better. Young first - old last. Age before beauty does not apply to the real world.

Repeating their mantra, celebrities tell me I should get rid of my wrinkles, plump up my lips, squeeze in my tummy and push up my breasts. It's stay-up and hold-in. Fake tan and white teeth. I am not all that concerned personally - I can take it. The relatively few wrinkles I have gained so far, I intend to keep - they're mine! No, I feel more sorry for young girls who grow up under an immense pressure to be perfect. They start worrying about getting older, already in their teens. That cannot be right!  

What about men? Well, there are of course the Berlusconis of this world who do everything to live up to that young image. However - and correct me if I'm wrong - men seem slightly less concerned about their vanity. 

So rooted is our fear of old age, that it is also reflected in our language. We use euphamisms like 'elderly' or 'of a certain age' - instead of saying 'old', which is what we really mean. 

And, how often do we see old lovers or heroes in a blockbuster film? 

I wish we could all be proud of ourselves and be young at heart. You don't have to go to extremes to do it. Not everyone can bungy jump or parachute at the age of 100. I think it is more a case of not giving up, to look at the future even if there is just tomorrow left. 

Old people shouldn't have to fight for their rights. They have accumulated an enormous collective experience which we should make use of, for everybody's future well-being. 

Old people have lived. They know things. Let us respect them for who they are.

War.. what is it good for?

Why is it, we never listen to people who know better?

A strange thing happened to me this morning. I was watching a repeat programme, featuring the "Last Tommy" - Harry Patch, 111 years old. As the last living British person ever to have served in the First World War, he was one of a kind. I had seen this programme before and it had a great impact on me then, as well. You follow this old man back to the battlefield, where he meets his former enemy, tells us how he got injured - and lost his friends.

In the programme, this frail old man goes to meet and shake hands with a German ex soldier. In the Battle of Passchendale, at Ypres, 1917, more than 70,000 British soldiers died. Henry was one of the soldiers in this battle and he had always wanted to come to terms with this part of his life. Now he told this, equally old and frail German man that he didn't hold any grudge against him anymore. They shook hands and smiled to each other. Harry told us to remember the Germans just as we remember our own.

"No." he said, with his weak, hoarse voice, whilst looking out over the war graves. "No, no, no." "Such a waste."

"All wars end round a table. Why not begin wars round the same table? Why waste so many lives before we get to that table? Such a waste."

When watching this today, to the soundtrack of Schindler's List, tears fell down my cheeks. They fell last time I watched it and they fell now. It is such a moving scene and I just couldn't help it.

But this time, a message came through on my phone, saying "Breaking BBC news: Harry Patch dies, 111 years old." This, whilst I was still watching the programme. Strange timing. Strange feeling. Such a loss.

Mums & Dads

After having spent quite a few years in the UK, I have had plenty of time to ponder about cultural and social differences between my native Sweden and this country. One phenomenon that strikes me as occuring more than others, is the way family life is being described in media. The recent reports on swineflu have reiterated this. 

Whenever the word 'children' is mentioned, you can guarantee the word 'mum' is not far away. Be it discussions concerning upbringing, social welfare, teenage pregnancies or, as now, about the swineflu risk, for MUMS and younger children.

One wonders, aren't there any DADS involved, at any stage? Surely, they cannot all be single mums, can they? And, talking of divorce and splitting up - you hardly ever hear anyone mentioning single dads. School-runs are nearly always referred to as carried out by mums. Who takes the children to the surgery for vaccination on news reports? Who makes sure they do their homework and put them to bed? Mums. Mums, mums and mums.

My MOTHER-land Sweden is not always the most perfect country when it comes to social welfare and equality. There is a lot more to be done. Still, I do think it wins the battle of using the remarkable word PARENTS.

Smells Like Teen Spirit

Sometimes in life, feelings come back to you.

Back in the 70s, in my home town of Arvika, Sweden, some clever friends of mine started an alternative music festival. Festivals were the 'in thing' then - as they indeed still are. In the 70s, they were even more so, if they were anti commercial and alternative. ABBA was not an option, as it were.

The Viksholmen festival was just about as alternative as it got. It took place on a little peninsula 'extension' from a public park - accessible only by a small strip of land. The public footpath took you to a small place with fur trees, stones and a natural, arena style stage - as made for a good gig or two.

From Viksholmen, you could look back across our small lake, to the town itself with its street lights reflections shining yellow in the water. I remember thinking it looked just like pictures I had seen of New York's skyline. (Yeah right...) Many summer nights were spent there with friends, during long nordic summer nights which never got dark. Music, guitars, open fire, midge bites, singing together, love and.. refreshments. We only went home once the next day newspaper delivery boys had come out and the birds had started to twitter. 

The Festival was a big thing. Alternative rock bands from all over Sweden came to perform at this little stage, revellers gathered from far afield and special T-shirts were made. Wow. Huge.

I remember the excitement I felt somewhere deep down in my guts. A fantastic, pioneering feeling.

Since then, new generations have taken over. The Viksholmen festival is still going, but its bigger brother The Arvika Festival has just finished another successful event with 22,500 tickets sold and Depeche Mode as their main attraction. 

http://www.arvikafestivalen.se/node/1030

But, as I'm now living far away from Viksholmen and Arvika - I recently realised you can get that feeling in your guts again. I don't think age has got anything to do with it. You either feel it - or you don't. 

I did, when listening to Blur in Hyde Park last Friday. Song 2 hit me stright in solar plexus. 

Wooo hooo!

Twitter rocks!

I have been neglecting this blog long enough now. Time for another post - long overdue! Aware of the repetition, I feel I once again have to praise the social media revolution called Twitter. I wasn't quite sure what to make of this phenomenon in the beginning, but on the recommendation of my son, thought I'd give it a go.

And - boy, am I glad I did. It has given me material enough to write a book, should I want to. That should probably be a 'Twook'. The latest episode would tell about how I became the first ever customer for Tweetalondoncab, met an American 'Social Catalyst and Twitter Guru' at a Central London 'tweet-up', and also how an armchair Blur in Hyde Park dream became reality. 

And if that wasn't enough, I have also just arranged a meeting with an MP, to discuss flood defences. Later on in July, I'm invited to a tweet-up in Lincolnshire. The tweeter in question visited London some weeks ago and we managed to meet up at King's Cross for 10 minutes. Speaking of books... he spent the whole of Father's day to write a book on Twitter, with 140 characters at the time. No - he is not mad, but he did this in memory of his late son who died last year. 

Twitter has meant new friends on the photo-sharing website Flickr, as well. There are some great photographers out there in the real world. Cameras on mobile phones might come across as an unnecessary 'extra' when all you want to do is making phone calls. But - it is a daunting thought that so many people around the country capture so many moments in life and post them for others to enjoy. 

Whenever I feel homesick (for Sweden), I tweet one of my friends over there. She kindly tweets me pictures and updates in both Swedish and English. I'm sure it confuses the hell out of my English speaking tweeps.

So - I'm sticking to Twitter. The only sad bit is that many people who don't 'get' Twitter think it is another Facebook or even worse - some kind of dating site. It couldn't be further from the truth. The thing is, you make of twitter what you want. People on Twitter - also known as 'tweeps' - respect each other. There's a lot of fun banter going on in between the more serious tweet debates. 

My impression is, you trust your fellow tweeps. I give you an example: I just sent a cheque to another person as payment for the Blur tickets. We had built up a good relation between us so she just said "I trust you. I send you the tickets and you send me the cheque later."

Besides, if you don't trust someone, you can always 'unfollow', as us tweeps say when we stop following one and other. You will notice there's a lot of Twitter lingo involved, but you soon get the hang of both hashtags, trends, twitpics, and RTs. And the odd twat!