MEDITATION 102

MEDITATION 102

As I sit here by my candle and look out to my garden as evening approaches, I am reflecting that my own evening is approaching too. I hope it will be as still as this one and that my own light will fade as gently and almost imperceptibly as the light is fading now. But then perhaps I will not notice it fading. For who notices the light fading in the evening unless they sit still for several hours and watch it fade. I am not yet ready to sit still for a length of time unless it be to read or write or watch a performance in a theatre or a film in a cinema. “I’ve still got a lot of living to do’ as the song says. I remember the line from the lyrics but not the song!

Do people notice their light is fading? I suppose they do. If they do and if I will eventually I hope my light fades to a beautiful twilight – my favourite time of day – and then gently fades out.

I promise you this will not be a maudlin meditation, reflecting on old age. I have not been thinking about the years ahead – hopefully there will be years! Quite the opposite. I have been thinking about my youth. This has led me to think about my life now as well. It was so many years ago since I was a teenager. What a journey I have travelled in the interim.

It is important I think to look back and see how far we have travelled. This is not necessarily a reflection for retirement but for any time of our lives, even if we are still young. This can be a positive exercise and can help us to get closer to ourselves. And also enable us to look at our younger selves with a greater understanding, even compassion.

I once attended a workshop at the National Theatre given by the Scottish director Bill Bryden. He spoke of every character in a play having a journey: a physical journey; an emotional journey and sometimes a spiritual journey. It is a way for an actor to approach their role. I think it is a way for us to approach ourselves too: to look back and see where we have travelled from and important places we have visited on the way; to see how we may have changed as a person and also to explore our own spiritual journey, perhaps for the first time.

Two years ago, I attended a reunion as a result of one of my meditations. In one of them, I had mentioned being a member of Teesside Youth Theatre when I was a teenager. Another member, Paul, somehow found my blog and so found me again after all those years. We arranged the reunion of some of us at Ormesby Hall near Middlesbrough, which was where we rehearsed sometimes, in the large kitchen. From this several other old members have joined us and we are giving a dramatic presentation at the Hall in September, as part of their Heritage week. It is called appropriately ‘Drama in the Kitchen.’

Dear me: we are part of a building’s heritage now! Well the Youth Theatre ran from 1970 – 77, a long time ago. Have you noticed that word ‘heritage’ on restaurant menus? ‘Heritage carrots’ or ‘heritage potatoes’ as if someone has left a sack of Jersey Royals to someone in their will! But I digress.

We will be reading scenes from plays of course and sharing anecdotes with the audience. I was only a member for the first two years before going off to Oxford. What I had forgotten was that along with performing, some of us wrote poems. An anthology of these poems was published (in a makeshift way) and Shelagh, Paul’s sister, has kept her copy. So we will be reading a select few in the presentation too. She scanned her copy and sent it to us. I looked through it the other day and discovered four of my poems in the book.

I had forgotten about the anthology and I had forgotten I had written the poems. I did write poetry then, when I was in the sixth form. I remembered that. And I have written poetry since but intermittently – no rarely.

There is a lot of alliteration in them. I’ve always loved alliteration and I can’t help myself using it in my writing. Two poems are about the industrial area I grew up in and one is an anti-war poem too (trendy at the time but a stance I have always taken). Young people of my own age feature in them as might be expected. One poem is religious about the Crucifixion of Jesus and quite graphic and devotional. I had a kind of faith even then. There are none about the sea. I grew up near the sea and would work out the angst burning in me by walking by the waves. I remember writing poems about the sea. I have an old folder somewhere ….

I will not say that I was shocked when I read my poems again. But it was a strange experience seeing my much younger self behind the words. They weren’t intensely autobiographical. I did not bare my soul in them. I don’t think I would have offered them for the anthology if they were. I was, perforce, secretive abut my sexuality then, although my feelings were very intense and I did struggle. Looking back I should have tried to work out that struggle in my poems or in a play. But I didn’t because I was a teenager and scared to be open (as teenagers still are about their sexuality in the main I guess). Instead I was reticent and became customarily so.

Yes, my much younger self behind the words: alone, separate, different, almost an outsider in the world I grew up in. Yet I was accepted or tolerated: bright, academic and of course an actor and would-be director (which the Youth Theatre encouraged). My father called more Shakespeare sometimes (what a compliment). He also called me Tchaikovsky because of my interest in classical music – but ironic since Tchaikovsky was gay – maybe he knew something even then. I was a high achiever and a performer but deep down, lacking in self esteem and quite lonely at times. The final poem is about waking up in the morning and feeling lonely.

Dear me, these poems have evoked so many memories. I wish I could embrace my younger self standing alone on the shore and looking out to sea. And tell him that all will be well. It has been well on the whole. In the interim.

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

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Retirement

Reflection

Spirituality

Bill Bryden

National Theatre

Acting theory

Teesside Youth Theatre

Ormesby Hall

Poetry

Alliteration

Sexuality

Shakespeare

Tchaikovsky

MEDITATION 101

As I sit here by my candle once more while the light slowly fades to summer twilight, I am filled with a sense of ennui. Having finally reached my one hundredth meditation, I am at a loss as to how begin the next one. What shall I reflect upon next?

A friend has come to my rescue. As this is Meditation 101, he suggested I might write something in the style of the TV programme ‘Room 101’. In the programme, (which I have rarely seen) celebrities are interviewed about their pet hates and have to chose several things that persistently annoy them. They have to persuade the host to assign their hates to oblivion in ‘Room 101’. Room 101 is taken from George Orwell’s novel ‘1984’. In the novel, Room 101 is a torture room which reputedly contains ‘the worst thing in the world.’ The pet hate of the celebrity is signified by a prop, which, if the host is persuaded, is thrown down a chute to disappear into the bowels of the earth, where Room 101 is presumably situated. The irony about the programme is that although the celebrity may succeed in assigning their pet hate to oblivion, no doubt they will still be aggravated by it once the programme is over!

I am grateful to my friend for his suggestion but, on reflection, I feel that a meditation based on my pet hates would be rather negative, especially as this is the first meditation of hopefully the next one hundred. It could dissolve into a rant and I have rarely been a ranter in my life, (I hope!). Moreover, it would cease to be a meditation and would become a tirade. Besides I would emerge from the meditation as a ‘grumpy old man’, which is is not a persona I would like to cultivate nor project. I do hope I haven’t given that impression in my previous meditations.

Whenever I do find myself getting rather grumpy or even strident about something I often correct myself by saying ‘Dear me, I am sounding like Victor Meldrew’ to whoever I am conversing with. You may remember that Victor Meldrew was the main character in the sitcom ‘One Foot In The Grave’ and was the retired grumpy old man par excellence. This was mainly because so many things went wrong around him and because he tended to be accident prone.

My friend’s suggestion, however, has given me cause for reflection. Am I becoming crusty and curmudgeonly in my senior years, I ask myself? I certainly hope not. I must admit to being quite self-opinionated at times. But then it is important to have strong opinions. Having a strong opinion is different from being crusty and curmudgeonly and applies to people of all ages, not just seniors. And strong opinions are very different from pet hates.

It is important to have an opinion, a stance on issues in the world around us, some of which are being debated in the lead up to the Election. They are in the air at the moment. In fact, an election can and should bring our opinions into relief and focus them. It could even lead someone to rethink their opinion. There is nothing wrong about being forthright in our opinions on current affairs. We are in a democracy and have the freedom to express our opinions. This is a very precious freedom and should be exercised.

However, it is one thing to be forthright, but another to force our opinions on others in conversation. I must confess to having a tendency to do this myself sometimes, even on the phone. I go into lecture mode. It is the teacher in me I suppose. Perhaps it also stems from living alone and not having the opportunity to continually converse with another person. Perhaps I am not very used to relaxed conversation. No doubt, any of my friends who are reading this will now quickly get together to find me a companion to shut me up!

Inevitably I do have strong opinions about anything to do with Drama: plays, operas, films, TV. It is my passion after all, indeed it is in my DNA. Passions and enthusiasms are always accompanied by strong opinions. Drama to me is what football is to others. Whenever I see a production or a film or TV Drama, my critical faculty goes into overdrive.

I can therefore be overcritical at times. I often discuss TV dramas with my sister on the phone and not only does she tell me not too tell her the ending if she hasn’t seen the drama or episode before but also not to tell her what I think about it! I can get annoyed by long drama series on streaming platforms like Netflix, which expand the plot of the drama to breaking point and overstay their welcome. I am sure, you may agree with me, dear reader.

A few months ago, I went to a wonderful production of Eugene O’Neill’s classic drama ‘Long Day’s Journey Into Night’ starring Brian Cox. I waxed lyrical (and in detail) about the outstanding performances afterwards to my friends who were with me. One said to me, ‘Now tell me what is wrong with the production, like you usually do.’ He was so used to the drama critic in me that he was waiting for the negative comments.

I may sometimes come across as being crusty and curmudgeonly in my reactions to new innovative productions, as if I have become a reactionary theatregoer. As if I am a kind of cultural Victor Meldrew: there I am seated in the audience and loudly exclaiming ‘I don’t believe it!’ if there is something on stage I don’t like. I must admit that I have not said it, but I have thought it sometimes!

But generally if I am adverse to an avante garde production or an updated version of a classic play, it is because, in my opinion, the director’s concept does not serve the play (or opera for that matter) and their bold, radical, new staging may put unnecessary demands on the performers. In other words, the production is all about the director’s concept and not the play or opera itself – nor in some cases, about the cast either!

Not all innovative productions are to my taste, I admit, but many are. I may have a jaded pallet from years of theatre-going but I can still become excited by them. In May, I had the privilege of attending an international children’s theatre festival in Kaposvar in Southern Hungary. It was a biennial festival organised by my dear friends from the Kolibri children’s theatre in Budapest, where my school drama students performed over many years (since 1996).

Eastern Europe has a strong tradition of children’s theatre, which we sadly do not have here in the UK (although the Polka Theatre in Wimbledon and the Unicorn Theatre in London do have impressive programmes). That tradition has embraced all the possibilities of modern theatre advances in digital image projection, sound, lighting, puppetry and music as I witnessed in the highly creative and sophisticated productions I saw in Kaposvar. The impetus behind this is that children of whatever age deserve the best of Theatre presentation. The audiences of children and young people at Kaposvar were totally engaged in the performances.

Two productions in particular stood out for me. One was a dance drama performed by a youth dance group based on the Hungarian legend of ‘Prince Csongor and Tunde’ which had a striking mix of modern dance and ballet and poetic digital projections and lighting and a haunting music score creating moments of real beauty. The other was the Kolibri’s own show, a thriller for the 16-18 age group called ‘Traitor’ based on a UK script. In the performance the action of the play was directed at times by the audience themselves, using a specially created App for mobile phones which were attached to the seats in the studio theatre. It was a truly innovative presentation and totally gripping.

You have probably noticed, dear reader, that a few of my pet hates regarding Drama have crept into this meditation! ‘Pet hates’ is a strong phrase to use for something that we dislike. We all have our likes and dislikes. What a strange phrase it is. It is far too strong a phrase for what are in reality only personal annoyances that niggle us and upset our equilibrium.

It is as if, like a pet, hates can be housed, nurtured, fed, stroked, pampered, taken for a walk and exercised. Sadly true hatred can. As can the invidious prejudices which arouse hatred. Hatred is being taken for a walk and exercised vigorously in the tragic wars we are witnessing at present. Hatred and prejudice are also being exercised, although kept on a tight lead, within certain manifestos in our upcoming General Election and in the public debates and discussions surrounding it. But then, just as we frequently see a dog on a lead in a street or park, so we can unfortunately see prejudice and intolerance if we look for it.

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

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‘Room 101’ – TV and radio programme Theatre production

George Orwell Kaposvar, Hungary

‘1984’ Eastern European Theatre Practice

‘One Foot In the Grave’ Polka Theatre, Wimbledon

General Elections Unicorn Theatre London

Drama Criticism Netflix

‘Long Day’s Journey Into Night’ ‘Prince Csongor and Tunde’

Eugene O’Neill ‘Traitor’

Brian Cox

MEDITATION 100!

Her we are! The one hundredth meditation! Thanks to those of you who have been following them since the first one in September 2018! And once again sincere thanks to my dear friend and ex-student Henry Riley who has posted most of them over the years. Henry is now a reporter for LBC radio and probably hot on the Election trail as I write this.

I am sitting here in my lounge beside a lighted candle, which is where these meditations began over five years ago. In that time, some of these meditations have also been written in my kitchen or my office or on my travels in a hotel room or when staying with family or friends. Like Marcus Aurelius, my inspiration, they have sometimes been written away from home, in moments of stillness whilst on the move.

As I sit here I am reflecting upon the byline, the description of the blog which I wrote all that time ago. I ask myself whether these meditations have been true to my original intention. Have I written about ‘life, acting and trying to be human’ in them, I ask myself. I have certainly written about acting and actors and about theatre arts in general and films and opera too. I have commented upon productions I have seen and, in the earlier meditations, about my own final productions at my school.

Have I written about life? Well, I have had my philosophical moments in these posts, I hope. At least I have referred to Marcus’ own maxims and therefore his philosophy and tried to apply it to the lives we are living. I’ve also mentioned other writers in the same vein such as the French novelist Marcel Proust and Shakespeare of course. It is writers such as these who have helped me to make sense of life and still do, along with the Bible and other plays and novels I have seen and read.This begs the question who helps you to make sense of life, dear reader?

This was the ultimate aim of Marcus’ ‘Meditations’: to try to make sense of his own life using the Stoic philosophy he had been taught as a young man and which influenced his outlook for the rest of his life. His own meditations were reflective and retrospective. He was very much looking back on his life and trying to learn from his own experience. It must be remembered that it was a very personal document and not for the eyes of others, at least until he died. He was reflecting on his past life so as to live his present one.

I hope there has been something of that in my own meditations. However I fear there has not been enough. I have not been as reflective or as philosophical as I might I have been.

Marcus, being retrospective in the main, makes little reference to his own times. But then I suppose as Emperor he was above current affairs and political machinations. They would all be happening in Rome anyway and he spent most of his reign away from Rome. I suppose as Emperor, you are ‘current affairs’! In my own meditations I have commented on the here and now as well as referring to events and moments in my past.

This morning, I was reminded of Shakespeare’s “Hamlet’, and the moment when the Prince says of the strolling players who visit the castle Elsinore: ‘They are the abstracts and brief chronicles of the time’. I hope this blog has been an abstract and brief chronicle of our own times, turbulent as they have been. I also hope I have been able to make some sense of them.

In that phrase it is as if Shakespeare, in mid-career as a playwright and actor, is appreciating for the first time the power and importance of theatre. In this one phrase he encapsulates the Drama form. A play (and therefore its actors) attempt to present in concentrated form (an ‘abstract’) a complicated political situation or intricate relationships between people. Plays (and actors) are the ‘brief chronicles of the time’ because a play is brief and ephemeral and lasts for as long as the performance unless read afterwards (as his plays were). He was unaware of future advances in technology, of course, the ability to record and preserve a performance on film, radio or now streaming.

But, by ‘brief chronicles’ I think he was also alluding to the passage of time: political situations and relationships do not last forever. Current affairs are ‘current’ and soon become yesterday’s news. Things move on with time.

The pandemic was a prominent event in my blog but we have now lived through the pandemic even though it was an uneasy time and we may have thought it would never end. It is now effectively a historical event, though some sadly are still suffering from long Covid and mourning the loss of loved ones. We have lived through the sad death of Queen Elizabeth II, which in its own way created an unease, and have a new King, Charles III. She is now history too. Brexit is now history though we will live with the consequences of leaving the European Union for decades to come. The wars in Ukraine and Palestine as sadly still with us and we hope that they will end soon and become history too. We are approaching a General Election. The current government may become history too after July 4th!

There is an unease that is currently affecting our society. It is not the unease caused by an election. It is a more subtle malaise: the malaise of mistrust: in institutions, political leaders, doctors, teachers – the list goes on. Whichever party is returned on July 4th, they will meet with mistrust. This is caused by the constantly negative comments in the media. Social media exasperate this situation by sometimes alarmist and ill considered posts. It is time we learnt to trust again, at the very least to trust our own instincts. And to reflect, to consider and cease relying on knee jerk reactions to the media and social media.

Time moves on for us all. We too will become history. My retirement and reaching the age of 70 has made me reflect on my own mortality. However, I am not sitting here with a skull on my desk as a ‘memento mori’ or gazing into the empty eye sockets of a skull as Hamlet did in the graveyard scene!

Needless to say, having reached this milestone, of one hundred meditations, I have wondering whether to carry on with them. Thinking to myself just now, I can see that, yes, as look back on my own meditations. I have not been reflective enough on my own experience of life. I have not been as philosophical as I might. Have I written about trying to be human? Perhaps that is for you to decide, dear reader.

Marcus writes, ‘An arrow flies in one way, the mind in another. Yet even when it is keeping alert or circling round an enquiry, the mind moves no less directly and straight to its target.’ Even when I may have been circling around a topic, I hope I have hit the target, occasionally!

So here’s to the next hundred! And I hope you will continue reading!

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

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Philosophy Politics

LBC Radio Pandemic

Election 2024 Brexit

Shakespeare Queen Elizabeth II

‘Hamlet’ King Charles III

Marcel Proust Retirement

Current Affairs Ukraine War

Palestine War The Bible

Theatre/Drama

MEDITATION 99

I am sitting here at a table without a candle beside me for once. I am not in my own home looking out to my garden today either. Neither am I emulating my inspiration, Marcus Aurelius, by composing this meditation in a tent, as he did on his military campaigns. I am however in transit as he often was. I am sitting in an airport lounge awaiting my plane on the first leg of my journey home from British Columbia in Canada.

The other day I realised that it is 20 years since my first visit here to family, who live near Victoria on Vancouver Island. I have been virtually an annual visitor so I have grown to know the area quite well and have made friends with other people here in Sidney by the Pacific Ocean. The town has changed considerably since my first visit. I suppose I have noticed these changes as I am always a visitor rather than a resident.

My friends and family who live here have noticed the changes too of course. The town has grown with endless rebuilding as old properties are transformed into new apartment blocks and shops change ownership and usage. I have been saddened by two of these in particular.

A cosy characterful pub/diner called the ‘Rum Runner’ on the waterfront is now no

more having been transformed into a designer style restaurant with a bar in an island in the centre. It is part of a local chain called ‘Jacks’. I was fortunate to be here a year ago in the final week of the Rum Runner before its demise and had the chance to say farewell to Bill, the owner. It was quite emotional as so many of his ‘regulars’ were calling in to say goodbye too. The place had a warm atmosphere which its reincarnation lacks and probably never will have. How can grey and white walls have atmosphere compared with warm dark brown ones?

This week as I walked down Beacon, the Main Street, I noticed that Beacon Books is also now no more. It was a wonderful second hand bookstore with shelves groaning under a cornucopia of titles which were also stacked neatly on the floor. The store even had its own cat which used to recline beside the counter in the centre. It was quaint and quirky as the town used to be. Thankfully there still two other second hand bookstores but how long will they last? Beacon Books is now the home of a soon to be opened kitchen for ready meals to take home. Another kind of nourishment I suppose.

It was the quaintness and quirkiness of the town that attracted me at first along with the quiet beaches and breathtaking vistas of the Pacific Ocean: the grey mounds of the small islands nearby and in the far distance Mount Baker, breaking the horizon. The driftwood too strewn along the beaches and blanched white by the waves, fascinated me with its strange shapes. Only the other day I noticed a piece that looked like an cobra raised by some invisible snake charmer.

My infrequent visits to the town eventually led me to begin writing short stories about the place. The collection of stories is appropriately titled ‘Driftwood’ and I have renamed the town Driftwood too.

Of course the town in the stories is Sidney and it isn’t: it is a fictional fantasia on the place and the area. Both the pub and the bookstore are featured in the stories. In fact they each have a story to themselves. I have aimed at accuracy of detail, although over these last few years as the town has changed, it bears less and less resemblance to the town I have created, which is perhaps a good thing.

Sidney itself attracts seniors and it has developed into a retirement haunt. The stories are therefore about the people who drift into the town to retire there and the regrets and secrets of their past lives which they are trying to escape from, perhaps, but will inevitably have to face.

As the French 19th Century novelist, Emile Zola once wrote: ‘We are like books. Most people only see our cover, the minority only read the introduction, many people believe the critics. Few will know our content.’ The stories are about the calm exterior – ‘the cover ‘ if you like of their quiet placid lives in this gentle sleepy town contrasting with the turbulent ‘content’ within.

As an aside, Zola’s words also remind me of how social media works: encouraging everyone to make quick judgments of people and the news and sometimes complicated issues. We are encouraged to swiftly scan the cover and to quickly criticise, after scarcely digesting what is often in reality barely an introduction. Therefore we are unable to comprehend the content.

During my stay here this week I have resolved to finally revise and complete my collection of stories and to hopefully self-publish them on the internet. So watch this space! Hopefully I will have been able to delve into and present the ‘content’ of my characters

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

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Marcus Aurelius

Travel

British Columbia

Victoria BC

Vancouver Island

Sidney BC

Pacific Ocean

Beacon Books, Sidney BC

The Rum Runner Pub, Sidney BC

Jacks Bar, Sidney BC

Emile Zola

Social Media

Self Publishing

My apologies!

The latest post is for another blog I am writing as I am a Benedictine oblate, It may interest you or may not.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible!

Neilus Aurelius

MEDITATION 98

As I sit here looking out of my kitchen window, even though we are now in April, the weather still looks like November. It is rainy and cold. Only a vase of golden daffodils

near my lighted candle suggests that we have arrived in Spring. They are quite resplendent and along with the pink haze of camellias under the window, have lifted my spirits on this dreary day.

I am writing this meditation on my I pad and my smart phone is sitting beside me, eagerly awaiting my attention. Smart phones are insistent, aren’t they? One might say persistent. Several years ago, I read somewhere that a prominent businessman called his mobile phone ‘his mistress to be obeyed’. So it seems to me at times. Dear me, I have a mistress -and close to hand! Who would have thought it of me?

As I look from my I pad to my phone. I am reminded that Marcus Aurelius would not have the advantage of modern technology, writing over eighteen centuries ago. He may have written on a tablet, but it would be very different from the one I am writing on at the moment. Moreover, a scribe may have been writing his thoughts down on his wax tablet for him. There would have been no mobile phone to distract him from his train of thought. However, Marcus would have found the internet extremely useful to maintain control over the vast Roman Empire, even from the far flung military outposts in Northern Europe where he spent most of his reign.

Recently I have been quite disconcerted by the new phenomenon of people talking to themselves in the street. They are not really talking to themselves but into an invisible microphone, hidden in the white ‘buds’ in their ears which are connected without wires to their phone. ‘White buds’ – we are in Spring again! It appears we have now moved on from talking into a hand held device. We are in the age of blue tooth. The blue tooth fairy waves her wand and our ears are invisibly connected with our mobile phone.

I have begun to find this strange spectacle amusing. When I was younger, it was always said that the first sign of madness was when a person began talking to themselves all the time. In which case insanity reigns on our streets and in our buses and trains and in restaurants, shops and bars, almost everywhere in fact.

From a distance it looks as if people are talking to an imaginary person. As their hands are freed from their device by the blue tooth fairy, they are able to gesticulate too. I feel as if I am in some low budget sci-fi movie from the the 1950’s: all these people aimlessly wandering around and talking to themselves. Perhaps they are talking to an invisible alien in reality? Or caught up in an invisible alien web. Perhaps the buds provide us with a technological extension of the invisible friend that was a comfort to us in childhood.

It appears that the art of conversation is not dead after all, even in our streets. Someone once referred to the middle and upper class intelligentsia endlessly talking at dinner parties and social events as ‘the chattering classes’. Well everyone is in the chattering class now.

These mobile phone conversations may be important: a business conversation or a personal one with a partner, family member or friend or a matter of grave urgency. But why engage in an intimate exchange or business conference in the street unless absolutely necessary? The art of conversation may indeed not be dead but the grace of privacy is slowly diminishing.

Moreover, conversations on mobile phones can be obtrusive to others especially on buses or trains. I use public transport all the time, so my apologies to those of you who do not and have the relative seclusion of a car. Years ago smoking was allowed on buses but only upstairs. Perhaps people should only be allowed to talk on their phones upstairs and leave downstairs as a ‘quiet zone’, like some train carriages.

So often those who talk away into their phones or buds are blissfully unaware of the volume of their voice and of other people around them. Only the other day, a friend of mine was on a late night bus and heard a man giving out his bank account details in a loud voice into his phone. I wonder if anyone quickly wrote them down. My friend didn’t.

One Saturday afternoon, a few years ago, I was on a packed train going into London and I managed to get a seat. A young woman sat opposite me and in quite a loud voice, despite the noise in the carriage, engaged in an intimate conversation with her lover about their sexual activities the night before. Needless to say, she was unaware of those around her, which included families going into London for a day out.

On my journeys on public transport I have heard all manner of conversations on the phone without wanting to hear them. They have been an intrusion of my own privacy to some extent. I have heard people calling to various offices to sort out their supposedly private business; I have heard numerable rows with the partner on the other end of the phone and a girl intensely breaking up with her boy friend, egged on by her friend sitting beside her on the bus. Most poignantly, a young woman sitting in the seat behind me on a bus in Leeds, explaining to a relative that she had decided not to have an abortion but keep the child in her womb instead.

As I mentioned earlier, some conversations may be urgent: ‘I must contact them now or …’

But there is a time and a place for everything. The lines ‘I’ll talk to you when I get home’ or ‘Can I talk to you later?’ don’t come into people’s heads. They rarely come into my own head now. Like everyone else I have got used to engaging in long conversations on the phone in public places. There is no point in calling these conversations impolite and an invasion of other people’s space because they have very quickly become a social norm.

They are another way in which the smart phone (useful as it is) has inveigled itself into our lives and attempted to lure us into our own digital world, our own meta universe. The physical act of concentrating on our phone, cradling ourselves around it in an armchair or in the corner of our sofa, makes us insular and unaware of the world around us. Our body language becomes ‘closed’ in Drama terms. Reading a book can do the same, of course. But there is something rather sinister about cradling a mobile phone – it’s is as if the screen is drawing us further and further in.

How do we break the screen’s spell? By looking up, looking around us, and opening our arms to the world around us. By reminding ourselves of where we are.

As I am now, gazing at my ‘host of golden daffodils’ (as the poet Wordsworth would call them).

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

PS: If you are interested in my podcast, here is the link: https://linktr.ee/hellodearpod

If you are enjoying my blog, and have not already done so, please sign up below to receive notification of each new blog by e mail. Just add your e mail to ‘Follow’ as it pops up.

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I pad

Smart phone/mobile phone

Marcus Aurelius

Roman Empire

Internet technology

Ear buds

Bluetooth

Public Transport

Sci-fi movies

Meta universe

Drama terminology

William Wordsworth

MEDITATION 97

Once again I am sitting in my kitchen, beside my candle and looking out to my garden through the window. I seem to be composing morning meditations these days! Compared to my description in my previous meditation, the branches in the garden are greener now and bearing buds, although the garden is still quite bare under a grey and virtually sunless morning and there was heavy rain earlier. However, there is a welcome splash of colour under the window as the pink camellias are in full bloom again. I have put some of them in tiny vases here beside my laptop. They cheered me up last week after I returned from a short trip to Budapest, which was resplendent in winter sunshine.
Though the camellia bush blooms early every spring, it always seems as if it is newly planted, a novelty almost. And as the bush appears to be new, the blooms always excite me and even enervate me, making me feel more positive.
Spring is indeed a sign of hope in our dark world. I am writing this as the funeral of the Russian dissident Alexei Navalny is soon to take place on the outskirts of Moscow. On the BBC News website, I have seen a mourner with a bunch of vibrant red roses patiently waiting somewhere near the church behind a police cordon. How brave those mourners are. Alexei’s own courage and the courage of his wife and mother have inspired them to risk their own safety to pay their respects. It is wonderful that foreign diplomats are also in attendance to support them. I am sending my pink camellias in my thoughts as a sign of respect and hope. In the light of recent discussions about freedom of speech in the media and in Parliament, we would do well, today , to look to events in Russia and be glad of the freedoms we have in our own country.
As I also mentioned in my previous meditation, I have begun recording a podcast with a much younger friend and ex student, Ciaran. He is a photographer and before he began is degree course, he photographed ‘Neilus Aurelius’ for the icon for this blog. Please understand dear reader, that launching our podcast does not mean the demise of this blog. I intend to reach Meditation 100 at the very least! I owe it to my loyal readers who have been with me since the first one over five years ago!
I must confess that appearing in a podcast is a very different experience from writing a blog. In fact, when my friend Henry Riley (who is now a reporter on LBC Radio) helped me set up this blog, he advised me not to start a podcast or vlog (the video equivalent of a blog) instead. They are such unattractive words – blog, vlog, podcast – aren’t they? They sound like shadowy beings arising out of the murky depths in a Tolkien -like fantasy world.

He quite rightly suggested that if I appeared in a solo podcast or vlog I might end up blathering! Whether he was also making an oblique comment on my teaching style when he was in my class, I do not know, but he did tell me that there is a tendency for solo speakers in vlogs and podcasts to go off at a tangent, and also to carry on for too long. This is because vlogs and podcasts are meant to be fairly spontaneous, The alternative is to present a scripted talk of course, which has no spontaneity whatever, unless the presenter goes off-script occasionally.
So, accepting Henry’s advice, I have been quite happy writing this blog instead. I hope I haven’t blathered too much in my meditations and that they have been reasonably well- crafted. There has been a spontaneity about them to some extent. As I look at the news (like this morning) or go on my travels, or read or watch plays or movies, sometimes at the back of my mind I think ‘I must put this in my blog’ – and eventually I do.
However, Marcus Aurelius’ aim in writing his own ‘Meditations’ was to reflect on his own experiences of life and my own meditations have attempted to do the same, though not in the form of a book but as a blog for an immediate audience.
A podcast is a different animal however. It is less reflective and rather than being ‘emotions recollected in tranquility’ as the romantic poet William Wordsworth (1770 -1850) would say, it is an animated and hopefully entertaining conversation, or at least my podcast with Ciaran aims to be. And so I have found recording the first few episodes a strange experience. Indeed, I must admit to being rather nervous with a kind of stage fright (or is it microphone fright?) and unable to completely relax. And yet, several friends have told me that I sound very relaxed ‘on air’ and one went so far as to say that I have a good voice for radio. He complimented Ciaran too.
I think part of the problem is that I am sitting down with a microphone in my hand, and aside from Ciaran beside me, I am speaking to an invisible audience. This is totally different from walking around a classroom in front of a class or onstage in front of an audience that is physically present. I find it quite unnerving. And yet, I have never felt this way when writing my blog to my invisible readership. But then presenting a podcast is a type of performance and writing a blog isn’t (although I do try to entertain my readers at times!)
Also I have found the cramped space of our makeshift recording studio rather intimidating, even though it is situated in my own lounge. I suppose if we were in a real studio we would have more space and space does create a relaxed atmosphere. In my lounge, we are sitting on kitchen chairs in front of my shelves of copious dvd’s, microphones in hand with a camera on a tripod beside the sofa ahead of us. The camera is

not only recording our voices but also filming us so that Ciaran can edit a few clips to tempt TikTok devotees.
Half way though an episode the other day as I listened to Ciaran opposite me, I was reminded of those TV variety ‘spectaculars’ when I was growing up. As we sat there with our microphones in our hand we were like two star vocalists seated on stools serenading each other in a duet or medley. Then I remembered taking my father to see Tony Bennett (his favourite singer) and Lena Horne at the London Palladium many years ago. On that stage they sat on stools serenading each other too as part of the show. ‘I left my heart in San Francisco’ – or is it New Malden?
I have learnt that presenting a podcast or a radio programme for that matter is an art in itself. You are ‘on’, giving a kind of performance, even though you are pretending to engage in a relaxed and spontaneous conversation. Also you have to be ready, you have to be prepared, so that you can make your points clearly in the discussion. Ciaran and I do plan each episode before we record, but I do find myself repeating myself and adding in littler phrases like ‘you know’. Maybe I am being too self conscious or rather self- analytical ( one of my traits) about my performance. We have only completed four episodes so far, therefore it is early days and also a learning curve for both of us.
I think that part of my nervousness has been that I have been embarking on something new. I am always trepidatious about new ventures. When I direct a new play I am always nervous at first rehearsals. I remember being excited about the idea of a podcast at first but when we sat down to record a demo episode, I was very nervous.
The camera is quite intimidating. I am not playing a role but being myself in front of the camera. The camera in the room makes everything so public. This blog is public too, of course.It is out there on the web just as the podcast is. But writing this blog is like writing a letter. It seems that personal and intimate. After all, it’s not being sent to an editor for publication somewhere else.
The content of the podcast is similar to my blog as I mentioned earlier. And of course, Ciaran is making his own input too and suggesting topics to discuss. He came up with the concept and suggested it to me. The podcast is called ‘Hello Dear!’ and it is conversations between a 23 year old gay man and a 70 year old gay man. However sexuality is far from all we talk about.
Generally I have always been open but private about my sexuality, but I guess with that camera focused on me on the other side of the lounge, I have become more public. Perhaps that is the root reason for my nervousness. Well, I have gone public in my blog too now – as if most of my readers didn’t know! I am not making a big stand about it – it isn’t my style. I have never been an activist.

However I am mindful that our podcast and perhaps this blog would not be possible in Russia.
Ave atque Vale Neilus Aurelius
PS: If you are interested here is the link to the podcast: https://linktr.ee/hellodearpod

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MEDITATION 96

A belated Happy New Year, dear reader!
As I sit here beside my candle I am looking out of my garden window to grey skies and bare branches in my wintry garden, although some of my plants are still green as they are perennials. I am a perennial myself, I suppose, as although I am approaching my winter years, my own leaves are still green! I am still flowering and flourishing! Otherwise these meditations would not exist. I am still writing and occasionally teaching. I am even considering the possibility of a podcast with a much younger friend. So I am still being creative. It is what is important to me.
Sometimes I have found myself adopting an old man persona indoors, shuffling from room to room. I have had to check myself and shake it off. It is so easy to vegetate in an armchair and half watch old movies or ancient TV programmes, especially when the weather outdoors isn’t very inviting. Perhaps I should get on with some winter gardening (when the weather warms up a little) or get onto my exercise bike again (which is gathering dust in the lounge corner). Or take up skateboarding.
I have always been impressed by those who keep working and being creative into their old age. Only a few months ago I saw Ian McKellen (aged 84) onstage. He was in a play – ‘Frank and Percy’ – with Roger Allam (aged 70). They were the only characters in the play and were both continually on stage for over two hours and performing six nights a week. They were both wonderful too. Two years ago, McKellen also played ‘Hamlet’ again (after a 50 year gap) and will play Falstaff in a few months time in ‘Three Kings’: an abridged version of Shakespeare’s two ‘Henry IV’ plays ( a four hour performance apparently!).
I am also reminded of Judi Dench who is now 88 and sadly suffering from macular degeneration. Yet she appeared in several TV programmes (including two major interviews) around the 400th anniversary of the publication of Shakespeare’s First Folio last November. She has been regularly acting in film and TV productions until quite recently including Kenneth Branagh’s film ‘Belfast’ and was onstage in a celebration of Stephen Sondheim’s musicals in 2022.
I am currently reading her book ‘Shakespeare: the Man who Pays the Rent’. Her late husband Michael Williams and herself referred to the Bard as ‘the man’s who pays the rent’ because they were both in so many Shakespeare productions over several decades with the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford-Upon-Avon and London. In fact in one of the chapters she explains how much Stratford means to her. It is where she and her husband met. She has a great love of the place, nurtured over a number of years. As have I.

The chapters are a collection of dialogues with another actor, Brendan O’Hare, and mainly about the Shakespearean roles she has played. Her memory is quite remarkable. She can remember details of costumes she wore at the Old Vic in the late 1950’s, for example, as well as most the actors and directors she has worked with in the productions she refers to.
Her insights into each role (and often those of the directors she worked with) as she goes through each role scene by scene in each chapter are highly detailed and razor-sharp. Again it is amazing how she remembers rehearsals and performances from decades ago. She is also keen to point out ideas that didn’t work at the time and where she would approach the role or scene differently now with more experience. Hindsight is a humbling thing at times. She can also quote her lines and those of other roles verbatim (which Brendan O’Hare points out). What a prodigious memory she must have.
Of particular interest to me are her comments on acting technique. Interleaved with all her perceptive insights into the roles, her reminiscences and funny stories (of which there are many – it is a very entertaining read!) is an excellent guide to reading, rehearsing and performing Shakespeare: what we call ‘working on the text’. She is in no way didactic. Her advice arises casually out of the conversation.
I was quite gratified to find that I had used many of those techniques myself with my students down the years – and with students of English in Hungary as it happens. I had learnt them on courses with the Royal Shakespeare Company that I attended early in my teaching career. Judi Dench learnt them there herself of course, years before I did. I feel quite proud that I have been passing on that RSC tradition of playing Shakespeare to others. Reading the book has made me realise I am part of that tradition myself.
I have had the privilege of seeing Judi Dench in many plays down the years but one she mentions in her book has stirred up particular memories. As I sit here looking out to my wintry garden, I am reminded of a sultry summer evening in Stratford a long time ago. I was in the Sixth Form and on my first trip to Stratford courtesy of a weekend visit by Teesside Youth Theatre. I had just seen ‘Twelfth Night’ in which she played Viola. I was entranced by the whole production and can remember details from it to this day. Her own description of it has prompted my own memory. (Should I write my own book?)
My school friend Ian and I hovered around the stage door until she appeared. I wanted my programme signed by her I think. I remember Ian saying ‘You can speak to her. You’re the one with the programme.’ He was gruffly shy you see.
Eventually she appeared with a shopping bag in either hand: so different from her romantic Viola earlier! I approached her and was suddenly tongue- tied, even though I had prepared what I would say to her in my mind. She looked at me, then askedme if I

would help her with taking the bags to her car. So Ian and myself took them from her. Then she politely thanked us and got into the car and off she went. I remained tongue-tied throughout. It was the nervousness of youth, of course. I was meeting a star. I was very gauche then. I still am at times! Stage-struck as I was then, the incident taught me that acting is just another job after all and however magical a production may be, the actors performing in it still have to go shopping and go home! Needless to say I still remained stage struck despite the incident – and for a good many years. I still am at times.
The next time I was in close proximity to Judi Dench was at the Young Vic theatre in London. I was with a group of A level students watching the classic Irish drama ‘The Plough and the Stars’ by Sean O’Casey. It was an entirely Irish cast except for Judi herself. Set in a Dublin street during the Irish Troubles, she was the only person from Northern Ireland in the street. She was very different from romantic Viola: a screeching harridan. In the auditorium, the audience was on three sides with the actors performing in the centre. My group and I were seated on the front row. In the final scene, Judi’s character is ironically shot by a British soldier. She fell and uttered her last words no more than 4 feet away from me. It was so very real and her final words were so moving. She was totally in role of course. Somehow she always gets to my emotions when I see her on stage or on film. Even when she plays comedy, she always finds a serious moment, when the underlying emotions of the character break through.
She has been called a ‘national treasure’ which she dislikes. However it is a sign of her popularity and of the warm regard which the public hold her in. She’s more than that, however: she is one of our greatest actresses and has consistently been so throughout her career.
Incidentally, I also met Ian McKellen once (minus shopping!). We had a charming conversation in a pub many years ago. He still owes me a pint! But that is another story!
Ave atque Vale Neilus Aurelius

Meditation 95

As I sit here beside my candle I have found that my thoughts have slipped back into Drama teacher mode. Please understand I have not been walking around my lounge as if I was back in my Drama studio at school, teaching an imaginary lesson to imaginary students. I am not living in the past, just yet! Although in an imaginary lesson the students are at least attentive, being invisible! However, in my teaching days, I would sometimes practice a lesson at home, especially if the text or topic was new.
My thinking this evening has gone into Drama mode because I have been considering different styles of acting, having recently returned to acting myself. An ex student who is now a film director asked me if I would like to take on a role in one of his projects. The film was going to be shot on location in South London, not in a major film studio like Shepperton down the road, sadly! He asked if I would play a nasty, racist pensioner. Not a very glamorous role for my professional film debut either! It was a professional engagement, as I was being paid a fee. It was also an important project: a short training film, sponsored by Southwark Council, about how to deal with racism.
A good friend of mine helped me develop a South London accent which is different from the quasi -Eastenders one I had been adopting when rehearsing at home. So I did engage in some research! Apparently, South Londoners have a tendency to play down ends of words (unless they are angry). This is the exact opposite of my vocal training, of course, which I passed onto my students. I was always telling them to make ends of words clear. This is very important on stage so as to be heard by the audience. So a slight mental adjustment on my part was needed. It was all about getting into role, after all.
So, there I was, a week later, standing on a landing in a block of council flats in Peckham, surrounded by the film crew, while verbally abusing a ‘Nigerian cleaner’ on the landing below. The cleaner, played by an actor called Glen, had no lines in the scene in response to my abuse. The crew had filmed him cleaning the floor first and were now filming his facial reactions while I repeated my abusive line off camera so that he could react to it. I also had to pretend to spit on the floor, shouting to him to clean it up. Yes: I was not a very nice character!
Then it was time for the crew to film me. My character was leaving his flat to go shopping so I had a couple of empty carrier bags under my arm. I had to pretend to close the door of the flat to my left, see the cleaner on the landing underneath, deliver my abusive lines, spit on the floor and then walk to the lift to the right and press the button to go down.

We rehearsed it a few times and then we were ready for a ‘take’. Alex shouted ‘Action’. I moved my hand on the door handle of of the flat as if I had just locked it. I was about to turn and see Glen below me, when the door of the flat suddenly flew open and a lady in a pink dressing gown stood in the doorway.
‘Here – what’s going on?’, she said to me (or words to that effect), ruining the scene. She thought I was a burglar trying the door. I can’t understand why she hadn’t heard Alex shouting instructions earlier, or me shouting my abusive line down the stairwell for that matter. Alex had to explain that we were filming. She then became demure, apologised and retreated back into her flat. Apparently, no-one from Southwark Council had informed the residents that filming was taking place!
Despite this unexpected interruption we were finished in an hour. I found it was quite a relaxing experience even though I had to focus and stay in the zone repeating my performance for the crew. I did not have to continually project my voice as on stage. Also, it was a very short scene, of course, and a long way from playing a major role such as Prospero from Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’ which I played several years ago.
I was experiencing what I used to tell my students in my classes: that film acting is more low key than stage acting and can therefore take less effort. I remember several actors talking about this in TV interviews.
However, film acting does demand acute concentration as I have just mentioned. You may have to wait around for a length of time too and yet be ready to go into your scene, to ‘be on’ as they say. The phrase comes from the Theatre and being ‘on’ stage, adapted to being ‘on’ camera. I had no waiting around at all.
Also, while you are performing, the crew is all around you and you have to forget they are there. It was quite cramped on the landing where we were filming. As well as Alex, the director, there were the cameraman, the sound man with a microphone, the lighting man and two ladies from Southwark Council in close proximity. It made me realise how more difficult it must be for an actor working on a major film in a large studio (or on location, even, as I was) with an army of technicians around them, and yet be in role, focused, ‘on’. I thought this while I was standing there waiting for the crew to change positions from filming Glen to filming myself.
I was reminded of this again a few weeks later when I attended a special screening of the new film ‘Maestro’ which is about the American classical conductor, composer, pianist and educator, Leonard Bernstein, who died in 1991. He is perhaps best remembered for composing the score for the musical ‘West Side Story’.
The screening took place in the IMAX cinema near Waterloo station in London and it was a special event because it was being introduced by the film’s stars Bradley Cooper

(who plays Bernstein and also directs the film) and Carey Mulligan (who plays his wife, Felicia). The film charts their marriage through the years with the conductor/composer’s phenomenal, high octane career as a backdrop. It is a remarkable film and both actors are remarkable in it, especially Bradley Cooper who not only gives a highly detailed performance as Bernstein (he is Lennie to the life!) but also directs the film. Mr Cooper had obviously done his research: but then there is so much archive footage of Leonard Bernstein as he was a media personality for most of his career, giving interviews, making his own TV programmes and documentaries, and there is endless footage of him in rehearsal and in concert too. Both actors also consulted Bernstein’s three children, to whom the film in dedicated.
There was nothing of the ‘star’ about Mr Cooper and Miss Mulligan, when they were interviewed before the screening. They were both very natural and down to earth, indeed, Mr Copper came across as being quite humble. It was such a contrast seeing them in person immediately before seeing the film, where they were towering over us on the huge IMAX screen. I remember Mr Cooper commenting on this himself, wondering what this intimate portrait of a marriage would look like on a larger than normal screen. His worries were unfounded: the intimacy seemed even more evident as if we were in the room with them. And the music on the IMAX sound system was something else! Watching the film reminded me of the big close-ups so prevalent in movies of the golden age of Hollywood, which we see so little of now in movies.
I do recommend the film: it is screened on the smaller screen on Netflix soon.
Well now that I have made my professional film debut I wonder where it will lead me? Will I end up emblazoned on a big IMAX screen? I doubt it. ‘Eastenders’? No thank you. However I would like to do some more filming in a modest way. It was a very relaxing and enjoyable experience and it enervated me, because I was acting again.
Yes it would be lovely to act again. Too late for panto now! And it’s too late to get a job playing Santa in his grotto too! Let’s see what the New Year brings.
Meanwhile, dear reader, wishing you a very Happy Christmas and here’s to peace on earth in the New Year. We need peace.
Ave atque Vale Neilus Aurelius
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Meditation 94

As I sit here in the kitchen gazing out of the window, I am looking at my garden, which is bathed in the autumn sunshine. I am basking in the sunshine myself, so precious in these darker days as winter approaches. So I have no need of a candle beside me as I write this meditation. I have never had any need of a candle to see to write my meditations anyway. But fixing on the flame of a candle can help me to focus my thoughts. And of course the flame of the candle somehow connects me with Marcus Aurelius, the initial inspiration for these meditations, as he wrote his own by candlelight or oil lamp. I am ruminating on a quote of his as I look out to the yellowing leaves in the garden:

‘Do not disturb yourself by imagining your whole life at once.’

I have been guilty of this recently, having celebrated my seventieth birthday last month. Reaching this milestone has led me to think back on my life. No, that is incorrect. I have always had a tendency to see my life as a whole, though perhaps more regularly since I retired. I think it is my writers’s instinct to order events and experiences, to give them narrative structure. So, in my mind, I order the events and experiences of my life, even though my life may be as unstructured as anyone else’s! Perhaps, I should write my autobiography. But then it may turn out to be a work of fiction! Memories are so subjective that the borderline between memory and fiction is rather thin and quite elastic.

I once read somewhere that is is a profitable exercise to write your own eulogy or obituary. Eulogies and obituaries are potted biographies and generally positive statements. I tried it once. The exercise does make you think more positively about yourself. This was useful at the time as I was suffering from depression. It also makes you imagine what other people may think of you. A salutary exercise if ever there was one!

Now that I am getting nearer to the end of my life, perhaps I ought to write my own eulogy. It will help whoever gets the job of preparing and delivering it at my funeral. It also will set the record straight and won’t be too lengthy so as to bore the audience, sorry, congregation! Dear me, I am sounding like a Hollywood star keen on preserving his image to the end!

The disturbance Marcus mentions perhaps means having regrets about our past as we try to envisage our life as a whole. It may also hint at trying to imagine how the future will unfurl. I suppose we all have regrets about things we have done or wished we had not done. The longer we live, the more regrets we might have. At the very least we may feel embarrassed about some of the things we have done! Sometimes those moments of regret or embarrassment come into my consciousness unbidden and unwanted, these days. I have more time to think I suppose.

As you may be aware from my previous meditations, I am a devotee of the French novelist Marcel Proust, who in his extensive, seven volume novel, ‘In Search of Lost Time’ elucidates his theory of involuntary memories. In his novel, such memories evoke favourite places from childhood, for instance, or cherished moments with others, such as his mother and beloved grandmother when he was a child. I must return to his novel, as I do not recall him mentioning involuntary memories of embarrassing moments from his past!

It is important to look the events of one’s past with compassion, if possible. Looking back on oneself with compassion can lead to a greater self awareness, understanding and even healing. It is a kind of self-counselling. As if your older self is able to embrace your younger self. Perhaps even in a moment from the past when an embrace was needed but wasn’t there.

Imagining our whole life at once is to some extent a futile exercise as we do not know what the future will bring or when or how our life is going to end. The pandemic has surely taught us that. Perhaps Marcus also uses the word ‘disturbed’ to indicate that we should not be unnecessarily anxious about the future. Of course I am merely reading an English translation of his words. The original Latin may be rendered differently by another translator.

He also writes ‘In the constant flow of time, our experiences are but fleeting moments, swiftly replaced by new ones. Grasp each passing event, for it shall be carried away, never to return.’ Marcus is trying to express the preciousness of experiences because they are so transient. Therefore we need to hang on to them and store them away among our memories. His comment is at odds with Marcel who would argue that memories do not need to be grasped at, as they lay deep in our subconscious and only need a trigger to float up into our consciousness again. Marcus versus Marcel!

Marcus is saying that we should try to keep important moments in our lives firmly in our minds and perhaps even write them down. He did not have a camera to capture something of those moments, of course, let alone a mobile phone as we have now. Photographs are a stimulus to memory and can place us back in the moment. As does writing. Yes perhaps I should write my autobiography.

As you can see from these paragraphs, I have reached the age when I am looking back and trying to make sense of my life. Actually, being a reflective soul, I have looked back over my life constantly.

However, while at this moment I am being rather philosophical, my actual birthday was very convivial. I had a long weekend in Northumberland with my family followed the following weekend by a theatre visit and supper with lots of friends in London. Indeed, the conviviality continues as I am being taken out by friends for treats occasionally as befits my age.

But how should I try to make sense of the present and the future? I shall definitely try to take Marcus’ advice and not be too disturbed or anxious about it. Further advice from another Roman source was given to me indirectly quite recently.

In September, I was visiting Rome itself and for the first time took an extended walk beside the river Tiber. As I ambled along I noticed old walls, arches and plinths scattered on the other side, covered with moss and with foliage. This is a common sight in Rome, where stone remnants of centuries ago can be seen in the squares, streets and parks. There was life, there was growth among those time-weathered stones beside the river. What is more, the ancient stones and vibrant greenery complemented each other. They reminded me that though I may be weathered by age, I am still flowering and flourishing. As is evident from this blog!

I think I may have found the best advice in a post on Facebook the other day. It is a quote by the famous physicist Alfred Einstein: ‘Do not grow old no matter how long you live. Never cease to stand like curious children before the great mystery into which we were born.’

Ave atque Vale

Neilus Aurelius

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