Analyse That...

...you remember that wonderful scene in 'Analyse That'? Psychiatrist Billy Crystal urges gangster Robert de Niro to take out his frustration on a harmless cushion. "Hit it" he cries. So de Niro does - he whips out a Magnum pistol and blows six shots into the furniture. Great stress-buster he agrees to an astounded, disbelieving Crystal as feathers fly about the room.

Cushions beware Bro. George tonight is all I can counsel. On the blower again this evening, positively ranting about the soul-corrupted state of our public services. Blaming - as one does - T. Blair for these ills, it would seem to have reached the stage that only pig-farming / intensely moody landscape photography / even more intense and moody novel writing is a sufficiently therapeutic alternative to carrying on doing what he does. (Whatever quite that is!)

Have tried explaining that the life of a small-holder is one of unrelenting toil and hardship from dawn to dusk and from one year's end to the other, but to little avail. 'Twould seem even that this notion of 'real' sweat and labour is so the much the more to be preferred to the twilight ur-welt of social care. (Something of the Cistercian emerging here - hints of dear St. Bernard of Clairvaux, an admirable if not utterly daunting figure and role-model.)

He has though minded me to spend some hours listening to plainchant from these good fellows. Perhaps, indeed, he has a point. Can't see him hacking the celibacy angle mind you.