I have lived by the Golden Verses of Pythagoras for many years now (ever since I first read them, much like Galen did), and there is one line which was particularly apposite to this evening's duty at that... place. "If falsehoods be advanced, hear them with mildness, and arm thyself with patience."
Tonight, there was much slander and gossip, tantamount to a civil offence, if not criminal, for defamation of character, rumours, gossip. These... children are very immature. They think life is a game, a joke. Work, is not a joke. It is serious. This does not mean that one should be overly serious at work, yet always pleasant, always agreeable, but in the spirit of the fact that we are there to work. It's not playtime. It's serious. It is our daily bread. We do good service, as best we can. Yet in Dark Age Britain, maturity, honesty, education, hard work and experience mean nothing. (This is not Renaissance Italy or Elizabethan England, evidently...).
I managed to overcome such slander because, for all my little foibles, I am an honourable man, and can meet any boss in the eye, with a testimony that is valid. The truth, always outs gossip, slander and mud-slinging. The truth will always out.
In any case, I spend my evening musing about improving my play, Boadicea: Queen of the Iceni, not that that will lead anywhere, for these are not the days of Shakespeare, Marlowe or Milton. It is Dark Age Britain, and such things, however heavenly or admirably, mean nothing here.
Max.
No comments:
Post a Comment