A Don’s Life

My gold-plated pension scheme?

It's funny how the meanings of words can chance so quickly. I always thought that "gold-plated" pensions were a great idea. Only a few years ago they were about ensuring that people who had worked hard for nigh on half a century could live comfortably when they retired; they were the end of old-age poverty . . . and indeed were probably cheap at the price, given the expense to the nation (in terms of the NHS, social services etc) of the elderly slipping to the bottom of the deprivation pile.

Now the phrase conjures up an image of a load of geriatric fat-cats, passing their retirements in the lap of luxury, at (horrible phrase) "the tax-payer's expense" -- while the toiling masses labour on low pay to keep them in this privileged condition.

Many people would say that I had a pretty gold-plated pension (paying out up to half my annual salary, based on the average of what I earned in my final three years, and index linked to the RPI). But it isnt at the tax-payer's expense... the Universities Superannuation Scheme is a company, and it is funded by the contributions of both employees and employers.

Gold-plated until now, that is. Because in view of what is believed to be the unsustainability of the scheme at its current levels of benefits (for all the usual reasons). The proposals include moving to a Career Average basis of pension calculation (that is what you get is based on your mean salary throughout your whole career...."mean" in mathematical sense, that is), and the index-linking will move from the Retail Price Index to the Consumer Price Index (which is traditionally lower) -- and anyway even that is capped at 5% per annum. Calculations show that this could amount to very significant losses (for example, if you lived 20 years in a period of high inflation, your annual pension at aged 85 would be worth less than 20% of your final salary). There are more examples given here in an excellent paper by Susan Cooper and Stephen Cowley.

There is a good deal of anger amongst us employees about this. Not because anyone thinks that no changes should be made. But because we have simply not been consulted as we should have been, and the different options (with supporting arguments have not been laid out). We're just having one way forward forced upon us.

Classics for all

Everyone seems to be claiming to support Latin in schools these days. Last week on Any Questions the last question was "What place do ancient languages, such as Latin, Greek and even Pictish have in a modern education system?"

In the old days (about 5 years ago, I mean) you could have relied upon some philistine MP from either side of the house to come out and say what a waste of time Latin and Greek were...toff subjects that should be quietly allowed to die (if not be speedily put down), and be replaced by something useful like Computer Studies or Physics.

No such thing on Friday, every panellist have a pretty warm feelings for Latin (even if not Pictish). Simon Heffer was all for having Latin and maybe Greek taught in every school in the land (with some supporting evidence from Matthew Arnold). Predictable enough maybe. But John Denham, the Labour front bencher, also said that he thought there were some things that were worth doing simply because they were intellectually interesting-- and said that Latin should be available in all good comprehensives. And Viv Groskop sung the praises of Pictish and said that Latin had served her very well.. "a fundamental part of education". Only the Transport Secretary, Philip Hammond, did not explicitly put his vote on the right side, but his discussion of Icelandic implicitly tended in that direction.

In fact, so widespread is the feeling in favour of Classics that the rumour is that the Today Programme had to scratch an interview with Classics-fan Bettany Hughes, because they couldn't find anyone to go on air and dump on the subject.

So far so good. But it is one thing to claim how much you love Latin and Greek; quite another to find the cash so that kids at most schools in the land can actually study them.

That's where a new campaign called "Classics For All" comes in.

Dominus custodiat introitum tuum et exitum tuum

I might as well 'fess up to our latest little auction purchase -- especially as it continues the recent churchy theme, and as I need a bit of help in pinpointing its provenance.

It is, as you can see, an "In or Out? board" from some Jesuit college or seminary (or so I judge from the Jesuit motto "Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam" abbreviated at the top). It has a list of names below (Archbishop Roberts, Fr Brodrick, Fr Crehan and so forth) and you pull out a sliding knob at the side, to reveal the "out" sign.

Just below AMDG is what I take to be a Jesuitical joke..."May the Lord guard your coming and your going" is taken from the Office for the Dead. "Coming" and "going" in the original meaning "birth" and "death" -- not, as here, "goiing out" to the shops, or whatever.

I liked that. But noone else did apparently, as the poor thing failed to reach its reserve price, and we bought it after the sale for its lowest estimate. The truth was we had actually put a higher bid in by fax, but for some reason the fax hadnt got through -- so in my terms it was a, sort of, bargain.

But where is it from? That's where I need your help.

The cardinal's hat

I think I have half made my peace with the Church today. Last weekend I went on the Today programme (an inadvertent blackleg -- I hadnt realised the NUJ strike went till Saturday, until I woke up to find that Farming Today had been replaced by a repeat); the, slightly self-referential, subject of the discussion was what life had been like last Friday without the Today programme (which was then itself off the air because of strikes).

Steve Richards, a loqacious journalist from the Independent, had loved it -- said that it made the day feel like Christmas. I, on the other hand, had felt distinctly nervous. I have never thought I was much interested in the rise and fall of BP shares, or the likely winner at Wincanton, but if all this stuff is NOT broadcast, I suddenly find that I really want to know. Having no Today programme was not like Christmas, it was like Sunday morning -- a real blot on the Radio 4 escutcheon, when (as I perhaps unwisely put it) we get that awful happy clappy Sunday Worship.

There was an instant torrent of email. Some said they were prepared to join in the fight for a Sunday Worship free Sunday morning. Others (and it was just about evenly divided) were accusing me of intolerance and irreligion -- many in polite and well argued comment, others in tones of which I think the Almighty would probably seriously disapprove.

I wrote back to all of the emailers, explaining that I was actually a great fan of SOME religion on radio, but in my view Sunday Worship hit rock bottom. And, of course, the most insulting didnt bother even to acknowledge my reply....so much for the spirit of tolerance and interfaith understanding.

Well I hope they are eating their words this morning.

Roman Memory

I am off to Bochum tomorrow to give a paper at a conference on Roman Memory. It is a mad excursion in the middle of term, and I have been working at ungodly hours (even on Beard standards, whose working hours would in a usual week displease the Lord, I imagine). The mitigating factor is that I will have one night in a hotel with a fully working bathroom, hair washing and drying facilities etc.

The new bathrooms at Beard/Cormack Towers are coming on apace and we already have a brand new working shower, but the lovely original Victorian bath is still on the top landing waiting to be transferred to the new bathroom a floor below. It has been, as you will see, painted a jolly blue colour, and on Tuesday will be heaved downstairs. The builder is worried a) if he is strong enough to take it and has got a few more guys in to help (they think four of them should do it) and b) whether the stairs are strong enough to take the weight, of it and them -- so is proposing to jack them up to be on the safe side. I have decided that it will be better to be out that day.

The House of the Gladiators at Pompeii?

OK -- you've been asking for my thoughts on the collapse of the House of the Gladiators at Pompeii. So here we go.

I am sure that one of the reasons that it has got so much media attention is the "Gladiators" bit (on the iron law of journalism that that word "gladiator" gets you ten times as many readers as just mere "Romans").But we have to forget all that. There is no reason at all to connect this house to any gladiators, ever. Still less to imagine, as the Telegraph has it, that "it would have been the residence for gladiators in Pompeii". The truth is that we dont know what this building was. The only clue is that there were cupboards found inside (though not actually containing weapons, as is often claimed -- for the reliable story on this, go to the excellent Blogging Pompeii site).And the painted decoration is full of weapons and figures of Victory etc. It used to be thought to be the HQ of the city's youth organisation; others have thought -- I seem to remember -- that it was a record office of some sort. But there's no reason to believe any of these ideas.

And why has it just collapsed?

Greek pots: the naughty bits

One of my favourite "Greek Pot" stories is about this satyr -- who features on a psykter (or wine cooler) decorated, as these pots usually are, around its bulbous body.The idea was, you put the wine in the cooler, and then plunged the whole thing into cold water in an even bigger vessel (a krater, or mixing dish) and waited till the wine was nicely chilled.

This one is by Douris, who worked in Athens in the early fifth century, and it's in the British Museum. It shows the wild drunken, goaty satyrs having a characteristically good time... the sort of over the top, out of control partying that the human users of the psykter would fantasize about, but not actually engage in (being civilised men not wild goaty satyrs, if you see what I mean).

Anyway for many years the scene that I have put at the top of this post was completely incomprehensible, as some bowdlerising curator had carefully painted out the willy. So instead of the satyr balancing a cup on his erect penis (an amazing enough feat in itself), he appeared to be leaning back expectantly, while the cup hovered miraculously above him, in mid air.

Retail -- what therapy?

I knew that the 60 minutes shopping time I had was not going to go well when I was arraigned on my bike by the Police Constable.

I was in a hurry, but I did need some long garment to go to a 'white tie' dinner on Thursday. The Don's view is that if it says 'dinner jackets', you can get away with leggings and a sparkly top -- but 'white tie' means a skirt (which I dont really have).

So off I went to shop. The first mishap was the said police constable. At the bottom of Sidgwick Avenue, going into town from college, is a traffic light, which lets pedestrians through between the lights on a beeping sound. Every cyclist in the world goes with the pedestrians, illegally as it may be. On this occasion a charming policeman was waiting for us... extremely annoying, and full marks to him. He said pretty quickly that he wasnt going to give his four victims a ticket ('what would be the point?" he asked).. but he did look us in the eye and tell us to obey the rules of the road.

I gave him full marks, and fair cop;  in fact I didn't jump the lights at another favourite spot later (which just goes to show that community policing, and a bit of embarrassment can be more effective that a ticket -- so keep it up Cambridge Constabulary).

But the search for a long skirt was much worse.