Birthdays

Jean Boht, actress, 89; Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, soprano, 77; David Gilmour, Pink Floyd guitarist, 75; Kiki Dee, singer, 74; Rob Reiner, actor/director, 74; Tom Arnold, actor, 62, pictured; Moira Kelly, actress, 53; Shaquille O’Neal, former basketball player, 49; Rufus Hound, actor/comedian, 42.

I HAVE had a couple of restless nights thinking I might dispense with the normal themes of this column – getting old, teenagers, food, alcohol and cricket – and actually put down some thoughts on an ongoing issue. The issue that has wound my spring has been the row around ‘Rusty Reg.’

If the name doesn’t ring a bell, Rusty Reg is the – in my view very funny – nickname that detractors have come up with for the new waterfront statue in Plymouth. The statue’s proper name is Look II and is a new piece of public art the city commissioned as part of its Mayflower 400 celebration programme. The piece is by the world-renowned artist Sir Antony Gormley, he of the Angel of the North, and stands on West Hoe pier, the very spot where Sir Francis Chichester landed Gypsy

Moth in 1967, thus becoming the first person to sail single-handedly around the world by the clipper route. This week, local councillors successfully covered themselves in anything but glory as they argued rather pointlessly over whose fault it was that Rusty Reg is now on West Hoe pier. Cynics might assume there is an election on the horizon as there is nothing like an election to get grown men and women behaving like kids in a playground. The row was sparked by the revelation that the overall cost of Reg to Plymouth was about £750,000. Local Tories (the opposition) howled that this was an outrageous waste of public money, a testament to folly, that Reg was a rusty wreck, and that all this pointed to an incompetent administration. The administration – led by Labour – retorted with a reminder to enthralled voters that it was the Tories, not Labour, who had first approved the money to be spent on a statue. Cue more bickering. Inspired by the row, I decided to route my morning run via the waterfront and have another look at Reg. The route took me past two of Plymouth’s boldest public statements, the bombedout church at Charles Cross, and the mighty Messenger, crouched in front of the Theatre Royal. I should declare I am a public art/monument fan, and think they reveal an awful lot about a city’s history, culture and ambition. The church has always made me think of Plymouth’s resilience, a pride in history even when terrible, and of a city that, though scarred, has risen gain. Messenger – now rid of its nickname ‘Bianca,’ which I also found very funny – speaks of cultural adventure and ambition, and of confidence and power and of change. Before my run, I’d only ever seen Reg from afar, and was always sad he wasn’t bigger. Standing next to him, right on the water’s edge, gives you an idea of what he is about. To me, he speaks of Plymouth’s industrial maritime past, its global future, of discovery and of the city’s unique position as the launch pad for some of the greatest journeys ever undertaken. I like Reg, and I like Plymouth – a city I’ve lived in for 15 years – even more because we have him. If Plymouth is serious about being Britain’s Ocean City, and serious about wanting to attract investment, tourists, global attention, events, and subsequently grow its economy and the welfare of its citizens, then investment in worldclass art and culture is something we should be proud of. The argument that “all that money” would have been better spent on some “nice flower baskets” just doesn’t do it for me, I’m afraid. So back to the bickering councillors. I’m keen that we soon resolve whose fault it is that we have Rusty Reg, so I can clap them on the back and tell them ‘very well done’. I might even vote for them!

MANY people have, through the uncertainties of this last year, taken comfort in revisiting familiar and well-liked books. For me, one such book was Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom: a small book that could be read quickly but is worth lingering over.

Morrie, the author’s college tutor, is dying of an incurable disease. The book records conversations between the two men in the final weeks of Morrie’s life when many things are discussed: important things that too often get pushed to one side in our busy lives. Through these conversations, we learn that Morrie is reconciled to his fate and of his belief that only when we have accepted that we will die can we really learn how to live.

As the book opens it is 15 years since Mitch contacted his tutor. During that time, his career in journalism has taken off. His wealth has increased, but he has found little time to work at his marriage and enjoy the riches of his success. His

Tuesday visits with Morrie force him to reconsider what really matters in life.

Jesus told a story about a farmer who was so successful he had to build bigger and better barns to store all his produce. When his barns are full he looks at it all and decides that now he can relax and take things easy. That night the farmer dies. He was inordinately rich, but Jesus says God considered the man a fool.

How foolish to earn so much and yet never have an opportunity to discover the thrill of using wealth for personal pleasure and the good of the world. How foolish to be so busy running that we have lost sight of our destination. If we are too busy to enjoy a sunset, look at the stars, wonder at a spider’s web, then we are too busy.

Mitch had Morrie to help him reassess what really mattered in his life. For the rest of us, there is Jesus who says, “Come to me all of you who are tired from carrying heavy loads. I will give you rest”.