The New Years Message



Subject: The New Years Message.

The New Years Message.
1. The Labour Party (if they win the election next year) will have been handed a poisoned chalice unable to turn the economic ship of state around before it properly flounders on the rocks they will be blamed for incompetence.

2. The corruption of what is true and what is false will continue to bedevil us all.

3. People are becoming increasingly led by the media platforms who have no wish to placate and would rather arouse for an inflamed response.
4. The concept of capitalism and democracy needs immediate attention.
5. Fame through celebrity should be recalibrated.
6. Consumerism has to be revisited as a goal in life.
7. Ageing must be allowed to follow a more natural path.
8. Education must be placed as a root and branch front line objective.
9. Remuneration needs overhauling.
10.The need for Taxation to support society needs to be grounded in everyone.

These are just ten heading each deserving detailed consideration and analysis. Each is within the grasp of the individual, unlike war and immigration but with the bulk of society unable to think beyond what they are told to think or led to believe, there's not much hope. Never were we so homogenised, and pasteurised against thinking our own thoughts.

Just when we have tools to access information through the internet, state led corruption of that information becomes a massive problem in the integrity we place on the web. And even what reliable information there is, is drowned out by “influencers“ who bounce out our own cognitive reasoning  with stereotypical rabble rousing. 

Into the New Year

  

 

Subject: Into the New Year.

Another Christmas has passed and the new-year looms out of a fog of international and local chaos in which we have little or no say and are left only to examine the cards we are dealt.
Those cards vary with the demographic, age, sex, race, marital status, children, etc etc but most have your economic status tied in there somehow. Even with advancing age where frailty is the key, your ability to obtain help is crucial, house maintenance, gardening and eventually care in your home prior to seeking a retirement home are all economic question that only money can answer.
I was listening this morning to a phone-in program discussing the latest suggestion from the Tory's about completely abolishing inheritance tax which for some is always a threat  looming in the future, this wish a parent has to leave the kids some money on the sale of the family home. The philosophical conundrum of whether increased house prices, which have risen due to a political reluctance to build houses (a sort of status quo) is an  unfair reflection of a proper market and  leaves an ever increasing proportion of the population isolated and left behind, never able to own a home and caught in the double whammy of an overheated rental market. The lack of any plan to build social housing  has distorted this rental market as people with cash buy up what little stock there is and then rent the houses often with little regard to their obligations to the tenant.
''This dystopian Mad Max society is infused with television programs highlighting the work of the bailiff whose job it is to evicting people from their rented homes.  Admittedly the eviction is often after non payment of rent, sometimes stretching over months by people gaming the slow moving legal system which allows them to stay in the property long after the first non payment. A whole under-current between the landlord and the rent avoider breeds a dysfunctional ecosystem of which the children growing up in such a chaotic temporary environment can only lead to the sense that 'criminality pays'.
The children seem to be missing this year in our street, parading up and down on their Xmas gift bikes and scooters, perhaps it's simply timing, the young ones have grown into teenagers and are only too aware that there's no street cred' to be gained by the innocent display of "look what Santa  brought me this year".
The weather has been mild with no snow. The Weather Forecasters seem determined to try to scare us with notices of extreme weather and playing on the theme of climate change, announce the storms by name and a traffic light sequence of warnings. These warnings announce dire results for those who ignore them but the authorities also ignore the climate change scenario  by continuing to allow unscrupulous building on the flood plane and scrimping on flood defence. It was ever so.  Unprotected tenets and home owners are then unable to obtain insurance and have to bear the brunt of the disaster whilst the authorities sidestep any responsibility.

We are having a rest from the political jamboree which purports to be parliamentary governance, whilst the output from the ‘think tanks’ leak ever more ill thought through policy designed to titivate an ever gullible public into believing someone has a solution.

Its thrilling enough for me.

  

Subject: It's thrilling enough for me.

I usually wake up now a days at about 5am, not, as in the past, leaping out of bed in a hurry to get into the car to beat the traffic into London, those days are long gone and today it’s rather a question of laying in bed and opening my iPad to see what’s been happening overnight and crucially, from that news assemble my thoughts for todays blog.
Blogging has become increasingly important as the physical me slowly sizes up, the mind at least remains cognitive and combative seeking out my own interpretation of what’s right and what’s wrong according to my own precepts.
In the days before my ankle became arthritic and painful walking to the shop was a pleasure, it removed me from the cacophony of other peoples business portrayed on the television and concentrated my mind in a brief flirtation with the subtle goings on around me. Our suburb after experiencing living in Johannesburg has always been a non threatening place to saunter through. Its people receptive to a cheery “good morning” with one of their own, the traffic sufficiently far away not to be threatening, the terrain interesting enough and not challenging, the geography now made up of more houses as yet another farm has been bought and built over into little regimented boxes, each a microcosm of the next, each merging affordability with class.
The purpose of the walk is a trip to the shop to buy groceries, it’s not that we consume much and I even had to buy another chest freezer to keep the shopping from going bad.  The real reason is to get out from the four walls and meet people, other shoppers, the ever attentive supermarket staff, the guy cutting his hedge and also those imaginary people who I never actually meet but form an opinion on as I see them in the park or on the pavement. They are the chaff which lubricate the mind after hours of Netflix, they are the non cinematic reality who make my world go round.
It’s a far cry from Rome, Paris, Sydney or trekking in the Andes or the Hindu Kush. The glamour of an unknown address where for a week or so you could struggle to make yourself understood, the un violated beaches and crystal clear water, the quaint and the conform, living side by side, with only the inevitable mayhem at the airport as a hurdle to negotiate.
I’v been there and done that so it’s no biggie not to be able to comfortably get from A to B but it is annoying and I have considered buying an electric scooter, one which I can fold up and carry between the main forms of transport.

My enjoyment of driving, jumping in a car to roam further is still embedded in me and with my trusty steed, the Volvo 940 classic (1998 and running as sweet as can be, she’s actually weathered better than me) I can drive in reliable comfort to Swansea or Northumberland in style and take the scooter out of the boot for the last 200 metres.

The weather has never bothered  me and I am always a little frustrated by people who are always consulting the forecast before moving outside. I feel it’s such a fickle process in this country like playing chess, the plan was to capture his knight but suddenly you yourself were captured, so it is with the weather. I suppose years of cycling in Yorkshire hardened me to inclement conditions, it had to be pouring down not to set off under a cloudy sky.

Done that got the medal so a trip to Sainsbury’s, perhaps on my scooter (if I can be persuaded to part with the cash), some things never change and is thrilling enough for me

A mug of tea works wonders

 

 

Subject: A mug of tea works wonders.


There was a cold wind blowing from the east as the lads wrestled with the flapping tent. The clouds were scudding across the sky bringing a first hint of rain to the weekend which had started out so bright. The bikes were grouped together, like cattle in a storm as preparations were made for what was seeming to be a long disturbed night.
Each of the boys were fairly apprehensive, it being their first night camping together other than in the municipal camp site with its ablution block and hot shower, this time the ground sloped away to a stream which fed the lake about a hundred yds away and whilst they tried to secure the guy ropes as best they could, they instinctively knew that a real storm would prove difficult.
Still they were happy to be away from the constraints of parents and it seemed a great adventure to be let loose from adult control and have to fend for themselves.

The wind picked up as the first spots of rain sprinkled the tent and they retired into the security of each of two tents, Bill and Tony were in one tent John and Ian were in the other. They hadn’t had time to cook something to eat when a nearby tree lost one of its branches just as the lightening lit up the sky and the thunder rolled in about a minute later. Crack, the thunder seemed right overhead only increasing their sense of vulnerability but at the same time increasing their resolve not to show fear. As the wind picked up so did the rain and what had seemed a quiet stream became an angry force of nature, swelling its banks and flooding the field. Already in their sleeping bags the water dripped from the canvas tenting and formed rivulets into the tent itself forcing the boys to try to find any dry section of the groundsheet in an effort to find somewhere dry to sleep.

The wind roared and the rain lashed down unceasingly until the darkness gave way to dawn and their sodden surroundings could be assessed. Let’s get the some water boiling and have tea. A mug of tea works wonders.
The field in which they had pitched the tent had been transformed by the storm into nightmare of twisted branches tossed about by the wind, the stream was a torrent twice as wide as the night before, swirling and eddying buffeting its banks as the water rushed towards the lake. The wildlife must have been deranged to see their nests broken and the snug burrows flooded. How many of their young survived the storm but then that’s nature in the raw, a constant need to adapt.

We on the other hand had homes to return to and parents keen to hear of our experience so packing away the tent we loaded the bikes and set off to Biggleswade and a cafe for a bacon, egg, sausage and toast breakfast.

Who will rule the roost


Will the fate of the US presidential elections, which take place in 11 months time be decided by the Gaza war. Will Joe Biden’s support of Benjamin Netanyahu be a turning point in Donald Trumps campaign for the White House.
There was always the assumption that the so called democratic make up of the US constitution to provide significant checks and balances in the decision making process to filter out the bad boys but the opposite seems to be the truth as the checks and balances cancel each other out and one is left with a stalemate.
Contrasted with the political dictatorship in China or Russia the voting procedure in America seems much better at providing a democratic result than either of the US’s main rivals but clearly the process is under attack when Trump refused to accept the election result and the on going polarisation of the main parties in Congress stymy the voting process. The electorate are so polarised that sound bites provide sufficient fodder to feed a great deal of dissent plunging the country into revolutionary conflict.
Political discourse is replaced by jingoistic slander and even the courts now seemingly are part of the partisanship.
The Founding Fathers had the idea of indemnifying the individual states from over weaning interference by the federal power of Congress such that they made each State partially automatous, each sovereign in terms of its interpretation of the law. Even the Supreme Court which is tainted by the fact that Supreme Court judges are nominated by the President, an immensely political figure such that the way the court reaches its decisions is potentially biased by the political leaning of the President, (conservative or liberal) and a judgement such the abortion, based on Roe v Wade has, since Donald Trumps insertion of 3 conservative Supreme Court judges, been reinterpreted and overturned in particular conservative States.
The Machiavellian intertwining at the top of British political patronage is a who’s who of the Carlton Club and Etonian Old Boys. As the plum positions arise so do the names of those who patronise the Tory Party. With the job, now well on its way to destabilise the Welfare State, the BBC and all voices who have critiqued the lack of transparency in appointing the powerful heads of quasi institutions which run our country.
I fear even a root and branch realignment will fail give the country back its institutions since the institutions themselves have become rotten by the use of patronage.

Transgender

 

Subject: Transgender

The issue of transgender and the right of a parent to know of their child's interest is a deep philosophical issue. My initial response when the transgender story arose was one of believing that the parent should always be made aware but then I assumed my assumption was based on the fact I that all parents fitted some sort of stereotype and that they would be understanding and supportive but what if the parent had been subjected to religious or sociological brainwashing, believing that the child would be in danger of going to hell if it went against the biology but of course this speaks much more about the imposition of the concept of a hell on people who are vulnerable.
The psychological understanding of ones gender and the imposition it demands on your lifestyle through law to people like Kemi Badenoch, the Minister for Equality who have the surety of the pulpit to opinionate on this matter has reasoned that a parent has the 'right to know'. It ticks many boxes regarding parental responsibility but what if the child is scared of the reaction if their mom or dad knowing of their decision to move across into another gender irrespective of their physical condition will be harsh and abusive. Rene Descartes famous dictum, "I think therefore I am", argues that the act of doubting your ones own existence serves as proof of the reality of ones mind to cogitate on such matters and must include the issue of who I see myself as. The chemistry which governs the act of thinking mustn't be hog-tied by the outcome and only if the outcome threatens others then the law is asked to step in as a protection. My own prejudice against the practice of same-sex coupling especially when it comes to men still remains with me but this is a generational thing and in many ways I accept the practice even if I acknowledge that I am prudish and feel uncomfortable when watching films which have, as part of their modern day setting explicit sexual scenes, even the over use of swearing troubles me and makes me feel uncomfortable. It is all part of a partially repressive childhood which prospered through my parents ignorance.
Today we must know everything but understand little. The mind and its parameters have much too much canvas for me to understand and yet without understanding I can hardly profess a judgement. I can judge on the misuse of changing my gender to allow a trans person to enter single sex space but other than my ignorance as to the way people different to me think, I must avoiding being labelled a bigot

But what happens when I'm gone

 Subject: But what happens when I'm gone.

 

Many of you are planning in the next year to go on holiday or have that home improvement started. Those with a more far reaching plan might be planning to emigrate within a two year window or buy a car or sell the house. It's the status of our assumption about life and the part we play in it that allows us to be confident that we will be here but the plight of Esther Rantzem who is stricken with stage four lung cancer and her desire to be able to end her life on her own terms when the time comes highlights the conundrum we face when we get old. There's lots of information regarding frailty in old age, dementia, pain management and a host of unmentionable diseases which strike as the body runs out of puff but of the mental realisation that at sometime in the fairly near future you won't be around to do the many things you thought represented the 'you' especially to be amongst family and friends is a hard pill to swallow. The best that people can say of us is that he is remembered with warmth but the fact is  you soon become only a fleeting thought, an occasional random chemical interaction in someone's brain which presents a memory of an image which in no way represents the person.
This incomplete memorial, other than those who have done something truly memorable and have as their memorial a building named after them or a scientific discovery, a series of books perhaps that keep your thoughts and perhaps your personality fresh.
Your children perhaps and their ability to cleave out a path of their own is perhaps your greatest achievement since their achievement carries your gene and a sense of your story which they take on board in fragments when growing up.
It seems a poor result when we spent so much time applauding ourself for perhaps thinking well of others. This bubble we carry around is largely froth on the side of the glass, your substance, like the froth made up largely of air you are much the result of your environment and the time you were born into.
I have been watching a select committee sitting in the House of Lords who are debating the asylum arrangements in sending immigrants to Rwanda. I'm fascinated listening to the high minded legalities which are being discussed regarding the attitude and ability of the Rwanda government to absorbing the aspects of local governance regarding the  treatment the immigrant might receive once getting there. It reminded me of the debates which went on as we approached our leaving the European Union. Experts in the many of the matters concerning our future trade and the ability to even carry out trade in any meaningful way. People were invited to give evidence and almost one hundred percent, the experts were fearful that what we had, in our European relationship, would be frittered away and so it became true. On the other side we had the politicians who seemed to have skin in the game and were handing out sound bites rather than proper well researched argument.
The reason why I mention this is that, at the time not only did I make the effort to listen to the select committee debates but I wrote a regular opinion piece in my blog. Whether this was read or not it was at least a layman's effort to distil what was available at the time and pass it on. That's the task of a blog of this sort it's a sort of distillation of the arguments which have arisen each week and an effort to try to put the case and its alternative, forward for consideration.
When I'm gone who will carry on the job !!
One of the saddest reflections listening to the various select committees is the level of obfuscation which develops when the subject matter is represented by a government ministers. Swivelling  and sliding around like eels on a hook when asked a question, they are like snake oil salesmen (and women), following the party line, afraid to address the question for fear of falling foul of the Whips Office. One always feels they know the political brief better than the technical, departmental brief and it's been for some time a great weakness in our ability to do the actual business. They are more at home amongst their own type, perhaps propping up the bar in their club and rejoicing in their impeachable  mendacity.