Ode to Kipling

Ode to Kipling

What is it that we, an individual homo Saipan grasps through a life, which allows us to sleep content at night.
What is it in that complex presentation to and of ourselves, when we settle just this side of sleep, and interrogate who we are and how satisfied we find ourself to be.
What is it, as the clock runs down, makes us feel content 😌
Of course so much is bound up in our sense of security, both the security which allows us to pay our bills on time and equally importantly, the inner security, that having asked so many questions throughout our time on earth, we begin to hone down on some very personal answers.
We find that we have found a friend, a doppel gänger friend, a friend and companion who understands our dilemma as we sit relaxing, on our own, in a darkened room.
We no longer feel the need to go out on some petty excursion. We no longer need to seek to be high on emotion, nor misuse our brain searching for answers which 'others' need.
The slow closure on this life can be immensely graceful or it can be filled with great regret. Regret, which of itself is useless since it rarely takes in the perspective the richness of our past  life, its different stages each an epoch in itself, and often only visualised as some sort of monetarised bottom line. There were so many graduations to our individual lives, so many twists and turns, so many companions who are now gone but who we would call a friend.
If we can truly say that we never let a friend down or misspoke when their name came up in conversation.
If we have had the courage of our convictions, not be afraid to criticise but always sparing with our criticism.

Is this another Mrs Simpson moment

Subject: Is this another Mrs Simpson moment.

The event lies just outside most living peoples direct experience but it had ramifications then as publicly influential as the Brexit dilemma is at the moment.

Mrs Simpson was an American socialite and divorcee, twice over who had attracted the attention of Edward VIII the King. He was determined to marry her regardless of any constitutional problems or the fact that she had been divorced (twice) and the affair forced the palace and the establishment to veto marriage causing the King to abdicate the throne. 
It was a high energy soap opera played out on the fields of the highest estates in the land and only eventually solved, in that last bastion of British democracy, the Houses of Commons and the Prime Minister.
The issue at hand then as now is the baggage people have attached to them and the inability of society to let go and make peace.

 We have all been proud of the younger prince Harry, he seems a really likeable chap who carries his responsibilities well these days, far less the young rogue when growing up he has worked hard to install public awareness in the plight of the disabled ex servicemen especially with his personal involvement in the Invictus Games.  He has the touch of the common man, much as his mother Diana had in her work with patients suffering AIDS and also her high profile work highlighting the dreadful injuries caused by land mines to peace time civilians living in ex war zones.

William, Harry's brother was always set and educated to carry the mantle of a future King. He was groomed for the post from the beginning. His temperament was different much more statesman like, more adept at avoiding the pot holes of youth when growing up in the glare of the paparazzi.
He married an English Rose Katherine who has grown in the public eye as she faultlessly went about the public business, and even more importantly,  the business of motherhood, without blemish.
Harry was always likely to rock the boat, always likely to do his own thing, so it was no surprise when he announced his engagement to the American actress Meghan Markle.
Was history repeating itself. Was this foray into the muddy waters of American civil life not without risk, were there no skeletons in her cupboard (the Windsors have plenty in their own cupboard) and would an Americans view of what is right and proper coalesce with our own.
Meghan reflects the polished pubic relations profile which a young woman in the media eye has to have. She is secure in her Prince's love. She has the poise ( a somewhat manufactured one in my opinion) to carry off her engagements but she also has the mystery of her relationship with her father, her brother, and her sister. It's without question that her family are strange mixture of drug use, alcoholism and an apparent chasm between the views of her sister and herself as to family history. Only this morning her Father was appealing to the Royal Household to ask his daughter to reply to his attempts at communication. It seems a sorry state of affairs when a daughter won't speak to her dad, irrespective of the fact that he seems to have besmirched his own character.
The question is. Do we have a "diva" on our hands (a prima donna). Do we have someone who manipulates her position ( the love of her Prince) for her own gain. Someone who, only recent to power, has not yet learnt the responsibility which goes with it. Her clash with Katherine (the English Rose) and the tetchiness  that seems to have arisen between the brothers who it seems, (in time old custom) are drawn into supporting their wives on fear of something far worse. 
As I said at the beginning, it all evokes memories of the breakup in 1936, within the Royal Household. Two brothers and an American woman who was and is, ill equipped to conceal her feminine instincts and side with old fashioned stuffy tradition.

A jolly good lunch

The good thing about having friends and relatives around at this time of the year is that there is an assumption that we hold each other in special esteem and can fill our boots with fun and festive spirit without an entry into the ledger.  The wine and the food flow and as one becomes more expansive and the stories more risky it's all taken in good spirits.
In England, amongst people who are more used to being gregarious in a pub setting and to a looser audience, the interface of the personal story is lost since the characters and the places they describe have no connection with the audience. If the footage is not only personal but includes the wider family and describes the characteristics of and within a society you know, well the party knows few limits.
It's funny how parts of society are both representative of the norms within that group of people, norms which were accepted by literally all and sundry and acted out, became some sort of passport in being acknowledged as one of them. The humour and the latent support within the group was both tactile and explicit, an awareness of the affinity and support and the sense of solidarity and companionship which draws on the best most interesting part of human consciousness, and that life outside those bonds of friendship can be pretty barren
Old European societies stressed with tribal tension have a poor record when it comes to being open and receptive. Sarcasm and competition build walls around which people hide to save themselves from constant attack.  Younger societies have a more relaxed way of integrating and feel more able to carry off banter without fear of ridicule.
The fear of being misconstrued, misunderstood, even pure wrong, tags people throughout their lives and its only in the sanctity of a society which is not forever 'point scoring' can we truly be ourselves, keen to expose weaknesses without fear of recrimination.

Ignoring the wishes of 52% of the electorate.

As the tide goes out on Mrs Mays plan, plan A to fulfil the wishes of 52% of the British people or the plan B which was to do the opposite one has to wonder at the hyperbole and hoo ha surrounding the whole issue
From the disdain of the "Brexiteers" who say it's no problem to crash out since trade, even within the EU, won't wither away and it must be remembered that we will also be free to trade outside the EU. On the other side of the equation those "Remainders" who wish we could continue sitting  snug and safe within the cartel can only hope that things will go back to normal.
The question of supply routes and the method by which goods are now sent in a measured, continuous stream avoiding the need to hold stock, is a problem to be solved. As are the treaty agreements into which we have entered covering, amongst other things, flight management arrangements controlling traffic control in the sky. The important collaboration in research projects and the critical security information regarding terrorism all require good will, and all are negotiable. It's not as if we are some remote foreign power with round pin electrical sockets, as in the words of the old song, "we've been together now for 40 years".
It's also important that we recognise the standards the EU impose since they are based on best practise. We must beware the urge we often have in this country to cut corners solely for profit.
There will be tariffs, it's what the EU stands for, a protectionist group of nations who have closed their doors to those outside the cabal but who have also cobbled together good practice in so many areas. It's this good practice with regard to standards which I find so attractive, standards over profit are a yard stick I approve of.
The current hype to chuck out Mrs May seems a drama we don't need at the moment especially if it lets that buffoon Boris Johnson in as PM. Then the world will have real cause to wonder at our sanity.
But you know I wonder if it wasn't Mrs Mays plan from the start, given that she voted to "stay", and then proclaimed Brexit means Brexit. Perhaps it's been a ploy and that all along she meant to kick the decision down the road as far as she could by ignoring the structural hard line of the EUs position, on the assumption they will come around to our point of view eventually and if not, by delaying everything until the last minute and ensuring there is no time left, the MPs become unnerved at the thought of crashing out.
It looks, as I write, that she will retain her job but with Parliament as a a whole seemingly equally determined to reject her plan for withdrawal, which includes the hated Irish backstop parliament will reject her proposal and with Europe rejecting any other plan we are faced with "crashing out" or "staying in" with the added ramification that our democracy is holed below the waterline for ignoring the wishes of 52% of the electorate.

Working through the holidays.

Working through the holidays

Are we in danger of being hoisted with our own petard. The clock is ticking but the House of Commons is announcing that it will soon quit for Christmas and won't be back before the 7th of January, then they rise again on the 14th of February and return on the 25th of February and all this whilst Rome burns. It seems that history must repeat its self and yet in the real world the world of train maintenance or the builders of projects such as Cross Rail who have gangs of workmen out working in all weathers the concept of having a break when a deadline is approaching is not on. Could you imagine BT or British Gas informing us that they were off swanning it on holiday when the trench to your front door was halfway across the driveway. The most important political question of the last 50 years remains unanswered and their eyes are on a break. Of course it could be argued that they, the politicians are not needed and it's the work of the Civil Servants who negotiate the deals. And yet perhaps, to keep up appearances the Prime Minister along with her other Ministers still make the political choices and the Brexit withdrawal agreement, especially the Irish backstop arrangement  is fundamentally political. 

I would, to use the Speakers prerogative when the MPs vote, cry "lock the doors". Perhaps locking the members in to thrash it all out until exhaustion draws a conclusion wouldn't be a bad idea.

The idea that, through your school you are destined to find work in what we call the Establishment, which includes the Parliament and that having been established  that your role in life is already destined there not much else to swot up on other than the obligatory trip into the Chamber to ask one of those questions which will inevitably be batted away into the long grass. The outcomes of the Parliamentary System are academic except for a few idealists, the exercise of bouncing up and down trying to catch the Speakers eye can be seen as an alternative to the gym and the kudos one gets from being a member of this antiquated old boys club is enough to dine out on in that world which is ever so remote from the ordinary man in the street who in all probability will be having to turn out and work through the so called holidays.

A genius at work

 A genius at work.

When I was young and coming to the end of my schooling the question of what do you want to do in terms of a job was never far from my parents mind (if not mine) but if I had said "I want to be a snooker player" my folks would have had a cadenza. The image of playing snooker for a living, even the idea of the snooker hall was an anathema swathed in a concept of sleaze and ill gotten gain.
Pot Black on television was the first sight the general public got of the game. Then as now the game had its idols. Joe and Fred Davis were the best players by far in the 50s and 60s, with their black tuxedos and polished manners they made the game respectable.
The dodgy characters in the inner city snooker halls were still there and, hand in hand with the betting shop the people who frequented those places didn't seem to need a proper job, their earnings came from elsewhere.
Barry Hearn the boxing promoter, a man who himself often seemed to sail close to the wind in his boxing promotions, saw an opportunity and virtually bought the rights to run and broadcast professional snooker. He glamorised it and mounted tournaments around the world, increasing its appeal to a world television audience. The number of tournaments increased in leaps and bounds and he has even tinkered with a sort of 'speed snooker' which appeals to a younger audience.

Ronny O'Sullivan is the undoubted king of the game. His record for the number of titles won, or the number of centuries, or the fastest maximum break 147 are all his. He appears indefatigable as he moves around the table weighing up the next shot and how it will impinge, four shots later. The constant mental geometry and the judgement of speed and force with which  he has to  hit the cue ball and then, with the cue ball, the object ball, it's like chess but with an extra multitude of skills to make move after move.
Tonight he plays Mark Allen the man from Ulster for the UK Championship tile and as usual Ronny is favourite to win.
Ronny O'Sullivan hasn't always had favourable headlines, his mood swings and irritability seem at odds with his genius but a genius he certainly is and tonight, once again he is crowned champion.

Prejudice and racial tension

 Prejudice and racial tension.

Listening to a radio  program in which people ring in to air their views, this time the topic was the racial abuse suffered by Raheem Stirling, the Manchester City player on Saturday. Clearly he was at the receiving end of a tirade of expletives as he went to collect the ball near the corner flag. Without question one has to decry the vicious hatred these middle aged white men had towards this black football player. One has to wonder at that part of society and the upbringing that led to this racially warped display of anger, it was visceral and out of control. How, living in a multicultural society can they can feel such anger towards another human being.

One of the callers was Stan Collymore, a mixed race Premier league footballer who played for, amongst others, Liverpool in the late 1990s. He exemplified the deep sense of hurt amongst people of colour regarding the slights they see handed to them, living in this still predominantly white country. Their sense of being called out and made to feel second class permeates their thinking and the things we take for granted, become laced with prejudice by a non white person. It spills out into every corner of their lives, from, in the footballers case, the number of black managers in the sport, given the number of black players who play the game in the top flight.  Collymore even went so far as to complain that black players were pushed out onto the wing or into the less attractive goal scoring positions in the team and forced to make the openings for the likes of Harry Kane. It all sounded far fetched and one could sight the use of white players in the position of fullback but of course it is fallacious to do so. Players of different race in football seem to have either by temperament of physical prowess,  indeed athletics proves the point that by some genetic quirk the middle distance and marathon runners of central Africa are leagues ahead of everyone else. Another example is to see the line up for the 100m sprint race, they are all black men with huge physiques and explosive power. 

There are many objections to his arguments but the one common theme which runs through phone in programs like this is the number of embittered people who are out there living their lives with a grudge. 

I have never suffered a sense of  racism even when I was the only white face in a bar in  Newark in the USA, in a period just after the racial riots had destroyed sections of the town. There was a sense of being somewhat out on a limb, a round peg in a square hole, there was some hostility when I danced (with the encouragement of others around the bar) with one of the lo
cal girls,  but generally, as a Pommy (anglo erectus),  I was a protected species and people went out of their way to befriend me. In another bar, this time in New Orleans, also a black persons bar, (segregation was alive and well in the States in the 60s),the South African guys I was with were very jumpy and left after one drink whilst I stayed on and had a great evening amongst my new found friends.

You see it was a conditioning of the mind which allowed me to stray into a lions den which so terrified the guys from South Africa. They felt totally alien in surroundings which were populated almost wholly by black men because of their childhood prejudice towards black society whilst I had been raised in a home where that type of prejudice was verboten. I simply judged each as an individual and couldn't believe that an individual would threaten me because of the colour of my skin. Ever an optimist and perhaps a little naive, I was blessed to assume because of the colour of my skin that colour didn't matter, although in retrospect it obviously did. There are so many different variations of skin colour and tied up in the skin colour, customs and practices which are as much, if not more so, something to be differentiate by.

And yet the differentiation was not master/slave or for that matter, slave/master but individual to individual. Some people you liked and some you didn't like, some were more easy to communicate with and some quite difficult if ideology got in the way but it was never simply a cohort thing.

Collymores burning resentment about racial bias, having grown up in this country is disturbing given that people of colour have been very successful living and working here. His resentment could be rightfully shared by the poorly educated, poorly equipped white youth from any Northern town who feels he or she has been dealt a poor card in life's journey. Of course the white guy in Bradford can't cry, 'racialism' when his city councillors from Ahmed to Amran and Azam, lots of Hussain's, a Jabal and a Khan or two mixed in with a meagre  sprinkling of Slater, Tait and Swallow's and only one Wainwright represent the population of Bradford in 2018. 

Mr Collymore and his ilk must remind themselves that for the moment the majority lies with the white folk and whilst no one wishes to see the hideous display at the recent football game one has to question the amount of social engineering desired by people who are still in the minority.

Amongst his peers

 Amongst his peers.

Do we ever have enough, are we ever satisfied.
Laying in bed, the quilt tucked under my chin I look around my bed room and think to myself yes this is enough. The bed is comfy, there are books galore, within arms reach, there's a tv and a bedside radio, and my iPad gives me connection to anywhere and everything.
At about 10 every evening the flight to somewhere in Europe pulls up its landing gear and climbs into the clouds setting its heading for the coast. If the pilot were to look to his right he would see my bedroom light on.  He in his world, me in mine. His altimeter registering every meter as he gains height, first the lights of Harlow and then in the distance, the glow of London.
Below him unseen in the black countryside the river slithers like a snake through the hedgerows and over contours of the land. Nearby the nocturnal animals are looking for a meal. The owl, ever alert hears a rustle in the undergrowth and decides to have a look. The fox trots silently by, eyes accustomed to the gloom ears pricked looking for a passerby late on his or her way home near but not near enough from the security of their den.
High above off goes the seat belt light and the passengers ease themselves into their seat as the hostess passes down the row to ask if you want a drink. It's a short flight and they will be there by midnight. Already the anxiety is beginning to creep in, there's the car hire to negotiate and the drive to the pension, and will the key be where its supposed to be.
In the morning light the beauty of rural Provence will make it all worth while, the drive to the bakery and the smell of fresh bread, the delicious pastries and the quaintness of hearing French all around and wondering what the word for  brussels sprouts is.
Out of their comfort zone, driving on the wrong side of the road, ordering meals and not knowing what you will get, is all part of the fun of being abroad but is it worth the ignominy of the security when boarding, the near cattle like performance in a crowded queue as you loosen your belt and empty your pockets, all semblance of dignity gone. Navigating the exits in the departure hall for your plane you are allowed enough time to wander the glitzy shops in duty free pondering if you really want a 20 year old when the 10 was your usual tipple, and that exotic perfume which sells for a ridicules amount in the high street but doesn't on reflection seem so massively reduced here.
Is it worth the swap from the comfort of my bed and who knows, I may dream of a holiday which is not only free but somehow I am 20 again with all the opportunity a 20 year old has amongs't his peers.

The home coming

Subject: FW: The home coming.

The Hoover is being dragged around again this weekend and the sheets washed, if not ironed, have already gone on the bed. The broccoli and the greens have arrived having shopped for the second time from my armchair. It's interesting having to interpret what the picture portrayed and what arrived. For instance instead of receiving a packet of button mushrooms I received just one and only two carrots. At least I bought, for me unusual things, things  I would have been blind to walking down the supermarket isle but here I now have them as I puzzle what to do with them.
I also had a rush of blood to the head and bought a few bottles of wine but with Andrew being tea-total and finding when I'm alone I have no inclination to pour myself a drink. I will have to wait for my old drinking pal Angela to arrive and help me out..
The reason for the activity is that Andrew is coming over on holiday for Christmas and arrives on Wednesday. I'v been told not to fuss and not to come to the airport he will make his way to the front door. I supposed we pay for our sins and having described my return to Bradford in 1966 being away for five years, I caught  the train and the trolley -bus home, nearly caused my Mother a heart attack by just turning up on the doorstep. At least I know the date if not the time but I will miss the anticipation as passengers stream through the arrival gate and you strain for a first glimpse. I have mentioned before my own emotional antenna out on such occasions as the families reunite, the lovers test their resolve and the loner makes his of her way through the thong.
It will be grand to see him again although in fact we have seen each other often with the aid of Messenger. I usually I wake to find a message or a video clip from India and it's a far cry from the paucity of information and contact I had with my parents back in the day
Letter writing was the main method of keeping in touch and the use of tape recorded messages along with 8mm video film placed me at the cutting edge back then.
But there's nothing like the real thing as we manoeuvre around our space trying not to be too gushing with the questions, (something I'm always accused of) and finding a line between the pleasure of finding each other much as we had left each other, his gaze I'm sure a little more acute since as the years roll by we oldies begin to show our age in many ways and children worry about what is inevitable rather than celebrating that we are still here.
There was some talk of Marie and Angela driving over from Wales but we are spending Christmas there so I doubt if it will happen and anyway Angela is ever so busy, like a chipmunk in her new forest home.

So it's out with the cleaning materials, the duster and the broom. Not too much, I might add I don't want to create a false image, the odd cobweb is handy for flies and the dust for writing the occasional a message. At least Andrew won't be like the 'sanitary police' who descended my house last time proclaiming this and that dirty and needing a scrub. Nothing missed their combined gaze as they took apart my happy complacency and reduced  me hiding away as the mop and bucket became the de facto statement of women's intolerance men's more casual approach to such matters. We simply care less for the order and the house proud  attribute, passed down from Granny to Mother to Daughter. We see the place we call home just that, a refuge from conformity and prying eyes where to chill means to sprawl out on the couch watching a rugby match oblivious to the noisy vacuum cleaner which suddenly appears just when the scrum nears the try-line. It's as if two universes clash, each oblivious of the other, each equally sure of their path and the righteousness of their cause. Just another example of the fact that men are from Mars and women from Jupiter.

Calling ourselves English

S

Calling ourselves English

What is wrong with the concept of separating the countries which make up the British Isles, if they want to leave. 

European history is full of deals to amalgamate land and people against their will. Political heads of state seemed to do little else but plot to amalgamate some hapless neighbouring nation, often on the slim pretension that many of the people living there belonged originally 'somewhere else' and that the 'somewhere else' feels it's their duty to assimilate the people.

The British Isles, that amalgamation of four countries with four separate identities has an ancient history of conflict and and forced subordination by the largest power, England. Perhaps it is time to loosen the grip of Westminster and let those countries, those that do, go their own way. There could be agreement, especially trade, similar to those which are founded in the EU. Freedom of movement, friction-less boarders, no tariff barriers and even a common currency would make the collective group much the same without the bickering. If Northern Ireland amalgamated with Southern Ireland and become one country again then the island would have a true physical border and its union with Europe would be solved. Scotland, which wishes independence should be given it and if it wants to, join the EU in its own right. Of course if we stay out of Europe then a hard boarder would apply but since we and the Scots have grown away from violence, (unlike the Irish, where the fear of internecine conflict between the Irish makes a boarder of any kind problematic)  then a hard boarder would be simple to construct. That leaves sleepy old Wales where the last leader to oppose the English Owen Glendower, was in the 1400s and since then, the main call to nationalism comes from Cardiff Arms Park, although Clyde Cymru might disagree, there doesn't seem a great appetite to strike out on their own. 

Would we, shorn of Scotland and Ireland be any the worse off in England and Wales. The immediate benefit to the Exchequer in Westminster would be dropping the Barnet Formula where a subsidy is paid to Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales to adjust spending on public services. This is a cost to England with no obvious return. The cross boarder industries, such as Whisky and animal products would be subject to treaty. The shipyards on the Clyde and in Belfast would no longer tender for navel shipping orders which one assumes, being outside Europe and its rules of procurement, could then go to Teesseside and Gosport. The academia of Scotland in particular, might be encouraged to stay at home and not fill the Ministerial posts in Westminster.

What would be the upside. 5.3 million Scots and 1.8 million NI people would be off our books. The income from the tax losses netted against the expenditure would be a net gain to Westminster. Their schooling and their health would be for their own revenue raising ability. The cost of pensions would have to be phased out over time but eventually that would also come off the books.

What is the downside.  Other than this mystical sense of history where at the cost in blood of thousands of yeomanry a king or queen would settle a territorial dispute and one of their pals, a 'Lord of the Realm' would bequeath another title.

Surely we have moved a long way from this concept of sovereign regency and can adjust our sense of command and ownership. Surely we can become what we started out as, a tribe of people with sufficient in common to call ourselves English.

Undergoing Hari kari

Subject: Undergoing Hari kari.

I was reading a critic about a couple of books which purport to say that Liberal values and the assumptions which go with them are heading nowhere in a world which becomes less a social group and more a gathering of individuals. Interwoven with this spectre of individuals all jostling for position regardless of others is the enforced segregation evolving as we try and fail to understand the cultural identity of others. 
The substance of our acceptance lies in our understanding that we, with some minor differences, have a sense of commonality through our customs and perhaps the recognisability of each other by the colour of our skin. In some ways the colour we see ourselves to be is like a flag, a sort of rallying position under which as we gather we assume other people will think and feel as we do. 
50 years ago this was not important and there will be many who think it's not important today. They will brush aside the fears of those in society who know that economically they have been left behind and blame much of their plight on the multicultural push. 
The sense of being a part of a nation used to mean that the people in that nation were all lookalikes sharing the same or similar religious norms and the same cultural affinity. 
Today this multicoloured, multi ethnic, multi religious nation, which was artificially thrown together for economic expediency has been bullied into submission, where to question the status quo is deemed, alongside blasphemy a punishable thing. Not quite with the severity of Pakistan but as we digress from the perceived wisdom of those who wish to educate and control us, the wrath of being charged with being a racist or a bigot has lasting consequences.
The interesting thing is that whilst we, dare I say, of an Anglo Saxon bent, whilst we are precluded from offering all but the weakest whimper at the changes rained on and around us, many of the culturally proud immigrants and their societies, (for they are still allowed to have a culturally recognised society), would fight tooth and nail to oppose any changes to their own culture.
The strength of their identity is tied up in their culture and religion, just the things "we" have had to trade to fit in to the new fully emancipated UK.
It seems crazy that a nation who has done so much on the world stage could be induced to undergo a type of national Hari Kari and worse, forced to feel proud about it.

The Will of the People

: The will of the people.

It seems to me that it will be a massive injustice if we are unable to progress in the Brexit talks because of the need to provide a backstop arrangement between the boarder of Ireland and Northern Ireland.
It was not so long ago that we were at war with the non official Irish nationalists in the form of the IRA. Many lives were spent even in the bombings on English soil and a treaty to cease fighting The Good Friday treaty was cobbled together by Tony Blair to bring to an end the dirty war pursued on the backstreets of many small towns in Northern Ireland
Of course the Irish Question goes back much further in time and the wrangling over Home Rule brought down the government in Westminster. The English landowners in Ireland were much hated for their ignoring the plight of the ordinary people during the potato famine of 1845 to 1849. The heartless disregard for the starving Irish cast a cloud over future relationships which right up until this day have not been forgotten by the residents of areas most effected.

The IRA and Sinn Fain, the political wing of the nationalist movement caused mayhem in Northern Ireland but as part of the Good Friday agreement they formed the opposition in the newly created Northern Ireland Parliament. Gradually over the years the size of Sinn Fain has grown and at the time of last election nearly formed a majority of the votes counted. Considering that their single aim is reunification with Southern Ireland and given that they nearly won why are we making such a fuss over protecting the rights of  Protestant trade and friction less boarders if in a few years Northern Ireland may be politically reunited by a vote of its own people.
We seem keen to fight so many lost causes. The Falklands, probably Gibraltar and Northern Ireland, all seem to bewitch us with our past glory and, along with Scotland who seem bent on independence, we continue to stretch our credulity by opposing the flow of the will of the people in the twenty first century.

George H W Bush

George H W Bush

All funerals are special. They are a moment to reflect on ones memory of the person departed and also a reflection of ones own mortality.
Today it's the state funeral of George H W Bush the father of of George W Bush who is remembered for his reaction to the Twin Towers disaster and his the taking on the Taliban and Osama bin Laden as well as the fateful invasion of Iraqi and the removal of Saddam Husain. The father and son, both presidents, were close but very different men and as he waited for the coffin to begin its journey to the Washington Cathedral one could see the emotion held back as his father began his last journey.
There were of course no open carriages pulled by horses on whose horseback sit resplendently dressed horsemen. No marching troops dressed in regimental tunics depicting the glamour of their regiment, only the representatives of the army, navy and air force to carry the coffin. The Americans are always well drilled in this sort of pageant it's the simplicity versus the pageantry and one feels the occasion is more raw when not swaddled in tradition.
President H W Bush is the last of the old school, a man brought up to serve under arms for his country in far off wars which transformed the world for that generation and the generation afterwards in a symbolic organised compact which, but for a few blips, has held until today.
The measured and quietly spoken validation of the dead man was beautifully delivered by a historian who's main message was Bush's ability to always reach out across the isle and to always acknowledge his fellow man. Another came from an old Senator friend filled with poignant memories and the humour of men on top of their game.
His grandchildren and great grandchildren who came up to the pulpit to speak were all products of one of the most elite families in the United States. Their poise and presence were a delight and one could imagine the security of their upbringing and the quality of their education adding to their self absurdness under the spot light.
Finally his son, one of eight made his way to the pulpit to begin a journey of remembered early that had his family laughing happily at the memories. Only in the last moment when he described his final goodbye did George Junior break down for a moment before recovering. The eloquent had spoken and there was only the emotion left, that of son to father as the ties were finally severed leaving the son to stand alone.
All in all it was a worthy tribute to a man who lived his life in the fast lane, accomplishing things not by brute force but by consolidating everyone's position. A true gentleman.

Geoffrey Cox QC

Subject: Geoffrey Cox QC.

Its one of those  parliamentary moments when high theatre, some would call it farce, is on magisterial display in the House of Commons.   As with everything these days it's about Brexit and the withholding from Parliament of legal arguments regarding the "back stop arrangement" along the boarder between Ireland and the North of Ireland, which is the only point of contact between the European Union and the United Kingdom. With friction less trade within Europe goods travel over the boarder without hindrance but when we leave, goods will have to be examined to be assessed for the amount of import duty owed.

The controversial  "back stop" arrangement allowing Northern Ireland to stay within Europe for a period of time after the rest of the UK had left  has, amongst other things allowed the politicians to kick into the long grass a final definitive arrangement which will suit both sides regarding the boarder and it's the complexity of the arrangement, especially the period at which the arrangement will be voided, and has caused much dissatisfaction. 
The 'Attorney General' is the person given the job by Government of being its Lawyer and providing it with legal opinion.  A statement which was tabled in the House by the Government explaining the next moves of the Government in its negotiation with the EU Commission and it's this statement the House has to vote on agreeing  or otherwise on whether the proposal is satisfactory.  Part of the deliberation by parliamentarians is to scrutinise the legal arguments but unfortunately the Attorney General has refused to surrender his legal argument and has provided a synopsis of the argument instead. Parliament has stated this evening that this is an abrogation of Parliament and have demanded to see the legal opinion. They have gone so far as to say the AG is in contempt of Parliament.
That's the background but to me, apart from the constitutional implications has been the imperious performance of Geoffrey Cox the Attorney General who proved a tour de force in his performance at the dispatch box with a mixture of legal surety and a barristers hubris.
"If all the world were a stage and all the men and women measly players", Mr Cox would win hands down. At times passionate, at other times bombastic, his was a Churchillian performance and one can see how top flight barristers earn their money. Parliamentarians have flights of fancy as to there own talent when speaking, it's their job after all but Geoffrey Cox was in a class of his own. A deep baritone voice, a range of linguistic skill and a quick agile brain had him fielding off disgruntled MPs for two hours.
I was impressed not so much for his argument, that we are in a negotiating phase and ones legal arguments have to be kept to ones self, set against parliaments argument that it can't vote on a matter that has large elements of ambiguity attached to it.
It was such a relief to hear high quality argument and debate away from the metronome of Mrs May, her statement and rebuttal which makes up so much of what goes on in Parliament these days