The end of the holiday

Subject: The end of the holiday.

All too soon the time is fast approaching for us to repack our suitcases into the car for the journey home, back to our relative but different normality. As I described it it's been a gathering of the clan, a clan which is different each year, some of us growing older and more infirmed.  Some with the rigour of a new baby to watch over 24/7 and for Andrew, a return to a far different surrounding as he swaps continents and returns to a very different life in India.
Families all over the world these days are faced with the same problem, the world being the oyster the pearls which grow do so under different conditions and the cohesion when living in the same street, or an adjacent town is lost as we are left contemplating a further period of separation.
The rooms will be tidied the rubbish of a week thrown out, a final saunter around the town  and we will be off, this time the optimism of arrival only a few days ago is now tinged with regret.
Gathered together we made a healthy but divergent group. Having grown in the interim  into different roles we test our understanding of what is happening, the old getting older, the birth of a delicate needy baby re-emphasising  the cycle of life and the genetic continuity and amongst all this, the voice of sagacity, a philosophical proposition which maps out a path for a more harmonious life through the understanding of Buddhism.
The family glue which relied on the conformity of our past experience is, in someways weakening, in some ways strengthening the bond between us but where as before the family nucleus gained its strength from the necessity to get on and interact under one roof, now the roofs are split and each generation is generating its own energy shifting the tectonic plates, a little further apart. The importance of renewing that family glue is ever more important since distance erodes the bond which came into being such a long time ago. The ability to communicate and laugh together is made easier through the video links but as with all such artificial creations it's what is said and done off screen that matters. The worries which the young have for their parents as they see them lose much of the strength and the mental agility and made them reliable. The tensions which a new born child fosters on the new parents, the tiredness and apprehension as the child is put under the spotlight each day as the phenomenon of a growing baby unfurls is out of sight to the rest of the family and generally unspoken.  The common sense of an older generation is supplanted by new and more relevant information and becomes a difficult bridge to negotiate.
The world of intense social and philosophical interpretation widens the old sureties, sureties  based on assumptions which were never tested but which are now part of an ongoing  dialog of debate. Barely questioned ideas are given a thorough reexamination using the centuries old debating skills and one is hard pressed not to undergo the total ignominy of having  to cast out ones own sureties.
Clearly it's a rich organic mix which is departing, soon to go it's own way. It's not a tame organic mix or a set of woolly assumptions but a work in progress and when we are all once again settled 'back home' we might look back wiser on the circumstances of our now widely differing lives.
The glue is still firmly in place as we sometimes squirm to modify our interrelationship  but  nature, and life carry us indubitably onwards to our different destination, et fruit semper, et est vita.

A walk along the cliffs

Subject: A walk along the cliffs

One of the distinctive features of coastal Wales is the hilly topography, of cliffs and bays inevitably with a path running around the edge. Frequented by the serious walker or a family out for a days jaunt these footpaths are an emotional lifeline for many . The invigorating sea breeze, the sound of gulls  squawking,  the distant crash of waves colliding with the rocks far below are all a distant reminder of our island ancestry built on the shoreline in villages and cottages probably with a boat pulled up on the sand and a net stretched out for repair. The sight of a small boat bobbing on the waves and the industrious fishermen working their craft draws out from many of us the romance of that elemental barrier between the land and the sea. On the water looking landward those walkers and the cars threading their way from point to point are a modern contrivance so distant from the freedom of plotting a course across the bay and around the headland in a boat. There's no tarmac under your wheels only the uneven fetch of water generated thousands of miles away perhaps in some tropical storm the energy which tumbles out on the rocks as elemental as the heart beating in your breast. It's this elemental aspect which turns the walker on a they trudge mile on mile, up and down following the path. Often alone with their thoughts these men and women live to a different beat to that of the city dweller who destination might be the corner shop and a bottle of milk. The walker has other things on his mind, his surroundings a relief from the uniformity of the suburban housing estate form a background for other more fundamental rumination which in your hearty 'good day' you drag them fleetingly back into the present. Sometimes a dog will introduce the walker with a fussy tail wagging display as their owner hails into view a hundred yards behind, the talk for a moment is of dogs and weather, the view and the distance travelled each content to have briefly made contact and each equally content to be on their way. And all the while the sea pounds out its immemorial message as part of the planets living  pulse which has been responding to the urge of gravity for as long as it existed.
Time to turn around and retrace our steps and head for home. The lungs have been partially cleared of the pollution which we live amongst daily and more important, the head has been cleared of its mundane trivia for an hour or two.

The first night away

Subject: The first night away.

A slow but intense drizzle was blocking out the sky as we drove through the narrow lanes edging closer to Newport on the west coast of Wales. It was the gathering of the clan, an annual get together, this year to celebrate the arrival of my daughters daughter Lola.
Air B&B the creation where you can, for a price, live in someone else's house for a week  live the lifestyle of the wealthy. Beautiful homes, and modern facilities which on arrival are all part of the Willie Wonka chocolate factory fascination. Look at that, see how this gadget makes things so much easier. Coming from our own modest homes we marvel at how unrestricted funds allow a renovation to produce the 'ahh' factor and we begin to wonder if that wouldn't fit into our kitchen or bathroom. The emphasise is on quality and the pleasure money can provide and even for the most simple things take on a splendour of their own. Of course as the Wonka effect wears off and we settle in a routine,  accepting our new surroundings as a temporary norm we never the less appreciate the space, the underfloor heating, the toilet on suite for all bedrooms, the massive modern kitchen, the two lounges each the size of the ground floor footprint of our own home. The games room and the garden are probably best seen in summer but never the less, for the hardy are waiting to entertain.

Newport is a quaint town full of art shops and Welsh bric-a-brac, friendly cafes and a host of pubs as yet unexplored. It sits on Newport bay, the sea quite distant as  we walked along the coastal footpath. It's these coastal foot paths which draw the walkers in, they criss cross the coast all around and for the keen walker are a delight to explore and take in this largely unspoilt coastline.
With pram and the constant needs of a baby, plus the old limbs of yours truly we didn't go far but with a break in the weather who knows, we have plenty of time ahead to explore. Andrew meantime has been up to his culinary magic producing a meal last night which I'm sure the local hostelry would be hard put to to beat. His interest and enthusiasm for food and the experience he has gained from living in India make him a great traveling companion, whipping up tasty  meals whist Lola's proud parents  take it in what seemed never ending turns to keep her happy and Marie settles down to sorting out a jigsaw puzzle.
Such is our laid back family life as the darkness folds in on us in our luxurious if only temporary surroundings. For me, a bed and a book beckons

The reality check

Subject: A reality check.

What is it in the psychology of the voters in the United States and now the UK which seems to mark them out for being cannon fodder for the propagandist, and the advert led sloganeer.
Part of the problem is the allure of the celebratory, the fan base which characterises public attention these days. The glitz and the glitter which we have become used to in our daily diet of TV entertainment has overtaken reality and that gritty prescription of real life has been swopped for a scripted, imaginative fantasy, where facts are swept aside for titivating fiction.

It seems that no matter what Donald Trump does, his fan base, including, the Republican Party, will cheer him on and probably give him  re-election as president. Even the Impeachment Proceedings are taken by a large swath of the population  as the Establishment having a go at our man. Black or white, the inditement of his actions have no effect and only entrench the Trump voter in their deep rooted prejudice born of hardship inflicted upon them by the very same sort of people which Trump represents.

It's the same over here. Johnson's followers, are impervious to what some of us see as  his blatant misuse of the truth and trust, his willingness to totally disregard the norms of private and political etiquette and at the heart of the man a deep antithesis to the people who are supporting him. The more outrageous he is, the more he is liked.
Have we, along with our American cousins, through our 24/7 absorption of what television portrays become disconnected with our own reality, preferring the 'gore' of 'reality TV' with its offering of the penny dreadful and a never ending revelation of the various dilemmas people have to live under. Out of work, barely managing, living only from day to day, scrounging a subsistence life, seems to reinforce us in our own comparative but only marginally better circumstances.
This influence of the public persona, of the bandwagon effect, has a dark history.
Germany in-between the war years was ripe for the propagandist. Having suffered defeat and brought, (by stringent Reparations), to an economic low point, (not all of which was shared across the society), they longed for strong and decisive leadership.
In some ways Trump and Johnson are part of a not too dissimilar mould. Determined  to break with convention, these egotists will do anything to play to their fan base. Decency and reflective humanity is not in the pack from which they deal and instead they play to the crowd, whipping up disharmony to confuse the multitudes, who then believe only what the headlines tell them.
Is it a poverty of education and opportunity which limits the general not to ask the questions which should be asked when their heroes make such crass claims, has the public at large become some sort of symbiotic creation, a new breed of men and woman who after so many decades of infatalised TV  are mentally programmed to accept anything if dressed up with enough glamour.
Has our own sense of worth been so corrupted that we are prepared to believe anything other than the reality staring us in the face

Individualism

Subject: Individuality.

How do I reflect and enhance my individuality. Well for one, by not joining a group.
It's an oxymoron to link myself with a group if I value my unique one-off-ness, if I wish to acknowledge the special symmetry of my birth, my parents and the environment into which I was born.
A group Is a blunt instrument, it's an amalgam of the myriad views and prejudice's of a collective, it's a comfort zone to withdraw into, not a sense of ones own individuality.
Why is being an individual important. Well a true individual has usually taken the time and trouble to form an opinion and what's more the courage to defend that opinion irrespective of any collateral damage of holding your view brings. Swimming against the tide is certainly more difficult than coasting with it, not flowing with public opinion can be quite bruising, segregating yourself takes courage since if your views are rubbished by the many, your opinions seem to lose currency and their value becomes limited. This is not to say they lose the value of objective analysis, rather the opposite but the weight of public opinion has an important psychological effect, 'they can't all be wrong can they', plays on our mind.

'Group think', be it religious or political, be it the mantra of the football fan or the obsession of the Vegan is a mindset to guard against, not because it's wrong but because it relies on a collective view, not necessarily one created by your own reasoning but the reasoning of others. The danger of the group is that it is susceptible to leadership which is in essence individual but not your own individuality, not your own construct based on your own life experience but based on someone else's set of assumptions.
Assumptions, ideas, beliefs are not bad in themselves in fact they can be the most revealing thing you think has happened to you. You chime in with the group and feel the security of the many which is clearly missing when you plough your own lonely furrow but at least it has the resolution and perspective of being yours. It argues from a willingness to be yourself at every step on the way, it doesn't assume you are right only that you are content to hold the view you hold since it seems to satisfy most of the background criteria on which you base your own life.

This essential criteria, this background noise is the essence of who you are. Your gender, the love and security you received when born, the space you were allowed to explore your own interests, the where-with-all which determined what you did, the environment and the prejudice within that society, and later as you released yourself from that society the norms of the new societies you were lucky or unlucky to land in, all these were the elements which made you the unique person you became and as the issues which arise and challenge you to take sides. Only your own experience is useful since the collective experience, by the fact that it's a collective, is someone else's.

A new dawn.

Subject: A new dawn. 

It's on mornings like these when you think of the year that has passed and the year ahead. It's not in a sense of regret for past and future nor is it based on much optimism given the recent political turmoil, I think the huge majority Boris Johnson obtained from a people deliberately confused as to their options will in a few weeks and months reveal the real mess we have opted to place ourselves in.
Old age brings its trials not least a shortened version of the road ahead, an inevitable calculus on ones viability to function as you had functioned in the past. Of course we have a tremendous amount to be thankful for, even the roof over our head and food in the fridge is a managed result which could still go wrong and mustn't be assumed.
The assumptions of even a year ago have radically changed in substance. The things you took for granted are now out of ones grasp, for ever and whilst one is never maudlin about these things it shows that life is just a set of assumptions which have little or no emotional surety.
My discovery of blogging 8 years ago has proved a great resource,  it's a realtime relief valve in which I can discuss my opinions and vent my anger. Venting and explaining subjects which don't seem to have much relevance to others could make matters worse if they were discussed face to face but since the conversation is mainly in my own head and then squeezed out through the vent we call the internet to catch on a breeze and scatter, possibly snagging on someone's conscience, more than likely chucked into the electronic trash can but at least, on a cursory glance show that there are people who care.
No man or woman is an island, each of us radiate waves. The waves may be gentle and benign or harsh and angry, they may express fear and loathing or sorrow and pity but they are usually generated with good will and a need to place 'the other opinion' on the table for at least consideration, since consideration is about all we can ask for.
The world, our world, is in my opinion about to enter some radical process of overhaul. Many of us are going to be increasingly angry that the agonising progress we have made to ensure that everyone has some sort of voice and can turn for help will now be unceremoniously chucked for another dose of Thatcherism or worse the mastications of Dominic Cummings. . People who assumed that certain social security functions were part of the warp and weft of our society, are in for a rude shock but of course the shock will be dressed up as something else, something which couldn't be avoided.
Perhaps those distant days when the electorate had a moment of sanity will be recalled by that dwindling phenomenon a free press. Unfortunately it was a sanity which ran counter to the plans of those who really rule the country and therefore had to be crushed and crushed it was.

Captured in the cloud

Subject: 'Captured in the cloud'

It's often said that Christmas, whilst a happy time for the young is a sad time for the elderly. The young with their presents and Parties, the old with their memories, their aches pains and indigestion who reflect on the passing year and still more, the year ahead with questions rather than answers. The field of friends has become depleted this year. The phone calls or the Christmas cards not sent this year, already the frisson of rekindling a friendship over a phone call to someone who you had known and shared experiences with half a lifetime ago are now no more. The address book is becoming full of ghosts, addresses you had entered when you were young, people to look up in their new environment or country, people from your home town who had moved away and who might be at the quayside waiting as you were, to catch a first glimpse before being taken off and shown their new world. Now they are gone for ever like so much else, the laughter and excitement echoing down the years like a call to the good times when anything was possible and we counted our tomorrows as opportunities not to be squandered.  Now we see the road ahead with far less clarity as the old adages seem so pertinent and wise.
This is not to say that one is morose or melancholy since there is a certain probity in the passage of time between say your 70s and 80s, a certain 'I told you so' lesson you wouldn't accept when younger but which now, sometimes to late you may regret not having done what you might have done.
But it's hard to shake off the habits of a lifetime especially if their assumed truism marked you and were the strength of your conviction on so many things. Your abundance of surety, your willingness to argue your point and feel vindicated if you retained your ides of what was right or wrong. These ideas now jostle with new uncertainty as the life force which drove you on becomes more accommodated to the idea that, in the not too distant future your voice will be quiet and ones old fashioned thoughts and habits will seem irrelevant.
Perhaps that's it we are individually irrelevant in the greater scheme of things and the self indulgence we grant ourselves hides that irrelevance. Perhaps all we have is the impression we might have made the mark that we were once around, a mark made in the footprint of our children and their children and maybe, just maybe, thoughts made clear in a blog captured for posterity somewhere in 'the cloud'.

Its all down to belief

Subject: It's all down to belief.

Boris Johnson's success and the part the mainstream press played in it with lurid headlines propounding lies and deceit as if they we were compatible with reasoned debate and some semblance of truth, has provided me with an epiphany moment, a moment of change and reawakening. 

When I was growing up the newspapers represented virtually the only source of news and information as to what was going on outside my personal obit. My orbit, the people I came into contact with living in a Yorkshire village as a young boy was almost entirely village centric. Very few people in the village had a motorcar, the bus, the bicycle or simply walking was our only means of transport and largely our world was contained within the hills and valleys of a 20 mile radius.  The simplicity strikes me now as I type away on this iPad, the world a keystroke away.
TV had yet to be launched across the country and consisted of only one program, BBC 1 which came on 15.00 and went off at 22.00. the reports from the far flung outposts of Empire such as Australia were the result of journalists observing events and reporting what they saw. 'The Times' of that period, long before it was bought by the grasping Murdock empire, was a paper you could trust and look up to as a part of an established respect we had for certain institutions operating within the national fabric.
This trust and reverence for honesty had a profound effect on the population. People placed their faith in certain institutions to be the weather cocks of taste and probity.
Growing up with these fundamental images of news as a factual thing, not a commodity to be bought and sold or twisted to meet someone's agenda meant we could digest what was happening beyond the compass of our affairs and yet make the story part of our affair. News was an actuality not a speculation or a political football, not a propaganda tool to manipulate our minds or deliberately modify and distort the truth.
Speculation is largely an ephemeral phenomena lacking any sort of consistency, it spirits the mind around flitting on this or that, leaving a confused vision of what is true and what is not. It's opinion not fact and makes no attempt to get close to facts since facts can be checked. It functions on the precepts of the Mad Hatters Tea Party where disjointed statements made for conversation and conversation was, like the host, quite mad.
The press, or as it is described, the 'Fourth Estate', is immensely powerful in influencing people who take what they read as gospel or, find the thread they are looking for, much as a narcissist searches for praise, to substantiate their prejudice.
The evil done to man is as much by innuendo as by fact and the hatchet job done on Jeremy Corbyn whilst at the same time brushing over the unpleasant character traits of Boris Johnson as some sort of laddish behaviour, meant that Corbyn, the man, became toxic and unelectable by those very people he wished to protect from what he saw coming down the track of hard right conservatism.
Corbyn the back bencher who had resolutely followed a path, as he saw it, of fair play and some sort of equality for the common man, trying to ensure the workings of the political system, so distorted by Margret Thatchers neo liberalism, to include the community as a whole. 
Year in year out Corbyn had resolutely pointed out the inadequacy of letting 'the market' decide. His opposition to Thatcher and then to Blair was based on his humanity towards those very people who, at the continuous baiting of the press believed he was some sort of Marxist inspired devil. Parroting the slogans they read each day,, week in week out never taking the trouble to ask, 'where and from whom' this information was coming from, they simply repeated the phrases, "Corbyn was unfit to become prime minister". The fact that he was on their side pointing out the decline in everything which touched their lives and the opportunities they might have dreamt for their children was irrelevant.  His voice consistently searching for ways to improve their lot and yet they had been told he was evil and like the faithful in St Peters Square they believed.