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