27th October 2014

Saturday night was Opera Night.

At the Buccleuch Centre in Langholm, 'the muckle toon', we saw Verdi's opera Macbeth.

Witches, Tantrums, Ghosts, poor judgement and as Shakespeare had it, but Verdi didn't:

'Vaunting ambition that o'er leaps itself and fall down on t'other side'.

It seems to me that the least we can expect from those who lead us is competence.

Once Macbeth started murdering he simply couldn't stop until Macduff finally stopped him.

Much of what happens once a Government is elected is that it should manage its affairs in such a way that the interests of the governed, both those who have elected and this who haven't are served equally and efficiently.

And we all know this.

People recognise good managers when they see them and deplore bad management when they encounter it.

Working people especially.

But all of us in our daily  lives can experience the frustrations when matters are not handled competently and can enjoy a sense of well being when they are.

To a large extent thoughtfulness lies at the heart of it.

Whenever decisions are taken quickly and without proper reflection they have to be changed or altered or remade.

So in a family a parent who constantly changes the rules will find that children become confused, unsettled, irritable, simply because they have arrived at a point where, they can't do right for doing wrong.

Then emotions tip over and as in the advert about insurance the sense that there may be trouble ahead grows.

The latest fiasco to hit the headlines and become the talked about item of news is the £1.7 Billion we apparently owe the EU.

Immediately the news breaks the tantrums begin.

Podiums are thumped.

Threats are made.

The anger it seems is real enough.

But then we discover that it has been known about for some time. It is a mechanism that has been implemented because the British Economy is out performing the wider European economy.

That it is not a Bill for this year it is a Bill for eleven years and is therefore a relatively small annual sum which even when it is rolled up is less than 0.6% of Britain's contribution.

Even the FT that august institution in its leader stated that: (Mr Cameron's response is) 'an exaggerated response to what is a somewhat modest issue'.

It's hard to know what is happening as the toys are thrown out of pram, ill considered words are ill chosen to describe the experience of those living in Britain's Towns and Cities, those on welfare and immigrants are held responsible for Britain's deficit whilst, apparently our economy continues to grow and we continue to promise tax reductions to all and sundry.

It seems that, as in the Opera, Macbeth sees the ghost of Banquo sitting in judgement at his dining table, so Mr Cameron is constantly unsettled by the sight of Mr Farage raising a glass to toast his growing popularity.

25th October 2014

The indoor critic relies on a wheelchair to get around.

Think of it as an aid to mobility the doctor said.

And it is.

And around we have got.

About a year or so ago we got around to shopping in Carlisle, the Great Border City.

We parked the car and visited the indoor Market and picked up some essentials and then on our way to Boots we passed the street where the car was parked, so leaving my partner sitting in the sunshine in her chariot, I popped down to the car and unloaded the various purchases that we had made.

When I got back I found her looking extremely distressed and being comforted by a passer-by.

What happened? I asked.

It turned out that three youths had happened by and one of them had grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and violently swung the wheelchair around almost but not quite tipping her out of it.

She had screamed and tried to use the brakes to no great effect, by the time I got back there were no signs of the youths, who proud of themselves and their actions frightening an older lady half to death, had run off laughing.

Later I learned that in fact they were still around but the indoor critic was concerned about what I might have done, knowing that in fact if I had in any way injured them I could (as the police later confirmed) become the guilty party.

Well I guess that boys (or as Cyndi Lauper had it) Girls Just Wanna have Fun?

But getting your kicks from bullying a disabled wheelchair user doesn't seem like fun to me.

But this story took a turn for the worse when we reported the incident to the Police.

The first response we got was in fact complete lack of interest, persistence however meant that we did get a call back and were told that the incident had been filmed on CCTV but that it was impossible to identify the culprits and that there would be no further investigation because, apparently, spinning an unwilling victim around in a wheelchair was not a crime, not an assault, nor an invasion of privacy.

Well it certainly felt like all three of those things and since then I have been unwilling to leave the wheelchair and its occupant unattended.

This was an isolated incident and thankfully it has not been repeated.

But it has been interesting to notice how, as the Con-Dems have continued their subtle and persistent attack on the disabled by reducing benefits, exchanging DLA for PIP, cutting the Welfare Bill whilst raising taxes for those in work, attitudes have continued to worsen.

When we walk down the street the looks which can be interpreted as sympathetic have decreased to be replaced by looks that somehow imply that with a bit more effort you wouldn't need to be taking up space that could be better used by others.

Recent articles in the Guardian have raised the issue of reducing public sympathy and tolerance for the disabled and linking it with public statements made by ministers and it is hard from our perspective not to see this as a right reading of the situation.

There are of course exceptions and it is true that we continue to be shown both sympathy and support, people do, as the law requires try to make reasonable provision for access and that is appreciated.

We have been assisted in Restaurants, on Airlines, on Trains, in Hotels and such assistance is appreciated, but in announcing the Big Society the Government presumably meant it to be a BIG Tent under which all can shelter?

So why insist on the poorest in that society being constantly held to be responsible by insisting again and again that society cannot afford the costs of welfare and by implication making victims of those whose needs should be a touchstone for what kind of society we want to become?

18th October 2014

Last weekend I visited my sister in Brighton.

Whilst there I baptised my Great Nephew, Manny. The service was great fun and because it was a family occasion we were able to break the rules somewhat, which was helpful as one of his God-Parents is a Muslim.

So instead of the Bible reading one of his cousins read a poem that I had written to celebrate his birth and then instead of the usual music we ended the service with Judy Garland singing Somewhere over the Rainbow downloaded via 4G on a mobile 'phone.

I observed that there were two reasons why this was a good choice:

One because the film Wizard of Oz, begins in black and white and, as Dorothy steps into the Land of Oz is the film is transformed into colour, the implication being that baptism is the spiritual equivalent of transforming life into Technicolour!

The other because the Rainbow is a sign of God's promise that he will be faithful to us even if we occasionally fall from Grace ourselves.

The next day was typically sunny and warm on the South Coast and we had a lovely day walking on Brighton Beach exploring the shops in the town centre and walking back for fish and chips on the sea front.

(Sadly the fish and chips were disappointing).

Then with a terrible forecast for Tuesday we set off to drive home.

The drive was however uneventful and we made excellent progress.

At some point, North of Knutsford services on the M6, which I always think of as nearly home, even though that was when I actually lived in Manchester rather than further North, as I do now, but somewhere after Knutsford, I caught and overtook a small green car with a roof box on a roof rack.

As I drove by I noticed that the car was extremely tightly packed with the rear seats full of luggage.

As sometimes happens on Motorways I noticed that the driver had increased speed slightly, both of us  within the the speed limit given the strong wind and rain which we were being reminded of not only by the gusting but by the overhead signs advising us to limit our speed.

His slight increase in speed meant that he overtook us and I realised that the driver was not the woman on the right but that it was a left  hand drive car and was being driven by a man on the left.

As they drove past I noticed that the car had a European registration number and a Romanian plate.

I mused that whenever I write Farage the spell check on my computer changes the word to Garage although on one occasion it changed it to Farrago.

As motorway driving is in fact dangerously boring the indoor critic and I started a conversation reflecting on what exactly might bring a couple to drive from Romania across Europe and into Britain and then keep on driving, taking the narrow road to the deep north?

I began to sense as we kept company with our fellow travellers that their destination might even be Scotland although we lost touch with them after we stopped at Tebay for refreshment and diesel.

Maybe they were tourists?

Maybe they were refugees?

Maybe they were visiting family?

Maybe they were Romanian reporters preparing a documentary on the the Scottish Referendum?

Who knows?

But what we did reflect was that visiting a Britain that is in the grip of an irrational fear of immigrants, where words such as swamping fall easily from the lips of  people who should know better was in itself an act that was either very brave or foolhardy especially when your chosen mode of transport carried a large sign indicating that you were indeed Romanian.

So we wished them well in their spirited enterprise and as they followed the Yellow Brick Road North we hoped that they would not make the mistake of confusing Farage with Garage.

They might need one but they could do without the other!

11th October 2014

So UKIP has an MP.

What next?

Will Admiral Farage order his sailors to weigh anchor?

Order the engine room full steam ahead?

Prepare to sail the SS Ukip away from the contaminated shores of Europe?

Taking the British Isles, re-imagined as a Terry Gilliam like, great ship of State, out into the Atlantic?

Heading where?

With its little flotilla of islands, buzzing around like tugs and dinghies, it could eventually move South, where the weather is better, or further West towards the Americas or simply drop anchor half way and set up shop (ship) as a new independent Kingdom.

Of course once re-located, taxes would be reduced.

Prices would fall.

Grammar Schools would be re-commissioned.

The standard of living of all those aboard this great ship of state would rise as anyone without a British Passport will be invited to swim for it (or sink!).

Does this sound any more far fetched than UKIP's actual policies?

How anyone can vote for a party whose sums don't add up and whose policies are impracticable I can only ascribe to the fact that nostalgia is simply not what it used to  be.

Offered a romanticised vision of what life used to be in a mythical England where beer was cheap and you could smoke in the public bar and everyone spoke the same language many of those who have voted for UKIP have presumably done so because they hope that by doing so they can bring the past back into the present, from olden age to golden age.

But memory plays tricks.

Re-imagining the past as a Golden Age through rose tinted glasses is dangerous.

I remember the past. It wasn't that great.

An era of low wages, poor health, early deaths.

With the single exception of my father who moved to Australia after my mother died, I am now older than any of my parents and grandparents generation were at their death, and in better health.

My grandfather died at 63 as did my Mother.

And they died from industrial diseases, my uncle died of Asbestosis, or from diseases such as cancer linked to lifestyles. They were all smokers.

The problem here is that nostalgia is not what it used to be.

We are actually better off, richer, both economically and culturally, now than we have ever been.

So voting UKIP is not the answer. Nor, heaven forbid, is the Tory Party turning even further right into the cul de sac of small state, privatised health and reduced welfare.

If in 2015 UKIP increase the number of MP's which they may well do and displace the Liberals in a future coalition we may well move from Con-Dem to UKON.

A scarier thought I can't imagine.

3rd October 2014

It is a few years since I read Harold Bloom's The Western Canon but a particular thought that was stimulated by that book, was the observation that most things can be read through the lens of either Freud or Shakespeare.

As I recall it, Bloom described this as a Shakespearean reading of Freud or a Freudian reading of Shakespeare.

This past week watching the two party conferences I found myself remembering this idea.

There is a drama being played out in our public life at the present time which is both Freudian and Shaespearean and it takes an understanding of both to attempt a proper textual criticism.

It reminds me to a certain extent of the old joke about how a husband and wife share responsibility in their marriage.

The Husband makes all the big decisions:

Should we send British war planes to bomb Isis?

Should China surrender to the students in Hong Kong?

Should Warren Buffet have invested in Tesco?

Meanwhile the wife:

Plans the Menu for dinner, decides which friends to invite over for supper, gets the children ready for school and books the family holiday.

At one level what is said at party conferences rarely has any meaningful effect on people's daily lives.

Ed Miliband forgetting the deficit whilst quite prossibly Freudian, is understandable, because the deficit is in fact meaningless, it will make very little difference to the decisions that the imaginary wife in the joke will make, although the imaginary husband might have strong views which he will share with imaginary work colleagues in the imaginary pub, after work which might be imaginary as well.

Equally, David Cameron's proposed tax cuts will have little or no effect either, because a) They don't take effect until 2020 and b) by then inflation will have done most of the work.

So anybody who thinks that they will be worse off because Ed Miliband failed to mention the deficit or better off because of the proposed tax cuts will be disappointed.

None of what has been said or not said will make any difference.

Of course that is not to say that the promised austerity measures as proposed by Messrs Osborne and Duncan Smith will have no impact cutting welfare and the introduction of  patronising policies aimed at controlling what reduced welfare payments can be spent on.

For both the Chancellor and Mr Duncan Smith, Shakespeare's warning that the world is a stage on which we are players should be salutary, and if they needed any reminding that their time is limited, then the Mayor of London was there to remind them, as indeed was Mr Farage.

The Tory Party is fast approaching a state where, with nothing left to cut, no more savings to be made they will have to turn to the great Wonga of the Economy and plead that their deficit be forgiven, written off, expunged from the record.

So if the Labour Conference was a bit dispirited, and the job application was understated, the Tory Conference was essentially Freudian or at least the revealing selfie of one minister who seemed to be applying for a completely different sort of job whilst resigning from the one he had before he had heard if his application had been successful.

The party political playwrights of both left and right set out their stall early on the two conferences.

The audience were invited to vote with their cheque books by buying tickets, it was adversarial, which of these two is the most Prime Ministerial, the one who already is or the one applying for his job?

Well, insofar as one sends planes to bomb Isis and flies to Afghanistan and Chairs the Cabinet and the  other doesn't, the answer is fairly clear and not really a question that needs answering.

But in 2015 we will have to choose. So what in essence do I want from a Prime Minister? What is the job really?

It is surely:

'To believe thoroughly in the philosophy
Of equality of opportunity' Hugh MacDiarmid from: The Battle Continues

I think that this as good and radical a yardstick as any by which the appointment panel (the electorate) should select its preferred candidate.