As this story is released, the UK’s transitional deal with the EU will end, and we will step out, blinking and dazed, into a strange and unfamiliar world. For many of us, first the EEC and then the EU has been a low background thrum in our lives since childhood. The United Kingdom joined the EEC a couple of months before my third birthday, and confirmed our continued membership a little over two years later, just as I was about to start school.
All through my school life, as we learned metres alongside feet and inches, there was a sense…
I first saw advance publicity for this book earlier last year, at the start of the first lockdown, but for some reason getting hold of this book took me a little longer than I thought; it had simply fallen off the radar until the last couple of weeks, when I decided I really did need to do something about it. So, courtesy of Ian Amazon, here we are.
By the author’s own admission, this book is less a guide than an instrument of propaganda, as well as being something of a call to arms, serving both as an historical summary…
So, the scores are in for another year, and once again we finished dead last. Quelle surprise. It would of course be really easy to make this a long screed about our performance as a metaphor for Brexit. To be sure there is something to be said for our international reputation being a bit whiffy at the moment, but that’s not the main reason why we haven’t been doing well in Eurovision for some time. …
It felt like the end of an era today. I finally handed over my dad’s place in Easington. There was a tug of finality as I signed the receipt to say I’d handed the keys back, and then pulled slowly away from the house for the last time, bathed in spring morning sunshine. As I came down Lythe Bank, Sandend was bathed in mist, with the Abbey in the distance just poking over the tops of the clouds. I wish I’d had a chance to stop and grab a quick picture because it was rather pretty, as it happens. …
I saw this on twitter this morning
I wonder if,
as they wheeled their trollies around the shop, mask-free and chuckling,
did they think about the little casters, wanting to go their own way,
but yanked back in a direction they didn’t wish to go by an angry tug,
forcing some poor skittering wheel to go the way they chose.
But not its own.
Did they wonder what the staff,
mutely stacking the shelves as they passed,
thought of this glorious charge for freedom? …
Yes, I posted a Union Flag. Correctly named. and even the right way up. That must mean I love my country, right? Because the the only way you can possibly love your country is to wrap yourself in the flag, isn’t it? Oddly enough, right now I don’t really love my country very much at all, but that is mostly because of the kind of people who keep telling me I don’t love my country if I don’t love the flag. They’re every-bloody-where. …
The “Culture War” Mic Wright so eloquently talks about simmers on like a persistently grumbling appendix, and as a counterpoint to the inadequacies of the ruling party(1). Oddly, now there’s a bit of vaguely positive vaccine news, or they’re announcing the “absolutely final, for definite, not going to change” (^Yeah…riiight^) plans to come out of lockdown, all the shouting about the Culture War has gone a bit quiet, hasn’t it? …
The first thing I saw when I switched the telly on this morning was Ed Balls cooking dinner. And Rachel Johnson. Thing is, it bothers me. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel a bit uncomfortable watching them capering about on cooking shows. It didn’t bother me for long because I switched over fairly quickly, but it did for the moment I lingered.
I get that there is an element of “humanising” politicians (1), and those who talk about politicians and political culture becoming increasingly distant from most people’s everyday experience may have a point when they say that this…
There are books and there are books.
There are books that you love; books that you read over and over again; books that mean things to you. And then there are the books that change how you see the world forever. For me, Carl Sagan’s The Demon Haunted World is one, The Hitch-hiker’s Guide to Galaxy is another, but Illuminatus! is very definitely in that very special little group of books that has affected me in a profound way(1).
You are not a label,
Or an avatar.
You are unique.
You are not a stereotype,
A case study.
Or a trope.
You are not a thing.
Labels are for others,
Who don’t much care to think.
A box to put a person in.
A convenience, a link.
You are not a template,
In someone else’s head.
You are you.
You are here.
And that is all that counts.