Friday 11th November

I have spoken before about our childish belief in Leaders; Emperors and Kings, Prime Ministers and Presidents.  As if wisdom resides solely in the brain of one person; that one person can possibly change the world on his own.  But Hilary’s message of inclusiveness failed at the last hurdle, ‘stronger together’ was beaten by ‘let’s make America great again’; a pointless slogan, but hey…they are Americans.

And now we must prepare for President Trump.  Let us all hope that all that rhetoric was mostly just that; and that wiser heads will prevail.  And remember that behind every Power is the Throne.  And I am using the throne as a literal metaphor for the reality and the shit of being human.  Every day that Donald Trump is in the well-appointed bathroom of the White House, as he wipes his arse he will be reminded that he is indeed only a human being – just like the rest of us, wiping our arses at the same time.

And even though he has a Republican Congress and Senate it will not be complete plain sailing.  I have learned that Politics is as much a struggle within parties as it is against other parties.  He is intensely disliked by many elected Republicans and his economic plans for big tax cuts may look appealing but Republicans dislike Deficits far more than Democrats do.  As for Foreign Policy; I suspect that the famous wall will be a long time in the planning, and if some sort of rapprochement with Russia is likely we must welcome that.  As for the Middle East – good luck with that quagmire Mr. Trump – it may be best policy to quietly exit the scene and let the rival factions get on with it.

So, though sorely disappointed that Hilary could not overcome prejudice and lies we must all hope that the latest elected king will be reminded that although he has the Power he must also sit, like all of us every day, on the throne.

Thursday 10th November

Our generation and the one before ours have successfully screwed the young.

Housing – Mum and Dad got a brand new council house, they had to wait a couple of years for it but it was semi-detached with a big garden and three bedrooms for us two kids.  I was homeless and got a council flat, not brilliant but a decent rent and two bedrooms for my son and I.  My grand-kids will have to rent privately unless their parents can stump up a deposit.  Most of the retirees here in France are living on the proceeds of houses sold in England at prices their kids cannot afford.  Pulling up the drawbridge.

Education – was free, though segregated at 11.  University was free with generous grants.  My grand-kid’s parents have to fight the postcode lottery to get their kids into a ‘good school’.  Graduates leave now with huge debts.  Pulling up the drawbridge.

Employment – I could walk out of one job in the morning and into a new one after lunch.  Nobody ever asked to see a CV or ask what qualifications I had (very few). Now thousands attach their CVs to vacant job ads and many graduates are working as waiters.  Firms like Uber and Deliveroo are paying their workers (sub-contractors) well below the minimum wage with zero hours contracts.  My Dad worked for ICI his whole working life’ impossible to imagine doing that today.  Pulling up the drawbridge.

Pensions – State Retirement Pensions are triple-locked and relatively generous.  My kids will have to work until they are 68; my Grandkids – who knows?  Pulling up the drawbridge.

Health – over 50% of NHS spending is on the over 65’s.  With no increase in funding that cannot continue for long.  Pretty soon charges will be introduced or a top-up insurance system.  Our age group will probably be protected but not the young.  Pulling up the drawbridge.

If there ever is a change, it will have to come from the young; us oldies are simply too comfortable.  But be quick, we are winding up the drawbridge as I write…

Wednesday 9th November

Update – Tuesday 8.20 p.m…..Nervously waiting, watching news programmes filling their schedules with supposition, because in this incredible election – nobody knows.  The latest polls are showing a small lead for Hilary, but far too small for comfort.  And besides the polls have been notoriously wrong of late.  Even the day before Brexit the polls were all showing Remain just winning.   And the General Election of 2015, where the Tories romped home despite almost all the commentators predicting another hung parliament and a possible coalition of the left, was way out.  There seems to be a silent majority who tell pollsters they are still undecided but secretly harbour racist motives and know that this is considered a bad thing, so they pretend they still don’t know which way to vote.  Let us hope this isn’t the case today.

Update – Wednesday 2.30 a.m…I haven’t missed a U.K. election night for decades and I have watched a few U.S. ones too.  I have had a sleep but am awake now and switch on the TV…and Trump is pulling ahead.  Our worst nightmare coming true.  It is too close to call, but looking bad for Hilary.  The same populism mixed with racism and a huge dose of stupidity is winning.

Update – Wednesday 5.00 a.m.  It’s looking like Trump will win.  Stupid people are happy to vote for someone as stupid as they are.  No solutions, simple slogans,  Jobs have been lost due to computers and robots and cheaper labour in the far east. What do they think Trump can do to change that?   This is actually a direct result of the 2008 financial crash and falling incomes and prospects for ordinary working people…and with Trump in charge it will only get worse.

Tuesday 8th November

Mrs. May slides the white folder containing the signed document triggering Article 50 across the green baize topped table.  Donald Tusk, with Jean-Claude Juncker by his side, pushes it to one side and slides his own dark blue folder towards Mrs. May.

He speaks “Mrs. May, thank-you, but before we accept this document we would ask you to consider this proposal.  Instead of spending two miserable years arguing and compromising over the terms of your withdrawal we would like you to consider spending that time, or indeed as long as you like, in a constructive discussion with us.  We suspect that the British People’s dissatisfaction with and eventual vote to leave, the European Union may be resolved if certain issues are addressed.  We have no Agenda at all – and no red lines either.  Nothing is absolutely sacred; we are prepared to imagine any future arrangement you may propose for Britain’s continued membership of the EU.

“In fact we are well aware that there is considerable unhappiness in several countries with the current EU.  We are prepared to ‘re-write the rules’ for all members, or just for yourself; if that is what you wish.  We can happily encompass a completely different membership for the U.K., one where everyone can continue trading and increasing the well-being of citizens of both your country and Europe.

“I would like to take this opportunity to express our continued appreciation of Britain’s membership of the Union, you always have been a most important and valued member – and we would wish you to re-consider your decision to leave.”

Mrs. May slides the blue folder to one side and much to the amazement of Phillip Hammond, sitting at her side, she slides the white folder back in front of Donald Tusk and says “Let’s get on with this, shall we?”

Monday 7th November

Who would have thought, even three weeks ago when the explicit sexual comments from Donald Trump emerged that we would be in such a cliff-hanger of an election.  To be honest right from the outset I, along with most of the Media and everyone else thought that Donald had no chance.  But one by one he managed to demolish his other Republican Contenders, and though often only won around 40% of the votes in the Primaries he kept going.  Then, as the possibility of him becoming the Official Republican Candidate became a probability, we had stories of Senior Republicans desperate to find some way of denying him.  All came to naught and Trump was adopted.

And then as debate followed debate it seemed that Hilary was a shoo-in.  But despite the insults to parents of Muslim soldiers, despite his characterising all Mexicans as drug dealers, despite his trashing of Latinos, despite his obvious disregard for women he has carried on; indomitable, unsinkable and worse still absolutely worshipped by his increasing army of followers. There is no denying the strength of feeling, both for and against him, he inspires.  And his message, if it came out of anyone else’s mouth, would be (in places) welcome.  He portrays himself as an outsider, an un-politician, a new force for change.  And he appeals to the poor, the downtrodden; who cannot quite seem to understand that it is he and the other Billionaire businessmen of America who have robbed them of jobs, happy to export manufacturing to cheaper continents.  It is not the fault of foreigners; it is America’s rich who have asset stripped their country.

But anyway, we have now to wait until early on Wednesday morning, nail-biting as the first results come in and we finally discover if 2016 really has been an annus horribilis….or if Hilary can snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.

Sunday 6th November

Well, we have had the High Court Decision – that only Parliament can actually empower the Government to trigger Article 50 and give notice to the rest of the EU of our imminent (two years) departure.   And oh the Furore!!!  The very Brexiteers and Newspapers who during the campaign insisted that British Parliament must be Sovereign are now decrying the judgement and insisting that Mrs. May alone has the Power (Royal Perogative) to decide.  And worse, that somehow this is a Betrayal of the wishes of the British Public.  And even worse still – personally attacking and insulting the judges who were asked to decide on points of Law.

As I see it, the judges were perfectly correct; the Referendum was neither legally binding nor Sovereign.  In reality it is inconceivable that Parliament (even the House of Lords) will not agree that the Government can trigger Article 50 (there would surely be a General Election, despite the fixed term Parliament Act, and Mrs. May would win).  But the main responsibility of Parliament is to hold the Government to account, to question them, to try to find some consensus.  We are not (yet) living in a Dictatorship; and the Government must still have the approval of Parliament for its actions.  I agree that it is for the Government to negotiate Treaties, but also it is for Parliament to Ratify them (as happened most recently with Maastricht and Lisbon).  Unfortunately with leaving the EU there will be no opportunity for Parliament to Ratify, or not, the eventual terms of our leaving.  It will be too late by then; there is no mechanism for returning to the table and like Oliver asking for more (or less).  All that Mrs. May has to do is come to Parliament and explain her negotiating position, her starting point if you like; does she want to remain in the Single Market, does she want to continue with the Customs Union, does she want to guarantee the rights of EU residents currently (and in the next two years) residing in the U.K., will she guarantee the existing rights and reciprocal arrangements of UK citizens living in other EU countries, what will happen to the border with Ireland, and so on.  Of course, everyone accepts that during the negotiations not everything will be achievable; but we must have some consensus as to what Brexit will actually mean.

I am sure that this won’t be the end of the story, and in no way will it be betraying the will of the people; all they voted for was to leave the EU, they had no opportunity to say exactly how that would be done and what would or would not replace it – those decisions are for Parliament, or if Mrs. May is really brave and trusts the public so much we could always have a new referendum with multi-choice options to discover just what the public wants…

Saturday 5th November

Things would start to get serious from now on…

He was so certain that June was the girl he wanted to marry, that he started planning almost immediately.  “Slow down” she said, “we don’t even know each other yet.  You might hate my smelly feet, or more likely, my Mother.”  He assured her that her feet were as wonderful as every other bit of her, and that next to his Father her Mother would be a doddle.  And then the awful realisation hit him; that he would have to tell the old man everything, about June, about being in love and wanting to marry her.  He had never had a real conversation with him, about anything that mattered anyway, and he was petrified.  And then he began to think about how on earth they were going to manage.  As an articled clerk he would be paid pocket money for years, and June only worked in a shop; how on earth would they manage.  But in reality they were better off than many, and he really didn’t care how much money they would have, they could live in poverty for all he cared, as long as he could have June.  Well, common sense, of a sort, prevailed and they agreed to wait until he was settled in his job before telling either of their parents.

*  * *

June also knew what a problem her own mother might be, she had next to nothing to live on and her sister Julie and her were half supporting her.  Julie was working as a typist and earned even less than June did, so if she left to get married her mother would really struggle to make ends meet, she might even end up losing the house.  But later on Phil came up with the answer, and it was so obvious – “Sell the house.” he said, which being detached and with five bedrooms, was far too big for her anyway, “and buy something a lot smaller, and invest the difference and live off the interest.”  He wasn’t studying law for nothing and, as Phil explained to June, being a solicitor in a small town would be ninety percent about property and mortgages and stuff like that, so he had been swatting up on this for weeks anyway.

June still didn’t speak to her mother for a few months, but once Phil was working he came round for that first dreaded visit.  And amazingly he charmed her from the word go.  Oh, she still complained that he was only a solicitor, as if she expected him to be a Lord or something, but deep down June knew she liked him.

“Well, he certainly has promise; I’ll say that for him, better than Julie’s choice of boyfriend, what on earth she sees in that farmhand I’ll never know.”  She said after that first meeting.

“Oh, I think he’s rather dishy actually Mother.  Anyway, I’m sure she won’t end up marrying him, she’s only just started going out with him.”

“I sometimes wonder what the world is coming to, I really do.  When I think of my family, we really used to be looked up to.  Once, and now where are we going to? It’s all this wretched Socialist Government’s fault – I knew no good would come of it.  And now even my daughters are letting me down, you with your trainee solicitor is bad enough but Julie; a farmhand – really?”

“But Mother, you married a Grocer yourself.”

“That was different,” she insisted, “he owned the Grocer’s shop, well the business, if not the building, I can’t understand why it was worth so little when he died and I had to sell it.  I am sure I was robbed by those solicitors, and now you are going out with one.  Where will it all end, I ask myself, where will it all end?”

*  * *

Friday 4th November

We are all genetic timebombs, each and every one of us. We carry inside us a genetic code, a complex self-replicating instruction manual for creating life and continuing, refining and defining the species; a ribbon of molecules which when kick-started can create a perfect human being.  Or in some cases an imperfect one.  This is why we are all, each and every one of us genetic timebombs.  More and more illnesses are being traced back to genetic pre-dispositions, timebombs carried by our mothers or fathers and donated unknowingly by their own mothers and fathers in turn.  And here is the rub….

As science is uncovering more and more of these time-bombs and as we seem to be hurtling into a world of private health insurance, whether a full-blown system like America or a top-up variety like France; it won’t be long before we will all be subjected to genetic monitoring to determine not only which seeds of which illnesses we may be carrying (which we may not be so grateful to discover) but also how much it may cost to treat us and how high our premiums will be.

And….as we live in a world where almost every baby is saved, and nobody is suggesting that we do not try to save them all, more and more babies who might have died at birth or soon after, possibly because of slightly defective genes or poor immune systems, will survive and carry even more genetic time-bombs into the future.  I am not in any way suggesting ‘eugenics’, or the weeding-out of defective genes, although this is already happening with women being advised to abort when certain defects in the embryo are found – but it won’t be long before someone starts doing it.  A Brave New World is just around the corner.

Thursday 3rd November

Aleppo and Mosul are two cities, not that far apart, in two countries created by the West in the aftermath of the First World War and the collapse of the Turkish Empire.  They were and are still a mix of differing tribal and religious groups.  Both countries were once thriving with Hospitals and Schools and Universities and Industries, and by and large different Religions were tolerated, though both were ruled by single party dictators.

Oh how things have changed.  The War on Terror (read that as War on Muslims) and the greed for Oil has ruined these two beautiful countries.  And now both cities, Mosul and Aleppo are being attacked and bombed and brought to ruins.  But how our wonderful Media are reporting these two battles is so differently.  Aleppo is being attacked by a tyrant and his merciless protector Russia, children are being massacred and the daily numbers recorded.  The fact that the West armed and financed and trained and encouraged the Rebel forces to try to depose the legitimate Government is somehow forgotten; the attacks of that Government and accompanying ‘atrocities’ is all that is recorded.  In Mosul, a particularly nasty group calling itself ISIS or Islamic State is holding on to its last remaining stronghold in Iraq.  The forces attacking this city are made up of the Iraqi army and the Kurdish Peshmerga (hated by the Iraqi’s) and are being assisted from the air by America and France and us.  This is being portrayed as liberation, almost a humanitarian mission and armchair strategists are reporting on every inch of ground regained.  Nobody is counting the dead.

In both cities innocent civilians are being bombed and killed.  Both battles are being fought with weapons supplied by the West.  Both situations are the direct result of interference by the West in their respective countries and attempts, one successful, in deposing Dictators we disagreed with.  Welcome to the Twenty-first Century, this is how we do things these days…

Wednesday 2nd November

Holby City is a soap, it grew out of Casualty which was also a soap.  Although these two, ostensibly medical, dramas are only broadcast once a week unlike Corrie and EastEnders and the newer ones like Hollyoaks and Doctors which seem to be on almost every day, I still consider them soaps.  Or never-ending dramas.  There is never any real resolution to the stories, and though characters sometimes die or inexplicably seem able to leave overnight the story simply continues.

The difference with Casualty and Holby is the patients; as well as providing work for jobbing actors they allow different, often short-lived, little mini dramas to interrupt the real storyline, which is the personal lives of the Doctors and Nurses and Administrators who are the stars of the show.  For some inexplicable reason we used to look forward to watching Holby every week when we lived in London.  Having moved to France we don’t see it so much as Night markets and invites for drinks or dinner keep clashing with Tuesday nights (I know we could watch on i-player, but we just can’t be bothered).  And of course Holby is just as unreal as the other soaps, any visit to a real Hospital quickly demonstrates that; the Nurses do not get involved with the patients and you are lucky if you see the same Doctor twice.  But it satisfies our morbid curiosity surrounding illness, just as Emergency Ward 10 and all the other Medical soaps have done down the years.  And the great thing is that even if you miss it for a few weeks after five minutes you are straight back in and hooked again as you watch the ridiculous machinations interspersed with slimy rubber prosthetics as patients are operated on.  One thing for sure I will really worry if ever I am admitted into a real life Casualty department and someone says I am ‘Tachycardic’…..