Friday 20th October

We often drive out into the countryside.  It is quite amazing; we have been here for about 6 years now and we still keep coming across new villages, or roads leading to places we have never been before.  Last night we ended up on a high escarpment with phenomenal views across the Dropt valley.  Big big skies and a brilliant red sunset.  We saw a few wild deer skittering across the fields and into a copse.  And the sky is so wide, it seems to go on forever.  But it is probably only a few miles across.

Which makes me wonder why so many people have such narrow horizons.  They end up living in the same town they were born into, sometimes in the same street even, or the same house.  But even the same county seems strange to me.  I met up with a few old school friends a few years ago.  Many still lived in Stowmarket, and a few had settled in the town where they went to Uni.  And now I am living in France.  And the news keeps talking about one million British citizens living in the EU.  Well, sometimes it seems to me that at least half of them must be here in the Dordogne.

And so many young people seem to take a year or two out to travel, and many end up living and working in other countries.  When I was a kid we knew nothing about the World.  Now the world seems much smaller, the internet and tv and foreign travel have shrunk the Globe.  And even if we haven’t traveled to China or Australia, most of us know far more about those far-flung places than our Grandparents did.

And it isn’t going to stop.  More and more people are living in different countries than they were born into.  Which makes the whole argument about Immigration so pathetic.  It is actually a great achievement to move to another country to live and work – not something to be ashamed of, or scared of admitting.  So, even if we haven’t moved that far we should welcome those who have.  The sky is incredibly wide, so should your horizons be.

Thursday 19th October

And so Jane wandered back to the house, her mother was out – probably just shopping, but it didn’t stop her wondering.  She walked through the rooms touching surfaces, stroking the curtains, gliding her hand over the furniture. She inspected every room, even their bedroom where Harriet had caught them at it, the eiderdown now neatly spread over the bed.  What was she doing, making some sort of record, some strange inventory of her life so far?  She didn’t know.  She was in some sort of a dazed state, not really consciously thinking at all.  She ended up in Harriet’s room, the one at the front with the big dormer window, and she sat for a while gazing down the drive and out into the street, then she went over to the bed, pulled back the blankets, crawled inside and drew the covers right up and over her head, feeling such comfort in this dense darkness, warm and safe.  She was harboured at last and she drifted off into a deep deep sleep.

She slept right through until the next morning, and only woke up as the sun began to stream into Harriet’s little room.  Jane was still fully dressed and not sure of the time, she stumbled downstairs to find her mother sobbing at the table.

She asked her mother what was wrong and she told her the awful news.  Jane had missed it all in her blanked-out sleep; she had slept through it all. Her father hadn’t come home last night.  He had apparently left his office about eleven in the morning and simply disappeared.  The police had been called because his secretary noticed that the safe in his office was ajar, and he hadn’t been in for most of the day.  The safe was empty of course, and though there would have been little cash, there had been cheque-books for several accounts that were missing, and now this morning the police were going to speak to the town’s bank managers.

He had somehow managed to slip back to the house unobserved and had taken the Bentley.  Jane’s mother didn’t say, but Jane could tell she knew.  She knew their father only too well, all those late-night visits to his cronies – she knew deep down that he was shady, that he worked on the edges, the very dubious regions of the law.  And she was really scared now, she knew the depths he was capable of, she knew that something was wrong, seriously wrong.

*  * *

16 –  Alone in the midst of all this chaos…

Chaos, that’s what Jane felt.   A panicky sort of chaos, as if anything might happen, she just didn’t know what, and everywhere she looked she could only see that in the midst of it all she, Jane, was alone.  It just seemed as if there was nothing to hang onto anymore.  In the space of two days her whole life had been thrown into chaos.  Just two days before she had been part of a family, ‘Okay’ Jane thought ‘We weren’t that close, but we sort of knew who we were, how the jigsaw fitted together and now all the pieces arre either scattered or missing.’  She had no idea who any of them were anymore.  The family she knew, or thought she knew, had changed in two days; her mother had had a secret lover all the years of Jane’s life, and it was her Uncle Ted of all people, so now even the surety of who her  closest relations were was shattered as well; her father had suddenly run off, and probably with a lot of other people’s money too; her sister, who (only Jane knew) was a secret junkie, had gone back to university, and was so disillusioned with them all that Jane really doubted she would ever return.

And worst of all Jane really had no idea who she was anymore.  Jane Wilkinson, aged sixteen, and she really had no idea who she was anymore.  Surely these people who called themselves her parents couldn’t have done these stupid things, could they?  Who were they, that they were capable of such treachery?  And it felt just like treachery too.  It wasn’t as if they were unintelligent, her father was really clever; that was why he was a solicitor, so why had he been so stupid as to steal other people’s money, or to run away and leave the impression that he had?  How would he ever be looked up to again after this; what could have possessed him?  Was it some sort of sexual jealousy he felt for Jane’s mother, or was he just seeking attention for himself, or was he simply at his wits’ end and could see no future at all by remaining?

Which said precious little about Harriet and her of course, but she was only now beginning to fully realise how little the girls had really counted in their parent’s eyes.  That was why her mother’s protestations about how much she cared about the girls and hadn’t wanted to hurt them, simply didn’t ring true; if she had cared about them half as much as she insisted she would have never put their whole happiness at such risk.  She would have put them before her own desires, before her own selfishness, surely.  She must have realised what all this would do to everyone if she were ever discovered.  And they would have to be discovered one day, wouldn’t they?  But maybe she had been doing it so long that she (they) thought they were impregnable, that they would just carry on carrying on until they were old and feeble.   ‘Who knows what went on in that pretty little head of hers, how she squared her sexual desires for Ted with our family life together, how she boxed it all up so neatly.’ reasoned Jane.   Even now, with her crying in front of her, Jane wasn’t sure if her mother were just crying for herself all along.

Wednesday 18th October

Bill Clinton won an election pretty much on the slogan “It’s the Economy – Stupid.”  And it is true that most people probably vote for the Party or the Candidate who will either protect, increase, or at least not damage, their financial future.  In reality, although Governments can change the tax rates and can subtly encourage investment or give the go-ahead for Infrastructure – there is a limit to how much they can really create Wealth or avert a financial downturn, when and if they almost always come around.

But the biggest threat to our long-term well-being is probably the one we tend to ignore because it is far harder to see.  The environment.  Now, there are increasingly more and more sceptics – who say that Global Warming has nothing to do with Human Activity.  I am not a scientist, but I find it hard to believe that almost the entire scientific community have made it all up.  Whether Global Warming is mostly caused by us, or sun-spots, or some other reason – I have no doubt that we have contributed to, and that we should be doing all we can to mitigate, this warming.

Increasing Industrialisation driven both by Population growth and development of third world countries is exacerbating the problem.  It must seem quite hypocritical for Western industrialised and successful countries to be telling emerging countries to slow down their economic growth, but still we must try.

We cannot continue forever extracting minerals and oil from deeper and deeper in the planet simply to be burnt or thrown away or turned into plastic which will be around for hundreds of years.  We cannot stop the technological revolution which will destroy many traditional industries and make millions of jobs redundant. But we must find a way to control Capitalism.  We must invest far more in renewable energy.  We cannot simply leave it to the Free Market, which is neither free or a real market.

And it is only by countries co-operating rather than competing that we will build a future for our grandchildren and their kids too.

The economy may fluctuate with booms and busts, but we will all suffer unless we wake up and start to really sort out our dirty world.

Tuesday 17th October

Just returned from my monthly trip to England.  This time I visited my son and his family in Alfreton, Derbyshire, for a birthday party for my grand-daughter.  No shortage of nice cars in the car park I noticed – and yet nobody looked particularly happy.  Oh, the kids had a great time; it was a farm venue – petting the animals and eating sandwiches and cake, balloons and all the razzamatazz of a birthday.  But the adults sat around looking pretty bored, everyone absorbed in their phones and occasionally chatting.  Well, I knew a few people from previous parties and spoke to them.  Everyone I spoke to had voted Leave, and all unashamedly to get rid of Immigrants, or ‘bloody foreigners’ as they described them.  They seem to think that once we actually leave then all the Polish and Rumanians will be kicked out.  They will, of course, be sadly disappointed.  But this ‘racism’ goes far deeper.  It is really pointed at ‘Muslims’ and the irony is that practically none of the Immigration from Europe is Muslim either.

What is it about the English?  In many ways they have never been so well off – at least those with Mortgages at record low interest rates are – but they don’t seem happy.  And anyway I don’t believe it is really money that brings happiness, even if the lack of it can certainly be an element of unhappiness.  It is something deeper than that, a feeling that the English are unhappy with themselves.  Maybe it is all a hangover from Brexit, which split the country down the middle.  Or even the last indecisive General Election, where those who voted Tory feel they have lost and that the fact that they are the Government is almost a punishment.  And conversely those who voted so enthusiastically for Labour felt immediately after that they had won but have to stand idly by while Mrs. May is still P.M.

But maybe it is that very opening of the Immigration Pandora’s Box which has been so corrosive.  It has brought maybe deep feelings of discontent to the surface, it has allowed Racism to be out in the open – and yet the immigrants are still here, especially the Muslims and the Blacks.  Trouble is the vast majority of brown and black people were actually born here – where would they suggest they go back to.  Most of the Polish and Rumanians are still here too, and pretty unlikely to go back home.  And most scenarios will still see inward migration continue.  But the Remainers are desperately unhappy too as they can see a future they don’t like at all.  And unlike a General Election, where you can vote out a Party you don’t like, we all realise that once out we will find it incredibly difficult to get back in at any point in the future.  So, in a way nobody is happy.  A country uncomfortable with itself indeed.

Monday 16th October

We have grown accustomed to the smiling face of complacent David Davis as he assures us that progress is being made.  And Theresa May in her Florence speech was full of confidence that a deal would be not only forthcoming but excellent for Britain too.

Well of course that was all for the cameras.  The reality is somewhat different.  Chief negotiator Michel Barnier has described the talks as “Deadlock”.  But please, do not misunderstand.  These are only the very first element of the talks, and what should have been the easy bit.  Guaranteeing the rights of existing EU nationals in the UK and vice versa, the border between Eire and Northern Ireland (which everyone agrees should be transparent, yet no-one can tell us exactly how if we are not in the Single Market) and of course the “Divorce Bill”.  And it is of course this third element that is the real sticking point. Mrs. May says we will pay our legal responsibilities but puts no figure on it, though rumours abound that she would be happy with 20 billion.  Rumours are also rife that the EU wants substantially more.  And here is the real problem.  There are many in her own party who baulk at paying a single penny after we officially leave in 2019.  “They can go whistle” – as Boris says. The talks cannot move on to the far more crucial areas of trade and our future relationship until these three and, especially the money, are agreed.

So, Theresa is hopping hotfoot to Brussels for dinner with M. Barnier today.  She will probably come back waving a piece of paper ‘Chamberlain’ style saying it is all sorted.  However, it almost certainly won’t be.  There will be riots in the Tory party if she pays what the EU are asking.  And anyway, it may well be too late for the approval of the EU heads of government later this week.  They will insist on a formal return to the talks for more detail.  She may of course instead stonewall, preparing the way for a dramatic crash in the talks and what would seem to be her favoured option of ‘No Deal’.

Meanwhile the headline of City AM (a free paper in the City of London, and as business oriented as you can get) is that Manufacturers both in UK and EU are demanding am agreed transitional deal by the end of this year.  An almost impossible ask as we haven’t even started to talk about trade yet.  The manufacturers say they need this for plans after 2019.  In other words; they will have to start switching production out of Britain in 2018 if they do not know what will happen in 2019.  Thirteen banks are likewise making plans to move their headquarters out of London and to Dublin or Paris.

But, all of this talk of a transitional period is simply short-term.  What they, and all businesses are worried about is the shape of our trading with Europe after that.  And if that is not to their liking, then the brown stuff will certainly hit the newly installed Dyson Superfans…remember to order your Sou’Wester’s and wellies.

Sunday 15th October

Having been somewhat deprived of News for a week, how depressing it all is.  President Trump turning back the progressive pages of History by attacking Iran and saying he will break the deal partly brokered by Obama.  So, it seems that we are heading for more confrontation, not only with North Korea but now with Iran, both of which countries are dangerously unstable.  America’s, or rather Trump’s actions are not only threatening Iran, but the whole World order, which while not perfect has maintained a sort of peace since the Second World War.  As the EU immediately retaliated, the deal is not with America alone, but was sanctioned and approved by the UN.  But it seems that Trump can simply rip up any treaty or agreement he doesn’t like the look of.  So where does that leave us?  In very dangerous territory I fear.  It will only strengthen the hard-liners in Iran, who will now gain more traction in the power struggle with the Moderates.  Oh dear….

Then we have Brexit, and despite warning after warning by Michel Barnier, it seems that we are still arguing over the ‘Divorce’ bill and the status of EU citizens.  Both of these should have actually been the easiest to agree.  It is almost certain now that no trade talks will begin this year.  Which leaves precious little time before we leave in March of 2019.  Theresa May is still threatening a ‘No Deal’ crashing out of the EU, and there is a whispering campaign against Phillip Hammond – the only grown-up in the entire Cabinet.  There are also rumours that there have been over 300 amendments drafted to the bill which should convert all EU law into UK law.  The Government is now scared they won’t even get this bit of legislation passed at all.  Oh dear….

And the Harvey Weinstein saga rattles on, with more and more actresses claiming that he made passes at them, or even in some cases raped them. How very depressing.  But as usual he is being painted as a rotten apple, some sort of rogue male.  Whereas it is the whole system – Capitalism, Power, Greed and Money that are the problem.  I am fairly certain Weinstein is not the only one, or that the Movie business is alone in Male Power Abuse.  Oh dear…

Strangely another link on Facebook took me to a report that women in the countries behind the Iron Curtain had much better and more sex under Communism than after the re-instatement of Capitalism.  More equality and respect for women generally, even if they only had cabbages to eat.  Maybe it was worth queueing for toilet paper after all…..

Saturday 14th October

‘What the hell is to become of me now?’ thought June.  I thought I might have still had some connection, some spark of sympathy from Jane at least.  But she just follows Harriet like some lost lamb.  And now as I look around me at this big house, that I have somehow never really felt was my own, I can’t help but be afraid of the future.  I used to think I couldn’t go on without Ted, that as long as I had him, even infrequently I could face the future.  Well, that’s all over now of course.  I knew that the moment Harriet caught us.  It was like waking up from a long sleep, and having to face the real world again.  And what sort of a world will I settle for now?  Will I ever be able to smile happily again?  Will I ever be able to love Phil again?  Oh, I always have loved him in a way, but it was never enough for me.  Will I be able to settle down and ever be contented, or will I always feel this bad?  Worst of all, will I one day forget?  Forget Ted?  Forget those moments of bliss, that tender rapture, that oneness with the world I felt in his arms?  Will I one day not think about him?  Will I just become another old woman, leafing through her photo albums, waiting for an occasional phone-call from one of my children, taking a cup of tea into Phil asleep in front of the tv and wandering up to bed alone?”

*  * *

On the train again, “I am always on fucking trains, but never going anywhere.” Thought Harriet.  As she passed the familiar buildings as the train built up a little speed, the railway footbridge where Jane and she used to watch the few remaining steam trains chuffing underneath, drenching them in hot sticky smoke, past the streets and houses huddled so close to the railway line, as if they were too scared to breathe, the very streets she tramped around yesterday after she discovered her wretched mother doing it, past the old iron foundry where they make the lawnmowers now, past the paint factory and the fertilizer plant with the big blue and orange drums of chemicals stacked up in rows, past the nursery greenhouses all mildewed and yellow glass, and then the fields with the cows chewing the cud and staring up at her, their tails swishing at flies on their rumps, past the little copses where Jane and she used to take their picnic basket when they were kids, past the little farms and outhouses, the very barns where her mother must have been doing it with Uncle Ted, the tiny lives lived out here with such narrow horizons, such dark and dismal skies, such limited imaginations, such tiny ambitions, to live and die here in these little houses, to be born and die in the same place, never having lived their lives to the full, never having done anything, never achieving their potential, never realizing they had potential to achieve even.  No, not for Harriet, this life, getting married to your childhood boyfriend, the boy from the same village, the same school, who knew your parents, who was probably even related to you a couple of generations back, to get yourself stupidly pregnant, to have to get married, though everyone would pretend the baby was just a little early as they titter behind their hankies over the garden fence, to bring up your snotty-nosed kids in these stupid houses, wiping the shit off their arses until you had the next one, and the next one, and you became fat with flabby arms and legs like tree-trunks and stopped enjoying sex because it was always the same and worse still – the same man, until you were there crying at your daughter’s wedding as she too married a local boy and was probably already up the duff herself and you watch as she has your grandchildren and they grow up in the same little houses and mean streets and none of them will ever do anything with their lives at all.  No, Harriet was different.  She was better than that.  She would be someone. She wasn’t like them, these ordinary people, she was different.  She just had to get through the next few weeks, buckle down and get some work done, enough anyway to convince her tutors not to kick her out, just bide her time until she had made her plans, till she got her hands on her savings book, till she could escape this cloying crap and start to live, till she could get to London and start again, with no-one knowing anything about her mother and her shenanigans, no-one knowing about her stupid foray into taking drugs and all that crap.  No, she would get herself clean, she would concentrate on her future.  She could be anything she wanted, not limited by these narrow fields, no pretty little hedges and fences around her life, no-one holding her back anymore.  Just wait, a few weeks that was all she needed.  A few more pointless train journeys to go, and it would all be alright.

Friday 13th October

Staying in hotels is always a bit pot luck.  The facilities advertised are always the same but the actuality varies.  Sadly disappointed in the past, we now take our own supply of tea bags and milk.  I sometimes wonder just what Hotels think when they give you two tea bags and two sachets of instant coffee and two tiny cream pots.  And an increasing tendency – paper cups….arghh.  So we had to buy two small cups as well.  And I had to nick a teaspoon as it is impossible to squeeze a teabag with a thin wooden spatula.  All rooms are advertised now with TV.  But we were in France and even though many visitors must be from the UK very few have any English TV.

In one hotel we had Bloomberg – which is just American business news and very boring.  In another only French and German TV.  Finally on the last night we found BBC World News.  But oh how disappointing that was too.  Nothing about the UK, nothing about Brexit or Politics or even Sport but long features on far flung lands, and sadly quite a bit of news from America.

But of course, I did have the internet and caught up a bit.  But somehow too I got out of the habit of devouring every scrap of news.  And you know what – the World still turns.  And the only bit of news really was Harvey Weinstein.  And who could possibly be surprised that in Hollywood, where there are literally thousands of hopeful young women desperate to be in the Movies, there are predators like Mr. Weinstein.  I am sure that far more than those who protested that they refused his advances, must have succumbed.  And maybe it wasn’t even a spoken deal, but almost a ritual, just the expected thing.  You sleep with the Producer and the Director and maybe you get a small part…

Hollywood was always like that, from Fatty Arbuckle to Errol Flynn. What I find amazing is how all his so-called ‘’friends’ are now deserting him.  Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but they must have known what was going on.  After Trump and ‘Pussygate’ it must be the biggest open secret that to get on in America that is what you end up having to do.  The rich and powerful doing what they can and the poor doing what they must.  As Trump himself would tweet…”Sad guy. I’m gonna sort him out soon, just after I’’ve done with Korea.”.

Thursday 12th October

I know, no blog for a week.  What is the world coming to?  Well, apart from a very sorry end in the not too distant future, not so much.  I was simply away for a few days break.  And I tried to not use the computer so much.  I was partly successful.  But really I was too busy to even think about blogging.  And the strange thing is that even though you might find it hard to break a habit, to not do what you are used to doing every day, when you do – it is remarkably easy to slip out of it.

I, we that is, have been on holiday for a few days.  Almost a week.  And it was great.  The first real break in a long while.  We travelled along the Southeastern Med coast of France, exploring little bays and large basins and spits of land and a few beaches too.  Yes, we saw pink flamingos and wild horses in the Camargues and ate too much and sat in the sun for a bit too.  The weather was perfect, mid-twenties every day.  Amazing for October really.  Anyway, home and busy getting ready for tomorrow and Market Day in the Café again….so, as the Bishop said “just a short one, this time”….”What do you mean this time?” the actress replied…

Thursday 5th October

It’s not often you are really shocked by yet another death reported on the news.  Bowie was a big shock, but then I knew he had been ill.  Leonard Cohen was poorly too.  George Michael was a shock – and for the same reason as Tom Petty.  They were both so young.  And yet I was never such a great fan of George Michael.  Tom Petty was different – from the first time I heard him I was hooked.

It happened like this.  I bought a double Cassette, in 1976 I think.  It must have been one of the first I bought as they hadn’t been out that long.  I had recently bought a double deck cassette player which could copy tapes too, and I was busy most evenings copying lots of my Vinyl onto Cassette and then selling the vinyl in order to buy even more records.  Don’t worry – it’s a disease – there is no cure, but the patient is looking remarkably well despite this terminal illness.

For some reason I bought a compilation, or what was then called a sampler.  It was called FM.  It was based on a film I think and contained a lot of new music from America which hadn’t quite crossed the Atlantic yet.  Linda Ronstadt was on it, and Boston and Steely Dan, and of course a complete unknown to me – Tom Petty.  The song was American Girl.  It sounded quite like the Byrds, a long time favourite of mine who had dissolved a few years earlier.  In fact Tom loved the Byrds too, and recorded a few songs later with Roger McGuinn.  But the vocals were what hooked me.  Tom has one of those distinctive Rock voices.  A bit ascerbic like Dylan, but with an underlying warmth too.

Anyway, I was constantly rewinding this tape to hear Tom sing again, and I read in City Limits that Tom was playing at Hammersmith Odeon in a few days time.  I immediately bought a ticket.  Now I had never before, and never since done that – bought a ticket to see someone on the strength of one song.

Well, he was brilliant.  So polished, even though the band had only one record out.  Every song sounded as if I knew it already, and by the chorus I was singing along.

I have since then bought almost every Tom Petty record, both with the Heartbreakers and solo.  All are excellent, and his song-writing has got better if anything.  He has toured with Dylan and joined him in The Travelling Wilbury’s in the late Eighties.  What a talent.