Hope

 

Hope skipped down the path, twirling the rope at each step; over her head, down in front, hop over, up behind and back over her head. Skip, skip, skip. Her plaits swinging in time to her movements.

She knew, or hoped, her mother was following as they headed towards the park. She dared not glance back, because she would lose her rhythm, and she was about to reach 100 without stopping.

Reaching the end of the path, where it opened out into the wide grass stretches of the park, she stopped with a smile. 112. Best ever non stop skipping. She glanced back to smile at mummy, hoping that she had been watching such an extraordinary feat. The best ever.

Mummy had not been watching, but was sauntering along, smart phone in front, tapping a reply to one or other of her 'friends – at least that is what they were called – although they only seemed to live in the phone, all the time, so they were not the sort of friends you could have round for tea.

Mummy had told Hope off for talking to her imaginary friends. “Big girls like you who have real friends and go to school don't have imaginary friends any more. They are grown up. They will think you are a baby talking to imaginary friends”. So Hope stopped talking out loud to her imaginary friends and now whispered to them in her head instead. But they were still there. And they were still real. Very real. Just there at the edge of seeing.

“Why were Mummy's friends who lived in her phone real, so real that she is always talking to them, or texting them – whatever that is – or taking photos with her phone and posting them – what ever that is – but mine are imaginary, when I know they are real and here and now?” thought Hope, just catching a glimpse of Skally, the naughtiest of them, scuttling under the hedge at the side of the path. At least I can almost see mine. And when I am alone and quiet, they come and play.

Just beyond the end of the path the fairy godmothers were doing yoga. Hope was sure they were fairy godmothers because they always gave her presents – little ones – sweets or chocolate mostly. As for yoga, that seemed to be twisting the body into odd postures and then complaining afterwards about how uncomfortable it was. But twisting the body was just so easy, thought Hope, pushing her skipping rope into mommy's pocket, and doing some cartwheels.

The fairy godmothers stopped doing their yoga, and one of them came over to talk to mummy, or, not exactly talk, but stand close by, staring at her phone and saying the odd word or two.

Looking at Hope she said “Do some more cartwheels so I can take a clip of you to share”. Hope shrugged and slumped down.

“Go on Hope” said Mummy. “Get up and do some more.”

Hope did her best smile that said “I'm sweet, but I am not going to do what you say”. Cocking her head to one side.

Mummy's phone rang. Then the other woman's phone went ting, and they were both lost in their phone world, talking, texting, sharing.

“Good – they're not noticing me any more.” thought Hope.

She smiled at the bottom of the hedge where she could see Skally making faces at Mummy and the woman; poking her tongue out and thumbing her nose, before stopping for a moment to pick a bit out of her nose, and flicking it at Mummy.

“And my friends are not real?” thought Hope!

Skally waved to her, and ran towards the bank where you could go roly-poly all the way down. Hope jumped up and followed. Soon they were both head over heels rolling down the bank. Mummy was still talking on her phone and the fairy godmother was staring at hers and swiping it every now and then.

At least my friends play roly-poly thought Hope. Their friends stuck in the phone world just seem so dull – they never do anything. Mummy and the fairy godmothers only ever seem to stand around staring at their phones – or talking into them.

“I wish I had a wish” Hope thought. “I wish the phones would stop”.

So she thought harder and harder and harder.

Suddenly Mummy and the fair godmother started shaking their phones and pressing bits of them. Bewildered they stared round as if surprised to find themselves where they were. The looked lost and confused.

“Good” thought Hope.

“Well done Skally” she said. “That'll teach them.”

Brexit and the posibility of a Celtic Federation.

My deepest hope is that somehow we can salvage our UK membership of the EU before it is too late – but that is a faint hope that wants to reverse what has been done. If we are catapulting the UK out of the EU, then it may be time to radically reconfigure the shattered remnants.
It looks almost certain that Scotland will go for independence if Brexit goes through. Ulster will have to reconsider its relationships with both its immediate neighbours – The Republic of Ireland and Scotland – and consider its relationship with the less proximal, and perhaps a less sympathetic, England. For Ulster the greatest fears must be a re-eruption of sectarian violence.
The Republic of Ireland is also going to be greatly affected, especially over the matter of the border, and over the existing rights of so many UK residents to claim Irish nationality. Their passport office is already being swamped with applications. Brexit can only have a massively detrimental effect on the Republic, on its economy and on its people.
As for Wales, the prospect of being welded to a permanently 'Tory' England, ruled from Westminster by a London-centric elite is just horrendous. What may be good economic sense for 'Londonshire' has already proven to be economic poison to Wales: it can only get much, much, worse post Brexit.
It was interesting to note in the Referendum results that those areas which are strongly Welsh speaking voted to remain, even though they suffer much of the same problems of economic distress as the English speaking areas that voted to leave. I am tempted to wonder if their Welsh speaking protected them from the distortions of truth so virulently spread by the English tabloid press? They do not seem so infected by the collective xenophobia engendered by the year-in, year-out, streams of hate filled and fear inducing headlines: as the English tabloid press sowed, so have we reaped.
It is quite likely that whatever consensus is reached in Wales would likely be undermined by an ideologically opposed Westminster, which, holding the financial whip-hand, could enforce compliance with its wishes. We have already witnessed an effective undermining of the Welsh Assembly and Government over the last few years. One wonders how long it would be before a Tory dominated Westminster sought the dissolution of the Welsh Assembly? I cannot see it being tolerated for too long, unless it is emasculated and turned into branch office of Westminster PLC, doing exactly as it is bidden.
Having learned to its cost the price it has had to pay for having set up the Scottish Parliament – that of Scottish independence – Westminster will not want to risk the same happening again. Ultimately, the Assembly would have to go, in the mean time it will be diminished. Consider how successive Tory governments have diminished local government, and replaced it with direct rule from Westminster – academisation of schools is only too clear an example – or substituted privatised agencies in its place. There is such a strong taste for ruling as opposed to governing by consent at Westminster: so much not the Welsh way.
Wales is distinct from England in a very fundamental way: it still understands the importance of community, of shared and collective provision, of mutual help and support. In a privatised England these ideas are dying very quickly: Brexit will amplify that difference.
Post-Brexit South East England will dominate whatever is left of the UK. It will be even more shaped by ultra-free market thinking. What its uber-rich clientele want they will get. It is likely to become the world's laundry shop for tainted money – or, as the Panama Papers revealed, to be more so, as it appears to fill that role already. It will form its policies to enhance that process. Those policies will be poison to Wales, which needs an entirely different approach to its economic progress.
As England grows more polarised between rich and poor, there will be more and more removal of employment rights and attacks on other rights – consider even now the Trade Union legislation currently in process in Westminster. The Tory threat to abandon the European Convention on Human Rights is not idle. That is what will happen, no matter how strongly Wales opposes it.
The breakup of the UK does offer one possible solution that would offer many benefits to the four Celtic nations: a Celtic Federation.
Scotland would benefit from uniting with the Republic of Ireland by thus becoming automatically once more part of the EU. It would also automatically become part of the Euro zone, thus avoiding it having to have to create a separate currency. This would provide considerable economic stability and immediate benefits for its trade with the rest of the EU. It would be sheltered from the speculative effects of the international currency markets, which can wreck such havoc on minor currencies.
Ulster would benefit by escaping from that age old tension between its two communities – the Ulster Scots and the Ulster Nationalists. The Ulster Scots would appreciate the union with Scotland which would preserve so many of their links, both to Scottish Protestantism and even to Rangers Football Club. Likewise, the Ulster Nationalists would appreciate the union with the Republic, with its Catholic heritage and traditions. It would also benefit from being in a currency union with Ireland and Scotland, its immediate neighbours, as well as enjoying the financial stability and trading advantages of being in the Euro zone. The links with Scotland would counterbalance the threat felt by the Protestant majority of being dominated by a Catholic Ireland; the links with Ireland would reassure the Catholic minority that they are not marginalised.
The Republic would benefit from having not having to re-create a border with Ulster; from having a stronger collective voice in the world and even more so in the EU. The end of the toxic division between Ulster and itself would be a final healing of the rift created by partition nearly a hundred years ago. It would bring so much right relationship.
Wales would benefit from being united with three other countries that share so much common heritage, very much a common progressive outlook on the world, and where it would be one amongst a group of almost equal partners. There would also be the advantages conferred by being in a currency union that offers such stability and trading opportunities.
Collectively, such a Celtic Federation, with a population in the region of fourteen million, would rank ninth in the EU by population, and thus would have a much stronger collective voice.
Constituted as a federation, each would be able to enjoy considerable home-rule, only collaborating on a federal level where there was obvious common need. Each would be able to preserve their very distinct cultures and traditions, without fear of being marginalised by the others.
As a constituent state in such a Federation, Wales would be among equals, and its say would have something like equal weight. Left tied to England, the mismatch in size would be only too apparent, and Wales's voice would be entirely dismissible, not simply demographically, but economically. Like an unfortunate poor relation, we would be confined to an annex and told to behave appreciatively, being grateful for the occasional handout or cast-off.
Wales shares many of the same economic problems as the other Celtic countries, and as such, would benefit enormously from economic policies shaped to address those types of problem.
We have not yet reached the event horizon that will actually carry the UK out of the EU, although we are close to it, but we are, unless something dramatic happens, bound in that direction. If and when we are plunged over that edge, there needs to be a clear vision of what alternatives may suit Wales best: the Celtic Federation is one.

The Forest

There was a prince – good fairy tales always start that way, because each of us is a prince or princess in hiding – we just need to find that glass slipper, or to be kissed awake from our perpetual slumber, or to pull a sword from a stone, or to be discovered because of a birth mark, or – I could go on but the list is endless, and sometimes involves monks trekking across high deserts and wind swept plains for years – suffice it to say our prince had all he could desire: a fine palace, wonderful clothes, a bed so soft that it wrapped him in sleep and gave him wonderful dreams the moment his head touched the pillows – but something deep inside him yearned to have something so wonderful that he would fall down enraptured by its presence.

He had seen the way that the people of his lands fell down and worshipped the golden statues of their gods, but for him they were just another thing made of gold, and he had plenty of those. There was a chapel of the gods stuffed with them somewhere in the palace, but looking at them did not make him want to fall down. They did not fill him with awe and wonder. He wanted to discover something so incredible that it would utterly entrance him. Something he could worship just like his people worshipped – something utterly transporting. He had seen his people and the way they were visibly moved. He has seen their states of religious ecstasy. They possessed something in those moments that no prince could buy, that no craftsman could shape, no king could command – AND HE WANTED IT.

He took leave of his people that spring and set off into the vast forest in search of he knew not what, he simply knew how it would make him feel when he found it. He knew it would be the most wondrous thing in the world. Something truly worth worshipping. In time he came to a clearing, and saw a wonderful bird in the most beautiful plumage. It danced and sang and entranced him completely.

“This is it. I have found it” he thought. “That is the most wondrous thing in the world that I can truly worship.”

He captured the bird and brought it back to his palace. He had it placed in a golden cage. Each day he came and sat enraptured by it, and each day he felt wonderfully moved by the sight and sound of it. This was the bird that took him to paradise.

Then one day he came and the bird's plumage had fallen off, and there in the golden cage it stood, a dull brown ordinary bird.

“Let the darn thing go” he commanded. “Turn it out of my palace, I do not want to see it ever again. I want the most wonderful thing in the world, and that – that drab, dull, scraggy bird is not even fit to grace my table.”

Once more he set off into the forest to find the most wondrous thing in the world. It was now summer and the days were hot and long. In time he came to a clearing and fluttering across it was a wonderful butterfly. It colours were so iridescent that that he was enraptured by it.

“Ah, now, this it is it” he thought. “That is the most wondrous thing in the world that I can truly worship.”

He captured the butterfly and brought it back to his palace, but when he opened the box it was fluttering its last – it was still beautiful, but no longer did it capture his heart. He did not feel awe and wonder in its presence.

The prince had it pinned to a board and the board mounted in a frame so that he could remember the enchantment he had felt when he had first seen it – but it just made him feel sad looking at its still form, so he set off into the forest once more.

By now it was autumn. In time he came to a clearing. In its middle stood the most magnificent stag with a wonderful head of antlers. The prince was enraptured. He felt awe in its presence.

“This is truly the most wondrous thing in the world that I can worship” he thought.

He captured the stag and took it back to his palace. There he kept it in a special enclosure. He came each day a sat looking at it in awe. This was truly the most wondrous thing in the world. At last he had found something that was truly worth worshipping.

Then one day he came to see his most wonderful stag, but its antlers were skew, and then one fell off. The poor creature's coat had become dull and matted, and blood trickled down its head from where the antler had snapped, leaving a sore, seeping stump.

“This pathetic looking animal is not worth worshipping” he cried. “Take it away. Drive it out of my lands. I never want to see it again.”

So once more he set off into the forest even though it was now winter. In time he came to a clearing that glistened and glittered with frost. Once more he was completely enraptured.

Noting a cave that overlooked the clearing he set up camp there and remained, enwrapped as the seasons passed and each day the forest produced a new wonders. Time past and he even forgot he was a prince for now he understood that it was the forest itself that produced all the wonders – and he didn't wish to miss a day of it.

Now another prince sits on his throne, but he too is becoming dissatisfied by all that lifeless gold.

Open letter to my MP re-Brexit: 14 Jan '19

Dear Mr Crabb

Thank you for your email stating your intention to oppose a non-deal Brexit. Considering the catastrophic nature of such an event I am please that you intend to insure that it does not happen. It is a shame that such vast sums of money are being poured into preparations for such an outcome, especially when it is considered how much better the sums could be spent on areas of real need. I am sure you are only too aware of such needs in your own constituency, which rates as one of the poorest regions in Europe. 

I understand your belief that you must support the process of trying to leave the EU because of the way in which a relative majority of your constituents voted, however, it was not an absolute majority of your electorate, which itself must be something of a democratic problem. The dictum that from nothing nothing can be assumed, must apply to the opinion of all of those who did not vote, including whether they were indifferent to the result. Nationally the swing vote was only somewhere in the order of 680,000, far too fine a margin to place such confidence in proceeding either way. This is exactly why mature democracies insist on super-majorities. It is true that a huge number of people voted in favour of leaving, but it is also true that an almost equally huge number voted in favour of remaining. 

Subsequent revelations about the referendum must lead to some doubt as to the validity of the result. There is a considerable body of legal opinion that had it been anything other than an advisory referendum it would have been declared void in the light of the discovered misconduct and the associated crimes committed. When that is compounded by very real questions, as yet unanswered, about the scope and extent of foreign interference, including the source of much of the funding, then the only reasonable conclusion is that it cannot be a safe basis on which to proceed. 

There is also the question of the inbuilt bias caused by narrowing of the electorate to exclude significant groups who are profoundly affected by the outcome. It can also be questioned whether the chosen date did not also bias the result. The late June date undoubtedly suppressed the student vote. 

Consideration also need to be given to the demographic distribution of the vote. It is deeply ironic, and sad, that by the time the process of leaving is finally accomplished, the population will be composed of a majority who voted to remain. This has to be a little crazy. 

Given the unsatisfactory nature of the referendum I hope that you will feel that you need to reconsider your support for leaving, especially in the event of the rejection by Parliament of Mrs May's deal. 

In that event you might consider supporting the so-called Norway plus proposal. That might have a broad spectrum of support, as it could garner support from both those who are not massively committed either way, the so-called soft-Brexit supporter, and the so-called sceptical or soft-remainers. It could be tolerated - although, I suspect, not loved - by both groups, and would better reflect the 52-48 spit recorded by the referendum. Such a proposal would require that we have full membership of both the Single Market and of the Customs Union. This can only be to the economic, social and cultural good of the country. I have yet to encounter any argument that convincingly suggests otherwise. You must already be aware that we are teetering on the edge of a Brexit fuelled recession. The amount of business lost to this country is already many times greater than the cost of EU membership for the next half-century. Already business are closing or relocating out of the UK, investment is leaving, as are key personnel. The success of a policy can be judged by observing the flows and those flows are all against Brexit. That is a remarkable achievement for any government. Norway plus should at least staunch those flows and stabilise Britain's future. 

Norway plus would also have the great advantage of requiring the continuation of the four free movements: goods, capital, services and people. Those four are essential components of ensuring the vitality of our economy and of our society. Freedom of movement of people is especially vital to so many individuals, businesses, organisations and institutions. It is the fluidity that it confers which allows for the optimisation of opportunities. It is such a mistake to see it in in terms of migration. It is much more fruitful to see it in terms of the fluidity to follow opportunities, to form networks and interconnections, and to expand prospects. Closing down the freedom of movement is one of the most damaging proposal possible. It is the jewel in the crown of the Single Market. Its loss will necessarily entail economic, social and cultural  diminution.

 

I cannot understand how you can support the loss of rights of your constituents. It is indefensible that you would support the greatest loss of rights in modern times. I object very strongly to my EU rights being stripped from me. You have yet to reply to me explaining how I might benefit from this and how you can defend doing this to me and your other constituents. 

In the event of the government's proposed deal being rejected you are going to have to be part of the process of finding a solution. That is a duty you must discharge honourably. It may require of you to act courageously and imaginatively.  The defeat of the government's proposed deal would mean that you have discharged your perceived duty to support the process as far as it can go, and now must be at liberty to say to your constituents the truth - that leaving cannot be done without real harm.

Yours

An open letter to our esteemed MPs and the Members of the House of Lords

Now that authority in the matter of Brexit has been returned to Parliament – it is a shame that it was ever considered even for a moment that it should rest elsewhere – I am appealing to you to use the power vested in you to amend or reject this legislation. 

 

I am sure you are conscious of both how marginal and how problematic the referendum was. A majority of just 1.8% is, to say the least, highly marginal and reveals a deeply divided electorate: leaving the EU alienates just about half of the electorate – remaining in the EU also alienates just about half of the electorate. The UK is clearly bitterly divided. 

 

However, we are now in the aftermath of the vote and are having to live with its consequences. Unfortunately, what was not clear from the referendum was exactly what it was that “Leave” entailed. Did it mean dissociation from the political institutions of the EU – as suggested by the “Take back Control” rhetoric – or discontinuing the economic and social integration with the rest of Europe? Whilst the former may be understandable, the latter will prove very damaging: something that cannot be in the interests of any of your constituents. 

 

It must be doubted if there is overwhelming support for the extreme separation from Europe that seems to be proposed by the rejection of both the single market and of the customs union. 

 

I am concerned in particular, with the ramifications of potential loss of free movement. For so many modern businesses, it is not the movements of goods, but the accompanying provision of services that is the essence of trade. A provision that relies critically on free movement. 

 

Consider, for instance, the case which I know of an award winning designer of moulding machines working for a multinational leader in the field. It is not simply the design and manufacture of the machines, but their integration into the production facilities, their precise calibration, and the routine and other maintenance which is the actual product package sold; along with the ability to adapt and redesign the machines on demand, often in situ. His company supply this service throughout the EU, and consequently their staff must have free movement. They are far from unique in having such a requirement. Loss of free movement will simply lead to the business's relocation elsewhere in the EU, with the consequent loss of UK jobs. 

 

Consider also the case of someone I know who works for a major surgical device manufacturer. They are responsible for installing the equipment into operating theatres and then training the surgeons in its use. This including being on call to attend operations, especially where the cases are complex or novel. This she does throughout the length and breadth of the EU. Again, freedom of movement is critical.

Or consider the case of someone who has built their own international business. She employs staff and freelance workers throughout the EU to carry out market research. Several of her major customers are based outside the UK – in the Netherlands and Switzerland in particular. She cannot operate her business without freedom of movement, and without the freedom to employ native speakers of languages in which the research is to be carried out. Again, freedom of movement is critical, both for her to operate her business, and for her staff and freelancers. 

 

There is every reason to suppose that these three cases are typical of modern business. Free movement is an integral part of their success. Such is the nature of our modern skills based economy. It is the work of such business which are the drivers of our economy. Modern trade is no longer as simple as selling boxes of oranges. 

 

Freedom of movement is freedom to do business.

There is also a deep human rights issue here. I resent very greatly the threat of removal of the right of free movement from myself, from my children and from my grandchildren. I do not see why accident of birth should compel us to either be confined to the UK, or to have to seek permission from officialdom in order to do otherwise. The EU has restored to us the liberty that our Victorian ancestors took for granted – that of being able to travel, reside, work or trade anywhere in Europe as circumstances or inclination dictated.

This threatens to be the greatest loss of liberty in a century.

I am also concerned about the plight of EU nationals resident here. These people came to Britain in good faith and have invested their lives here, often to the betterment of us all. They should be given immediate assurance as to their unquestioned right to remain and to be allowed to fully participate in our society. To do anything less is a betrayal of their good faith. They should be allowed to go about their lives and continue to enjoy their freedom of movement, just as they do now. 

 

It is only by being an open and welcoming society that we can truly flourish.

I am also saddened by the rise in hate-crimes since the referendum. This is a dark consequence of the Brexit vote. There is an awareness by the police that historically only a fraction of incidents that occur are actually reported. Due to the alienation and insecurity felt by some communities as a result of the vote, and of the accompanying anti-immigrant rhetoric in our press, there is now even less likelihood of their being reported. The police are becoming distrusted as being potential agents of coercion and expulsion in a post Brexit Britain. Threatening to end the freedom of movement or the rights of residence can only make all this so much worse.

In the case the constituency where I live (Peseli Pembrokeshire), it is not immigration but emigration which is the concern. Whatever the fears of the public engendered by some parts of our media, retaining young people and finding suitable employment for them is a far greater issue. 

 

Restricting EU freedom of movement may only serve to leave Wales short of highly skilled and qualified personnel in very specific fields, especially in our health service. It will also serve our universities very badly. At worst, the combined social and economic effects will impact very negatively on Wales, threatening to turn it into a wasteland created in an effort to placate the xenophobic fears of England.

I appeal to you to add such amendments to the current bills as will address the above issues and to ensure that full parliamentary oversight of the process is maintained, including the provision that either Parliament, and, or, the people, will have the final say over accepting or rejecting any resultant agreement made with the EU.

Yours sincerely,

D.Lockyer

The seven key problems we face

First, and above all else, is climate change. Compared to that, none of the others are in the same league. If we do not get this one right, then there is no future – simple as. This fact may not sink into people's heads, but this will not go away; and it has to be tackled collectively and globally. There is no hiding place from it, and there is no opt out from it. So that is why it is number one.

Second is, and very much because of the first, the need for conservation. The conservation of environments, of the eco-systems in them and of the richness of those systems. We are already witnessing a mass-extinction which we ourselves have triggered. If we try very hard, we may stop it getting worse, and perhaps, only perhaps, reverse it. 

The third key problem is the need for sustainability in the light of finite resources. We need to conserve them because once they are gone, they are gone. We need to build sustainability into all that we do. We need to build in resilience into our life styles. We need to make our lives low impact. 

The fourth key problem is globalisation. It is just the one world, and, with modern communications, that is a very small world. Nowhere much is more than twenty-four hours away from anywhere else. Almost everywhere can be contacted instantly. This is one deeply interwoven world. It is the first time in history that the whole planet has been interconnected and interacting. We need to learn how to live with that. Just now in Britain I think we are failing in this – we are erecting barriers, as if we want the rest of the world to go away – which of course it won't. 

The fifth key problem is automation. The impact on jobs is already considerable. It will get worse. As long as we tie income directly to work for the mass of people, then the vanishing of work will create mass poverty. Already our younger people are poorer than the previous generation. This is the first time that has happened for perhaps two hundred years. When large parts of the population are redundant, then what? 

The sixth key problem is inclusion. We cannot have a world where only some – perhaps only a few – enjoy an extravagant life, and where the rest are slowly pauperised – but that is the prospect. A basic economic truth is that we need a balance between consumption and production, between productive work and meaningful life-styles, between consumers and producers. Inclusion is about power and about sharing, about having a say and being listened to; about who benefits from the bounty produced by our amazing technologies; about the balance between communal and private assets. 

And the final key problem is alienation. The less we include, the more we alienate. We need to think carefully about modern life and how it can be enriched, about how well-being can be increased, how life can be made more fulfilling. In this the notion of the Gross National Happiness – as they have in Bhutan – must play an increasing role. Wealth, beyond the point where primary needs are fully met, adds very little: it is a diminishing return. Meaningful occupation, the esteem of others, a sense of community, a sense of purpose – these are what enriches lives and guards against alienation. The alienated turn on the societies that have excluded them, and, ultimately, we all pay the price for that.

Every cloud has a silver lining

Have they any idea what they are asking? I mean – a silver lining to every cloud?

Yeh – I know. Like they don't have to fit them do they.

Nope – just leave it to the usual fools. Oh, It's ok. We can do it. That is so much their slogan – but who has to do it – that's what I ask. As if we don't know!

Yeh – now stop moaning and give us a hand with this one.

I don't know, floating around up hear fitting all these clouds. Why can't they just let them be – you know – like they is. None of this fitting on silver linings. Must cost a fortune.

Size 15c I think.

What?

Size 15c, I said.

Oh OK – nope hang on – we're clean out.

Damn!

Careful – don't let Y-K-W hear.

Oh – he's too up his own to be listening.

Yeh – usually – but you never know do you. Might just pull another sneaky like he did with that other crew.

Yeh – but they were really asking for it. What with thinking He was out and all, and that jackass going and sitting on His throne and pretending. He were only mucking around I heard. Not like he really meant it – and then zap! Thunderbolt everywhere. Fried them good and proper.

I know – like that He is. Misses comes down on him for something and the moment He gets back SOMEONE”S GOT TO PAY.

Poor SOMEONE

Yeh – bad choice of name that. Bet his mother never saw that coming. Bet she thought “That's a nice name”.

Well – no-one had used it before – well not as a name that is.

I know.

And it was different.

I know.

But then He goes and invents a language and sticks that word in.

Yeh – poor SOMEONE! There he was with a unique name, and, whoops, Y-K-W had just shoved it into some language or other, and then makes that the official language of up here.

Not as bad as some of the guys!

I know.

Poor Coal-Scuttle!

Yeh!

And what about Piss-Take?

I know.

And Shit-Face!

Yep!

Still, you didn't do too badly, did you Aftershave?

Nope. Neither did you Sunset.

Keeps me smiling.

Which you've got to do when you'r up here, cloud fitting, 'cos there's not much hold you up.

True.

So – what about this bugger – no 15cs. S'pose we could bend a 257A to make it fit.

Yeh – but you know Y-K-W doesn't like shoddy work.

Well – he can damn well see that there's enough 15cs then!

Yeh – but like it's supposed to be the recycling mob's job to see that there's plenty of retreads for us to use.

Anyway – why do them humans need silver linings?

Think they'd just realise what a short deal they've got if there weren't. As it is, no matter how shitty it is they can look up and say “Every Cloud's got a silver lining” - and so long as that's true they feel OK. So we've got to keep it true, so it is OK.

But silver – I ask you!

I know!

Just don't they think how hard it is getting it to stay up here!

I know.

Heard talk as how design department got ideas of making it a silver spray on.

Well that would be easier – but wouldn't that be cheating them down there? Like, if it's not real silver?

Be a hell of a lot easier for us!

Yep – one quick squirt and then your done. None of this careful fitting. And Y-K-W want it all done neat and tight, so you better look out, 'cause if you don't and He decides to do a spot check, then – Zap.

Yeh – trellah trellah and squirt squirt. Happy times!

Nah! They'l never do it. It will still be us up here with 15 tonne length of the real McCoy, fitting them close on every last cloud that stupid puff dragon blows out, keeping them down there in illusion-ville.

If only they knew!

Defrocked

“Typical of a man-woman - any guy would know exactly what their car is. Only women don't.” said in a slightly dropped voice as an aside to the other bloke in the room: a shared confidence of a knowing between real men. So it starts, the separating off, the marking you out. The labelling. You’re different, and that difference is now flagged up between the reals. You feel the undertow of condescension. Your right to be fully human — a member of the man-club — is no longer there.

A chance to reprieve yourself is proffered. OK. You have replaced your car. So how many miles had the old one done? The question is asked.

“I don’t know” I reply, honestly, falling straight into the elephant trap.

Another aside - audible, but only just, and knowing looks exchanged between real men:

“Just what you would expect from a man-woman; men always know how many miles their cars have done!”

I am caught out. Defrocked. A sinking feeling of disappointment — I had hoped for more — some tolerance, if not acceptance — and now I have that feeling of a yawning gap opening — a knowing inside that my difference has been spotlighted — that it matters, that it can’t simply be accepted — that it cannot be left uncommented on. It needs to be drawn to attention: the real men closing ranks.

I can’t help being me, and I know that my difference is always likely to be on the radar, but I hope on hope that it does not matter, that it will pass unremarked, just accepted, like differences in height, or the pitch of voices, or signs of ageing, or the colour of eyes. I would love people to think “That’s how you are — OK — fine — no problem, after all we are all different.”

But then something confuses, something is not acceptable, something cannot be left to pass. It discomforts. I can hear the thinking: “This seeming man — are you really a man? Or do we switch into reacting to a woman mode? Definitely not — you seem to be mostly a man — so maybe your a gay? Or perhaps your a trans? Your not giving out gay man signals, so perhaps you a mix up - a man-woman – a transsexual – or whatever the freaks call themselves. So how do we react to you? Your not a woman so we can't react that way. You do not seem to be gay, so we don't need to fear you coming on to us, and we don't need to give you big put-downs, or think of beating you up. So what do we do? – because you are not completely a bloke, whatever you are.”

It would be so much simpler if I were clearly a woman. They’re different in men’s minds. They are the other. They do not function the same. They are the ones you ogle, the ones you pass comment on as to their ‘fitness’ — that is, their shaggability; or comment on the strangeness of their minds — so utterly unfathomable — that inability to even understand what seems so self-evident, so simple and so important — like how the wires go in a plug, or how to change the oil in a car. No one needs telling those things, no one needs to be shown, not once they are a bloke. It is just understood that you know. You learned as you grew up - just absorbed it. You watched other guys and that’s that. From then on you know. But women, you tell them, you show them, and then you have to tell them again! Yes again! Unbelievable! It like they don’t want to remember - or can’t remember — even simple things, like what is the right order for turning on the heating, or for setting the security alarm. And they stick together, think in harmony, gang up on you with glances and looks to each other; and then on goes the disapproval. And they are emotional time bombs. You are never quite sure what is going to freak one out — and then an utter torrent of accusation and blame — and whatever you say is simply shredded. No, women you handle with safety gloves. You make forays with sexual teasing – just in case they are game – will she, wont she flirt? – is she up for it? That is if she is not a minger, or a moose – but who would with one of those? Or at least who would admit to with one of those? Well you have to sometimes – but never let the boys know. As for the old trouts – the wrinklies and crinklies – humour them or patronise them – but keep well clear. And then when you are safely with the other guys, disparage and belittle the whole tribe with a few shared demeaning remarks and shrugs of agreement as to their incomprehensibility: a shared distain. Its OK, women are not actually fully human, not like men; they are not lords of the earth – they are not part of the man-army. They cannot march with the guys. They have to be set apart, set aside, confined.

But I am not a woman — but then neither am I totally a man. I’m a blend, a cut-and-shut job - dropped by nature to be somewhere between in that no-man’s-land that is neither fully the one nor the other. I don’t trigger that “react to a woman mode” that blokes fall into, somewhere between condescension and allure. Neither do I trigger the “it’s OK, he’s one of us and he is not gay” which lets you into the club. No. First the tacit acceptance, then, slowly, some puzzlement. Something doesn’t fit, something discomforts. The reactions are just wrong. The movements not wholly manly. Then it’s the reaching for another label - the man-woman sticker - the she-male; and you can feel the caution and the distance, and, most obviously, the contempt and the pity. It oozes, unspoken.

In Memorium for a Brother: Scenes from a Childhood

Picture, if you will, a brother who has discovered the joy of inverting games to play with his baby brother. The baby, now five, is getting pocket money, but clearly, beyond the immediate value of money as potential sweets — to be got as soon as possible from the newsagents at the top of Bank Street — it is of no interest to that little barbarian. Money in the hand  gets sweets in the mouth. A simple and straightforward equation to be applied with the maximum of speed to ensure the shortest delay between receiving the money and converting it into something useful, like liquorice, like sweet cigarettes, like Cart-wheels, like Smarties, or even a bottle of pop. But older and wiser brothers know better. They know there is more to money. It is a thing of value in itself. It has intrinsic worth that should be appreciated and respected. Oh, the wisdom of being 13.

So a game is invented, to regulate and control the unconditioned greeds of the baby barbarian. To educate, to inform, to engage the unruly dirt ridden, squirming, demi-human. And so the “Bank of Elbury” was invented, complete with paying-in book, withdrawal book, account ledger, and most importantly, a good strong metal box with a lock to act as a coffer, which served to prevent the little barbarian from making unsanctioned withdrawals. Best of all, the Bank of Elbury came with an imposing and important figure - its own Bank Manager. A Bank Manager who took much delight in fashioning his role, and playing it with total conviction; honing such phrases as “the bank cannot allow this”, or “It is not in our customers best commercial interest to remove all of their money, so we, the bank, cannot sanction it.” Phrases which seemed baffling and perplexing to the sniffling, dirt encrusted, socks askewed, cut kneed, barbarian - but which seemed to contain some weird magic of authority — and were not to be challenged!

Or picture this. A summer’s day with the light dwindling slowly into dusk. The same small boy, now seven and just as barbaric, stands in front of a high garden wall that separates home from the garden of the vicarage next door. A cricket ball is being thrown at him over and over, until he finally gets the idea that it is less painful to catch the ball than to be hit by it. His instructor, ever the perfectionist, explains over and over how the ball must be caught with a sweeping motion so that the ball “decelerates”, thus stopping it bouncing back out of the hand.The instructor is determined: he will have his imagined cricket matches on the lawn. He will train the barbarian into being a fit opposing team. First the catching, then the batting, and finally the mysteries of bowling - underarm at first, and then overarm.

At last “trained” the first match is planned. A score card is carefully drawn up. Two teams of eleven, names all chosen from the current Test Match squads. The instructor is of course, to be England, and England is to bat first. Ten wickets must fall before the barbarian’s team can come to the crease.

The barbarian labours long, though the morning, the afternoon and into the evening, bowling and bowling again. Six balls to an over, then a change of persona. The barbarian donning a new name on the score card and adding to another dreadful set of bowling averages. Eventually, the last wicket falls, and on the next day, at ten o’clock, strictly in accordance with the best cricketing traditions, the barbarian must take his place at the crease. His tourist team is soon swept aside - all ten wickets falling, for so few runs. The follow-on is forced, and the barbarian must bat again, if the ignominy of an innings defeat is to be avoided. The ignominy is not avoided. Victory falls once more to England.

That was out of doors, but indoors the sound through the house, enchanting, intriguing, mood music - the piano. Not practised, but played. A tune heard once is repeated, played, varied, inverted, its tempos exquisitely varied, its keys changed and changed again - now played on the right hand, now on the left. It becomes part of a tapestry of sound, that flows on and on. It was through his hands, through his music that my brother lived his emotional life when we were young. It was his lightening conductor, earthing all the confusions and distress of growing-up, of becoming, of being driven to a goal - the goal of university.

He was to be made to achieve what our mother had been denied - the chance of a scholarship place at Cambridge. A chance she had won by excelling in her sixth-form. She had woven words like magic. The warp of reason softened by the weft of passion. Her essays sent by her headmistress to an old friend at Newnham College, Cambridge, But then the dashing of dreams. “I have worked so that you do not have to” her father said, believing himself to be invulnerably wealthy, not realising how deeply ironic the twist and changes of our mother's life would make those words. She had been thwarted in her ambition - her ambition for her first born son was not going to be thwarted, no matter what! There was the terrible tension of the driven and the driver in the house - and music was the consolation and the safety valve. It was where all the frustrations and passions, all the repressed anger, all the angst of youth went.

We grew as though in a pressure chamber, he and I. His escape was her realisation of ambition. Mine, an exile into the purgatory of boarding school.

Later, now in our twenties, a friendship and companionship grew. We climbed Skiddaw, Coniston Old Man and other Lakeland heights together; and he visited me when I was studying at Bangor. Snowdon was too good an opportunity to be missed. That was strolled in an afternoon! And we shared a love of music, his patience unlimited at my stumbling efforts to accompany him on bass - but it was the sharing that mattered.

What was Roger like as a brother? - awesome. Inventive, caring, a constructor of shared fantasy worlds. A giant, whose benign shadow marked paths into adulthood.

Letter to my MP re immigration legislation

Stephen Crabb MP
House of Commons
London
SW1A 0AA

crabbs@parliament.uk

Immigration Bill 2015 briefing and call to attend Second Reading debate - Tuesday 13th October

Dear Stephen Crabb

I am sure that you are aware of the Immigration Bill currently passing through parliament. I wish to make you aware of my distress at some of the provisions of the bill. It reaches a level of inhumanity toward children and young people that is simply unacceptable. As someone who was concerned with investigating the compliance issues with the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child, and who researched the impact of the 1989 Children’s Act, I can only register my disgust with the proposals. No country should treat people like this. It is utterly unworthy of the best traditions of the UK, and of the Welsh people in particular. The provisions are completely incompatible with our duties and obligations toward the young. They are also a moral offence with regard to how we should treat any people regardless of age: refugees and asylum seekers are very vulnerable people and deserve better simply by virtue of being human. They should not be treated in the ways you are proposing.

Not only are you saying that “there is no room in the Inn”, but you are threatening to imprison the inn-keeper should he dare to rent out space in the stable.

To inflict destitution on anyone is immoral. We do have a right to control immigration, and we do posses the power to deport. These should be sufficient powers for any society. To make destitute those that have sought our care and protection is ruthless and pitiless. To threaten with imprisonment those who may respond to human distress and need in a positive way by providing shelter, by providing care and protection, by providing help, is simply gross. You are criminalising compassion.

May I remind you that in the 1930s in Germany people were likewise imprisoned for daring to extend help or give shelter to anyone of Jewish descent. Think well on this example.

I would be grateful if you would keep me informed of how your government will alter the legislation to ensure the humane, dignified and compassionate treatment of all refugees and asylum seekers.

Kind Regards,

Anti-austerity march speech # 3: 30/05/15

I am sure that Steven Crabb, UK Secretary of State for Wales, does not intend to be vindictive. But that is what austerity is. I am sure he does not think this policy is wrong-headed, but that is what this policy is.
Expert economists are now saying that the monetarist dogma used to justify this cruel and damaging policy is based on false premises.

He should remember too, that Wales is already one of the poorest regions in Europe.
Creating more poverty is not the solution.

So let there be not one more child in Wales or anywhere in the UK living in poverty, not one more family in Wales or anywhere in the UK going hungry, not one more household in Wales or anywhere in the UK having to choose between food or warmth, not one more benefit claimant in Wales or anywhere in the UK “sanctioned” for circumstances beyond their control, for being in hospital, being terminally ill, or attending a job interview instead of attending a fitness for work interview, let there be not one more community in Wales or anywhere in the UK stripped of its facilities. Stop punishing the poor for the excesses of the rich.

Say No to a society split between the few super-haves who will be given even more, and the many who have less, who will see even what they do have taken from them.

Barnardos, who are experts on child poverty, say, and I quote, “There are currently 3.5 million children living in poverty in the UK. That’s almost a third of all children. 1.6 million of these children live in severe poverty. In the UK 63% of children living in poverty are in a family where someone works.”
This in the world's sixth richest nation. This is Britain’s shame and Britain’s failure. It does not need to be so. We are so rich in Britain that not one child need be poor, need be homeless, need be in want. It is Britain’s shame that it is not so.

Austerity has been tried before and each time it is the young who suffered most, and each time it has failed as a policy. It was tried in the 1980s under Thatcher, in the 1990s under Major and now under Cameron, and each time austerity has made the average Briton poorer, not richer, and each time the young have paid the highest price, it is their lives that have been blighted most, whose opportunities have been stunted. Each time it has been our communities that have been weakened and that have been diminished. Once more our government will throw the young into the sacrificial fire of austerity economics, and once more lives will be blighted. Once more it will be our communities that are weakened.

Cameron claims to stand for Working Britain, but the vast majority of children in poverty are children in homes where people are working, working for poverty pay, working on zero-hours contracts, working on short-term contracts, working in out-sourced jobs without security or stability. This is Cameron's working Britain – a poverty Britain, a Food Bank Britain a working benefits claimants’ Britain. This is the Britain he intends to plunge deeper into poverty, causing more homelessness, more insecurity, more uncertainty, more reliance on food-banks.

Today we are giving Steven Crabb and David Cameron our clear message. No to austerity. Not in our name. No to blaming the poor for the excesses of the rich. Not in our name. No to punishing the most vulnerable for the losses of the wealthy. Not in our name. No to Food-bank Britain. Not in our name.

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This speech was delivered at the end of the march on 30/05/15

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A report of the event can be found at:

 Western Telegraph

Anti-austerity march speech # 2: 30/05/15

In 1945 the people of Britain came back from war and swore to defeat what Beveridge called the Five Giants of Poverty.
That was the Britain they built.
That was the Britain they were proud of.
That was the Britain I grew up in.
A Britain that aimed to be without want, without ignorance, without squalor, without disease and without idleness.
A Britain where nobody was excluded.

That was the Britain my parents built for us, their children, and which they believed would be there for their grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
Cameron has brought these giants back and is making sure that my parents’ great-grandchildren will not live in the Britain that they fought for.

We see the giants back in the spread of food-banks.
We see them in the numbers of unemployed.
We see them in zero-hour contracts and poverty pay.
We see them in chronic under-employment - part-time jobs at even lower poverty pay.
We see them in insecure jobs and temporary contracts.
We see them in internships that only the children of the well-off can afford to take, shutting off opportunities that used to be open to all.
We see them in the rise of homelessness and the young who cannot hope to ever have a home of their own.
We see them in student loans that most can never hope to repay – a lifetime burden of debt that will shackle and limit our young people.
We see them in the bedroom tax.
We see them in the way support for the disabled is being taken away.
We see them in the destitution that makes people have to choose between eating and keeping warm.

The giants of poverty are fast creeping back into this land. Yet it need not be so.

The bankers who caused the financial crisis tell us that Austerity is the only option.
But they don’t suffer under austerity. Bankers’ bonuses are back.

The hedge-fund managers who have pillaged our economy tell us that Austerity is the only option.
But they don’t suffer under austerity. Their off-shore accounts – off-shore to avoid paying tax - are overflowing with money.

This rich boys’ government tells us that Austerity is the only option.
But they don’t suffer under austerity. They will have lucrative seats on the boards of big companies when they leave government.

The big corporations tell us that Austerity is the only option.
But they don’t suffer under austerity. They avoid paying the taxes that would take away the excuse for austerity.

It is you and me, we who do not have mega-bonuses, seats on boards, off-shore accounts or tax-avoidance schemes, it is we who have to pay.
Pay by having communal assets that you paid for with your taxes sold to private companies who are not interested in service - only in profit.
Pay by having your services run down.
Pay by having your children's futures blighted.
Pay by seeing the dissolution of your health service.

And austerity will get worse. Austerity has failed in Greece. It has failed in Spain. It has failed in Italy. It has failed in Ireland. Austerity has simply made each of those countries poorer, and it will make this country poorer. And a poorer country can afford even less, and so must cut even more, making it even poorer and so it can afford even less, making it cut even more, making it even poorer …

Here, Round one of austerity has already brought us a double-dip recession and the slowest recovery from recession in history, and the loss of Britain's AAA credit rating.
This has all happened in the last five years – under a government that boasts about its economic competence.

Five years of austerity have only made things worse, why on earth would we believe that a second dose will make things any better?

But we can end this vicious downward spiral. We can say NO to austerity. Austerity is not the only option.

Iceland has shown that you can dump the debt. They said NO. They refused to play the austerity game, they refused to pay the bankers’ debts.

We too can find a better way. A way that remembers that the economy is about people; people doing jobs for each other, people providing goods and services for each other. People caring for each other. People building real futures for each other, for their children and for their communities; and to do that, we need not austerity but investment; investment in educational opportunities, in health-services, in infrastructure, in communities, and ultimately, in people.

Cameron has claimed that we should remember that we are a Christian country. I would remind him of the Christian ethic, clearly stated in these words:

“For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.”

But he has turned this into, “I was hungry and you stopped my benefit, I was thirsty and you sold off my water supply, I was a stranger and you turned me away, I was naked and you mocked me, I was sick and you closed my hospital, I was in prison and you made the conditions harsher and sentences longer.”

That is Cameron's Christian ethic.

Let us send a clear message today: NO TO AUSTERITY. NO TO VICTIMISING THE VULNERABLE. NO TO FOOD-BANK BRITAIN. ------

This speech was delivered on 30/05/15 at the rest point on the march.

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A report of the march can be found at:

Western Telegraph

Anti-austerity march speech # 1: 30/05/15

The organisers would like to thank everyone who has turned out today. It really means a lot, so thank you for making the effort.

We are just one of many protests being made in many places in Britain, and I am sure we will be far from the last, for as long as people like you know that austerity is wrong, that it hurts people, that it blights the lives of the young, that it blights the lives of those less able to fend for themselves, that it blights the lives of those that depend on public services, for so long as the axe is being wielded, then people like you will come forward to be counted, to say “No – not in my name”.

That is what this protest is about, to make it loud and clear that what is being done to turn Great Britain into Food-bank Britain is not being done in my name, not in your name, not in the name of the person standing next to you, not in the name of any of us who are here today.

May I remind everyone that this is a peaceful and orderly protest, so please respect the guidance of the stewards, they are here to help us make your voice heard.

We really appreciate the co-operation of the police, who are going to be subjected to massive additional cuts. We are here for them just as much as we are for all others in public service affected by the cuts.

We are starting here by County Hall in sympathy for the Council, because it is the Council that is going to have to make so many cuts that we know that at heart they do not want to make. They will have no choice about destroying so much that they have built up over the years, and we know that that will come hard. It is not fair, it is not just, and it is not what the people of Pembrokeshire deserve.

Our route is County Hall, County Hotel, Multi-storey car park, Old Bridge, Bridge Street, Castle Square (10-15 mins) High St, into Market Street ending outside Stephen Crabb’s office.

Sadly we cannot deliver our protest to Stephen Crabb in person, because he is in London planning the very cuts to which we are objecting.

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A change of plans means this speech was not given. However, the other two speeches were. 

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A report of the march was made in the local press:

Western Telegraph