Save Our NHS

NOT SO BAD

I've had a cough for a few weeks. Annoying, restricting, constricting, sometimes even painful. It seemed to be going at one point, but returned with fresh impetus. So it seemed like I should consult a health professional.

Yesterday morning, around 10.30, I called our GP surgery. The receptionist asked for my symptoms. I asked to speak to my usual GP if at all possible. She checked the schedule. He would call me back that afternoon.

Which he did, around 2. We talked for at least 10 minutes, going through my experience and symptoms in detail, he explained what was going on, and told me he'd prescribe a nasal spray, which he gave clear instructions on how to use. The relevant slip would be at the desk within 10 minutes.

Half an hour later I was up there, given the slip (top of the pile, handily) and went to our local pharmacy. Yes, they had the spray in stock, and off I walked with it in my bag. I took the first treatment last night before bed.

Which is, you may think, as it should be. That's how a socialised health service works. You want medical help, you call up, you get the help. Yet if you read the Cassandras on social media out there, what took place is something that never happens in reality. Our NHS, and especially the Scottish NHS if you believe the SNP-hater brigade, is collapsing, unable to function, not meeting needs.

Of course you can't extrapolate the state of an entire national public service based on one experience. And I don't pretend to. However the story above is broadly reflective of what both Barbara and I have encountered in our dealings with the health service over the past few years, when we've both had a few issues with our bodies. No doubt there are areas of the service that are underfunded, understaffed, overstretched. That variability covers both different functions of the service, and geographic differences. Other patients would be able to extrapolate very different conclusions from their personal experiences.

But that's the thing. Just because one person, or even a hundred, has a negative encounter with the NHS (especially if they are politically inclined towards looking for faults...), or the same for those with positive results, doesn't tell a complete story. The NHS isn't perfect. But it can, at times, function perfectly, as above. It is not collapsing. It is not completely the wrong approach (how can anyone - yes fascists of Deform, I'm looking at you - suggest that we follow the iniquities and exploitations of the US 'system'...?). And yes, it is very much worth preserving (albeit whilst evolving and improving).

I love our NHS. We need to protect it.

They 'know', do they?

 

ADDICTIONS

Addicts are manipulative. Often cunning, their desperation not to be 'found out' leads them into behaviour designed to hide their addiction from others, especially those closest to them. Be it drugs, alcohol, gambling or whatever, the stories of partners and spouses who have been the subjects of long term deception by the person they live with are countless. While this article is primarily about addicts of substance abuse, much of it applies to other addictions too.

This BBC post gives information about the items Peter Murrell purchased through his embezzlement of SNP party funds. Do you notice a pattern, a rationale behind the list? A sense of purpose? Some way of improving the person's life in the long term? Because I can't. The list provides no rational motivation. Unless. You see it as addiction. Shopping addiction. Trying to live a pretend life. Then you can see some reason for it all.

And why, as an addict, he could be so good at concealing what he was up to. There was a multi year, multi million pound police investigation, which found evidence that Murrell (and only Murrell) had been involved in the deception. But the allegations are still rife that others, especially his wife Nicola Sturgeon, must have been involved. Refer back to my opening paragraph...

Of course the allegations are largely politically motivated, or coming from those, like Joanna Cherry, who have a grudge to exercise. The loudest voices are from the far right, but it's noticeable that the fascists of Deform are also the first to shout down talk of investigations into the financing of all parties. Hmm, their proven links to Putin couldn't have anything to do with that, could they?

The accusers tell the world that they 'know' Sturgeon is guilty. And probably John Swinney too. If I think I know something it's usually because I have some evidence of it being true, so have these people been guilty of withholding evidence from a major police investigation? Or is 'know' shorthand for 'wish it was true that'? Because if wishes made things true mine would mean we didn't have seventeen fascists sitting in our national parliament. But there they are, including the grubby Thomas Kerr, and their presence and constant hate speech made the recent racist knife attack here seem somehow inevitable. This is what fascism brings. Along with a total disdain and lack of understanding of mental illnesses, like addiction...

Who do we think we are?

 

WHO IS THE YOO KAY?

Belgium. France. Spain. Portugal. Ireland. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Spot the odd one out. OK, I may have exaggerated for comic effect, but it is a weird name. And a weird state that has, and always has had, a serious identity crisis.

I lived in England for 35 years. Early on in my residency I gave up trying to correct locals in their usage of words to describe their own country. England seemed to suffice for many to cover England itself, Britain, Great Britain, and the UK. Some even appeared to scoop up the whole of the island of Ireland into their terminology. Ofter the four in my list were exchanged randomly, without thought. This is not something that happens in the other countries that make up the UK, where our sense of national identity is stronger. (Well, unionists in Northern Ireland are a pretty confused bunch sometimes...)

This identity confusion is continued in the media. If a UK newsreader talks about 'the largest city on the northeast' we all know where they are referring to. And it isn't Aberdeen. They frequently talk about 'UK politics' and then it's clear their subject is only England.

But if you want to see real confusion then have a look at the UK in international sport, which proves, maybe more than anything else, what an anomalous state this place is in global terms.  In sport is the UK ever 'The UK'?  I can't think of an example where it is.  In the Olympics, and a few sports like ice hockey, there is a 'Team GB', even though it is supposed to include Northern Ireland.  But in most international cometitions 'the UK' doesn't exist.  It's the national teams that play.  England.  Scotland.  Wales.  Sometimes Northern Ireland.  Is there any other state on the planet that does this?  And in one major international sport, one element of the UK's territory plays as part of the national team of the neighbouring state.  (Ireland plays rugby union as a complete nation, including the still-occupied territory in the north east of the country..)  That is an anomaly...

And now, for the first time, the UK will have First Ministers in two of the nations who want to take their country out of the UK, and another who favours reunification with the rest of their nation.  While the largest nation appears to be heading in a very different political direction.

It's easy to conclude that the UK is a bit of a mess, a place of uncertainty and confusion. But also that my title question was the wrong one. Maybe we should be asking - Why is the UK? (And for how much longer...)

Seven days in September (#2)

WEEK 2

The third in my series of six posts trying to give some idea of what this pensioner's life is like on a day to day basis.

Monday 8 September.  Back to pilates, followed by eating cake in the Leith sunshine.  That's a good day right there.  Even if the plumber didn't turn up...

Tuesday.  A Play, a Pie and a Pint is back at the Traverse, and this was the first of six we'll be going to see.  Wallace was a Scottish hip-hop musical, far removed from our usual fare, but hugely entertaining and leaving a lot room for thought about the myths we create as nations.  I also spent a couple of hours in the garage, giving Daffy a clean and a check over, ready for her outing later in the week.

Wednesday.  The pilates class was again enjoyable, and I even got a compliment from someone who had just joined and was impressed by how easy it looked for me (she's easily impressed... this is the beginners class!).  Then on to my voluntary role.  Earlier this year I became a volunteer befriender to a woman in a wheelchair, and we get along well.  Normally we'd go to a cafe, but she wasn't feeling up to it so we sat in her flat chatting and laughing.  

Thursday.  A Daffy the 2CV day.  And, in other news, our wedding anniversary.  A drive to the south west on the A701, a visit to the Gretna outlet village and a stay in the Star Hotel in Moffat - allegedly the narrowest detached hotel in the world.  Our room certainly went the full width, but it was a good size.  (A family room with a double and two singles, for reasons we didn't enquire about...)

Friday.  More Daffiness.  Good fun coaxing her up the steep bendy road away from Moffat, and taking photos of the spectacular scenery in that area.  NIce cafe stop in Biggar, then home through the rain.  We must do some more of those nights away.

Saturday.  Easy to choose which of this day's 3 Things was the one to remember.  Out to Murrayfield Ice Arena to see Caps play and win their first league match of the season, a 4-1 vicrtory over Solway.  More of the same please.

Sunday.  I know I should choose the video call with our old friends as the highlight of the day.  However Scotland played England in the quarter final of the RWC.  Clear underdogs, we were well beaten.  So where's the highlight?  With the clock in the red our women finally got over the line, a beautiful score from Rhona Lloyd.  Beaten yes, giving up never.

A week as atypical as week 1, in that this time there something going on every day, with a trip away trhown in.  Maybe there is no such thing as 'typical'?

There's nothing to moan about

 

YOU'RE SCOTTISH

It hurt. It hurt a lot at the time, and we all wanted it just to be over. But you could see it hurt for them too, far more than it did for us. And to suggest otherwise is ludicrous.

I'm talking about the Scottish Cup Final, in ice hockey, between Caps and Aberdeen Lynx. We went in with eager faces, and left with tails drooping. The northerners scored within 30 seconds and then kept on coming. By the end it was 9-3 and the only consolation was that the Lynx fans didn't get the double figures they were chanting for. It was a sad end to our season.

But then the moaners started on social media. The players were embarrassing, they weren't trying, they didn't care, why had we bothered going up to Dundee...etc, etc.  And, in some way, that was the worst bit. Because it clearly wasn't true, and why do that on a public forum where the players or their families or friends can see? The team needs our support in loss as well as victory.

Two years ago this team didn't even exist. In their first season they fell out of both Cup and Playoffs at the quarter final stage (1st round!), but finished a close second in the league title race. They brought in crowds of over a thousand regularly. They proved that they could beat any team in the league on their day, and created expectations in the fanbase. They gave people hope, which I wrote about last March.

For longstanding Caps fans this was a revelation. OK, so we were no longer in the EIHL, the top level of pro hockey in the UK, but in the much lower level Scottish National league. It was a bit slower to watch, less skilful. But that was soon forgotten. Firstly because we had 'our' team back on the ice again. Secondly, because, unlike the EIHL days, we were competitive, in a league where almost everyone else was too. Matches were exciting, unpredictable. Entertaining. Hence the bigger crowds. ('Old' Caps struggled to get much more than 700 people through the doors.)

In only their second season they again finished a close second in the league, so they remained as  competitive. They also took part in a new, smaller competition called the Northern League, which mixed 3 SNL teams in with one from the NIHL (a, in theory, higher level league), the Blackburn Hawks. And Caps took the trophy. In the SNL playoffs they took another bit of silver away, winning the final. And, as we already know, one week later finished runners up in the Cup. The signs of improvement from last year are obvious. Oh, and the crowds are even bigger now, topping two thousand on one occasion.

So, far from being the disappointment that that final game gave rise to, this was a season of triumphs, of expectations raised even higher, of trophies in the cabinet. And promising a Season 3 that could, should, see further upwards progress.  Even that final trip was memorable, being part of another huge crowd for the SNL, sharing the experience with others.  And we got to give Daffy a run.  (Who's Daffy? - that's for the next post...)

Finally, to all those who had a go at the team for that final game - you're Scottish, aren't you? If, by now, you aren't used to teams that sometimes turn in utterly underwhelming performances then can you call yourself a true Scot?

The one we all want to beat

 

FOUR IN A ROW, THREE IN ONE GO

Impossible for me not to comment on yesterday's historic win over the Auld Enema. The first time Scotland recorded four wins over England in the championship since 1896. Beating a team that's ranked above us in the world rankings (or are they now?). Speed, strength and the scoring knack delivering a hat trick. And the coolest man on the park nailing the posts from every possible angle. All from a team that went behind early on and never showed any sign of panic or, dare I say it, the implosion apparent at times in previous games.

For the fans it's The One. We won't be champions. We had a poor World Cup, yet again. But beat England and all can seem well with the world. Keep beating England every year and the belief remains. It's a measurement in itself. It's the sugar to sweeten any scenario. It's the passion.

Finn Russell has, without losing that impish charm, morphed from cheeky chappy, unpredictable maverick and all or nothing magician, into one of the world's greats, a game manager and a dedicated pro who has become such an incredibly reliable goal kicker (not one shot missed in three games of the championship so far). But he's still got the magic wand to wave too.

As for Duhi... Now just one behind Hogg's all time try scoring record for our country. Hat trick man. Shiny man Barbara calls him, for there never appears to be a hair out of place, the cheekbones and smile are straight from Hollywood Central, the muscles have muscles and the speed is Flash level. Yes, sometimes, as with his third yesterday, it's a walk in. But you still have to be there, on the spot. While the first showed strength and nous, and the second the sheer pace that can leave a defence looking like a mirage. Even that last minute sin binning couldn't dull the patina. Raised in South Africa, but made Superman in Edinburgh. We'll take him as one of ours, thank you very much.

Bring on Rome.

Where's the alternative?

 WHO'S ANYBODY?

So we're to have a new First Minister in a few weeks from now.  Maybe that's something that was needed.  Although it feel more like the SNP government has been in power for too long. They are running out of ideas, and have serious issues over competence, corruption and honesty. So it would be good to have someone else to vote for, to usher in a more complete change that might bring in real improvements after the next Holyrood election. But who  is that alternative?

Twitter in these Muskian times seems flooded with right wing nutjobs.  And diehard unionists.  Often the same people.  My feed covered in them, unsolicited and largely unwelcome, like a dog crapping on your dinner.  Yes, I could simply block, or see only people I've chosen to follow, but there's something to be said for 'know your enemy', so it's worth persevering and seeing what the people who are causing the problems are saying.

And it gives the opportunity to ask questions.  There's a particular kind of right wing unionist who persistently whines and whinges about the SNP government, and makes constant personal attacks on the outgoing First Minister.  Mysogyny is never far away.  I've taken to asking them what seems like the obvious question - Who is the credible electoral alternative we should be voting for?

And the answer is always the same - Anybody.  When I point out that I've never seen the Anybody Party on any ballot paper their replies become more vague, or they vanish or block.  Most liukely because even they know there isn't a proper alternative.  Only Labour can oust the SNP as a government.  The Tories might like to pretend they could, but Scotland sees through them.  And if greater competence, less corruption and more honesty are the attributes being looked for, then their Westminster record shows them to be ten times worse than anything the SNP have done, without even the latter's humanity.

Which leaves Starmer's party.  Because much as I have some liking for Sarwar, he is still going to have to do the party line from London.  Which is avowedly unionist, doesn't commit to trying to reverse brexshit, and seems increasingly dostant from anything recognisable as socialism.  So what's the point of Labour?  To replace the nasty party in England for sure, but what can they offer this country?  I wait to be wooed.

In the meantime we can only wait to see who the new FM will be, and what they offer.  Sadly, it doesn't really have to be much to be better than the other lot.

There's no idiot quite like a far right idiot

 It was said, back in 2014, that supporters of Scottish Independence were acting as Putin's useful idiots.  That his aim was to do anything he could to destabilise the two most significant opponents he faced in Europe - The EU and NATO.  Breaking up the UK would be a step along the road to damaging both.  And the subsequent move of Alex Salmond to appear on the Russian propaganda TV channel suggests there may well have been links - although also having the arch unionist Galloway on there suggests Putin will take advantage of any disruptive influences he can find. 

In 2014 Putin's aims, if such they were, failed. But in 2016 he struck gold. His main weapon of choice in undermining western democracy is the political far right (so Indy may be seen as an aberration). The full extent of Russian interference may never be known, but Putin must have been delighted to see a fellow anti-democratic narcissist enter the White House, and for one of the larger states of Europe to try and destabilise the EU with a messy divorce.

Fortunately his success in the US was short lived - can you imagine having a Putin admirer running the US right now? Biden is far from being the perfect president, but he is so, so much better an option than Trump. But the UK has compounded it's gift to Putin by electing a hard right government of incompetents, who have become a laughing stock internationally. Yes, we have a Foreign Secretary who gets confused between the Black Sea and the Baltic (can you imagine the feeding frenzy of the UK's right wing media had Dianne Abbott or Nicola Sturgeon said something similarly stupid?), and a PM knee deep in Russian corruption and money laundering.

Putin will continue to use whatever means to further his destabilisation aims. He has made little headway in Europe's big hitter, Germany, but the French presidential election was a big test of resistance. Quite how a country that suffered so much under fascist occupation can now opt to vote in such large numbers for one of Hitler's successors is beyond me, but Le Pen was far too close to taking control of one of Europe's big hitters.  Macron, as in the US, is far from perfect but he's still better than the fascist option.

There are stories emerging that Putin may have overplayed his hand domestically in invading his democratic neighbour, and it might yet end badly for him. Should he go the subsequent power vacuum will be messy, but maybe a friendlier Russia will come out the other side. Until he is gone there will be Russian agencies trying to influence Western politics to their own ends. In 2014 that may have included breaking up the UK. In 2022 that would be pointless. Putin has had his success and the UK has neutered itself, becoming something of a joke state. The far right might not have come directly to power, but their continuing influence on tory policy, and the vile attitudes of many of their MPs, ensures the UK is globally irrelevant.

All of which leave Scottish Independence as a more attractive, and necessary, option than ever. Putin's useful idiots are the fanatical brexshiteers, howling at the EU moon. If they don't care about the possibility of reigniting war in Ireland they're not going to care much about some Eastern Europeans, are they? The break up of the UK could now be seen as a positive anti-Putin action, helping the further decline of a state where the government has embroiled itself in Russian money. Bring it on.

What quality is most essential to be a decent human being?

 HAVE YOU GO IT?

As a society we are becoming more polarised in our views.  This has become increasingly true over the past forty or so years, and is now reaching worrying levels.  The old 

left vs right has spread into pro and anti EU, pro and anti Indy, pro and anti abortion, pro and anti vaccines, etc etc.  Whilst the dividing lines are blurred, it seems true that many of those in 'anti' categories will fall into the whole group of them.  Then there's criticism of the media, with the left seeing the BBC as a tory government mouthpiece, and the right saying that is too much influenced by progressive causes.  Here in Scotland Indy supporters feel the media is against them, but then so do the unionists!

Increasingly I find there's one word that seems to determine if people fall to one side of the arguments, or the other.  That word is empathy.  And nothing demonstrated that divide quite like one of the most important public demonstrations of last year, the Kenmure Street Protest in May.  

If you're unfamiliar with the incident, and haven't got time to follow the link, it happened when a Home Office immigration van tried to remove two Sikh men from their home in Glasgow because of alleged immigration offences.  The men were long standing members of the local community, and those neighbours rallied round in numbers, and alerted activist organisations, so that the immigration officers found their van locked in place by a huge, and ever growing, crowd of people determined not to let these men be taken away.  The police were called, and eventually they advised the release of the men.  The van went without them.

Reactions were split, each side vehement that they had right on their side.  The SNP, Labour and Greens all commended the humanitarian response of the locals.  The tories condemned the action for breaking the law.  But if it's bad law, and badly implemented too, who's to say what's right?

Ultimately your personal response to these events came down to the word I used above.  Empathetic people were able to place themselves in the position of these poor men, being dragged away from everything they new, without warning, early in the morning.  Others saw it in more black and white terms, without considering any of the human aspects.  

Which side were you on?  Do you have empathy or not?  I'm very much on the side of the protestors.

Change would be good - but not for the worse

 THE LEAST WORST OPTION

I would like to see an end to SNP government.  The party has been in power for too long, and is now looking and sounding stale, with too many stories of corruption and incompetence surfacing.  But.  If there was an election tomorrow I'd still be voting for them.  Why?

Two main reasons.  The first is obvious.  If, as I do, you believe in the benefits of Scotland becoming independent from the UK, and the increasing urgency of doing so, then the SNP are still the only really credible electoral show in town.  I might prefer to vote Green, but doing so might just lose a constituency seat to a unionist, so it isn't worth the risk.  They can have my list vote, my local authority vote, but for seats in either parliament there are bigger stakes.  (Of course if we had the much fairer Single Transferable Vote system in place for parliamentary seats, as we do at council level, it would be a different story, making it much easier to vote for exactly who you want.)  Alba have yet to show any real campaigning strength, so they can't be considered yet.

The second reason concerns those bigger stakes.  For more than four decades I have despised the Tories and what they do to ordinary people, and have always voted tactically to try to keep them out.  In the constituencies I lived in down south that meant Lib Dem.  Here we have other options.  But is there a realistic option to the SNP?

No party is perfect, no party has policies with which anyone, even party members, agrees 100%.  So we vote for the best fit for our priorities.  Often that means voting for the least worst option, rather than the best.  And this is what it comes down to.  The SNP might not be the party it once was, but is there a better option?  

I've asked unionists on Twitter (that well know source of rational opinion...) what the credible alternative Scottish Government is.  Answers, if given, tend to be vague, coy.  These are mostly right wingers,    Outside of the right wing bubble, the Tories remain what they've been since Thatcher's time - the most divisive and disliked party in the country.  The branch manager, and the Borders MP who is allegedly Secretary of State for Scotland, are ciphers, devoid of any bite or ideas.  And hamstrung by the failure, nepotism and general malfeasance of their masters.  Labour might have their best national leader in some time (they've been through enough of them in the past few years), but are also hamstrung by their London bosses.  What sort of Labour Party is it than can contemplate expelling the great Ken Loach?  As for the Lib Dems... choosing a vile misogynist who seems to be trying out-evil the Tories seems like a route to oblivion.

The SNP commitment to Indy can reasonably called into doubt, but for now they remain the most likely vehicle.  But even if that major issue were discounted, I can't see who would actually do a better job.  The least worst option remains the only choice.

Two different countries

 WHO'S CHRIS WHITTY?

Yesterday I returned from my first trip to a different country since January last year.  We were in Manchester for a couple of days, the choice of destination determined by a wish to see the Grayson Perry Art Club exhibition.  That had come out of the two series on Channel 4, of six programmes each, using art to look at various aspects of the pandemic and resultant lockdowns and restrictions.  

For those who didn't see the series, there was different theme each week - Home, Family, Food and others - and visual art works created in response to these.  One would be from Perry himself, another from his wife Philippa, one from a celebrity guest (mostly comedians such as  Joe Lycett and Harry Hill), one from a professional artist (or artistic team in the case of the Singh Twins), and several from members of the public.  The best of the latter would be chosen as exhibits for a planned future exhibition.  This exhibition which we went to see.

It was extremely enjoyable, full of interest, and a reminder that art doesn't need to be perfect, or technically brilliant, to be worthwhile, a rule that applies just as much other art forms.  There was a lot to discuss afterwards, a lot of lessons about how many ways people have coped with the strains of the past eighteen months.  

But there was also, to me, one undercurrent to the show I found slightly irritating.  One image cropped up regularly, in Grayson's own works, and those of the celebrities and public.  The face of Chris Whitty, the Chief Medical Officer for England.  But the show had placed a strong emphasis on wanting to represent the views and experiences of the British public.  So where was Jason Leitch?  Whitty has been a leading figure of the crisis in his own country, but irrelevant in the other constituent parts of the UK, or indeed Britain.  While I'd noticed this to some degree while watching the programmes, it was much more obvious when seen as one coherent exhibition.

I lived in England for thirty five years.  Much, of course, was the same as it had been back home.  But there were more than enough differences to make me realise I'd come to a different country.  One of those I noticed persistently across the decades.  An irritant at first, I eventually gave up correcting people and accepting that that was the way they were.  This was in the use of Britain/British as synonyms for England/English, and vice versa.  I couldn't say how many times I was told about how well England were doing in the Olympics, or asked if I'd seen the British football team playing a match.  

There was nothing malicious in this.  Nothing arrogant.  It was totally unconscious.  I once corrected my first wife over her misuse of the two terms, and that ended up in a row - she simply couldn't understand why she was wrong, that there was any real difference between England and Britain.  Surely they were the same?  But I have never heard anyone use Scotland/ Scottish in the same way, and I doubt if it happens in Wales either.  We have a much clearer understanding of our own national identities.  Whereas this confusion appears to be endemic to English culture.  And Grayson Perry is no exception.

Of course I write this from the perspective of someone who would like to see Scotland become independent.  Not from any hatred of England or the English - after so long living there most of my friends, and my wife, are English - but because we want to do things differently, and that we are clearly different nations.  Hard line unionists on social media often want to make out there is no difference between the cultures of England and Scotland.  But there are many, and this, for me, is the biggie.  We are Scottish, but also British.  To be English is, for most, to think that being British is the same thing.  Art Club is a sharp reminder that the differences are real.

Now, remind me again - who's Chris Whitty?

Hope in the thaw

 

OLD GAMMON OR NEW EGGS?

The crows nest, silhouetted against the pale blue above the horizon, still sits firmly perched amid the uppermost branches of the tree before me, a few shrivelled brown leaves clinging to a pretence of a life, no buds yet apparent.  The nest is silent testimony to the industry and construction skills of the birds who built it, and who return year after year to renew their family.  Their time will come.

If I look down I see more green than white now.  There was a moderate snowfall a couple of days ago, covering the graveyard in brightness, setting the gravestones into sharp relief, making them more real and a stronger reminder of the life events behind those monuments to death.  It rained yesterday, the resultant slush then turned into a treacherous low-coefficient topography.  Today only sunshine which, despite the chilled air, steadily removes the watery blanket, only a few stubborn patches of shade putting up a fight.  It's a beautiful day, a day to walk and breathe and enjoy.

It's the First of January.  An arbitrary human marker in the natural flow of the seasons.  A marker of plans and promises, a time of recounting and foretelling.  But who dares make predictions for 2021 after the indecipherable potage that was 2020?  There are few certainties, but that does not mean that we are without hope.  Last night marked the end of one dark saga, our ties to the EU finally snapped after years of lies and bigotry and uncertainty.  The full implications of the Gammon Curtain will be made plain in the coming months.  

But the leaves will return to the naked branches I look out on, the green will flourish and the cemetery adopt it's summer character for yet another cycle of planetary movement.  Diamonds might be forever, but winter, and the gammonist regime, are not.  This was not a direction Scotland chose, but, like the crows, we can rebuild our nest and give birth to something new. 

 The crows will be with us again, there will be eggs, and new life and hungry mouths poking skywards.  They do not need other birds to tell them what to do.  

I can't get angry any more. But that can change.

CAN ANYBODY FIND MY RAGE FOR ME?

We recently watched the BBC documentary about the rise (and fall and rise again) of Rupert, the man the great Dennis Potter name his pancreatic cancer after.  Barbara was near incandescent about the malign influence that twisted the outcomes of so many what-should-have-been exercises in democracy, notably in 2016 (I know everyone's saying 2020 is the worst year, but, at least for the UK, I'd still plump for four years ago in terms of doing long term damage).

And she's been fuming about Doris' raft of peerages yesterday.  His brother.  A thick cricketer who thinks (?) England is an island.  Ruth the Mooth, a woman we know holds many opinions because she's changed them so regularly.  A broad cross section of the population.  Well, the rich, corrupt and talentless bit of the population.  And, and so good to see that those rumours of Russian interference were totally unfounded.

Oh, nearly forgot - there's an actual fascist in the list as well.  And why not, she doesn't even stand out from the rest of the shitshow.

But I can't get angry.  I can't even find it in me to be mildly surprised.  The UK has a PM who's a pathological liar and was even shown to have lied to parliament but didn't resign.  A housing minister who's openly corrupt.  A Home Secretary who was previously sacked from government for risking state security.  I could go on, but what's the point?  Once we were all forced to accept The Fairy Tale of Barnard Castle there's no scenario ridiculous enough to seem far fetched any more.  The Looking Glass is receding in the mirror.  In a year from now they'll be convincing the faithful that food shortages were what they voted for and this is what 'sovereignty' (or whatever) looks like.  But hey, blue passports, eh?

If I am going to get worked up then it looks like the source will be closer to home.  My relative passivity in the face of the above correlates with my increasing confidence that the UK is coming to an end and Scotland will be independent soon.  (Apologies to readers in England and Wales but you'll have to find your own lifeboat.)  Brexshit and Covid and an incompetent posh boy charlatan of a PM are coming together in a perfect storm.  And it now seems the only obstacle that could intervene is... the SNP?

So very many of us now want Indy to happen, want it soon so we can escape the iceberg Doris and co are hubristically steering towards, see it as the only real answer.  But does the SNP leadership?  Joanna Cherry has been the most prominent, and smart, voice in the party pushing for alternatives to a never-happen S30, and now she looks to have been sabotaged.  That won't quieten her in any way I'm sure, but it has set he warning lights off.  Nicola's done a good job this year - but if she starts faltering on the path to our final destination I might just locate that misplaced anger.

Imagine

LOUISA WHO?

"All meaningful and lasting change starts first in your imagination and then works its way out. Imagination is more important than knowledge." Albert Einstein

It's been more than five weeks now since the name was revealed, a name now well established in the media, widely recognised by the public.  And still there are unionists, invariably tories,  bleating on social media that the NHS Louisa Jordan, the temporary hospital set up in Glasgow in response to the Covid-19 crisis, should be referred to as the NHS Nightingale.  So it can then be confused with all the NHS Nightingales down south maybe?

They object to the Scottish Government not following the 'lead' set by the government in London to have all seven of their similar institutions called exactly the same thing, identified only by location.  In part that's because they're the sort of people who will blindly, knee jerkingly, criticise anything their own elected government does, right or wrong.  They can't help themselves.  And in doing so are they revealing one underlying trait that determines their unionism - a severe lack of imagination?

I had never heard of Louisa Jordan before the announcement.  Most people hadn't.  Which is, surely, a good thing - ?  Everybody has heard of Florence Nightingale.  But how many other historic names from nursing can you come up with immediately?  Edith Cavell?  Emmm...?  These temporary medical facilities are being opened in response to a situation that sees many, many people shut away in their homes for weeks on end, with no idea of how long it may continue for.  Anything, no matter how small, that makes us think, provides learning opportunities, creates a bit of interest, is to be welcomed, encouraged.

In the bigger picture it's not important what these hospitals are called.  But in a shrunken world where the micro is taking on greater significance, calling all these institutions by the same name is a missed opportunity, a failure of imagination, an apparent fear of difference.  Why aren't those in England having the sense to follow Scotland's lead and giving them names that reflect their local connections, and bring an obscure historical name to prominence?  Why isn't the Exeter hospital being named after Elsie Knocker?  (And no, I'm not making her up, check out the link!)  She'd bring a smile to a few faces, I'm sure.

Criticise the choice of Ms Jordan as a name and you criticise imagination and difference.  (As if right wingers ever showed any hostility to anybody they don't see as the same as themselves...)  And imagination is the key to change.

And it's change they fear most.  They are desperate to defend vested interests - big landowners, the media, the wealthy, the 'safe' middle classes - with no thought given to the possibility of making life better for those less fortunate. If the system changes they might be relative losers, and they can't stomach that. It's  selfishness - most don't want to change a set up from which they benefit.

Hence the attacks on anything the Scottish Government do, no matter how trivial the reasons to try and justify them.  Hence the constant attacks on the SNP, and Greens, and the wider Yes Movement, because Scottish Independence threatens the cosiness of their world.

But the Covid-19 crisis has further highlighted the iniquities and weaknesses of what is now the 'old normal'.  It's a normal we can't return to, and we have to make sure that the new one is better for more people, that the growing inequality gap is reversed and that empathy has greater prominence in our society.  Let Ms Jordan's name be a symbol for change, for difference, for better.

Easy cheesey, what I miss about work

SAY CHEESE

"Don't you miss work?"

A common enough question aimed at retirees.  And you'll usually get certain set answers, such as...

"The people."

"The mental challenge."

"The sense of purpose."

"Bugger all."

And I'm in that last camp.  By the time I'd left things were generally so miserable/unpleasant the only sense of mental challenge was maintaining some sense of equilibrium, and any sense of purpose, other than getting the hell out, had long since departed.  My greatest joy was being able to send out, to multiple recipients (almost everyone I knew in the office) a very, very long email slagging off everything about the place.  Childish perhaps, but I received several plaudits for it afterwards so totally, completely, utterly worth the effort.

As for "The people"... that's the really common one, isn't it?  But it's not that difficult to stay in touch with the few people you actually liked.  (Well, it is if you're as shit a friend as me, but that's not everybody, is it?)  What they really mean is that they miss the sense of belonging, the casual acceptance of their presence as part of the furniture, the bored welcomes every morning and half hearted "see you tomorrow"s of people who don't really want to be there at all.  Like a mildly less alcoholic version of Cheers, "where everybody knows your name", but without the visual attractions of Ted Danson/Shelley long (delete according to preference).

And, to my surprise, I've replaced that part of it with my voluntary work, where I can walk into the office and everyone says Hi.  And it's only taken four years.

But I lied when I said I was in the "Bugger all" camp.  There is one thing I still miss.  When we had all-day meetings, or outside visitors coming to see us, there'd be an order placed with the canteen for one of their buffet lunches.  There were three levels of what they laughingly referred to as 'menus', going up in price and, at least theoretically, in quality.  Levels two and three included dessert.  Which was fruit, and cheese and biscuits.  And the latter, despite their sense of artificial reality, were really popular.  There would be four kinds of biscuit.  Something that seemed almost, but not quite, like Tuc; a water biscuit; a digestive; and those brown ones with crinkly edges that look and taste like salted toasted cardboard.

Then there were the cheeses, all tiny portions individually wrapped in hard-to-get-into plastic.  They were religious, because the were the baby cheeses.  (Sorry....)  There was a triangle of something soft, vaguely Brie-ish.  (All of them were a bit like the first kind of biscuit - almost, but not quite, something you actually recognised.)  There was a wee tombstone of something cheddary.  And little blue streaked cubes of varicose vein cheese.

Most of that lot went quickly.  Except for those cubes.  Who wants blue cheese for lunch?  But that din't stop the canteen sending them in.  Every time.  This meant that, come the end of the meeting, there's a pile of unwanted, strongly flavoured, bacteria-ridden lumps, and Crawford walking out the door, jacket pockets stuffed with the smelly stuff.  To be taken home, stuck in the fridge, then pulled out whenever there was a need to spruce up the taste of a soup or a stew or a white sauce.  There was no end to the number of dishes that could be enhanced by one those wee fellas.

And that's what I still miss about work.

Popeseye, Porn and Politics

THE BIG QUESTION

Q : What do all these people have in common?

A top chef selecting beef for his steak menu

A porn director casting his male lead

Me thinking about the Westminster parliament I'd like to see on 13 December

A : We all want them well hung.

In around four and half decades of taking an interest in politics there has never been so poor a choice to be the UK prime minister.  Our democracy is such that I have often found myself voting for the least worst option, but this feels more like selecting which leg to have amputated.  Thank goodness I made the move back to Scotland, where we have much better alternatives.

Clearly Corbyn is the lesser of the two plagues on offer, but he's looked less and less inspiring, more and more unstable, as the last few weeks have unfolded.  The accusations of racism and financial incompetence in his party may have some grounds in truth, albeit to nothing like the extent being broadcast in multi coloured lights by the right wing media, but they are nothing compared to Islamophobia, xenophobia and deficit-doubling death-dealing austerity of their opponents.

So what's the best outcome we (well, I at least) can hope for on Friday morning?  A tory majority would be disastrous,a Labour one seemingly impossible.  So the best possible outcome for Scotland, and maybe for the rest of the UK too, is a hung parliament, with fifty plus SNP MPs holding the balance of power.  (I'm tempted to say forty nine just so the world is spared this horrific sight which would do old Nessie no good at all.)  England gets to avoid the brexshit that will destroy it's economy, and we get another chance to get ourselves out of the broken UK.  And this time we need to grab it.

Roll on Friday morning....

If Brexit means Brexit then what does Brexit mean?

THEY'RE BLAMING THE WRONG PEOPLE.  AGAIN.

Douglas Adams was a very funny man, and is still much missed for his wit and imagination.  But his books, for all their silliness, also manage to convey the odd pearl of wisdom and provide something to think about.  When Deep Thought, "the second greatest computer in the Universe of Time and Space", is asked to come up with the ultimate question Life, the Universe and Everything he goes off to think about it.  For seven and half million years.  So when, after all that time, he reveals his answer is "42" there's some disappointment amongst those present.  To which DT responds "I think the problem, to be honest with you, is that you've never actually known what the question is."

Back in 2013, almost a year before the referendum was due to take place, the Scottish Government posted a 670 page document giving details of what an independent Scotland would look like, the institutions it would have, the way it could be made to work.  It was far from perfect, and there were some glaring holes that the Better Together side would go on to exploit, but it was a clear statement of intent and an essential guide to what voters would be voting for if they put their cross against Yes.

So far, so unrelated.  But I'll be back to that opening pair of paragraphs a bit later, because this is a post about brexshit, and with the Westminster Parliament having long ago followed the white rabbit down into the hole it's clear that anything and everything can suddenly become relevant.  The Mad Hatter would feel completely at home on the green benches and talking playing cards feel like no more ridiculous a concept than being given 8 alternatives and rejecting all of them.

I've wanted to try and write this for some time, but kept hoping there would a moment of clarity that would enable me to hang the whole thing on a particular point in time.  Instead it trundles on miserably, leaving everyone confused and angry.  Since that has become the UK's default status I'll just have to run with it.

In recent weeks I've made a couple of attempts to engage with some of the more rabid Leavers on Twitter, to try and understand their thinking.  Because so many of them continue to oppose the May Deal, if we can call it that for now without resorting to more colourful terms, despite it being their best chance to get what they voted for in 2016.  But they don't see it that way.  This isn't The Brexit that THEY voted for so it's not good enough.

So what did they actually vote for?  Sometimes they seem to be better at defining what they didn't vote for.  I've seen one full-on brexshiteer "journalist" (who appears to be in receipt of some rather shady funding to post continuous misleading propaganda on Facebook) say that "having a deal wasn't on the ballot paper so why should we accept it?".  Well a "no deal" wasn't on there either, so that's another thing you didn't vote for.  Two can play at that (stupid) game.  If it comes down to what common definition people had before them before the referendum.  Part of that is the wording of the ballot paper itself, to which I'll return later.  The other would be some widely available document that defines what a future UK, outwith the EU, would look like, how it would work, what the problems to overcome would be.

Which brings me back to IndyRef and my second paragraph.  Where was the leave equivalent of that 760 pages?  I wasn't aware of any such thing, just an unending litany of often contradictory soundbites that made lots of promises, but with no substance behind them.  had I missed something?

I finally found a Leaver willing to engage, when most go off in a huff when confronted with inconvenient things like "facts" and "evidence", and usually end up blocking me.  I'm proud of the list of right wing nutters who've been so rattled they've taken that step, but that wasn't what I needed here.  So we engaged in a dialogue and I asked him to provide me with some equivalent of the ScotGov document, something that would mean that leave voters all voted for the same thing.  After much prevarication, and some desperate attempts to change the subject, he came up with this.

Feel free to follow the link - but you might not learn a lot if you do.  It's a blog.  By Richard North.

Yes, THAT Richard North!

No, I've never heard of him either....

He's an author and blogger whose past includes a bit of work for the European parliament group that included ukip, so he has fascist connections.  But, as far as I know he had zero connections with the official Leave campaign, and his name, and work, was not widely known by the public.  So after about two hours of tweeting the best my correspondent, desperate to make his case, could come up with was an obscure blog by someone no-one but fanatical anti-EUers will have heard of.  Really?  That's the best they can do?

Which leaves us with the question on the ballot paper :

"Should the United Kingdom remain a member of the European Union or leave the European Union?"

Read it carefully.  All it asks is whether the UK remains a member or not.  It is, quite clearly, only about membership and nothing else.  The rest was a blank canvas that individuals could choose to paint in any way they wanted to.  Unlike IndyRef.  So when Leavers say "I know what I voted for" they aren't really lying.  They know what they thought they voted for, they just don't know if they voted for the same thing as the next person - because it was never defined.  No wonder we ended up with the verbal and linguistic masterpiece that was "brexit means brexit"!

(I can't resist an aside on the vile frog-faced creature that goes by the name of Niggle Fuhrage.  He recently claimed he had spent a quarter of a century fighting to leave the EU.  It's a pity that not one of those 25 years was spent on coming up with any plans for doing so.  Or details of what would be involved.  Or thought.  Or intellect....)

The ONLY thing they can say they all voted for was that wording on the ballot paper.  They voted for the UK not to be an EU member.  Which is exactly what the May Deal delivers.  So why do they continue to object?  Because it doesn't deliver on the fantasy brexits they've built in their heads.  It isn't the dream, there are no unicorns.  And if I, back in the days when I was a project manager, had suggested going ahead with something like triggering Article 50 without any plan or end goals I'd have been crucified.

So if you hear a leaver saying it's Remainers  (or maybe judges, the BBC, the 'liberal elite', celebrities, Jon Snow, Anna Soubry, Scotland, Ireland, EU "intransigence", civil servants, Moslems,people who sneeze, leaves on the line...) who are stopping what he voted for coming into being you can point out it's the brexshiteers themselves.  The ERG (if they ever had done any actual 'research' maybe we wouldn't be in this mess?) and their  ilk have killed off the brexit you could have had.  And nobody is voting down the one you wanted - because it never did and never can exist. 

Which, finally, brings me back to my opening paragraph.  Obvious all along, wasn't it?

Rediscovery or Reinvention?

DECADES APART

I went to see a rugby match last Friday.  Edinburgh versus Scarlets.  And a couple of weeks ago when the city's team played Toulon.  Nothing remarkable about that, there were a few thousand other people there too.  But it felt a bit like going back in time.  That game against the French side was the first fifteen a side match I'd been to in well over thirty years, so it had a sense of occasion for me, a kind of homecoming.  And, better still, I enjoyed it.  The fact that Edinburgh had a big win might have had something to do with that though.

I first went to watch an international at Murrayfield on 4th February 1967.  Scotland beat Wales 11-5, and I was ten.  By and large I've not really been a big sports fan over the decades, but I was hooked, back then, on the big rugby occasions, and over the following years I didn't miss a home international match.  Including the 1975 game against the Welsh when a record crowd of 104,000 were crammed into a stadium with a nominal 80,000 capacity.  Cosy, and we beat Wales that day too.  After that you had to buy a ticket in advance to get in.  By the time 1979 arrived I'd been to see plenty of club matches, sevens tournaments and to see Edinburgh play in the inter-district championship.

Then I moved south; way, way south, to the Hampshire coast, and getting to Murrayfield required a bit more time and planning.  I still made it to most of the Five Nations home games for a few years, including the Grand Slam winner in '84 (great occasion, dour spectacle).  But then I was married, work was more demanding, life changed and I didn't get up as often.  I'd watch the games on telly, saw our guys win another Slam in '90, and then found my interest starting to wane.  Rugby Union was turning professional and with the increase in money came a much more drilled and calculating approach to the game.  Defences became dominant and entertainment levels dropped.  By the mid nineties I'd stopped watching.  I was left as a fascinated follower of motorsport, and little else.

Move on a couple of decades and I'd dropped the motorsport.  Change is good.  I'd discovered something completely new.  Maybe I'd seen a few hockey matches in the Winter Olympics coverage, but had little idea of what was going on.  Looked interesting  though.  So when, seven years ago, the chance of cheap tickets to see Edinburgh's team came along we thought we'd try it out.  And loved it.  It would be another three years before we were full time city residents, but we got to as many games as possible, started to get some feel for the sport, started to know a few people at the rink, started to feel a part of the community.  We got in four full seasons when we finally moved here permanently.  I was an Edinburgh Capitals season ticket holder and secretary of the Supporters Club.  Our weekends from September to March contained a predictable element, a chance to shout, cheer, get on the emotional rollercoaster of live sport and support.  Then, last April, that was suddenly taken away from us, and it seems like there's no going back (but that's a story for another day). 

Could anything replace that sense of belonging, the excitement, the passions you feel as part of a crowd willing a team on.  One thing that hasn't changed over the decades is the sense of tedium I get from watching football, so that was never an option.  But a bit more than four years ago I'd been watching TV alone, when a rugby match came on.  Argentine versus Scotland.  I was tempted to watch, just to see if anything had changed.  And when the name John Beattie was announced as one of the team I felt I had to give it a go - I'd seen his dad playing for our country! 

They've tweaked the rules a lot since the nineties, and for the better it seems.  That match was genuinely entertaining (and again it probably helped that Scotland ended up as winners!) and I thought I'd give a few more a try (no pun intended).  The five nations were now six, the strips look almost futuristic compared to the looser items I recall, all the spectators get to sit down, and the players go off at half time instead of standing in the middle of the pitch sucking on a bit of orange.  (Yes, that was how it used to be done, even in top level internationals.)  It helped that once exposed to this new spectacle Barbara developed a bit of an interest too.

So going to watch Edinburgh ('my' Edinburgh?) seems like a natural progression, given the loss of my regular entertainment next door (Murrayfield ice rink is, often literally, in the shadow of the rugby stadium).  And after the Caps disastrous final season (only five wins from fifty six league games....) it's good to go and support a side that goes into each game with a chance of winning.  There's a friendly atmosphere, big screens to watch when the action gets a bit distant (I do miss the intimacy of the hockey rink), and it's pretty cheap for us seniors.  And no colder than sitting in the Fridge of Dreams next door.  This could be habit forming.

Of Kilts, Walks and Nosey Hungarians

KILT WEARING LESSONS

I must have been about twelve.  My parents had taken me on a camping holiday in Hungary.  This was the sixties, the Iron Curtain was an oppressive reality, and visitors from anywhere as far west as the British Isles were a rarity, not something most Hungarians encountered.  

We went for a day in Budapest.  Dad parked the car on the outskirts and we got a bus into the centre.  I've no idea what prompted me to do this, but I'd decided I'd wear my kilt (Crawford tartan of course).  This was a stupid idea on two counts.  Firstly, kilts are hot to wear, and Budapest in Summer is humid, so I soon found I was in for a sweaty day.  And secondly, as I was about to discover, the concept of the kilt wasn't a familiar one to the locals....

This became clear as we passed a news kiosk, when the vendor jumped up, rushed out and stared at me.  All the way down a very long street.  Every time we looked back there he was, until, thankfully, the road took a turn.  Then there was the shop my mother wanted to visit, looking for, I think, an embroidered tablecloth.  The shop was dim inside, cool compared to the baking streets, so at first I was pleased to go in.  There was one woman behind the counter, serving the one customer in the shop.  On seeing me she forgot about her client, rushed round from behind the display cabinet and, ignoring my parents, homed in on me, bent down, and lifted.....  I was twelve.

Later, getting back to the car, a group of hairdressers emerged from their shop, keen to ask us something.  We spoke no Magyar, they spoke no English.  Mum and I retired to the Cortina, leaving my father to try and fathom out the cause of their excitement.  After a minute or so, and a lot of sign language, his bafflement turned to laughter and he made his way back to us.  It took a bit of time before he could speak well enough to explain that they'd had a bet on as to whether I was boy or girl. 

I was twelve.  I never wore a kilt again....

Until this year.  Cue Kiltwalk, and the decision to do it in the proper attire.  Once I'd got a few training walks in, and was no longer getting blistered feet, it seemed like a good idea to try a walk in the kilt.  Discovering unexpected chafing, or negative effects from having a sporran banging against your willy every step of the way, was best found out well before the day itself.  So I took to wearing the kilt into town, then on my walks, and it got to see a few Fringe shows.  It even made an appearance on TV (link only available until 3 October).  

And so we became a couple, and it served me well on my walking challenge.  Although the nearest thing I got to an injury did come from a soggy kilt hem, the one day I walked in a downpour, when the constant rubbing of sodden cloth nearly had me bleeding at one spot at the back of my right knee.  But we didn't fall out over it, I just took to carrying plasters with me every time we went out.

I like it.  I'm surprised how much I enjoy wearing it, the feeling it gives me, and I'm sure it won't be hanging lonely in the wardrobe until prep begins for Kiltwalk 2019 (yes, I will be begging for money again next year).  There's even a chance I'll look for another one.

It's taken five decades, but my childhood day of Hungarian trauma has finally been resolved.

And finally.... many thanks to everyone who supported me and donated money for my walk.  If you'd still like to give something then please click on this link.

Proof I made it to the end :

And click on this link if you want to see how I managed to still walk like a vaguely normal human after fifteen and a half miles!

Snow right, is it?

BUT LONDON WILL HAVE IT MUCH WORSE OF COURSE....

Not exactly Scandanavia, are we?  And Canada would laugh it off.  Meanwhile a bit of snow and Scotland grinds to a halt.  OK, a bit more snow than we've seen for a while, but, although we laugh at the overreaction, and media hysteria, coming from the overbearing self importance of south east England, we don't seem to having all that much success here in keeping things going.  And this is the capital city....

Buses no longer running, people sent home from work early, schools shut down.  And this was Waverley Station shortly after 5 on a weekday. 

Normally I'd barely be even to stand still without being jostled by knackered commuters, and this board would be full up with trains leaving in the next 15 minutes.  Instead there are just 6, 1 of them cancelled, and 2 that should have already left.  There's only 1 arrival looking to be in on time, and there's a London train more than and hour and a half late.  And one rather pissed off looking rail employee.  Shouldn't we be doing better than this?

On the plus side, lots of workers can get a hint of the joys of being retired....