Dementia does not reduce our humanity

WHERE WAS I AGAIN?

On Saturday night I found myself tearful at the end of a TV programme.  Which is, I assure you, quite an unusual occurrence.  Especially when the programme in question is a police drama.  This was the penultimate episode of Wallander, on BBC4.  There are, to my knowledge, at least three television versions of the fictional Swedish detective, but to aficionados there is only one true Wallander.  Krister Henriksson.  And his time in the role is coming to a close (at least it is on the BBC, no doubt the end has already taken place in Sweden and other countries).

That in itself would be a sad event, if you've been a fan of the series, but hardly sufficient to lead to crying.  No, it's not the end of the series that provoked the sadness, but the medical condition of the eponymous character which was tugging at the heart strings.  For Wallander, nearing retirement, is struggling to do his job.  And to live his life.  He has been diagnosed as suffering from alzheimers (one of the few words of Swedish I'm able to recognise!) and is trying to come to terms with his condition.  In that episode he made a few basic errors in his work, and several in his personal life, which resulted in him (reluctantly) handing his daughter his medical records to read and, in the closing shots, her turning up at his house looking concerned.  Add in a soulful music track (from Ane Brun) and the tears followed.

Next Saturday will, I'm certain, be a moving occasion.  Despite this simply being a fictional TV programme.  Krister Henriksson has been excellent in the role, the definitive version of Mankell's character, and it will be a shame to see the last of his performances as Kurt.  But the emotion will come from the conditions under which he exits, the sight of one who was once so sharp being reduced to a mental infant at times.

What is it about alzheimers and dementia that is both so moving and so frightening?  There is, in one sense, little actual suffering involved for the person afflicted.  No physical pain, little diminution of the physical capabilities of the body.  But our worry reflects that we, as human beings, are perhaps more mind than body.  Time and again people demonstrate an ability to find a way to enjoy life whilst coping with various degrees of physical disability and pain.  But if we are no longer ourselves....?

Watching Wallander took me back to a book I read a few years ago.  I get through dozens of volumes every year.  Some stick in the mind, others are instantly relegated to oblivion. And sometimes the ones that hang around, that have real influence, aren't the ones you expect to do so.  For all that I've read many truly great books in the four years since I retired the one that has stayed with me most is no work of literature.  When I began to read it I nearly gave up, so poor was the prose style and so obvious the plot devices.  And the central character was just a bit too smug for empathy to develop.

Or so I thought for the first thirty pages.  But I stuck it out and I'm glad I did so.  The prose didn't improve much, the plot still clunked in places, but sometimes there's more to a book than literary worth.  Sometimes it's just about the story, and how that relates to the reader's humanity.

The book is called Still Alice, by Lisa Genova.  The central character is named, surprise, surprise, Alice, and she's a fifty year old Harvard professor.  And, like Wallander, she starts forgetting things, having the occasional moment of blankness, forgetting how to get home, not recognising people she should know well.  She is diagnosed with early onset alzheimers.  With that 'early onset' bit being the truly frightening aspect for most readers, who might otherwise feel they can dismiss this as a disease of extreme old age.  There's that feeling we all strive not to acknowledge - if it can happen to her it can happen to any of us....

The author may not be the greatest writer in the world, but she is a neuroscientist and knows her stuff when it comes to the real subject matter of the book.  Everyone who contracts alzheimers will experience it in different ways, at different rates of progression. The fictional Alice is but one example of what could happen in real life.  Wallander is another.  Both make the reader/viewer uncomfortable, sympathetic, fearful, empathetic. Because we know it could, might, happen to any of us.  And, as I approach sixty and recognise that I am forgetting a few things from time to time, I feel that as much as anyone. Which might account for the tears....

The tale of Alice, and to a lesser degree that of the Swedish detective, is about the detail of trying to deal with the symptoms.  Developing coping strategies to deal with the loss of memory, ensuring that safety nets exist if, and when, the strategies fail, and trying to live life as normally as possible for as long as possible.  None of us wants to give up, to recognise that our freedom is gone.  Alice (spoiler alert) ends up contented, in her way, and cared for. The fate of Wallander may become apparent next Saturday evening.  But neither can be quite the people they were, and yet still are.  The paradox of a disease of the mind.

My personal encounters with it have been limited.  My mother in law had dementia for the last few months of her life.  Only a few months after she had attended our wedding she was asking if I knew her daughter.  Some weeks later it was uncertain if she recognised the person before her as her daughter or not.  We make a joke from such situations, because humour is the defence mechanism against our own fears.  Better to laugh that to admit that it could so easily be us sitting there, uncertain of our place in the world.

And, in conclusion, I think that’s the right thing to do.  Laugh, while and where we can.  Not at other people, but at our own fears.  Next Saturday I’ll probably end up shedding a few tears again.  In 2015 there’s due to be a film version of Still Alice, starring the wonderful Julianne Moore as the eponymous sufferer.  A must see as far as I’m concerned, and I doubt I’ll be dry eyed by the end.  But.  I’ll still make jokes afterwards.  Apologies for the cliche, but laughter really is the best medicine on so many occasions.

Footnote : After I wrote the above I cam across this article by Giles Fraser.  It expounds, far more cogently than I can, on one of the ideas I was touching on  here, of what it is that makes us human.  Definitely worth a read.

Progress is change, change is progress

WHERE’S THIS COUNTRY THEY WANT?

If you've read this blog before you maybe aware that I sometimes have a bit of fun winding up right wingers on Twitter. And having the occasional rant about how the far right is managing to assume some form of political respectability in the UK. In doing so I have made efforts to understand the mindset of some of the people holding these views, although the levels of abuse I frequently receive make it difficult to sustain any reasonable level of discussion. They do seem to very angry people!

What is clear is that several themes keep recurring, several phrases get repeated over and over and often crop up in Twitter bios. The fact that these phrases appear to have little real meaning is no deterrent to their regular usage. There are three in particular that intrigue me.

One that I see time and again is "I want my country back".  Really?  Where has it gone?  Did somebody move it while you were sleeping?  In the pantheon of senseless phrases this one gets an A rating.  How exactly is this mysterious country 'theirs'?  Why do they think it's no longer there?

Well the country is still there, exactly where it was.  If they were born in it, and still live in it, then it is their country.  It's not like somebody can suddenly nick it, or declare that this person no longer belongs.  So they must mean something else, something they don't really want to say out loud....

How about "political correctness"?  I see that one a lot too. Political correctness is destroying their country (we've been here before...).  Political correctness is ruining their way of life, preventing free speech, sending the country into ruin, destroying a way of life.  And, once I've stopped laughing, I'm still none the wiser.  What exactly is this political correctness of which you speak?  The term originated in the mid twentieth century to describe the dogma of extremist left wing politics.  It has morphed, as language does, into right winger speak for language which seeks to be inclusive and to replace words which have historically alienated minority groups and encouraged the persistence of bigotry. If encouraging the abandonment of a word like 'spastic' counts as politically correct then count me in as PC. Although I think of it more as human decency and common sense.

Recently we've seen the overuse of that catch all phrase "traditional marriage".  It got aired a lot during the run up to the introduction of the Act which brought in (some) equal marriage rights for same sex couples.  And once again I have had to look puzzled at its appearance.  Because I wonder which tradition these people think they are referring to?  The usual line is that marriage has always been between one man and one woman.  Err.... no it hasn't.

Same sex marriages have been common practice in many societies across the ages, including Christian ones.  So maybe 'tradition' isn't supposed to go back that far?  Perhaps they want the eighteenth or nineteenth century traditions back?  In which marriage was frequently used to cement inter family relationships, establish lines of inheritance, and where a woman was regarded as the property of her husband, with few rights of her own.  Maybe that's the tradition these men (and they are almost always men) would like to stay with?  The one in which even that great advocate of social reform and human rights, Charles Dickens, could treat his wife as a chattel, an object to be manipulated for his benefit, moving her out of his (and her) home to make way for his young mistress and separating her from most of her children.  Yes, marriage certainly has some wonderful traditions.

The concept of marrying purely for love, as a decision to be taken by the two people involved, is largely a mid twentieth century construct.  It is an institution which has been evolving rapidly, in social terms at least, with the legislation struggling to keep up with developments.  Like all social structures it needs to keep up with the mores of the time, not be held back by supposed 'tradition'.

And there's the nub of this piece.  All three of the phrases I've mentioned have one common theme - a resistance, indeed a fear of, change.  Change in the social fabric of society, change in the language, change in our institutions.  It's an attitude born of a deep cowardice, a childish desire for their own little universe to remain exactly as it was, a failure to grow up and face the world as it is.

These people get angry because they haven't managed to keep up with the rest of us. "Their" country is still there, still evolving, as it always has. Britain is, was, will be, an island of immigrants and emigrants and has always been in a state of constant flux.  That's not to say that all is perfect, that all change is ultimately for the best.  But progress, the word that best describes the dominant theme of human history, is not a linear process, it is not a join the dots exercise.  It is many things, it has multiple strands, and it does not stand still.  For anyone.  Living with progress isn't easy, but who said being human should be?

Which is why language changes, alters meanings, evolves new words and discards others.  That is what language is for, this is how it works, changing to match the changes in society, in beliefs, in our understanding of the physical universe.  And in finding ways for human beings to treat other better.  Show me the person who expresses resentment of so-called 'political correctness' and I'll show you someone afraid to recognise their own bigotry.  A person who fears anything that appears to be different from them (aka 'the rest of the world'....).

Difference.  Change.  The stuff of life.  They are the keys to interest, imagination, knowledge, wisdom.  If you come across anyone who say they want their country back, complain that your language is politically correct, or bemoan the the demise of some mythical tradition of marriage, you are witness to someone who lives in fear.  We should feel a little sorry for them, try to help them adapt to a world in which they feel like outsiders, in which they often make themselves the enemies of the best things in life.  Help them to embrace change (whilst having a quiet laugh at the irony that so much of their moaning is conducted through that greatest of all instruments for change, the internet!), to realise that 'the country' belongs to anyone who takes part, who swims with the current of progress and doesn't want to keep their feet stuck in the mud.

Now I wonder who's going to be the first person to tell me that what I've written falls within the mysterious remit of 'political correctness'?

That Passport furore

WHICH ELEPHANT, WHICH ROOM?

There are a lot of arguments flying back and forth at the moment about the Passport Office and the apparent inability to cope with the level of demand from the UK public.  Cameron has now owned up to there being a problem and ordered the recruitment of additional staff to sort out the crisis.  Whilst having it pointed out to him by the PCS union that they'd forecast these difficulties when staff numbers were severely cut....

Obviously those cuts came about as plans created by the senior management of the organisation.  What doesn't seem to get mentioned is who these people are.  When the Passport Office (then IPS) took over the government department I used to work for ten out of the eleven board members had been brought in from private industry, with only one career civil servant amongst them.  Maybe that's changed since then, maybe not.  But at the time what became quickly apparent was the very different management style they brought to bear.  Gone was the public service ethos which is at the heart of effective government services, to be replaced by a more profit driven, money-oriented mentality.

Public services are all about delivering value for money.  Which is definitely not the same as delivering for the smallest possible amount of money.

Just saying.

Have I really agreed with That Man?

THAT MOMENT WHEN....

....You find yourself in agreement with Tony Blair. It doesn't happen very often, but it did today, and I suppose everyone must get it right some of the time. And, aside from the shock of finding myself in tune with a war criminal, it was good to hear somebody on the BBC saying the right things about bloody UKIP.

I recall the spirit of optimism in May 1997. After the long, disastrous and damaging Thatcher/Major years it felt like anything had to be better, preferably with a healthy dose of socialism to put right the many mistakes that had been inflicted upon us. We'd seen communities destroyed, working people trampled over, minorities vilified, the police used as a political instrument, our wealth as a community sold off to the highest bidder. This was the era of Loadsamoney and those people who knew the price of everything and the value of nothing. Caring was less fashionable than greed and a bankrupt ideology set the scene for the disasters to follow. Surely Blair had to be better than that?

And, in some ways, he was. The minimum wage showed what could be done to help those who had been walked on. There was a more inclusive agenda, with progressive measures like Civil Partnerships and the active encouragement of a multicultural society, a sense that people would be made welcome in Britain whatever their background. After having felt too embarrassed to admit to being British when Thatcher's shadow loomed over us it became possible to feel some sense of pride in the opening up of our society.

And yet. There was also disillusionment. For many people that means the Iraq war and the lies which surround it. But to me the real betrayal was the continuation of some of the worst aspects of those appalling Tory governments. The 'greed is good' mantra never really went away, the notion that private could do things better than public was still the accepted doctrine (despite all the evidence to the contrary) and nothing was done to reverse the growing inequality in society which was the underlying disease fueling the symptoms that eventually led to disaster.

When the financial crash came it wasn't socialism that caused it, because there was no socialism. There was just more and more deregulated capitalism with the greed of the financial system spiralling out of control until it collapsed. And the people who ended up suffering weren't those who caused the problem. That is the true disgrace of the so called 'New Labour'.

Blair left office to pursue a life as a self aggrandizing multi millionaire and supposed 'international statesman'. His interventions in Middle East conflicts have had little constructive benefit and his pronouncements on other aspects of global politics often appear out of touch with reality.

But Blair was a successful political operator, winning all his election victories convincingly. Whatever his faults as the leader of a state he was always astute when it came to providing the soundbites of conviction. And he knew how to deal with political opponents. So it should come as no surprise that he has been the first major politician to state clearly how our mainstream political parties, and Labour in particular, should be dealing with the increasing rise of far right extremism reflected in the recent election results.

The first key point is not to overreact. For all that UKIP present some dangers to mainstream democracy the actual threat is nowhere near as great as the media (with the BBC being especially, and disgustingly, guilty) have made out. They only have around 4% or councillors in England, hardly the 'surge' being portrayed, and their share of the vote in the local elections was actually several points lower than last time around (not that you'd think so from the coverage they've been given). Even their triumph in scoring the largest share of the vote in the EU Parliament polls doesn't stand up when looked at in context. With little more than one third of voters bothering to turn out, and UKIP taking little more than a quarter of that total, only around 10% of the electorate were motivated to record an anti-EU vote. And given that the EU elections are largely going to interest those people who have strong views on the EU, either for or against, that figure probably represents UKIP's real level of support. The arithmetic shows they are not the major player they want to paint themselves to be.

Secondly, and this is where I wish there was a Blair-like figure in Parliament who will stand up and tell the truth, the main parties should not be trying to play UKIP at their own game (if only for the reasons set out above). Immigration and the EU are not 'issues', they are positive benefits and that case needs to be made, over and over again if necessary. If you really think these are the most serious issues we face then you haven't understood the situation - and the blame for that has to fall on the politicians who should be providing the leadership, and information, that demonstrates this. Making the wrong diagnosis can only lead to incorrect solutions (the old IT adage is GIGO - 'garbage in, garbage out'). Blair is right when he says that's UKIP's political agenda (most of which they have tried to keep very quiet about, for fear of being found out) does not provide solutions for Britain and would actually make most of our problems worse. Regressive, inward looking, non inclusive views are to be discouraged, not made the basis for an ideology. They would not benefit us economically or geopolitically, and damage our essential humanity.

Tony Blair is far from being my hero. I would never agree with his neoliberal policies for the future. But in telling us how to deal with the proto fascists in our midst he's got it spot on. Now is Ed listening?

I'm soooo Bored?

LET'S BE BORED

We have so many gadgets in our lives, especially those mobile ones we carry with us everywhere, that there's little opportunity to be bored.  And I have allowed myself to be swayed by the dominant modern thought that boredom is, of itself, a bad thing. Something to be fought against, planned around, avoided and evaded.  And yet the converse is also true.  Those same gadgets dissipate our ability to concentrate, encourage us to engage with different facets of the virtual world simultaneously, with the result that we frequently aren't truly in contact with any of them.

There was a photo I saw on Twitter recently (and yes, I conscious of the irony of my own statements here....) showing a crowd waiting for a train on a station platform. There must have been about a dozen people and all bar one were looking at some kind of screen - mostly mobile phones, but also tablets and ebook readers. A lone figure was circled, looking upwards with hands in pockets, and the caption read "What is wrong with this man?".  Intended ironically, but are we now reaching the point where those who don't whip out an electronic device at the slightest opportunity are considered the odd ones out?  It's not quite there yet, but this feels like the way the world is headed.

A sub caption queried this man's sanity suggesting that simply staring at the sky was a form of madness (although he could have been looking at the big screen giving incoming train information!). The implication, and it's one I do feel the urge to join, is that this man has it right and all the others have got it wrong.  That sometimes simply contemplating the world is the best thing to do, that looking around at the real world can be more rewarding that seeking on screen gratification.

Not that I'm going to be some sort of evangelist here.  I'm as guilty as anyone of checking my mobile, or using it to while away time while I wait for a bus, train, other person.  I'd be reluctant to leave home without it, less so I can keep in touch (I receive very few calls) but as a useful tool (how often is an instant Google the answer to a tricky question?), a timepiece (I stopped wearing a watch years ago) and, I admit it, a form of playmate.  If I feel I might be bored I can use it to play a game or have a read.  But maybe I should experiment with letting go.  

So I will try leaving it behind a few times (even if I'll still be carrying a book and a camera!). Perhaps the biggest loss will be in not knowing the time, but there are usually public clocks around and it's not as if I often have to be anywhere at a specific hour.

I might even - revolutionary idea - go without a book and force myself to simply take in the sights and sounds around me, should I choose to stop for a rest.  Embrace the potential for boredom....

For the reality is that I am hardly ever bored.  My mind, deprived of external stimulations, will always find a path into some other world.  Rather than looking around me I am more likely to look inwards, to create my own imaginary conversations or situations and lose all sight of what is happening around me.  With the most visible side effect being a tendency to walk along the street talking to myself.

But in that I may be in a minority. For so many people now the idea of being deprived of their gadgets is to suggest enforced boredom, and boredom is, to them, a very very bad thing. An evil to be avoided. Nobody should be allowed to be bored.

And yet.  One of the secrets of a contented life is recognising that all forms of enjoyment are relative.  Happiness can only be experienced if you've known sadness. Excitement is the counterpart of boredom.  You can get more out of life if you allow dullness in.  An excess of anything creates immunity.  Too much of any experience which gives pleasure will lead to the sensations of that experience being reduced to the point where the pleasure no longer becomes noticeable. The human mind requires counterpoint in order to recognise that it is enjoying itself. Too much of a good thing is indeed too much, in that it will cease to be a novelty and become the norm, and the norm soon becomes the dull, the boring.

So I will embrace opportunities for dullness. Last August, when we saw fifty five Edinburgh Fringe shows, was one of the best months of my life. But could only be so because it stood out so brightly in contrast to other periods. It is is not a state I could, or would wish, to maintain throughout the whole year. It is the limited availability of such excitement that gives it such value.  If pleasure comes too easily it soon ceases to be pleasure.

Go with the boredom.  It's better for you than you think.

A matter of reading

THE FREELING FEELING

As I’m known to be an avid fiction reader I’ve sometimes been asked who my favourite novelist is.  In times gone by I would have answered Aldous Huxley or Joseph Heller.  But I've come to recognise that the correct answer is Nicolas Freeling.  He's not the best, or most significant, and he hasn't written anything that changed my life.  But he is always entertaining, interesting and thought provoking.  Plus I admit that I enjoy being able to provide a response that baffles most people, for there is pleasure to be taken from being obscure.

Not many people seem to know the name nowadays, and it is almost impossible to buy his books new.  I first read some of his books many decades ago, and they remained in my collection waiting to be rediscovered.  The spur to do so came from a lovely old secondhand place in Cromer, Norfolk, who had a couple of Freelings I'd not seen before. Reading them reminded of what a fine writer he is and how in tune with much of my own way of thinking.  And that led me on to try and complete my collection.

Determining how many books he'd written is so much easier in the internet age, as is tracking them down.  Using the likes of eBay and Amazon (resellers of course) I tracked down every single title and managed to collect all the novels, and most of his non fiction works, over a period of eighteen months.  (In traditional dead tree form of course, although it is possible to get some of his works as ebooks.)  They came in various shapes and sizes - mostly small Penguin paperbacks from the sixties and seventies, but with a few hardbacks, and even one I could only find in large print format.  No matter, they are not there to be admired on my shelves, but to be read.  And that, gradually, is what I have been doing.

The novels break down into three groups.  I began with his first, Valparaiso, which Freeling originally wrote whilst in prison.  None of the characters in that novel appear again in further works, and I worked my way through the other seven books which can be considered to be stand alone, independent of his two major series of books.  I am now deep into the first of those two series and the one for which Freeling is probably best known, at least in the UK.

Not many people recognise the name of the author, but anyone of a certain age will know that of his most famous character.  It was used as the title of an early 1970s TV series, featuring Barry Foster as the eponymous Dutch policeman, with had a tingly theme tune which, somehow, became a number one hit (Eye Level, by the Simon Park Orchestra - yes, really).  Although the name of the detective, and the Amsterdam setting, came from the Freeling novels, the plots did not.  In truth it was very poorly written and I have no desire to revisit it.  But I suspect (for I cannot accurately remember the event) that it was responsible for calling my attention to the first Freeling book I purchased.  So I owe that dubious TV programme a debt of gratitude.

There are thirteen Van der Valk novels, set in the sixties and seventies. Mostly based in Amsterdam, although his investigations do take him to other parts of the Netherlands and other countries in western Europe.  Freeling, although British by birth, spent most of his life on mainland Europe, initially as a chef before his writing career took off, and he has absorbed the cultures of France, Holland, Germany and others.  Although the fictional Dutchman is his most famed creation he is not the best.  That title goes to the central character of the other series I mentioned, Henri Castang.  A French policeman in an unspecified provincial town.  Like Van der Valk he has a foreign wife (French in the Amsterdammer's case, Czech for Castang) which gives him a less parochial view of the world than that of his colleagues.  Like Van der Valk he often takes on cases that are unconventional, even ill defined.

When bookshops still stocked his output you'd find Freeling novels on the Crime and Thrillers shelves. And certainly most feature crimes, of one sort or another. But thrillers? Few would meet the criteria that we would normally associate with the term. There are murders, but rarely are they particularly gruesome. There's not much in the way of armed confrontations, or car chases, or cliffhanger moments. I think of most Freelings belonging to a genre from the past - Mysteries.

Mystery there is aplenty.  Both detective and reader may be unclear about events, even after the end has been reached, and you are left to place your own interpretations on what has passed before your eyes.  You might have some understanding of what happened, but it can be up to your imagination to fully understand (should full understanding be your thing) why circumstances and behaviour unfolded as they did.  And it this ability of the author to leave you with dots to connect at your leisure that I love most about his books, and why I know I will happily read them several times over.

The writing is good, at times outstanding, but never great.  The plots are sometimes complex, but not as multi layered as we are now used to, and the pace is quite consciously plodding at times.  The stories are relatively short by modern standards, often little more than two hundred pages.  They won't take long to read.  Except they do, for I often find myself sitting, book in hand, trying to figure out a plot twist, the meaning of a character's words or actions, or diverted into another subject altogether because the background of the story has taken me to an aspect of art or music or literature or science that I hadn't considered much before.  Freelings are like that.

With most of the canon dating back to a time before the widespread use of computing (Freeling died in 2003) the detective work has little reliance on technology. It is conversational, intuitive, foot slogging, patient, cerebral.  Both Van der Valk and Castang ponder as much about the societies they live in as the crimes they are probing.  This is crime writing as a vehicle for social investigation and philosophising.

If you crave action then look elsewhere.  If you do not have the patience for a slower moving world then these are not for you.  But if you enjoy being made to do some work by your reading matter, if you take an interest in human motives and foibles, if you like a bit of pondering, then these books might be what you're after.  Hard to come by nowadays, but worth seeking out.

Of course I might be prepared to lend you one.  But I will definitely, most definitely, want it returned.

The reality of Referendum is getting nearer

AYE OR NAW?

A few days ago a journalist (@Gary_Bainbridge, well worth a follow, highly entertaining) posted a link on Twitter to this article commending it for its even handedness on a subject that is mostly being addressed in partisan fashion..

I agreed with him that this was a decent attempt to strike a balanced view, but pointed out that even this relatively neutral piece still carried overtones of scaremongering. (Specifically the notion that a Yes result might provoke nasty reactions in the rest of the UK, the sort of idle speculation that damages rational discussion.)   I ended up having a brief chat with Gary and it was interesting to have some insight into an interested, but unbiased, English viewpoint.

As most of you will know I'm a Scot, but have lived most of my adult life in England. In recent years I've been able to spend more and more time back in my home city and hope to move there soon. Too late, probably, to be able to register my vote for 18th September. Nonetheless I have taken pains to follow the debates on the subject and feel reasonably well informed.  Sufficiently, as I pointed out to Gary, to recognise that the biggest problem is people trying have an argument over the pros and cons of the unknown.  No wonder that there are still so many Don't Knows showing up in polls.

This got me thinking what my own view is.  When I was asked last year I said I was probably about 70% Yes leaning. I recently tweeted that George Robertson's ludicrous outburst had persuaded me fully into the Yes camp, but that was largely for humourous effect.  That 'Forces of Darkness' nonsense deserves to be ridiculed into the gutter where it belongs.

Why are both sides of the argument being so badly presented at times?  I note that Gary described the SNP approach as "la-la-la I'm not listening" in their inability to provide concrete answers to real world questions. (Does this mean that people in England automatically associate the Yes movement with the SNP alone? Because it definitely has much wider roots, even amongst some who detest Salmond himself.)  Whilst the Better Together campaign has been one of almost unrelenting negativity.  "Project Fear" indeed. (They are now trying to address this image in their latest ads, but can they repair that damage?)

The trouble with wanting hard and fast answers to the big questions is that there really aren't any. There can't be. This hasn't been done before (even recent examples such as the Baltic states aren't really comparable) so how can anyone tell what the outcome will be? But politicians aren't geared up to make such admissions, so they will bluster instead, making promises that are largely empty.  Neither side can back out of this easily for to do so opens the way for the opposition to fill the vacuum with their own narrative.  

If a Yes vote is delivered then the details will be have to be hammered out over months of negotiations and nobody can accurately predict how those will turn out.  Both sides will hold trump cards should things turn nasty, but it's hard to see it coming to that.  For all the vitriol being bandied about now and in the coming five months the talks will be between two democratically elected governments from friendly nations.  The family ties (both metaphorical and literal) between the two countries are such that no elected politician is going to is going to ride roughshod over the human considerations involved.

So if the there aren't all that many facts available on which to base a rational decision then what's left?  This certainly isn't the moment to come over all emotional and have a Braveheart moment (and oh, what a truly crap film that was....).

I've tried to think of it on a smaller scale.  This feels a bit like deciding whether or not to take up a new job, or to move in with your partner.  You've got a lot of information about what that change will be like, but there comes a point where you have to ignore all the unknowns and make a decision, one that will inevitably change the course of your life.  And invariably, if you decide to go with it, it's because you feel that you can see the basis for a better life for yourself.  It's the possibility of life improving that draws you on.  You know it might not work out, but if you don't take the risk then you'll never know if you missed out.

And that, more than anything rational, is what draws me towards the Yes vote.  I suppose you could call it hope.  A glass half full attitude.  If Scotland remains in the UK then little will change for better.  (Indeed the persistent rise of right wing extremism in England suggests an outside chance that things might well get much, much worse.  There again the UKIP bubble constantly looks on the verge of bursting.)  An independent Scotland provides the possibility of a fairer, social democratic country.  It's only a possibility of course.  But there's only one way to find out....

The polls still suggest there will be a No result.  I'm not even sure that would be the best outcome for England.  Imagine the impact that having a successful, socially just neighbour might have in revitalising the English left?

And that last sentence perhaps summarises what I'm trying to say here.  Forget the facts for now.  This is a decision that should appeal to the imagination.

And finally - here’s a writer, a person of imagination, who’s made the journey from No to Yes.  She says it better than I can.

Was that all there was to it?

WHERE DID THOSE TWO WEEKS GO?

So here I am, meatless, fishless, booseless and clueless.  Do I feel the slightest bit different?  Nope, other than maybe a couple of pounds lighter (which wasn't really the point).  Healthier?  Hmm, not really, although I have been sleeping well, mostly.

Does this tell me anything?  A big fat No to that one too.  Except it wasn't in any way a problem to staywith my promise way for the two weeks.  Or longer if I so desired.  The only time I missed the demon alcohol was when I passed up on a chance to socialise in the pub - I just don't do soft drinks.

So that was my two week experiment - and I don't even have decent bit of proselytising to show for it.  Never the poster boy, that's me.

One week on

7 DAYS WITHOUT

No meat, no fish no alcohol.

Do I feel any different?  No.

Pros - Cheap

Cons - Err.  Can't think of any.

That is all.

Oh, and I'm still enjoying my own company.

Veggie, early and alone

IN DENIAL

Day One.

Day One of what?  Well, a couple of things that will mark life out as being a bit different from my usual for the next few weeks.

Today is day one of a two week abstinence from meat, fish and alcohol (or "normal life" if you're a teetotal vegetarian).  Why?  There are no superstitious reasons involved (I don't even know what or when 'Lent' is), no health motives (I'm perfectly well, thanks for asking) and I've not joined a cult (unless you count becoming an Edinburgh Caps supporter).  I just thought I'd see how it felt, while I have the opportunity to give it a go.  And maybe a mild bit of self discipline wouldn't do me any harm.

Not that it will be that much of a challenge.  I don't eat meat or fish every day, and I enjoy cooking with different vegetables, pulses etc.  I was going to give up eggs as well, but there are too many sitting in the fridge and my instincts not to waste food are stronger than any temporary regime. But since curries are my personal culinary specialty, and there are several new Indian veg recipes I want to have a go at, there's bound to be some enjoyment involved.

The alcohol won't be a great difficulty either.  I have no plans for socialising in the next two weeks.  And opening a bottle of wine on my own is something I generally try to avoid (why on my own? - read on).  I've not had a drink for several days anyway, simply because I haven't fancied one.  And I've ofttimes made a conscious decision to have an alcohol free week in the past, without any struggle to keep the pledge.

So, all in all, it's not that big an event.  I just fancy seeing how I feel at the end of it.  So far, so undramatic.

This is also Day One of something a little more adventurous, at least in relation to my normal way of life.  I have promised myself that I will get up early each morning and write a thousand words before nine am. Hardly an earth shattering undertaking, except to someone who rarely has breakfast before eleven.  And that's who I've become these days.  At nine I'm usually awake, but in bed with a hot drink and my tablet, catching up on overnight news.

Again it's just a little challenge I've set myself to shake up my usual routine.  There's no sense of trying to actually achieve something with this.  Most of what I write will never be seen by any eyes other than my own.  But sometimes it's good to have small projects, means of making the time pass and add contrast to the monotones of life.  Little goals, however meaningless in themselves, can make a difference.

And I'm going to need these tiny projects for a while. For today is also Day One of an event that's been coming and coming and suddenly the time slips through, almost unnoticed, and you're there, dealing with it and planning no longer.  Today is Day One of thirty five.  Five weeks without my wife. She's off on a family visit to Australia and we agreed it made sense for her to do it alone.  And I have planned out my time accordingly, given myself projects and outings and people to see.  She's been gone almost three hours now.  And I miss her.  I miss her so much.

It's not as if I'm not used to spending time on my own.  Indeed I am, in so many ways, the archetypal loner.  I need time to myself.  And we have frequently spent time apart, often days at a time, over the decades we've been together.  But five weeks?  More than a month?  Why does that suddenly feel like such a long, long time?

Please don't waste any sympathy on me (oh, you weren't going to....), I'll be fine.  I am writing this whilst suffering from the shock of getting up at four am, a savage imposition upon my natural instincts.  This is not a cry for help, or even company.  But it is a reflection on how much our core can be shaken by events that are totally expected, planned for, thought through, yet, when they turn into reality, still manage to shake our emotions and existence in unexpected ways.

Turns out I'm just human after all.  Who'd have thought?