Anybody miss me? I’ve hated it, not writing on Monday and I’ve realised – quite seriously – my posts are my therapy! I mean, who is going to listen to my rants, voluntarily? Transcribing my anger, disgust, disbelief – note the obvious lack of delight and joy – at the ongoing travesties which abound, and then posting, is so satisfying. No wonder I’ve been raging all week without it. Feel free to persuade me to return to posting twice-weekly by emailing me at firstname.lastname@example.org with copious amounts of praise! Actually, toying with the idea of reading my posts and uploading so that my dulcet tones may accompany you in the car, running, extreme ironing or whatever floats your boat. Just a thought in preparation for my podcast. Yay! Don’t worry, surely if I remain anonymous, I shall be safe?
Right. To the first thing which enraged me this week … I consider myself British. When required to state my nationality, my default is British. My place of birth may be Scotland and my heritage Scottish through and through but Scotland is part of the greater whole to which we belong and, therefore, formality dictates – for me – that I am British. However, it is only when one is living far from home that one realises that being Scottish is not a choice. It’s in one’s blood; one’s DNA. When living in London, all these years ago, I longed to be back home. In my mind, all I saw was hills and glens but it was a bit like that on the train journey north, from Kings Cross to Waverley. It is bleak, looking out the window at the red brick buildings, the monotonous countryside, the industrial towers and, then, Newcastle! From then on, though, the sun seems to break through the cloud/pollution, everything becomes greener, there are trees and hills … and Maria? Not quite but one gets my drift. My heart is most definitely in the Highlands but …
Sometimes – and increasingly so – I am embarrassed to be Scottish. Tuesday night was one of those times. As we sat down to watch Scotland playing Croatia for a place in the next round of the Euros, I was completely invested in my support for my country of birth and Hamden was alive despite only 50% capacity. So exciting until the teams emerged from the tunnel, the red tops of Croatia leading the way to the sound of loud booing from the crowd! I couldn’t quite believe it, shaking my head in disbelief, but the commentators – whoever the hell they were – just ignored it. How absolutely appalling! The ignorance of the drunken mob, privileged to be witnessing a match of such potential significance, yet devoid of a sporting bone in their bodies. What has happened? Each and every one of these buffoons should be granted entrance to Wimbledon for one day only – and, preferably, when we are not there – to bear witness to sportsmanship, etiquette and manners, none of which they seem to understand, let alone are capable of displaying. Such behaviour is unacceptable and, yet, seemingly commonplace. Once again, the lowest common denominator …
It continued, the booing, that is. As Croatia stood, proudly, in reverence to their country, their national anthem filled the stadium to yet more booing. That was it! Embarrassed to associate myself with the like, I changed my allegiance to Croatia. They deserved to win and, sadly, the Scottish team deserved better from their supporters in situ. Fans who boo the opponents? Who needs them, or the bad name they give our country. Sometimes it’s just embarrassing to be Scottish. We are not all drunken, uneducated louts. Nicola Sturgeon, Lorraine Kelly? Down with the people is not where I want to be and nor am I alone. In such hands, the only way is down – just listen to the continuity announcers on STV now. Never more grateful for the mute button! Perhaps our greatest loss, in recent times, is that of Ruth Davidson from Scottish politics. A league of her own. Intelligent, educated, well-spoken – not to mention a huge threat to the White Stiletto – she might even have persuaded me to write ‘Scottish’ in the box denoting nationality.
Meantime, forget the notes I have by my side, further testament to the cesspit of a world we are living in. Nothing is more pertinent than the story accompanying the revolting image I awoke to, this morning, on my phone! If anything was certain to make one feel rather bilious, it is the sight of Matt Hancock – our ‘trusted’ Health Secretary, he who has designed the control of our lives for the past eighteen months – entangled with his old university chum come senior aide, Gina Coladangelo, supposedly continuing to steer the country out of the pandemic while with his tongue down her throat! Is one exclamation mark sufficient? Apologies for the graphic choice of words but they are fitting. Utterly revolting. Totally unacceptable. Sadly, almost predictable …
Dominic Cummings, Professor Neil Ferguson, Catherine Calderwood (former Chief Medical Officer for Scotland!) and now Matt Hancock. Where does it end? What will it take for that eureka moment? To realise that all the brainwashing, the scaremongering, the manipulation of data enabling the docile acquiescence of the masses and the incessant pushing of a vaccine which is unlicenced and still in its trial stages – still experimental – has emanated from those in power who, not only pay no heed to their supposedly life-saving rules but who, when exposed, are cushioned by their, thus, equally culpable colleagues? Matt Hancock, described in a revelatory Whatsapp message penned by his boss, Boris Johnson, as being ‘totally fxxxxxx hopeless’; he, who suggested that ‘the state had a lower duty of care for people who refused to be vaccinated compared to those who accepted it.’ (Jane Merrick, Politics, June 16, 2021). No words. Devoid of any future voice, he is worthy of immediate execution and yet Boris & Co have closed ranks.
‘It’s worth remembering that this is a personal matter. The Prime Minister has every confidence in his Secretary of State and I think he has said everything he needs to say on this and has apologised for it.
Nadhim Zahawi, Vaccine Secretary.
ITV Evening News, June 25, 2021.
Personal matter? The fact that he laughed in the face of his own COVID rules; the fact that he is totally untrustworthy; the fact that he is a cheat and a liar? The fact that nobody will – or should – listen to anything he says again? At the end of the day, he is just yet another sleazy guy whose ego is greater than his love or loyalty for his family. To cushion his fall, voluntarily, merely weakens one’s own position. However, it would suggest the stakes are much higher. As Dominic Cummings begins to talk, one can only surmise that the loyalty shown to a fallen colleague is borne of much greater corruption.
May it be noted that the daily news review on ‘This Morning’ made no mention of this story which has eclipsed all else. Why?!
I have so much else to say; so much deserving of comment and opinion – little good. Suffice to say, Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor of The Daily Telegraph and Royal expert, has been bombarded with death threats – directed at she, her husband and three children – in the wake of her questioning Meghan’s claim that Archie, aged two, is a ‘voracious reader’! Camilla has been steadfast in her no-nonsense approach to Harry and Meghan, calling Harry ‘insensitive’ and ‘self-pitying’ while being ‘out for vengeance’ against the Royal family. However, the vile and threatening comments on Twitter are way beyond trivial. One, attributed to #HarryandMeghan “fandom”, has procured no comment from Harry or Meghan. Funny that. The oh, so caring two who, supposedly, devote their lives to stamping out hate and violence, promoting a gentler world for all as long as it pays big bucks and adheres to their mantra! Camilla Tominey and Harry go back fifteen years – that’s the Meghan Harry’s idea of loyalty …
In a world in which there are no longer any certainties; in which the goal posts are, seemingly, moved to accommodate both whim and ego, to what does one cling? I have no answer. However, for me, the scope to vent is imperative – as is relying on one’s instincts, in the absence of all else …
‘Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.’
Somehow, that quote – which I love and which I only heard this week – is hauntingly fitting.
This is Trish, signing off.