I really don’t know where to start! Go with an exclamation mark. Seems fitting. This weather is definitely deserving of one. Seriously, could it BE any more grey? I feel positively claustrophobic beneath this blanket of gloom – and nobody can tell me this is normal, or that it’s courtesy of global warming. I may struggle with the day of the week, or the month, for that matter – who wouldn’t in this? – but my brain is intact, sharp as ever! A touch arrogant? Not necessarily. Sharp as ever means it remains the same – as ever.
Anyone noticed my increasing penchant for engaging in conversation with myself? Seems I’m beginning to do this rather a lot – and, yes, I do talk to myself. Well, not only do I agree with myself but, to my mind, I offer a great deal of sense. Win. Win. I do, however, also engage in rather a lot of drivel …
I have notes. Of course, I have notes but, quite frankly, I decided that I can no longer bear to address said notes. This week’s news has been nothing short of abysmal and I thought, perhaps, I should give it a miss entirely and merely pluck a subject at random. Apropos said thought, I settled on ego. Interesting, but why? I happened to watch Sting, last night, performing at Radio 2 in the Park. Sting. Ego. One and the same. Not that I didn’t enjoy it. He played all the classic Police hits just not with The Police! Now, I loved The Police, who were just taking off in my first term at uni, back in the dark ages – October 1977, to be precise. Roxanne had been released and they came to Edinburgh to play at the Odeon in South Clerk Street. I didn’t happen to get tickets but I just know they would have been less than £5! Fast forward and they ruled the airwaves in the early eighties and, yes, Sting may have been the voice but Stewart Copeland embodied the fun; the playful defiance which captured the target audience and the mood of the time. My favourite – and the founder of the band – his drumming … Sting, however, was the star, or believed himself so. Admittedly, the main songwriter of the three, he was eager to do his own thing, plus his clashes with Stewart Copeland – now said to be purely creative – were no secret. Ego? Not a fan, Sting has always struck me as arrogant but, then, is an inflated ego a prerequisite of success? The fine line between self-belief and arrogance: one essential; one maligned. Then, there’s the insecurity which manifests in bravado … Human nature. Never forget the mask.
I may return to that but, first, a quick summary of the week’s news of note. Quick? No promises. As Keir Starmer, fully-fledged member of the Kim Jong Un fan club, continues to blame his predecessors for everything – at the same time, being, seemingly, oblivious to the fact that Rishi Sunak is no longer Prime Minister and he is – intent on attacking (read, ‘doing away with’) the elderly, his delightful, ‘I’m working class’ deputy is relishing her role. Denying her proletariat the very advantage afforded herself by Maggie – the opportunity to buy (and profit from) her own council house – she has been partying in Ibiza. Worse, she was filmed partying in Ibiza – ‘dance’ moves and all – a sight I would gladly erase from my memory. Whatever happened to dignity? That embarrassing clip of her clubbing in Ibiza serves only to embody the depths to which this country has sunk – way below the wreck of Titanic! Which reminds me, my passport needs renewing, imminently …
A week when, in Manchester, the mother of a 12-year-old boy charged with two counts of violent disorder relating to the recent riots failed to turn up in court for her son’s sentencing. Nowhere to be seen, she had chosen to go on holiday to Ibiza for five days. No words. Child crime – that committed by children – has risen by 16% in recent years. Is it any wonder? High time parents paid the price for neglect. Jail that mother, or, at the very least, fine her. Forget five days clubbing in Ibiza with our Deputy Prime Minister. How about nurturing the child to whom she gave birth? Taking responsibility? Maybe just start by removing all mirrors.
This past week, five children between the ages of twelve and fourteen were arrested following the murder of an eighty-year-old grandfather, attacked last Sunday while out walking his dog in a park in Leicester. One fourteen-year-old was detained while the other four were released. Fourteen. Murder. Grandfather … Feral. Violent. Emotionless. Unloved. Tip of the iceberg. So much more to come in a country in which families are broken, community has gone, isolation pervades and the only direction is down.
Sufficiently cheered? Apologies but the following will do nothing to redress. Of course, everyone knows that the Health Service is broken as the needless bureaucrats continue to bleed and squander from within, unmonitored, enjoying six-figure salaries while the sick lie dying – literally. Thus, this week, I heard of an 82-year-old man, suffering from Parkinson’s Disease, who fell down stairs in his home. Lying on the floor and clearly hurt, his wife was told that there would be an eight hour wait for an ambulance. Eight hours, as he lay on the floor, unable to be moved! In the early hours of the morning, help finally arrived. His wife was told not to accompany him in the ambulance as the likelihood was that they would be queueing outside the hospital for some time. Fast forward – mere hours later – and she phoned the hospital, before heading in, only to be told that her husband had been discharged and was being brought home. No contact. No knowledge that care would be in place on his return – weak, frail, confused and left arm plastered from shoulder to wrist, he was wheeled into the house. She had no idea whether he could even walk. Meanwhile, he had returned without detail – no written assessment – and those who delivered him home had no knowledge as to why his left arm was in plaster! Of course, his wife phoned the GP, who knew nothing; the hospital proving equally futile. In the end, with her husband confused and disorientated, she had no choice but to phone for paramedics who, finally, gave him a full assessment and offered the reassurance she deserved.
No further evidence required … Terrifying. The callous treatment of this 82-year-old man is unforgivable but there but for the grace of God goes each and every one of us. One cannot afford to be ill or hurt in an accident. There is no help available. No longer can one contact one’s GP or dial 999 in an emergency. There is no Health Service. There is no police force. A country in perpetual winter – in every sense – the question is one of hope. Is there any? It seems not. We live, now, in an egocentric world broken by technology; a world driven by greed and anger in which the individual is dispensable. Controlled by egomaniacs, isolation abounds. Head down, comply and exist. Head up? In the words of the inimitable Dave Allen, ‘May your God go with you’!
Seems ego is forever in the wings …
‘In a world full of adversity, we must still dare to dream.’
Rob Burrow
Back in my place!
This is Trish, signing off.
