So, I took August off! I wish. To think that once I just spent my days writing and walking on my beach. No watching the clock, accountable to no-one, I was free. Stress-free? I don’t believe anyone is. After all, to care about someone else/something else is to worry. I will forever remember that lovely feeling of contentment when, growing up, both children were tucked up in their beds, safe and warm. Nothing tops that. In our twenties, my mother used to bemoan the fact that we weren’t still in our prams; so much easier then … I know exactly what she means now.
In the early hours of Tuesday morning – still dark – I drove Becca to the station to catch the train/tram to the airport, en route back to Rome. How could six weeks have gone so fast? I’d just got used to having her around again. She poured my gin, for goodness sake! We watched Suits together (I know, I know but, if you can get past her, it is so good – and addictive) and only got halfway through Season 4 out of 10. She was my chauffeur … On the other hand, she remains domestically inept (deliberately) and will, forever, be late – she was two weeks overdue when she deigned to greet the world, back in May 1989, and has remained true to herself ever since, a stubborn streak characteristic of my family. Anyway, my point? Time is fleeting. Suddenly, tomorrow is today and today, yesterday, consigned to the past. Appreciate the time you have – and with whom you choose to spend it. For my part, through the long years of my divorce battle, I taught myself to take one day at a time and it has stood me in good stead; an invaluable mindset. Stop worrying about tomorrow. In a blink of an eye, today will be yesterday.
‘You cannot step twice in the same river, for other waters are continually flowing in.’ Heraclitis
Arising, this morning, I had GMTV on in the background, the focus today being our ‘lovely’ Government’s plans to roll out AI-powered facial recognition technology, supposedly in a bid to combat crime. Sure. Just how stupid do they think we are?! They don’t give a jot about crime. Instead, it’s actually another step forward for Big Brother and a further infringement on our privacy. Facial recognition, finger prints, digital ID cards accessing our banking, health and every detail of our lives … Welcome to Beijing! Just in time for The World Humanoid Robot Games in that very city. I jest not. From the 15th – 17th August, China played host to more than five hundred robots from sixteen different countries, the disciplines ranging from sprinting to football and kick-boxing. For the record, how does one pay host to a blooming robot?! Are we nuts? Moreover, what could possibly be the purpose of developing a robot which renders the human race redundant? The greatest home goal ever or perhaps the plan is to eradicate/ replace only those regarded as dispensable by those and such as those? Stupid or sinister? Assume the latter. Let’s face it, Starmer is already less human than an android. Highly likely he is wired, albeit incorrectly! That, or he has to climb into his coffin when the sun comes up? That’s vampires, if I remember, correctly, my childhood midnight horror movie fests on a Friday night (and Starmer does look as though he could do with a pint or two – of blood, that is!). Frankenstein terrified the living daylights out of us back then. Now, we’re living it!
You know, when I first started writing this blog in 2015 – ten years ago – it was quite chatty and upbeat, I think. For me, that is. It rapidly became my therapy and, to this day, is, actually, something I still love doing – just lack the time! Real writers get up at dawn to put in an hour or so before the day’s chores? The minute I secure my agent, I’ll consider myself a real writer! I’m waiting, believe me, all fingers crossed … Ten years on, though, a lot has changed. Covid did that. It divided families, communities, countries, the world into individuals and sheep; into those who prefer to think for themselves/question as opposed to the majority who prefer not to think, finding comfort and anonymity in the crowd. Each to his own. These divisions remain, however, impinging on every aspect of daily life. This is no aftermath. Look around, the horror is ongoing. Nothing is the same. Stepford is alive and well, even as Starmer slithers amongst us, the irony being that Trump is heralded as the big, bad wolf! My God, what is wrong with people? Let me answer that … Sorry to tell you but that myth you were fed about the leopard changing his spots (does a leopard even have spots?!)? Well, that was buxxxxit! Born into a Left-wing family, you are Left-wing; born into a Right-wing family, you remain Right-wing. There is no ‘seeing the light’. It is ingrained in one’s DNA. Few about-turn. So, as Starmer hands this once great, proud country, on a silver platter, to thousands upon thousands of illegal, feral immigrants, the Left support, their beef, instead, forever with the Right. Let’s face it, the age-old war is one between the Left and Right. The Left, habitually aggressive first, think later. The Right? Constrained, reticent even, until tolerance expires. So it is that, as this country sinks below sewer level, our government lavishing luxuries on illegal migrants – culturally alien and potentially dangerous – while our brave veterans languish in doorways, the words ‘racist’, ‘Far-Right’ and ‘fascist’ are hurled at those of sound mind! Reason has no place when it comes to deep-rooted envy.
Take Angela Rayner … prides herself on being working class; one of the people until, that is, she isn’t! Show me the money … Whoopee! Here we go! ‘Third’ home for me, my friends. £700,000 + for an apartment in Hove. What’s that? ‘My’ people are struggling to put food on the table, let alone buy a holiday home? The tax? Tough! It’s all about me. I’ve made it, now. I’m a champagne socialist, don’t you know? To think you believed that I really cared … Thing is, Angela, one thing money can’t buy is class. Lovely photo of you in that dinghy, though, vape in hand. Might consider framing it. Perfect for your third home …
Enough. It’s now the 30th August, more than a week on since I started this. Told you I had no time! I did make time for Justin Currie, last night, however. Of Del Amitri fame, he is one of the most gifted songwriters – a true wordsmith and musician who has penned songs which span both the years and generations. Justin and Del Amitri are Manny and my thing, seeing him live for the first time in the Queen’s Hall, Edinburgh back in 2013. A difficult time for us, we had climbed Arthur’s Seat that day – although, I also remember that Manny had the hangover from hell! A day – and a concert – which remain a treasured memory. We have seen him many times since then, solo and with the band. Always superb.
Justin had a different hat on last night, however, promoting his new memoir, The Tremolo Diaries. He was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease in 2022 and, within, he documents life on the road and how he has coped/is coping with his lot. Manny had bought us tickets weeks ago; something to look forward to. Nothing is simple for us, though, and, as I waited to collect him at Leuchars at 6.30pm, he messaged to say the train had stopped in Ladybank, the Tay Rail Bridge was closed and they were diverting to Dundee via Perth! Of course – and, no, you couldn’t get off! Helpful, too, that nothing had been announced before departure. The upshot? Manny missed the chat and arrived ten minutes from the end. As he said to Justin, later, Scotrail was his downfall! Waiting patiently until he had signed everyone else’s book, it was our turn. I would put him on a par with Donny – and that’s something! Honestly, the loveliest guy. ‘Always the last to queue!’ is the inscription in my book … Some people are still worth queueing for; some people simply restore one’s faith. Justin Currie, it was an absolute honour!
‘And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.’
Friedrich Nietzsche
This is Trish, signing off, safely ensconced in my padded cell …
