Monday to Wednesday, I was in Manchester, on a course that I enjoyed thoroughly - fellow participants exceeding my expectations around humour, deep thinking, and scope for creating intrigue.
Monday morning, during a break, I am walking down a wide looping staircase with a fellow participant, The Dane. She is 30ish, she is tidily casual, and we've already spoken of various cultural interests.
The Dane has mentioned that she 'manages a small design team'. With this, I hear urban. I hear urbane. I hear cutting edge. I hear technology. I hear city centre. I hear cosmpolitan. I hear Frappuccino. Descending the stairs, The Swede makes a remark about being very hard-pressed, financially.
Shane: What did you say you did?
Dane: I manage a small design team.
Shane: But, minimum wage?
Dane: Well, less than, actually.
Shane: How?
Dane: Well, the thing is, we're trying to run it in an ethical manner.
Shane: (Here, there is much to unpack - much that we don't have time to unpack. I sense that The Dane knows that whatever is being referred to as 'ethical manner' is unsustainable.) Mm.
Dane: (sighs) Mm.
Shane: Y' know, maybe what you need to do, is abandon the whole ethical approach - unethical is the new ethical, kind of thing. Then you'll be fine!
Dane: (frowns, looks me over - a bit puzzled)
Shane: Ah! Don't worry. Free consultation. I'm just here to help.
Swede: (briefly puzzles) (smiles)
I move on, confident that I have much to contribute over the next few days.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
yacoubian
I receive a copy of The Yacoubian Building (Alaa Al Aswany), from a most unexpected source.
This pleases me and is a part-fix to yesterday's foul mood.
Today, I will avoid all television, radio and news print. The fall-out from England's 0-0 draw with Algeria - neither the end of the world, nor the end of the World Cup - will be unnecessarily brutal.
Today is also a day for hosting the parents, and for walking by water.
This pleases me and is a part-fix to yesterday's foul mood.
Today, I will avoid all television, radio and news print. The fall-out from England's 0-0 draw with Algeria - neither the end of the world, nor the end of the World Cup - will be unnecessarily brutal.
Today is also a day for hosting the parents, and for walking by water.
Friday, June 18, 2010
gifted
I had a great day, yesterday. It was an early start, that took me to the mac, in Birmingham, then a drive up the M6 to a school, for some head-on talk with a headteacher and two of her colleagues.
Throughout the day, I spoke with several people who I find - found - interesting. These outshone the couple of drones who I had to endure. These earlier folk - their ways of thinking and talking, were the essence of the great day.
During one early conversation, with Kay, a former colleague who'd worked on a difficult project with me, a few years ago, I enquired as to how she and her sidekick, Leon, were.
Kay: Well, you did know that we were partners - we lived together - you knew that?
Shane: (it had never been spoken out loud, but still) Yeah.
Kay: (straight-forwardly) Well we're not together any more.
Shane: Ah. And how are you?
Kay: It's been difficult. He was the love of my life, really.
Shane: (admiring the candour) And do you know how Leon is?
Kay: Oh, Leon will always be Leon. He'll work out who he is, eventually.
Shane: (oh lordy and gulpy gulpersome) What does that mean?
Kay: I think he looked up to me, a bit too much. He looked to me to tell him what to do, how to be. He's attractive, intelligent, he's good at what he does, but I don't think he understands that.
Shane: (some of this pricks me into reflecting) (a quiet sigh) How long had you been together?
Kay: Twelve years.
Shane: That's an amount of time.
Kay: It is.
And we talk on for a short while, easy enough, and move on to covering why we are where we are - the work stuff.
During the drive out of Birmingham, some of Kay's comments echo over the top of Radio 4. I find myself wondering - but not so much wondering as perhaps grimly knowing - how one particular old flame would have spoken of me, to those in her post-Shane life. Mentally, I wince - the past is the past, some things change, some things don't.
Later, as my working day draws to a close, I'm gathering papers and a notebook, at which point I am lauded with a grand, public gesture of thanks - for work that I'd taken for granted as par for the course that I play, and for (in my view) being in no way better than that work that I've done for others recently. The gesture is pleasing, though it raises feelings of bashfulness.
Driving home, I think back to Kay, and to Leon, and to where they've been, and where they are now. With this, I'm thinking about myself, and I'm wondering about where I've been, and where I find myself. And I sleep.
Today, I had another early start. At the point of departing this morning's meeting, a colleague says, 'I want to get you something' - a statement which I query. As I begin to wonder whether there's been something in the air or the water around these parts, she explains - unprompted by any personal knowledge of me - that she feels that I deserve some reward, and bluntly adds, 'Tell me what you want, and I'll get it'. It's an entirely straight-forward point - no subtext, no subconscious anything. I feign dismissiveness, say that I look forward to seeing her and colleagues again, and I move on. There is much that I could have said that I wanted.
Today should have felt better than it does. Today is my birthday. I reckon that in a week or so, I'll work out what I wanted. I'm reminded of Leon and I know that I'm being a self-defeating idiot.
Throughout the day, I spoke with several people who I find - found - interesting. These outshone the couple of drones who I had to endure. These earlier folk - their ways of thinking and talking, were the essence of the great day.
During one early conversation, with Kay, a former colleague who'd worked on a difficult project with me, a few years ago, I enquired as to how she and her sidekick, Leon, were.
Kay: Well, you did know that we were partners - we lived together - you knew that?
Shane: (it had never been spoken out loud, but still) Yeah.
Kay: (straight-forwardly) Well we're not together any more.
Shane: Ah. And how are you?
Kay: It's been difficult. He was the love of my life, really.
Shane: (admiring the candour) And do you know how Leon is?
Kay: Oh, Leon will always be Leon. He'll work out who he is, eventually.
Shane: (oh lordy and gulpy gulpersome) What does that mean?
Kay: I think he looked up to me, a bit too much. He looked to me to tell him what to do, how to be. He's attractive, intelligent, he's good at what he does, but I don't think he understands that.
Shane: (some of this pricks me into reflecting) (a quiet sigh) How long had you been together?
Kay: Twelve years.
Shane: That's an amount of time.
Kay: It is.
And we talk on for a short while, easy enough, and move on to covering why we are where we are - the work stuff.
During the drive out of Birmingham, some of Kay's comments echo over the top of Radio 4. I find myself wondering - but not so much wondering as perhaps grimly knowing - how one particular old flame would have spoken of me, to those in her post-Shane life. Mentally, I wince - the past is the past, some things change, some things don't.
Later, as my working day draws to a close, I'm gathering papers and a notebook, at which point I am lauded with a grand, public gesture of thanks - for work that I'd taken for granted as par for the course that I play, and for (in my view) being in no way better than that work that I've done for others recently. The gesture is pleasing, though it raises feelings of bashfulness.
Driving home, I think back to Kay, and to Leon, and to where they've been, and where they are now. With this, I'm thinking about myself, and I'm wondering about where I've been, and where I find myself. And I sleep.
Today, I had another early start. At the point of departing this morning's meeting, a colleague says, 'I want to get you something' - a statement which I query. As I begin to wonder whether there's been something in the air or the water around these parts, she explains - unprompted by any personal knowledge of me - that she feels that I deserve some reward, and bluntly adds, 'Tell me what you want, and I'll get it'. It's an entirely straight-forward point - no subtext, no subconscious anything. I feign dismissiveness, say that I look forward to seeing her and colleagues again, and I move on. There is much that I could have said that I wanted.
Today should have felt better than it does. Today is my birthday. I reckon that in a week or so, I'll work out what I wanted. I'm reminded of Leon and I know that I'm being a self-defeating idiot.
Monday, June 07, 2010
passions
We've been back in blighty for a week, having spent a few days at the festival in Hay-on-Wye. The week of down-time left space for several longish local walks - woodland, meadows, canal - all with Alex several counties away (he returned well, he returned happy, he returned yesterday). The following notes are late reflections on what I - we - sat in on (and missed), whilst in Hay.
Henning Mankell (Saturday 29 May, morning): cancelled. Explained here (Mankell was aboard one of the flotilla boats that sought to break the blockade of Gaza).
Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Ruth Rogers, in conversation with Jim Naughtie (Saturday 29 May, early afternoon): The River Cottage and River Cafe chefs and food writers spoke in memory of Rose Gray (co-founder of the River Cafe). Whilst Rogers extolled the virtues of Italy and its sun-drenched produce, Hugh F-W's bent was differently located. Throughout, there was a quiet distinction in that the ethics and politics of food were much more to the fore in F-W's general message. Key word: sustainability. Jim Naughtie left enough space for the foodies to speak for themselves, and was a beacon of how best to facilitate engaging and occasionally challenging discussion.
Small Space (by Jane Nash and Dan Milne) (Saturday 29 May, early evening): We met by the town's clock tower. And were then guided towards this piece of theatre - a one hour two-hander, performed in the kitchen-diner of a nearby cottage, to a sell-out audience of 20. Themes of intimacy and honesty were charted through the fragmented story of a couple's meeting, marriage, and learning to live with one another. It's rare that theatre gets to be so intimate that you really are looking into the whites of the actors' eyes, and they your's, but more importantly - it's rare that theatre is so tightly written and sharply executed. A great production, that made me want to return to New York, stand up from my uncomfortably high stool and applaud loudly, then quickly push on with my own writing pursuits.
Richard Layard, Geoff Mulgan and Anthony Seldon discussing the Movement for Happiness (Sunday 30 May, early evening): We attended this for a mix of professional and personal interest reasons - as if those things could so easily be separated. It was reference to what this movement's aims might yield - in terms of an approach to education - that drew us in. In short, the movement - as it is being referred to - seeks to provoke people into thinking and acting their way into living in both more personally fulfilling, and socially conscientious ways. Discussion of this raised enormous questions regarding the political, economic and psychological affiliates to what initially sound like radical changes to how we live - or rather why we live how we live. Many questions were discussed, rather than answered - and herein lies the central challenge to the happiness movers (and to many other fantastically worthwhile and creative intellectual endeavours). Translating big thinking into coherent, digestible, points for practicable action is not always so straight forward - although Seldon did articulate a 5-point list that I didn't make a note of. We'll be watching and listening and making some contribution to the furtherance of ideas that were presented, as we work on through 2010 and beyond.
One more point on the above session: Rosie Boycott, entirely open in her manner and (stand-in) chairing of this discussion, made interjections which seemed to naively lay bare the kinds of personal dissonance and social discord that will occur when a critical mass of individuals pursue lifestyles that are largely, if not entirely, self-serving. In suggesting that our domestic economy and broad social behaviour would become 'just a little boring' were they to more closely resemble those of, say, Denmark, the example of the individual chasing down 'some hot-shit media job' and all of the prizes that go with that (read personal wealth, reward, and an enhanced sense of self... self self), Boycott provoked a murmur of disapproval and a more glaring sense of cultural disunity within the room. Anthony Seldon seemed to observe that it was exactly such a profoundly self-oriented caricature (as was perhaps chairing the discussion) that was anathema to what the Movement for Happiness sought to inspire. Whilst not righting off personal ambition, the suggestion was that this might be most socially progressive were it wedded to (what I read as) an Adlerian sense of gemeinschaftsgefuhl - simply put, a sense of community, or social interest. That said, perhaps the entirely self-oriented individual will read their own progress as absolutely a matter of broad social interest. And so it goes.
Audrey Niffenegger in conversation with Lisa Allardice (Monday 31 May, morning): The author of The Time Traveller's Wife, and Her Fearful Symmetry, proved to be an elegant, engaging, and wry discussant of her motivations, passions and working practices. This was most in evidence as the hour-long session was opened up to questions from the floor. For the 25 minutes up to this point, I was reminded of how good an interviewer Jim Naughtie had been on Saturday afternoon. Whilst Allardice' editorship of the Guardian Review is no doubt high office, it probably demands a different set of qualities than does the task of being a stimulating literary interrogator. At times, Niffenegger appeared justifiably bored by the fawningly fannish initial questioning.
And that, was that.
Henning Mankell (Saturday 29 May, morning): cancelled. Explained here (Mankell was aboard one of the flotilla boats that sought to break the blockade of Gaza).
Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall and Ruth Rogers, in conversation with Jim Naughtie (Saturday 29 May, early afternoon): The River Cottage and River Cafe chefs and food writers spoke in memory of Rose Gray (co-founder of the River Cafe). Whilst Rogers extolled the virtues of Italy and its sun-drenched produce, Hugh F-W's bent was differently located. Throughout, there was a quiet distinction in that the ethics and politics of food were much more to the fore in F-W's general message. Key word: sustainability. Jim Naughtie left enough space for the foodies to speak for themselves, and was a beacon of how best to facilitate engaging and occasionally challenging discussion.
Small Space (by Jane Nash and Dan Milne) (Saturday 29 May, early evening): We met by the town's clock tower. And were then guided towards this piece of theatre - a one hour two-hander, performed in the kitchen-diner of a nearby cottage, to a sell-out audience of 20. Themes of intimacy and honesty were charted through the fragmented story of a couple's meeting, marriage, and learning to live with one another. It's rare that theatre gets to be so intimate that you really are looking into the whites of the actors' eyes, and they your's, but more importantly - it's rare that theatre is so tightly written and sharply executed. A great production, that made me want to return to New York, stand up from my uncomfortably high stool and applaud loudly, then quickly push on with my own writing pursuits.
Richard Layard, Geoff Mulgan and Anthony Seldon discussing the Movement for Happiness (Sunday 30 May, early evening): We attended this for a mix of professional and personal interest reasons - as if those things could so easily be separated. It was reference to what this movement's aims might yield - in terms of an approach to education - that drew us in. In short, the movement - as it is being referred to - seeks to provoke people into thinking and acting their way into living in both more personally fulfilling, and socially conscientious ways. Discussion of this raised enormous questions regarding the political, economic and psychological affiliates to what initially sound like radical changes to how we live - or rather why we live how we live. Many questions were discussed, rather than answered - and herein lies the central challenge to the happiness movers (and to many other fantastically worthwhile and creative intellectual endeavours). Translating big thinking into coherent, digestible, points for practicable action is not always so straight forward - although Seldon did articulate a 5-point list that I didn't make a note of. We'll be watching and listening and making some contribution to the furtherance of ideas that were presented, as we work on through 2010 and beyond.
One more point on the above session: Rosie Boycott, entirely open in her manner and (stand-in) chairing of this discussion, made interjections which seemed to naively lay bare the kinds of personal dissonance and social discord that will occur when a critical mass of individuals pursue lifestyles that are largely, if not entirely, self-serving. In suggesting that our domestic economy and broad social behaviour would become 'just a little boring' were they to more closely resemble those of, say, Denmark, the example of the individual chasing down 'some hot-shit media job' and all of the prizes that go with that (read personal wealth, reward, and an enhanced sense of self... self self), Boycott provoked a murmur of disapproval and a more glaring sense of cultural disunity within the room. Anthony Seldon seemed to observe that it was exactly such a profoundly self-oriented caricature (as was perhaps chairing the discussion) that was anathema to what the Movement for Happiness sought to inspire. Whilst not righting off personal ambition, the suggestion was that this might be most socially progressive were it wedded to (what I read as) an Adlerian sense of gemeinschaftsgefuhl - simply put, a sense of community, or social interest. That said, perhaps the entirely self-oriented individual will read their own progress as absolutely a matter of broad social interest. And so it goes.
Audrey Niffenegger in conversation with Lisa Allardice (Monday 31 May, morning): The author of The Time Traveller's Wife, and Her Fearful Symmetry, proved to be an elegant, engaging, and wry discussant of her motivations, passions and working practices. This was most in evidence as the hour-long session was opened up to questions from the floor. For the 25 minutes up to this point, I was reminded of how good an interviewer Jim Naughtie had been on Saturday afternoon. Whilst Allardice' editorship of the Guardian Review is no doubt high office, it probably demands a different set of qualities than does the task of being a stimulating literary interrogator. At times, Niffenegger appeared justifiably bored by the fawningly fannish initial questioning.
And that, was that.
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
distinction
Jim (cat) has gone missing.
Whilst being a cat of distinction, a man-cat of routine and strict habit, I like to think of Jim as my OneTrueColleague.
This morning, I felt some degree of empathy towards those people who distribute 'lost cat' posters.
Alex is with his Dad, and their extended family. This is his longest break from us, ever (Day 5, of 9 days). Come Sunday, I'd rather he be returning to the household as was, rather than as was minus cat.
We shall see.
----------------------
UPDATE:
Jim-Cat Is Returned!...
Quite unscathed, not saying a word about where he's been, unwilling to meet my eye.
I think he may have found himself a woman*.
* Old, living alone, a generous feeder - my archetypal nemesis figure.
Whilst being a cat of distinction, a man-cat of routine and strict habit, I like to think of Jim as my OneTrueColleague.
This morning, I felt some degree of empathy towards those people who distribute 'lost cat' posters.
Alex is with his Dad, and their extended family. This is his longest break from us, ever (Day 5, of 9 days). Come Sunday, I'd rather he be returning to the household as was, rather than as was minus cat.
We shall see.
----------------------
UPDATE:
Jim-Cat Is Returned!...
Quite unscathed, not saying a word about where he's been, unwilling to meet my eye.
I think he may have found himself a woman*.
* Old, living alone, a generous feeder - my archetypal nemesis figure.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
fowl
We have become friends with a really rather cool mother and son, plus grandparents, who live in a massive, rambling, tree-lined property that's close to us. Having done a lot of running about last week and over the weekend, by Sunday afternoon I felt the need to unwind. So we took up an invite to join said mother and son, at their place - for drinks in the shade.
As I looked over some outbuildings, Emma was given the formal tour of the gardens, and Alex took a turn towards the vast hen enclosure (later showing off at being able to gently gather up the more dull-witted of hens). Later, as we exited Rambling Manor, I mentioned that I'd needed that break. The Lady of the Manor seemed glad for the remark.
Then. Yesterday evening. Just before bed-time.
Alex: (casually having a wee) Shane.
Shane: (pasteing up the toothbrushes) Mm?
Alex: Y' know when I was with the hens yesterday?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: Well, now don't tell me off for this cos it wasn't my fault -
Shane: (not impressed) What did you do?
Alex: I didn't do anything, it was the hen.
Shane: (oh Lord) What?
Alex: Well I needed a wee, so I went down to the bottom - behind the shed, near the weeds. I weed in the weeds.
Shane: Did a hen peck your pecker?
Alex: (amused) No. It tried to peck my wee.
Shane: What?
Alex: The hen tried to peck my wee! And I ended up weeing on its head.
Shane: (he weed on the hen's head!) A tiny bit funny, but really not very cool.
Alex: It wasn't my fault! It was too lazy to go up to the water buckets, so it tried to drink my wee.
Shane: That's foul. And that was it, was it?
Alex: I turned the tap on for it, but it ran back up to near the gate, so I turned it off.
Shane: Hmm.
It is with the 'Hmm' expression that I convey the moral significance of non-human animals. This, I imagine, is what The Boy reads from the Hmm, too.
If you were out, I hope you wore sun-block.
As I looked over some outbuildings, Emma was given the formal tour of the gardens, and Alex took a turn towards the vast hen enclosure (later showing off at being able to gently gather up the more dull-witted of hens). Later, as we exited Rambling Manor, I mentioned that I'd needed that break. The Lady of the Manor seemed glad for the remark.
Then. Yesterday evening. Just before bed-time.
Alex: (casually having a wee) Shane.
Shane: (pasteing up the toothbrushes) Mm?
Alex: Y' know when I was with the hens yesterday?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: Well, now don't tell me off for this cos it wasn't my fault -
Shane: (not impressed) What did you do?
Alex: I didn't do anything, it was the hen.
Shane: (oh Lord) What?
Alex: Well I needed a wee, so I went down to the bottom - behind the shed, near the weeds. I weed in the weeds.
Shane: Did a hen peck your pecker?
Alex: (amused) No. It tried to peck my wee.
Shane: What?
Alex: The hen tried to peck my wee! And I ended up weeing on its head.
Shane: (he weed on the hen's head!) A tiny bit funny, but really not very cool.
Alex: It wasn't my fault! It was too lazy to go up to the water buckets, so it tried to drink my wee.
Shane: That's foul. And that was it, was it?
Alex: I turned the tap on for it, but it ran back up to near the gate, so I turned it off.
Shane: Hmm.
It is with the 'Hmm' expression that I convey the moral significance of non-human animals. This, I imagine, is what The Boy reads from the Hmm, too.
If you were out, I hope you wore sun-block.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
witness
Emma and I take our seats in the theatre, for illusionist and mentalist Derren Brown's 'Enigma' show. All about us, there is an adrenal air of anticipation. Behind us, a young couple take their seats. With thoughts towards the seeds of likely tricks, the young man speculates to his irony-free companion.
Man: Back there, in the foyer - I bet there were loads o' subliminal messages an' that.
Woman: I didn't see any.
I smile to myself.
The show turns out to be excellent - as much for Brown's mastery of the stage, as for the mental mechanics of the acts that we witness. We were sworn to secrecy, so I'll say no more than that.
Man: Back there, in the foyer - I bet there were loads o' subliminal messages an' that.
Woman: I didn't see any.
I smile to myself.
The show turns out to be excellent - as much for Brown's mastery of the stage, as for the mental mechanics of the acts that we witness. We were sworn to secrecy, so I'll say no more than that.
Friday, May 07, 2010
unhurried
I'm taking a measure of the atmosphere, and the result demands a light note on which to end the week.
We are to move house, to not very far from where we are now. Until a week or so ago, I'd asked both Emma and Alex to not go broadcasting this information - keen as I was for the move to seem more definite before any public notice - as I say, that was until a week ago.
About a fortnight ago, collecting Alex from school, a rush of his classmates spill out into the area where their parents and so on gather to collect them. Immediately, a huddle of boys gather about me.
Boy1: Hi Shane.
Shane: Hello Boy1.
Boy2: Can Alex come round mine on Thursday?
Shane: Thursday, Boy2? Hmmm, I don't know about Thursday - I'll have to check whether we've got anything else on. He'll be able to let you know himself tomorrow.
Boy2: Okay.
Boy3: Thursday - Alex can't on Thursday - he's going to an estate agents'.
Shane: Is he? (There was never a plan to go to any estate agent on Thursday.)
Boy3: Yeah. He told us.
Shane: Who's us?
Boy3: The class. You're moving to Canal Road.
Shane: Oh, right. So it's sorted then?
Boy3: Yeah.
As per usual, Alex is one of the last to leave the building - quite unwilling to be hurried. He passes his bag to me.
Alex: I made everyone laugh today.
Shane: How did you do that?
Alex: I told them that we won't even need to get a lorry when we move house - we can just carry our stuff to Canal Road. I said, 'We'll be like an army of ants - ants carrying pants'. They all laughed.
Shane: Mm. Didn't we say that we'd not tell people about this for a little while?
Alex: Did we?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: I wasn't listening.
Shane: Ah. That'll be it.
Alex: Mm.
We walk home, glancing left down Canal Road as we pass it.
We are to move house, to not very far from where we are now. Until a week or so ago, I'd asked both Emma and Alex to not go broadcasting this information - keen as I was for the move to seem more definite before any public notice - as I say, that was until a week ago.
About a fortnight ago, collecting Alex from school, a rush of his classmates spill out into the area where their parents and so on gather to collect them. Immediately, a huddle of boys gather about me.
Boy1: Hi Shane.
Shane: Hello Boy1.
Boy2: Can Alex come round mine on Thursday?
Shane: Thursday, Boy2? Hmmm, I don't know about Thursday - I'll have to check whether we've got anything else on. He'll be able to let you know himself tomorrow.
Boy2: Okay.
Boy3: Thursday - Alex can't on Thursday - he's going to an estate agents'.
Shane: Is he? (There was never a plan to go to any estate agent on Thursday.)
Boy3: Yeah. He told us.
Shane: Who's us?
Boy3: The class. You're moving to Canal Road.
Shane: Oh, right. So it's sorted then?
Boy3: Yeah.
As per usual, Alex is one of the last to leave the building - quite unwilling to be hurried. He passes his bag to me.
Alex: I made everyone laugh today.
Shane: How did you do that?
Alex: I told them that we won't even need to get a lorry when we move house - we can just carry our stuff to Canal Road. I said, 'We'll be like an army of ants - ants carrying pants'. They all laughed.
Shane: Mm. Didn't we say that we'd not tell people about this for a little while?
Alex: Did we?
Shane: Mm.
Alex: I wasn't listening.
Shane: Ah. That'll be it.
Alex: Mm.
We walk home, glancing left down Canal Road as we pass it.
Tuesday, May 04, 2010
decisions
There is a definite buzz about Thursday's general election, the suggestion - a whiff in the air - that something quite unusual - historic, even - might be about to unfold. With the many and varied social media platforms awash with soundbite proclamations of political support (and apathy) and the mainstream media peddling slightly fattened versions of much the same, I will add a side note to the political aligning that is quite reasonably au fait.
On the back of the expenses scandal (in my view, the scandal being the light touch with which party leader/s were handled, and the throw-away 'we've all had our problems over expenses' euphemism), I remember raising an eyebrow at talk of one or two famous folk lining up to contest parliamentary seats. In particular, Esther Rantzen standing in Luton South seemed to get a lot of coverage. A radio programme (possibly BBC Radio 4's PM, or BBC Five Live's Drive-Time) invited discussion of the pros and cons of this kind of independents-in move. Clare Short MP, whilst acknowledging the well-meaningness of many likely candidates and the understandable public anger at the expenses furore, was not supportive of the independents' rising star/s. In short, her challenge was that independents - whilst not being aligned to any major party - could not be readily associated with a set of core principles and values, beliefs or policy intentions. On the surface, a fair criticism, it seemed - so the public would have to ask questions, or read a little deeper into independents. A problem? I didn't think so. But Clare Short's comments stayed with me, they seemed to be premised on a flawed set of assumptions.
When it comes to distinguishing between the mainstream parties we can refer to history (recent and not so recent), we can look out for specific policy pledges, and we might ask what is the fuel (political, economic, moral) that drives Party X's agenda. All sound so far. But where does this take us? We are still resting on the hopes and assumptions of candidates sticking to what they've promised, to understanding what they've promised, and to 'filling in the gaps' positively for us. I don't believe that there are many voters who would deeply believe their election choices to amount to a 'Me versus Society' play-off, even though part of my occasionally reactionary way of thinking would tell me that that is how I hear some politicians. My point - getting back to Clare Short's assumptions regarding the oblique presentation of independent candidates: the biggest variable upon which people will make their voting decisions is trust. Plain and simple. And what this does, is it somewhat undermines the need for detailed policy presentation and party affiliation. It is for this reason that we have would-be prime ministers being analysed (by 'serious political commentators') for whether they looked into a television camera, or whether they made reference to the names of people who've asked questions. It's light, it's superficial, it's ephemeral. It seems that we are next door to - if not entirely in the land of - talk of 'gameplans', and mass readings of body language. And on these terms - the terms with which ordinary punters, such as we are, come to distinguish between political leaders - independent candidates are no different from those who carry higher profiles. We will analyse them - should they get as far as the starting line - in terms of how far we might trust them to do the right thing, whilst in office.
I do not need to know what every policy initiative would look like - that would be an unreasonable ask. What I want to believe, is that under whichever administration is formed over the coming days, that those who are most vulnerable in society will be best looked after. I want government to be big enough to be paternalistic, to be strong enough to be interventionist, and to be responsible enough to not simply allow the 'natural forces of the market' to steer us to wherever. At the level of the individual candidate, there are individuals from all major parties, and several minor parties, who convince me of their goodness of thought and spirit, that would inspire my trust in them. And sadly, there are individuals who might be aligned to broad political churches with which I am comfortable, who fail to inspire such feelings.
At risk of completely losing my thread, I will round off. On Thursday, I will vote. I won't feel any strong sense of what the next four or five years might have in store for any of us, but I will vote. And the thing that will determine who gets my 'X', will simply be that bloke (for they are all blokes) who I most believe could be relied upon to approach problems from a sound social and moral standpoint. It's not religious, it's not borne of any profound economic or even political ideology, it's just simple, human and humane.
I hope that anyone who glances over this missive will be voting too, regardless of where their X may land.
See you on the other side, perhaps for a collective sigh. Perhaps.
On the back of the expenses scandal (in my view, the scandal being the light touch with which party leader/s were handled, and the throw-away 'we've all had our problems over expenses' euphemism), I remember raising an eyebrow at talk of one or two famous folk lining up to contest parliamentary seats. In particular, Esther Rantzen standing in Luton South seemed to get a lot of coverage. A radio programme (possibly BBC Radio 4's PM, or BBC Five Live's Drive-Time) invited discussion of the pros and cons of this kind of independents-in move. Clare Short MP, whilst acknowledging the well-meaningness of many likely candidates and the understandable public anger at the expenses furore, was not supportive of the independents' rising star/s. In short, her challenge was that independents - whilst not being aligned to any major party - could not be readily associated with a set of core principles and values, beliefs or policy intentions. On the surface, a fair criticism, it seemed - so the public would have to ask questions, or read a little deeper into independents. A problem? I didn't think so. But Clare Short's comments stayed with me, they seemed to be premised on a flawed set of assumptions.
When it comes to distinguishing between the mainstream parties we can refer to history (recent and not so recent), we can look out for specific policy pledges, and we might ask what is the fuel (political, economic, moral) that drives Party X's agenda. All sound so far. But where does this take us? We are still resting on the hopes and assumptions of candidates sticking to what they've promised, to understanding what they've promised, and to 'filling in the gaps' positively for us. I don't believe that there are many voters who would deeply believe their election choices to amount to a 'Me versus Society' play-off, even though part of my occasionally reactionary way of thinking would tell me that that is how I hear some politicians. My point - getting back to Clare Short's assumptions regarding the oblique presentation of independent candidates: the biggest variable upon which people will make their voting decisions is trust. Plain and simple. And what this does, is it somewhat undermines the need for detailed policy presentation and party affiliation. It is for this reason that we have would-be prime ministers being analysed (by 'serious political commentators') for whether they looked into a television camera, or whether they made reference to the names of people who've asked questions. It's light, it's superficial, it's ephemeral. It seems that we are next door to - if not entirely in the land of - talk of 'gameplans', and mass readings of body language. And on these terms - the terms with which ordinary punters, such as we are, come to distinguish between political leaders - independent candidates are no different from those who carry higher profiles. We will analyse them - should they get as far as the starting line - in terms of how far we might trust them to do the right thing, whilst in office.
I do not need to know what every policy initiative would look like - that would be an unreasonable ask. What I want to believe, is that under whichever administration is formed over the coming days, that those who are most vulnerable in society will be best looked after. I want government to be big enough to be paternalistic, to be strong enough to be interventionist, and to be responsible enough to not simply allow the 'natural forces of the market' to steer us to wherever. At the level of the individual candidate, there are individuals from all major parties, and several minor parties, who convince me of their goodness of thought and spirit, that would inspire my trust in them. And sadly, there are individuals who might be aligned to broad political churches with which I am comfortable, who fail to inspire such feelings.
At risk of completely losing my thread, I will round off. On Thursday, I will vote. I won't feel any strong sense of what the next four or five years might have in store for any of us, but I will vote. And the thing that will determine who gets my 'X', will simply be that bloke (for they are all blokes) who I most believe could be relied upon to approach problems from a sound social and moral standpoint. It's not religious, it's not borne of any profound economic or even political ideology, it's just simple, human and humane.
I hope that anyone who glances over this missive will be voting too, regardless of where their X may land.
See you on the other side, perhaps for a collective sigh. Perhaps.
Monday, April 19, 2010
economics
I have just engaged in an economic transaction. On reflection, this is how it feels like it went:
Shane: Hello. I need a quote for a windscreen replacement.
WomanOnPhone: Okay. Make and model?
Shane: Oh, I don't know, just an ordinary windscreen - whichever is most popular. Or cheapest. And safe.
W.O.P.: No, no. The vehicle.
Shane: Oh. VW Passat.
W.O.P.: Registration?
Shane: Yankee Doodle Zero Blah Echo Dandy Beano.
W.O.P.: Great. And have you currently got sensors?
Shane: ('Like daleks?') Er.
W.O.P.: Rain sensors. Do the wipers come on themselves when it rains, sometimes?
Shane: ('Well, yeah. But that can't be sensors in the windscreen - I'd've seen the wires or sensor pads, surely. Must be just under the windscreen.') Er, no. I don't think so.
W.O.P.: Okay. And you'd want it doing today?
Shane: Yes please. Do you come to me? ('Or do I risk being lacerated in the face, by coming to you?)
W.O.P.: We can come to you. Where are you?
Shane: I'm in BlahBlah. ('Shit. I bet she adds More Pounds because of that.')
W.O.P.: Ok. Well that's coming out at Some Pounds.
Shane: Some Pounds? Ok. Let's do that.
W.O.P. and I agree a time at which A Man will come to me.
Later, A Man arrives and looks over his task like a true Windscreen Professional.
Windscreen Professional: Did she give you two prices?
Shane: No. Just the one for Some Pounds.
W.P.: Mm. It's just that you've got the rain sensors, see? (points at very obvious and highly visible rain sensors)
Shane: Yes, mm-hm. ('But of course, the rain sensors of obviousness')
W.P.: So that'll be More Pounds.
Shane: More Pounds, oh that's fine. ('Not that I'm rich or anything, you understand.')
W.P.: Right then, if you could pull the car forward - I'll need to open both doors. I'll get on with it.
Shane: Okay. And would you like a drink?
W.P.: No thanks, I'm not gay.
Shane: Okay.
He gets on with being A Man, and I leave him to it.
It didn't feel like a balanced transaction. Definitely a sense of being all at sea on that one.
Will have a look over the OU website later. They probably run courses on Manning Up.
Shane: Hello. I need a quote for a windscreen replacement.
WomanOnPhone: Okay. Make and model?
Shane: Oh, I don't know, just an ordinary windscreen - whichever is most popular. Or cheapest. And safe.
W.O.P.: No, no. The vehicle.
Shane: Oh. VW Passat.
W.O.P.: Registration?
Shane: Yankee Doodle Zero Blah Echo Dandy Beano.
W.O.P.: Great. And have you currently got sensors?
Shane: ('Like daleks?') Er.
W.O.P.: Rain sensors. Do the wipers come on themselves when it rains, sometimes?
Shane: ('Well, yeah. But that can't be sensors in the windscreen - I'd've seen the wires or sensor pads, surely. Must be just under the windscreen.') Er, no. I don't think so.
W.O.P.: Okay. And you'd want it doing today?
Shane: Yes please. Do you come to me? ('Or do I risk being lacerated in the face, by coming to you?)
W.O.P.: We can come to you. Where are you?
Shane: I'm in BlahBlah. ('Shit. I bet she adds More Pounds because of that.')
W.O.P.: Ok. Well that's coming out at Some Pounds.
Shane: Some Pounds? Ok. Let's do that.
W.O.P. and I agree a time at which A Man will come to me.
Later, A Man arrives and looks over his task like a true Windscreen Professional.
Windscreen Professional: Did she give you two prices?
Shane: No. Just the one for Some Pounds.
W.P.: Mm. It's just that you've got the rain sensors, see? (points at very obvious and highly visible rain sensors)
Shane: Yes, mm-hm. ('But of course, the rain sensors of obviousness')
W.P.: So that'll be More Pounds.
Shane: More Pounds, oh that's fine. ('Not that I'm rich or anything, you understand.')
W.P.: Right then, if you could pull the car forward - I'll need to open both doors. I'll get on with it.
Shane: Okay. And would you like a drink?
W.P.: No thanks, I'm not gay.
Shane: Okay.
He gets on with being A Man, and I leave him to it.
It didn't feel like a balanced transaction. Definitely a sense of being all at sea on that one.
Will have a look over the OU website later. They probably run courses on Manning Up.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
