It’s to the author of a question like this one I’d ask – did you give this more than a second’s thought? A picosecond maybe. The priority tomorrow is the same as the priority today. That’s simply to get from today to tomorrow. Tomorrow it will be to get to the day after tomorrow. Long may that daily sequence continue. Inevitable this will come to an end one day. My hope is that I’ve got at least seven thousand more days to go. Seven thousand more sunsets. Seven thousand more sunrises. Free to write a lot more nonsense.
Addressing the Root Causes
How do you get people out of a miserable funk? It does seem to be where we are now. Wealthier and healthier than past generations only to be gloomy.
For all their faults, advertisers and marketers are perceptive at times. A Weetabix breakfast cereal advert[1] captures what I’m writing about in these short lines. A tweed jacketed professor stands in front of an audience of the “great and the good” to exclaim that Britain’s performance has been sliding downhill. Citing examples, he then goes on to offer a theory. No prizes for guessing his editable cure all. It’s an understated use of humour. It’s a sideways look at the silliness of mixing-up correlation and coincidence. Which happens all the time on social media.
“We must rebuild Britain”. There’s a fine slogan that could grace a political campaign. At least it’s positive. At least it’s about addressing causes, fixing problems and making stuff.
Time to draw a distinction. A symptom can be an indicator. A sign, or what’s believed to be a sign. A cause is a reason for a problem. The root or source.
My view of the current political landscape is that we are spending lots of time and energy chasing symptoms, many of which are entity false. Symptoms can be an easy hit. A target to blame. Newspaper headlines full of negative stories all add to feelings of sliding downhill. Only in analysis, hidden in the small print, are there stories and theories about causes. Getting to the root of a problem is a hundred times more difficult than scratching the symptoms.
The treacherous right-wing brand of divisive and destructive politics, that is toping the opinion polls, does nothing to solve real problems. That recipe is only a way of creating more problems. More gloom.
The “ungodly” foolish proposal to kick-out hard-working people who contribute to this country is idiotic. A term I borrowed from the fictional character Simon Templar, as The Saint. It’s a term aimed at those whose morals are virtually non-existent. Fighting the ungodly doom mongers is necessary. A higher calling is to propose a better way.
Frankly, I don’t believe that the majority of this country’s people are mean and thoughtless in the way some unscrupulous politicians think. Even so, a lingering danger exists. Just as the advertisers and marketers can turn our heads so persistent negativity has a grinding effect.
Removing the miserable funk of the moment isn’t going to happen by chasing the funk. Flooding the country with more funk. Burying the country in funk.
We must rebuild Britain by accentuating the positive. Confidently fixing problems.
The Weetabix TV advert I referenced above featured a man pointing at a pothole. It may sound trite. It’s been a feature of campaigns over the years. There’s a real everyday problem that we know how to fix. What’s been disappointing is the fact that we know that, and have always known that, but the problem persists. Let me suggest that a route to a more positive outlook would be to remove the cause of people’s annoyances. Stop starving local government. Give them a solid mandate, backed up by resources, to fix what we know can be fixed. Purge at least one problem. If we need more hard-working people to do the job, I think I might know where to find them.
Sweet Truth
If I could guarantee one thing it would be that there would be a bag of sugar in the kitchen cupboard of my childhood home. The kitchen was the hub of the house. It was a square room with a solid square table right in the middle. Wheelback chairs permanently pushed in to make room to move round. There was one outside wall with a steel framed window that looked out on the farmyard. Looking due west. The evening sun would stream in to light up the side wall where the kitchen sink sat. With the thick walls of the farmhouse the window ledge was a place to sit. There was a full view of the farm gate so no one coming or going would ever be missed.
One wall had the remains of an ancient bread oven and a large alcove. In that alcove was a chucky great Aga. Custard coloured this massive cast iron cooker was the beating heart of the room. Before this cooker was converted to oil it was powered by anthracite. That involved a ritual of stoking and clearing out the ash every day.
The kitchen was the warmest room in the house. It’s where everyone congregated at mealtimes. Farming’s daily rhythm was managed from that room. Cups of tea flowed like a river as a bubbling kettle always seemed to be ready. Now, when I think about the amount of cane sugar that got piled into every cup of tea, I’m surprise that I have any teeth left at all. In fact, more than 50-year on, my last visit to the dentist for a check-up went well. Somehow my teeth have survived this onslaught.
Large bags of cash and carry bought sugar were a staple on the shelves of the larder. Rated today, my family’s rate of sugar consumption would be considered shocking. Not only that but the delight of toast made on the Aga top and then spread thickly with Golden Syrup[1] was normal winter comfort. Breakfast cereals were never eaten without tablespoons of sugar.
Time has passed and we have weaned ourselves off much of this overconsumption of highly refined sugar. There’s still a lot in our regular foods. Now, we have much more awareness of the problems that high sugar use can bring. That doesn’t stop us liking it.
Today, in politics, just it was in the 1960 and 70s, the metaphorical sugar of the day is the saying that there are easy solutions to complicated worries. There’s an appetite for a spoon full of sugar sprinkled on every latter-day problem. I don’t doubt that a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down[2]. Again metaphorically. However, Mary Poppins wasn’t saying that all you need is a spoon full of sugar. Far from it.
As the populist bandwagon continues to roll in most western countries, I think we need to remind ourselves of the enlightenment gained over the years. There are a lot of chores that must be done. Roads don’t get repaired by themselves. Hospitals don’t get built in a day. Schools and colleges need well motivated teachers to well motivate the next generation. Necessities like, tax and spend are a tedious inconvenience.
It’s so much easier to sprinkle a little verbal sugar and blame everyone else. Spouting simple solutions to ride the sugar rush. Covering dishonesties with a nice shiny coating. What we know from experience is that any lustre fades fast and decay sets in. The people who call themselves “Reform” are nothing more than peddlers of sugar-coated boloney. Reflect and beware.
National Digital ID: Balancing Security and Liberty
We are in an age where identity is as important as it has ever been. Those line of demarcation that put us in one camp or another. It’s not a simple subject give the myriads of different combinations and permutations of distinct categories that can describe a person.
Without a doubt, I’m English, British, and European. A West Countryman, a husband, a graduate, a homeowner, a taxpayer, a liberal, an engineer and a gardener to name a few.
So, what of the current debate about the merit of identity cards or their digital equivalent. I remember, more than 15 years ago, the debate that surrounded this subject. Saying, as a Liberal Democrat I was against the introduction of ID cards as a matter of principle. A matter of principle seems like it should be an immovable statement. However, that which was a matter of principle in the context of the times does warrant revisiting.
It’s a transformation that was allowed to sweep much before it. From a paper-based analogue world full of mechanical processes to a ubiquitous high-speed digital one that has made life unrecognisable from the 1980s/90s. Digitisation is as much a social change as it is a bureaucratic change.
Past agreements range from the assertion that it will be impossible to control illegal migration without ID cards to the fear of big brother tracking every stage of our lives from cradle to grave. What’s moved on is the context within which arguments for and against are conducted.
A starting position is that each of us has multiple identities. It’s undeniable that these exist and they impact our daily lives. Some of these identities entitle us to specific privileges. This means permitting our access and restricting or stopping others. This can be as simple as a workplace security badge that allows access to a building.
A State-run identity recording system is not a universal cure all. Also, a State-run ID card and national database system has the potential to fundamentally change the relationship between a Citizen and the State. I could say that there’s nowhere to hide. This is not a subject to go into with one’s eyes closed. The operational and associated implementation costs would be significant. Not to mention ongoing maintenance. These must be weighed against the benefits that might be accrued. I hope this becomes a rational discussion where costs and benefits are studied, published, and debated.
Can a national digital ID system prevent terrorist attacks, illegal immigration, identity fraud, and human trafficking? I don’t know. I do know that it will not be perfect.
On the political side, will people feel more secure and that State benefits or services are more fairly distributed as a result? That’s a big question.
To work effectively such a system will need to be required to by law. How much will that nibble away at the intrinsic perception of British liberty that we continue to hold? Will there be a backlash against a State that seeks to acquire more leavers of control?
My view is that the mandating of a national digital ID system needs to be balanced with a better clarification of the rights of citizenship in Britan. Without a written constitution there remains the vulnerability that a government of an extreme political type could misuse this innovation.
The Legacy of Beeching
Two hundred years is a long time. No, it isn’t. William the Conqueror, that’s the sort of name politicians crave, called for the building of Windsor Castle in England. That means, almost but not quite, a thousand years of continuous use. I guess in 2070 there’ll be a big celebration of the achievements of the Normans. Certainly, seemed to impress US President Trump.
If I had a time machine one of the destinations that I’d consider is 1963 and maybe 1965. I’d take a mass of press clippings and audio recordings about inadequate rural bus services and the high-speed railway saga (HS2).
History has a way of condensing a whole succession of events into a few simple words. William was a conqueror, but 1960’s civil servant Beeching was an axeman. That can be said to be unfair, since he was mandated to produce a report and, in the context of the times, British railways seemed like they had overexpanded and wouldn’t be brought back into profitability.
This happened when I was a child. I can just remember on my way to primary school stopping at a railway crossing and waiting a steam train to pass. It could have been the milk train. At that time milk was transported from west country dairy farms, in churns, to the local milk factory. Then loaded onto a London bound train. All this activity disappeared as I grew up. It was displaced by road tankers forcing their way along country roads.
I was born in a small Somerset railway town. Got my first pay packet in that small railway town. Had a couple of weeks of my engineering apprenticeship in the former railway shed. Spent time in the small motorcycle shop next to the railway embankment.
Beeching’s reports resulted in thousands of stations and thousands of miles of railway line being closed. The Somerset and Dorset (S&D) railway line was one of those that vanished. It was on 6 September 1965, the consent for closure was issued for most of the railway line.
Strangely, it was a newly elected Labour government that promised to reverse railway closures that closed the railway. A campaign to save the line was lost. Now, I think, what if, what if the new government of 1964 had not been so beguiled by modern road building and the white heat of technology. The internal combustion engine and purveyors of tarmac had won the day.
My message is to commission reports with a wider remit than merely improving economic efficiency. It’s a concern that is as ap today as ever it was. State of the art technology is alluring. Sloganising it’s easier to say that we are moving forward to a new dawn than it is to say we will update and improve the machinery we already use. There are good cases for scrapping past ways and means. Surely, it’s as well to try to look beyond immediate pressures.
Had Beeching’s axe not been so readily swung then we’d have an alternative to ever more road building and the billions ploughed into it. Remember those feeble promises to invest in local busses to replace the lost trains. How such recommendations are so quickly forgotten.
What will we say about robotics and artificial intelligence in 60-years’ time. Or even 200-years’ time. If we are still here.
Autumn’s Arrival
It’s the season of mellow fruitfulness. Hey, I didn’t even know I was quoting Keats with that apt short line. It’s so embedded in my thoughts.
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing Sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;[1]
It’s so appropriate to the day. To the week. We are in that spot of the year that marks a transition. Summer is behind us. The ground is covered with acorns and conkers. Leaves are contemplating the end of the duties. A mist hangs over the grass in the early hours.
Just to be clear, I don’t live in a picture box thatched cottage in some hidden English valley. That said, from one long-standing vine, this year, I’ve collected a mass of grapes. This vine, being so deep rooted, it hasn’t suffered the desert like conditions that prevailed for weeks.
Autumn can be a wonderful season. For a few weeks the siren sound of the winter’s coming is held in suspension. There’s time to think about whether to turn on the heating or not as the temperature dips at night.
Transitions are political too. In Britain, it’s the season of conferences. A time for the faithful to gather and spend a few days running around like headless chickens. A harvest of policy papers and last-minute speeches. Condemnation of opponents. Accolades for friends and good company. Tee-shirts, hats and posters plying slogans old and new.
It’s difficult to explain. Might seem tiresome to those who have never spent 4-5 days at the seaside in September but mostly indoors or waving banners in the sea breeze. This week the Sun has blessed all concerned. Those of us who went to the south coast to share time with family and those who went to change the world.
For the party of government, they may be asking:
Where are the songs of spring? Ay, Where are they?
The optimism of last year has dramatically subsided. Now, they seem like the Mars company marketing gurus who rebranded the Marathon chocolate bar to Snickers[2]. A lesson in how to cause confusion for no material gain. Labour’s problem is clear. The chocolate bar is a good national trend indicator. Off the shelf, the bars are smaller, but you pay the same price or more for the pleasure. Arresting decline is proving to be difficult.
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
For those who may wonder at this line, Keats didn’t have social media.
[An Aside: AI, and its unsolicited interventions, can be right plonkers. It suggested that I change the grammar of Keats poem. It offered to rewrite the lines above. So, billionaires are spending billions trying to prompt us to rewrite romantic poetry. What a mad mad world.]
[1] https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44484/to-autumn
[2] https://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-13873067/real-reason-Snickers-changed-Marathon-chocolate.html
Unintended Consequences
There’s a list that must exist somewhere in the bowels of Government which describes the dumbest things that have ever been done. The law of unintended consequences. Where an aim may have been honest, but the reality was a deep dive in embarrassment and failure.
If this list doesn’t exist it dam well should. It’s a sort of lessons learned for civil servants, politicians and think tanks. Don’t propose anything X because the last time someone did that they crashed and burned. Or more subtly it was years later that people cursed the day that such a dumb idea was advanced.
I’m not going to argue against market forces. How could I. From an early age markets were part of my life. That’s local agricultural markets. My father bought and sold livestock. The bread and butter of livestock farming is to buy at one price, add value and then, hopefully, sell at a better price. Markets rise and fall in ways that are often mystical.
The UK imports approximately 46% of the food it consumes. Even that figure is 5 years old. I suspect that food imports have increased in the meantime. That’s in a country that is richly blessed with quality agricultural land. Fine, we (UK) are none too good at growing olives or avocados but the range of produce that it is possible to grow is huge.
Grassland is our greatest asset. Every time I flew back from an overseas trip, just looking down from the aeroplane remined me just how the UK is a carpet of green. Field systems that have ancient origins still dominate the landscape.
Livestock farming has changed radically since my father’s time. Fortunately, we have avoided, in most cases, the levels of intensification and factory methods that others have adopted. Hormone injected beef comes from cattle that live sad lives. People know this and have hands down rejected industrial farming to that level of intensity.
Domestic food production has changed because of Brexit and not for the better. One threat to domestic food production has been some of the ridiculous trade deals that have been struck by this Government and its predecessors. Making it harder for exporters and easier for importers.
Political policy towards the countryside has rightfully taken up the need to restore biodiversity and preserve some of our most precious landscapes. Trouble is that at the same time, little or no thought has been given to the need to support domestic food production. It’s like a policy desert. It’s one thing to talk about food security. It’s another to do anything about it.
With the Labour Government threatening to take large amounts of capital out of UK farming with their inheritance tax plans, they will be making family farming a thing of the past. It’s one of the dumbest things that have ever been done.
There’s general agreement that we shouldn’t encourage wealthy people to use land as a repository for their wealth. However, tax advisors have been telling them to do that for decades. Buy land and pay less tax. Reversing that long standing trend needs an intelligent policy not a crude sledgehammer to crack a nut. Even if it’s impossible to ween Labour politicians off their ideas on inheritance tax, there ought to be a way of doing it without penalising the innocent. Letting off those non-farming interests that politicians were aiming at originally. Dogma makes bad policy. It’s time to reemphasise the place family farming has in food production.
Exploring the Greatness of Great Britain
What’s great about Great Britain? GQ has asked this question[1]. Produced a nice article that looks at this subject with a cultural eye.
It’s a bit retro. When we (Brits) start talking about how great pubs are there’s a tendency to forget how many we have lost in the last decade. If we loved them so much, then more would have survived crushing economic pressures.
Brit pop was a wonderful surge in creativity that swept across the country in the 1990s. It was good – mostly. Riding that wave, because we are romantic souls about the past, are the band Oasis with their multimillion £ world tour. Accounts of which are tremendously positive.
I think I can take a position about what’s great about Great Britain. Having lived in Germany and travelled a bit, my perspective isn’t too insular or defensive.
Because we are no longer the world’s premier power and imperialism is a fading memory, we’ve shed the stiff upper lip and bowler hatted civil service bureaucrat image. It’s there in film and television to remind us of former times. It’s few who want to return to all that deep seriousness.
That seriousness is the burden that the US carries. If they send a gun boat somewhere it means business. For Brits it’s more a symbol of still being on the stage. Don’t get me wrong, as a country we box way beyond our size.
For all the right-wing jerks who parade around with false patriotism, our great strength is diversity. Having that legacy of the world map once having been painted in a great deal of red, we can now engage with multiple cultures and benefit from them all.
Number one of the lists of inherited advantages is being able to speak to the world. Not in their language but in ours. English doesn’t belong to the English any more, it belongs to the world. They amount to a lot; the times I’ve had fun reading Brussels English and being amazed at how it’s being used.
Pick a discipline. Science, technology, humanities, art, entertainment, there’s always a Brit that can be named as shaping the world. Influencing others and providing a spark that sets off a flame.
Now, being more parochial, I’ll look around me, in this town, and see a diversity of styles from punks who never stopped being punks to suited tie wearing customer service executives. Welly booted farmers in the town for a day to young gamers stuck to their small screens.
Sport is another anchor. If we (Brits) didn’t invent it, then it’s a derivative of something we did invent. Top that with the eccentricities from international tiddlywinks[2] to stone skimming. Despite the school of hard knocks we still value fair play.
Comedy is taking a downturn, but the British legacy is monumental. Irreverent, rebellious or intricate, often all three, even if we (Brits) do invite in the bland factory-made stuff from the US. In a unregarded small corner there’s a someone writing hysterical lines waiting to be discovered.
So far, as a nation, 2025 won’t go down in history as our best year. I’ve every faith that the best is still yet to come. Unlocking that dynamic zest, that quirky imagination, that complex amalgam happens several times every decade. Let’s hope the spark is just about to be set off.
Political Intervention by Billionaires
I’ve heard several people downplay the political intervention of the world’s richest man. This last weekend, he chose to address a large gathering of right-wing activists in London. Not there on the streets, but remotely by video. From another part of the globe.
It’s almost as if some media commentators are treating him as a naughty boy – nothing to see here, boys will be boys. What do you expect? Never mind, this is just what he does.
What comes to my mind is part of my student life in the late 70s / early 80s. Coventry is a great English city. Its football team has had more than a few ups and downs. What I remember is a Saturday afternoon with a large cordon of police lining the way between the railway station and Highfield Road. A palace of galvanised steel sheeting in a red brick terraced area of the city. Highfield Road’s football stadium no longer exists.
In those days, English football hooliganism was a set piece event that was as predicable as the seasons. It was a time to avoid parts of the city centre on a weekend. These events were regularly played out throughout the country. That era has passed – thank God. It’s not that football hooliganism is entirely dead. It’s that there are far fewer people who fit that description and they are generally socially ostracised.
In my mind, this weekend, Elon Musk acted like a hooligan-in-chief. Addressing a London crowd that was already steamed up and out to make their protest heard. Parts of that protest turned to violence.
Now, I’ve nothing against protest. I’ve been on a several. It’s that the ones I’ve been on have been peaceful and good natured. That was certainly the case during the many London protests marches against Brexit. Hundreds of thousands marched without incident.
Speakers address protest marches to amplify the message of the protestors. The reason for the gathering. Most often those notable speakers are people with what might be called – skin in the game. Campaigners who dedicate their time to a cause.
Outside agitators, without any discernible affiliation, can be a nuisance. At worst they are agent provocateurs out to ferment trouble. I think, Elon Musk’s acts were shameful and unwelcome.
London has a place called Speakers’ Corner. North-east corner of Hyde Park. I’d invite this gentleman to go there, take a stand, speak for a while and see if his way of thinking stands up to public scrutiny. He can be as irritating, contentious, or eccentric as he likes.
Cooling Heated Debates
How do we cool the temperature of debate? Recent events show that there are people who would rather heat it up. Without historic analogies or dire polemics, it’s clear that heating up conflicts inevitable harms people and prolongs, and often intensifies, those conflicts.
I’d like to think that enjoying vigorous debate can be achieved but with the general ethical idea of “do no harm” in mind. Sure, there are a lot of disagreements and disagreeable ideas. None of that is new to the human condition.
Most of us, bar a few professors, have forgotten what people in medieval England were arguing about in the crowded public houses of that period. I’ll bet those arguments were just as intense as anything we can muster. My guess is that the subject would be how the people in the next town were not to be trusted. They will ripe you off given half a chance.
Religion gets drawn into the debates of our times. That’s even if, like me, most people are agnostic and don’t follow a particular creed. Even from that personal point of view we live in a society that has been touched by the broader ethics of a religious heritage.
With my Sunday school hat on here’s ways that our leaders might try to cool the ferment.
One move is to resist the temptation to be dogmatic. It’s absolutism that is aimed at shutting down debate that causes so much rancour. It’s a bad way of winning over others. Doesn’t matter who is being dictatorial, right or left, crushing debate is boring and counterproductive in the long term. Have an ideology but don’t force it down the throat of others.
Have in mind, throw the first stone but only if you have never screwed up or never done something stupid. Most of us can’t live by this dictum. It’s there in my Sunday school wisdom as a prompt. Have in the back of your mind the thought that hypocrisy is not a good look.
Resist relativism. It’s childish. What I means is to say that slagging off Mr X is fine, it’s OK, because they slagged off my people. This ding-dong is a school playground habit that lasts a lifetime. It’s a route to escalation and one that leads to injury or suffering.
This one probably was in the medieval world. When in a hole, try to stop digging. Yes, it takes a certain amount of self-awareness to see the metaphorical hole. Not everyone can master that awareness. If an argument is going nowhere, to the extent that the heat in the room is rising, leave, or try a different approach.
There are ways to stay our bad spirits. To slay those demons. Not so easy to use them in the social media environment were all the above is encouraged. Is social media unethical? Innately evil? No, not really, in my opinion. Behind each ill-considered post is a person. Well, not in every case but even bots are created by someone.
Just as we needed to learn to live with the printing press, so we need to learn to live with digital technology. What we haven’t leaned yet is how to use it promote well-being and stop it being a place for fear mongering and endless expletives.
John Vincent 