UK – Page 15 – John Vincent

Looking back

Yesterday, was a day for reflection. Sue and I attended the celebration of the life a former colleague and a friend who passed away recently.

Mostly, I was reflecting on the events of the 1990s. To me, that’s not so long ago. To the calendar that’s 30-years ago. Not an original thought but it was a moment when I was reminded that time passes remarkably quickly. Those years have raced by. In that time the country’s fortunes has gone backwards as much as forwards.

Baroness Thomas of Walliswood, to me Susan Thomas, was a Surrey County Councillor at the time that I also held that position in Reigate. I had one term of office from May 1993 to May 1997. Those years were special, and I don’t mean just to me. For one, the County Council was No Overall Control (NOC)[1] for the first, and only time in its history. During that 4-year period there was two Conservative budgets and two Liberal Democrat budgets. Susan was Chair of the full Council during the Liberal Democrat led period.

Susan was a parliamentary candidate in Mole Valley in the 1983 and 1987 General Elections. That’s when one of Thatcher’s Ministers Kenneth Baker held the seat for the Conservatives. A decade before I had my first outing as a parliamentary candidate in Surrey.

In the years up to 1997, the Liberal Democrats underwent a period of growth under the leadership of Paddy Ashdown. It was a time when change was happening. There was a strong wish to sweep away the stale remains of Thatcher’s legacy.

Lots of memories flooded back of sitting in meeting rooms in Kingston-on-Thames playing my part as a junior councillor. Although, that was before the executive system created a gulf between local government councillors. There may have been a mixture of long-standing and new members but each had an equal voice when it came to voting.

I sat in meetings were Susan put her experience to good use. As a large political group of 29 members it wasn’t a given that we would all go in the same direction. As has often been said, getting agreement could be like herding cats.

Susan was a strong supporter of our role in Europe. On that subject we agreed without question.

After the ceremony at the crematorium in Chichester there was a gathering at a pavilion in a park in the city. It was an opportunity to chat about those decades’ past reflections. One or two local campaign leaflets from the were displayed on a table with photos from the 1980s and 90s. This was before the internet dominated every aspect of campaigning. Simple printed paper with a message was the main way people with something to say said it. Party style and branding has moved on but the method remains.

A conversation with a lad who wasn’t born at the time that I’m recalling brought me back to 2023. Over sandwiches and nibbles we both discovered an affection for the city of Bristol. The city where Sue and I first met. It was good to hear that down the generations our political concerns of the moment were not so different. We agreed that change was in the wind and about time too.

There’s hope that the next generation that ventures into political activism will be driven by the same liberal instincts that united Susan and me. Just as in the years running up to 1997, the sense that change is on the way is growing. The failures of a long list of Conservative Prime Ministers, Brexit and the current air of sleeze can not be glossed over and forgotten. Change is on the way. Let’s hope that proves to be true.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Surrey_County_Council

Overhead

Massive intertwining skyscrapers. Towering masts. Flying cars. Pulp magazines in the 50s and 60s had it all. Beautifully illustrated in bold colours. Sharp lines and chiselled faces. Heroic poses and streamlined transports.

Visions of the future. Idealistic imaginations of a utopian society. Don’t we just love them. That is until someone builds them in our neighbourhood. Until the bulldozers turn-up unannounced on a Sunday morning to root out the trees. The birds flee the vicinity (except the pigeons).

You can blame the draftsmen of the past if you like. In our heads there’s a disconnect between the images on a set of drawings and what that might become in concrete and steel. Grand designs are but few. A great deal of the building and planning of the last 60-years can justly be called dreadful.

We have an outcry over brutalist architecture or a lament about a Victorian park that has been paved over. Has anyone ever walked through a public car park that inspired?

If you dream it, you can make it. Nice phrase but often stifled because current technology and thinking are way behind the curve. It could be said that this is one of the drivers that pushes technology forward. The realising of dreams but who’s?

Where does the flying car fit in all this fiction and near realism? New forms of air mobility are just about to start operating.

It’s a habit of our times to jump to an instant polarised opinion. Those open toed sandalled greenies will object. Those red necked, but reforming petrol heads will welcome. That sort of stuff makes nice headlines. It’s only a basis for the crudest dialogue. Anticipate conflict and then fuel it with prejudice. Please, let’s avoid that pointless waste of time.

My thoughts are that the potential of the greater use of airborne transport is a nuanced.

Electrification is a pathway to more environmentally sustainable ways of moving around. If this helps to reduce miles of fuming traffic jams that must be good. At its best, flying can get people from point to point without having follow roads set-down at the time of the horse and cart. Accepted that concrete may be poured to create a take-off and landing zone but compare that with road building and there is no comparison.

On the more concerning side, contrast that with cluttering the skies up with fast moving machines.

In HHGTTG there’s a tale about a shoe event horizon. When gloom causes people to look down and so then buy new shoes to cheer themselves up. So, the whole economy switches to shoe production and then collapses as a result. The association with salvation coming from looking-up is there in the wit of Douglas Adams. We look up to cheer up.

If looking up, as I do at home, to see high altitude vapour trails crisscrossing the sky, my thought is – I wonder where they are going? On the days when a light aircraft crosses the town, to or from our local airfield that doesn’t bother me. Even a noisy police helicopter keeping an eye on the traffic. That’s fine because they are solely there for our safety and security.

What will be the public reaction when we look up to see half a dozen new urban mobility vehicles buzzing past overhead? Perhaps we’ll accept new flying machines if it’s for a public service, an ambulance, fire services, police, or even newsgathering. Brightly coloured in emergency orange.

A public flying taxi service might raise a few eyebrows. A flashy private flying car, now that might be another matter altogether. There you are on a hot summer evening, in the garden, having a pleasant barbeque with friends and whiz a flying car swoops over the treetops. The passengers have their mobile phone out filming their trip. This is when fist will be raised skyward. It’s a time when you hope the next-door farmer hasn’t got a shotgun.

Today, a few pilots do get prosecuted for misbehaving when low flying private helicopters. Not often, it’s true. This happens with less than 1500 helicopters registered in the UK. What would happen with, say, 10,000 private flying cars? I wonder.

Scandals

Political scandals are as much part of British life as bread and butter pudding. Yet, we, you, me and the cat and the dog always seem shocked when the next one arrives. As if standing at a isolated bus stop never expecting a bus to turn-up and to our great surprise it does.

It might be failing to disclose or declare large sums of money changing hands. It might a succession of sex scandals. It might be misleading statements, or down-right lies. It might be cover-ups and blatant hypocrisy. It might be abuse or bulling. It might be leaking secrets or dirty tricks to undermine colleagues. It might be …………and the list goes on.

There seems to be no limit to the inventiveness of Members of Parliament (MPs). Is there a defence? It’s true that leading a public life does expose a person to more scrutiny than you or me. There are occasions when unprincipled adversaries can take advantage of this exposed situation.

Reputational damage spreads like wildfire even if the source of the damage is untrue. A bad news story gets media headline that are never retracted. However, you would think that, knowing all the above, that a person in the public spotlight would not entertain thoughtlessness or foolishness, in so much as they can avoid it.

Ever since the Watergate scandal in the US, nearly every occurrence now has the appendage “gate” shoved on the front of it. We’ve become a bit German in making-up new composite words. A pub quiz master could ask; can you identify this gate or that gate? Now, there’s a set of specialist question for a Mastermind contestant.

I can imagine a Monopoly board especially made for Conservative MPs. Although, Labour, Scottish Nationalists and Liberal Democrat MPs star in the lists too but less often. They even play the Get out of Jail Free card, now and then. Some MPs have almost got away with major misdemeanours but at the last moment party support collapses or the winds of fate turn sharply against them.

That leads me to wonder how many get away by the seat of their paints. Or they live with the knowledge that their party Whips office has a file marked – open only is X misbehaves.

It’s time to clean-up politics. Trouble is that I’ve heard that slogan before. It plays well for a while and then harsh reality breaks through, and the house of cards starts to fall. I remember the Back-to-Basics campaign announced in 1993 by British Prime Minister John Major at the Conservative Party conference. I’ll be he wishes he’d not gone down that road so ardently.

Like it or not, this is in our hands. The electorate. Time and time again we have General Elections where we, me included, vote in people who are not best suited to protecting the public interests, representing us or advancing our crumbling constitution.

The ballot is a powerful thing. Sadly, all too often it’s the political commotion in the few weeks before a ballot that determines the outcome. If only it was possible to take a more considered long-term perspective and stick with it. Granted, not a new phenomenon. The Greeks and Romans knew about the fragility of the public mood. Our inclination to make a choice for this day rather than the months and years ahead, or even decades ahead.

Maybe, 2024 will be different. My glass is half full outlook.

What do you think?

A bill poster looked down at me. In big bold letters the word “Good” was the main message. It was the fact that a local college had been graded as good. They clearly wanted everyone to know that an inspection had gone well. Afterall, the rent of street posters is not cheap.

So, for all the efforts of all the staff, and the whole educational institution their work was summed up in one simple word. Four colourful letters displayed to passers-by. To be categorised as “Good” is read as having crossed a line. It’s a positive statement and a long way from – fail. Equally, it’s a mile off – excellent. The trouble is that “Good” is such a bland word. We have such a wide spectrum of use for that word that it’s difficult to know what it means.

One wonderful comedy sketch is that of Statler and Waldorf in the Muppets[1]. The two argumentative elderly men master the art of heckling. They start by saying: “that was wonderful” and then “it really wasn’t that good”, then keep on going until they get to “that was terrible” before they sign off.

It’s a nice reminder of a range of opinions being like shifting sand. In the range of one to ten the word “Good” is smack bang in the middle. Probably the most inoffensive classification.

If you are like me, you will have experienced a stream of e-mails asking for an opinion. Surveys are the number one marketing tool. To lure us they often have prize draws or the prospect of a giveaway.

“As a valued customer we welcome your feedback”. “We wondered if you could spare 5 – 6 minutes?” In theory, the fact that a business is interested in feedback is a positive. I like to know that a restaurant or airline is taking customer feedback. The hope is that feedback assists businesses in improving and developing their services.

However, an invitation to “share your thoughts” is reduced to box ticking. It’s almost as if we are still in the world of computers run on punched cards. These electronic surveys are constructed for the processor rather than that of the user.

They are quite checky too. Tick a particular box on a survey and another one comes up to ask – why do you feel that way? It’s almost as if you are required to justify a freely given opinion and threatened with being ignored if you don’t.

For all the above customer surveys have been a part of the landscape for since the early days of the internet. Categorisations put a stamp on what we think. It’s crude. Sometimes it’s merely a set of five stars with a request to choose one. Cantankerous opinions are mixed with indifferent answers. The aggregation of a pile of data can make the results as bland as tasteless soup. This can then be pasted into company reports. Thus becoming more of a security blanket rather than real feedback.

Let’s end on a positive note. This is a subject where Artificial Intelligence (AI) can contribute. Instead of box ticking why not have a dialogue with customers. Ask them what they really think. Imagine an animated AI version of Statler and Waldorf. Now, that would be fun.

[1] https://youtu.be/NpYEJx7PkWE

Wolseley 2

British cars moved on. Pun intended. The clumpy shapes of the 1960s were replaced by more racy lines in the 1970s. The demand for higher performance became part an aspirational fashion. In this century our ecofriendly instincts have taken over. Back in the mid-70s, being green was not mainstream. Fuel consumption was noted but lost in the numbers. Now, it would be untenable but then lead in petrol was normal[1].

I don’t know what came over my dad. We migrated from loyalty to the Wolseley name to something completely different. I guess the experience of the wallowing monstrosity of the Wolseley 18/85[2][3] was too much. Yes, we had one. I see that petrolheads nickname that car type the “land crab” and that’s a good summary of how it behaved. That generation of BMC cars had an innovative suspension system responsible for oceans of car sickness.

As we got to the late 1970s, something must have snapped. It could have been that the farming year had been a good one. What came next was a sporty saloon that wasn’t just a family transport.

A bright white Triumph Dolomite Sprint[4], much like the ones the police used to chase speeding motorists then became our pride and joy. It’s remarkable to think that I took my first driving test in that car. My theory is that’s why I failed my first test on the quiet streets of Yeovil. It wasn’t my driving ability as much as the reaction of my instructor. He was sane man. I imagine him thinking, no way am I going to pass this cocky 17-year-old lad in this flashy Dolomite Sprint.

Here was a car with kerb appeal. There were few at a time when British Leyland was failing badly. Britain’s car industry was sliding into oblivion. Standing out, the Dolomite Sprint was a British high-performance saloon car capable of matching its foreign rivals. Much as I liked that sporty road car it’s the story of the Wolseley 16/60 that I have in mind.

The joy of living on a farm was the open space. Green fields surrounded us. At the times of the year when the mud wasn’t knee deep that meant a readymade racetrack. Long before I took to the public roads officially, my friends and I drove a series of bangers to destruction. No such thing as health and safety. Only the occasional disapproving look.

One of our best bangers was an Austin A35 van that a couple of friends bought from a local schoolteacher. It had been used as a chicken shed but the engine was sound. Before that motor came along, we had a maroon Wolseley 16/60. Rust was the big enemy of cars in the 70s. So, picking up an MOT failure for five quid was easy enough to do. The fields were somewhere to keep it.

If I recall, correctly the Wolseley had a 3-speed gearbox with a steering column change. Not only was the car peppered with rust holes, but the gear change rods never connected properly. It could be driven in first and reverse or second and third gear but never the two together. The poor car died as a friend drove it to hell in first gear. A robust slogger the BMC “B” series engine was no racer.

Thus, two Wolseley 16/60s were part of my past. One as a child passenger and the other as a part in a Mad Max movie made in Somerset. Shall I tell you about the Wolseley 15/50? Maybe not.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-40593353

[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/BMC_ADO17

[3] https://www.wolseleyregister.co.uk/wolseley-history/blmc/1885-six/

[4] https://www.classiccarsforsale.co.uk/reviews/classic-triumph-reviews-dolomite-sprint

Wolseley

In the early 1960s, there was a wonderful appreciation of Italian design. Car manufacturers looked for stylish Latin lines to package their popular models. The public were up for this, and some models became iconic. The BMC[1] Mini is often thought of as Italian in design even though it’s not.

In amongst the popular cars of the 1960s, were some that faded into the background and, although cherished at the time, now don’t star much in classic car magazines or shows. My childhood memories are pepper dashed with images of a standard family saloon. In fact, a luxury version of a car that was a workhorse of the BMC line.

It looked like two cardboard boxes lumped one on top of the other. The “style” was added by understated fins at the rear and a chrome grill that looked like a big carp mouth. Contrary to so much Italian design, aerodynamics was not a consideration. The classic four in-line 1600cc engine had the job of pushing this brick through the air.

For my family the advantage, in the pre-seatbelt era, was wide seats capable of taking parents and four boys without difficulty. Tones of junk could be carried in the boot. The “luxury” came from these seats being robust leather. Sweaty in the summer and cold in the winter. The walnut venerer dashboard and Smiths instruments tried to distinguish the model.

I’m recalling this shiny black Wolseley 16/60[2], because it was so much part of our families’ excursions around Somerset, Dorset, and Wiltshire that it really was part of the family. Sundays were reserved for visiting the uncles, aunties, and cousins. Trips to the Weymouth beach or the pantomime in Bournemouth were great motoring adventures. Studland bay was our best day out. Slowly weaving up and down rolling hills. Peerling out of the windows as the countryside drifted by.

In the early days there was the need to get back to milk the cows or set-off after the work was done. This made the day busier than most. Pre-packing the car for every eventuality we set-off with anticipation and excitement. Although there was less traffic on our country roads in the 60s, there was enough to create jams on hot sunny summer days. My mum and dad must have had fun keeping an eye on squabbling boys, bored with playing I-Spy. Return journeys were easier as we all snoozed.

I can close my eyes and clearly see a couple of those return journeys late at night. After all the excitement of shouting our hearts out: “look behind you” a dozen times my brothers slept until we got close to home. It must have been so tiring motoring through the wind and driving rain to be confronted by a flood about a mile from the farm. River waters spilled over the road. Easily a couple of feet deep.

That’s how it was late in a winter evening. I can distinctly remember my dad, in his best clothes pushing the lumbering Wolseley through a flood with us sitting high and dry. Headlight beams shining on the turbulent water. I never heard a bad word coming from him but I’m sure if I was faced with that situation the air would have turned blue.

The family’s Wolseley 16/60 was a gateway to other worlds. The marque has long since gone. Nevertheless, my memories of that car are etched into every corner of my childhood.

[1] British Motor Corporation (BMC)

[2] https://www.wolseleyownersclub.com/wolseley-cars/farina-design/wolseley-16-60/

Swing

The results are in. They are exceptional in the true sense of the word. The Labour Party pushed aside two large Conservative Party majorities[1]. The momentum for change is gathering pace. It’s not slowing. Those motivated to go out and vote on Thursday sent a strong message.

The Labour Party candidate was victorious in Mid Bedfordshire despite all three major British political parties putting up a fight. Only a tiny minority are going to miss the former Conservative MP Nadine Dorries. At least for the next year, or so the constituents of Mid Bedfordshire will have some form of representation in Parliament.

Overturning massive electoral majorities doesn’t happen every day. The Conservatives were sitting on a majority of more than 24,000 and now it’s all gone. It’s true that the voter turnout in a byelection doesn’t match that of a UK General Election but in the face of such a massive swing this is immaterial. Even making the case that defending parties are often on the back foot doesn’t make much difference.

Having been on the doorstep in Mid Bedfordshire my impression is that the mood was for change. Immediate change. The electorate is smart when it comes to making choices. In this case they have chosen those they perceive as most likely to deliver what they want.

Commentators have described this as a “political earthquake” for the Conservatives. The references to May 1997 are flooding out of media outlets. How can they not? Similar percussors were evident in the years leading up to Tony Blair’s victory over the then Conservative Prime Minister John Major.

Are we heading for a UK General Election in 2024 that mimics the results of May 1997? A simple reading of public opinion does point in that direction, at the moment.

With a year to go, and all that may bring, it would be hubris to assume that a General Election result can be predicted. In 1964, Labour politician Harold Wilson famously said: a week is a long time in politics. That’s as true now as it ever was. In fact, volatility is a mark of our age.

Despite the wisdom of caution, with the legacy that the Conservatives have accumulated, it would be remarkable in the absolute extreme if they did engineer a sustained recovery in the next year.

It’s an American saying, and with some argument over its attribution – politicians, like diapers, should be changed regularly. The meaning is clear. There are times when change is the imperative. The exact nature of the change is not as important as the fact that change takes place.

That’s where we are. There’s a hunger to put the dreadful political mess of the last decade behind us. To aim for higher goals. To look ahead with ambition and optimism.

[1] https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/live/uk-politics-67126173

Voting

We could call them Thursday boxes. In the UK byelections take place on a Thursday. Ballot boxes and polling stations are open for the full day. This Thursday there are two important parliamentary byelections taking place in England. Both seats have been occupied by Conservative politicians and by the end of the day that may no longer be the case.

Named after the Norse god of Thunder, Thor, our Thursday is a good day to make changes. There’s the next working day to absorb the implications of any change. Then there’s the coming Monday to make a new start. The UK has stuck with Thursday as election day, with few exceptions.

One theory is that Thursday was often a market day in the towns of England. Thus, people would be gathered in town squares where polling stations could be located. This gave election candidates an opportunity to meet and treat the electorate on their way to cast their votes. Remember the voting franchise was for land and property owners over much of British history.

Fridays have been paydays. So, the voter may have been more absorbed in shopping, socialising and winding-up the working week than listening to campaigning politicians. Making a Friday visit to a polling booth a low priority. This is more the case after the passing of the Great Reform Act[1].

Now, it may be advantageous to move voting day to weekends to maximise the number of people who would be free to vote in-person. However, you could say that we have a 24-hour society and postal voting is popular, so the day of the week is no longer a big deal. It maybe the case that on-line voting will eventually take the place of the traditional in-person marking a cross on a paper ballot. That would open-up the opportunity to have a similar scheme to postal voting and open-up the ballot to more than one day.

Going back to the past, Sundays would have been reserved for religious services. That’s more political than one might first imagine. The Church of England vicar imploring parishioners to be good might also look down at the landed gentry in the front row and recommends voting in a particular way. Naturally, in a Methodist chapel, or other non-conformist chapel, down the road another congregation might be given different heavenly advice.

Has Thursday been adopted to minimise the influence of the Church or the public house? The reason for the choice of Thursday has been lost in the mists of time. That doesn’t matter so much given that there’s still some good reasons to continue the tradition.

Personally, I hope that in-person voting at a polling station will always be part of the British electoral system. However much the world around us is being digitised so that we interface with colourful Apps and websites there’s nothing quite like putting a cross in a box with a pencil.

The trail of evidence it provides and the pure satisfaction of the physical act of marking a paper must be preserved. It a ritual that emphasises the importance of voting. Even for those who choose to deface their voting papers this is an important democratic process.

[1] https://www.parliament.uk/about/living-heritage/evolutionofparliament/houseofcommons/reformacts/overview/reformact1832/

Bad Seat

There’re bus trips, I can recount where people were packed in like sardines in hot sweaty environments. Never a pleasant situation but, in such circumstances, a way of getting from A to B. Maybe the only way of taking an essential journey. Life’s necessities.

I could rattle off the mantra “any safe flight is a good flight” and that remains true. It’s top of our normal priorities. Getting from A to B in one piece. No harm done. It’s the homing pigeon in all of us. I’ll put up with this unpleasantness because it gets me home.

Last night, I had that experience. It was my first flight on a Boeing 737 MAX. I’m not going to recount the saga of that aircraft type over the last couple of years. Much as to say, I reassured a nervous flyer with me that she was quite safe and nothing bad would happen. That is bar a small amount of turbulence in our three and a half hours in-flight.

I was returning from Preveza-Lefkas [PVK] to London Gatwick [LGW] on a TUi package flight. We got into Gatwick at about 9:30 pm with a full aircraft. The temperature change of having gone from a day of sunshine and about 28 degrees C in Greece to 6 degrees C and darkness on the ground at Gatwick was quite a shock. I must admit I was prepared with three layers to keep me warm.

What I want to recount is the gross unpleasantness of seat 32D. Row 32 is the last row of passenger seats in the aircraft cabin, with two toilets behind. By the way seat 32E is just as bad.

The aircraft was chock full of holiday makers returning home. Bags full and overhead bins stuffed. This shiny new Boeing 737 was fuller than anticipated. Left on the tarmac was an EasyJet aircraft that had been expected to depart earlier in the day. It had “gone technical” – as they say. So, to get home, many passengers had transferred to the later TUi flight ensuing that every aircraft seat was full.

Now, given that I’d checked-in for my return home flight in good time and I have no idea why TUi decided to punish me. I should have spotted that 32D meant the last row of seats. But you know how it is, it was enough to get that bit of administration behind me and carry on enjoying the day.

My intention was to do what I do well, at least in the past and that’s to get some sleep on an uneventful evening flight. I was ready to sit back and wander off to dreamland hoping to wake as the aircraft wheels hit the ground back at Gatwick airport. Unfortunately, I wasn’t to be given that opportunity last night.

Toilet flush motors are not silent. With a full aircraft, and three and a half hours the toilet traffic was almost continuous. The sequence of noises had a horrible rhythm. Door open. Clack of the door latch or fumbling around as a passenger worked out how to close the toilet door. Maybe even a few words with another passenger who block the aisle. Then the clank of the toilet seat. Maybe the walls get bumped as awkward manoeuvrings took place. There was no stop to this soundscape of lavatorial processes, ablutions, and choreographies.

It’s so British to que. When the trollies were not being pushed up and down the aisle, the aisle filled up with passengers waiting for the loos. Then those returning to their seats had to squeeze past the assembled que. Naturally, the 32^nd row aisle seats got to see every kind of human shape and form. Trying to ignore a rear end sliding past your face gets tedious when it happens a lot.

That’s not all. When the toilet doors swing wide open, they bump against the back of seats 32D or 32E. What a mad design or stupid afterthought.

Then there’s the issue of well used aircraft toilet facilities, even on a new aircraft. They may start off as sweat smelling as the air freshener applied. After a few hours of constant use, they are nothing like sweat smelling.

My overall message is – when flying on a Boeing 737 MAX, do not accept passenger seats 32D or 32E unless you have been a very bad person and deserve punishment. Ideally, a good airline would remove these two seats altogether but to make such a suggestion is to p*** in the wind.

HS1 and a bit

John F. Kennedy made speeches that have become legendary. My favourite is: “Ask Not What Your Country Can Do For You.[1]” In it he stepped up to meet the challenges of the times with clear purpose. There was no dither or wishy-washy ambiguity. The speech was a signal to the world saying: this is where we stand.

This morning, this is not the speech that I’m thinking of. I mention it because without Kennedy setting the scene in his Inaugural Address of January 1961, then his next steps would have been more difficult. There are epoch changing words. There are few modern words that match these: “We choose to go to the Moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.[2]“

In the context of the decision on the future of the HS2 railway project the words “but because they are hard” rings in my ears. In the whole saga of this national railway project did anyone say it would be easy. No one said it would be inexpensive. It was always going to be hard from the start.

If Kennedy had announced just to have a look at the Moon and return. No need to land. And he said that after a strong commitment to land on the Moon had been made, the achievement would not have changed the world. It would have been a footnote in 20^th century history because others would have made the first steps on our satellite.

In a country that gave birth to the railways you would imagine that ambition in that field of endeavour would be high. Britain had energy. Britain had innovative engineers. Britain had a technological lead. The early days of the railways fuelled the industrial revolution.

Today, we need a bold and ambitious infrastructure plan in the UK. Living off the legacy of Victorian construction has lasted longer than is wise. Tracks that were set down almost two centuries ago are still the arteries that transport people and goods throughout Britain. Where is the Isambard Kingdom Brunel[3] of the 21st century?

Now, Conservative politicians are attempting to con the country – yet again. The idiotic line that – people don’t travel by train anymore – is insulting and wrong. The thin line that we can do more with our inherited Victorian infrastructure is pitiful. The Prime Minister’s hotch-potch of projects, with no timescales given, are no alternative.

Commitments can be hard to keep. Politicians that make “firm” promises and then back track in the days before a General Election are will-o’-the-wisps. Then to claim that they are working for the long-term is newspeak. Not to be trusted. Infinity forgettable.

POST 1: Promises to upgrade main roads, that had been already anounced but delayed is not adding transport projects at all.

POST 2: HS2 explained: What is the route now, what are the costs and why is the Manchester leg being axed? | Business News | Sky News

[1] https://www.jfklibrary.org/learn/about-jfk/historic-speeches/inaugural-address

[2] https://www.jfklibrary.org/learn/about-jfk/historic-speeches/address-at-rice-university-on-the-nations-space-effort

[3] GWR was designed and built by Isambard Kingdom Brunel between 1835 and 1841 and is regarded as the most complete early railway in the world.