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Monday to Friday, more or less without fail, I look at my face in the mirror. Not from vanity – anyone who has seen me will agree with that – but to shave.

The person I see is one I recognise from too many years of looking, but this morning I began to wonder if we see the reality, or our reality. For most it will not matter too much, as the sphere of influence is small, but for others?

Who do you see in the mirror Boris? An intellectual? A highly educated, articulate, erudite political thinker? A privileged, entitled member of the governing élite?

When you make apparently off-the-cuff remarks implying punishment by concentration camp guards, do you look in the mirror the following day and see a shadow of regret?

Or are you so convinced of your own importance that courtesy, diplomacy, decency, are all lower down the list of considerations below arrogance and self-satisfied superiority?

Who do you see in the mirror Donald? A winner? A leader? An outsider, ready to get politics back to the basics of helping the people? A man of the people?

Or maybe an exploitative, opportunistic, misogynistic, ego-maniacal chancer, with no grasp of the depth of responsibility that is about to be given to you?

This isn’t reality TV. This isn’t a game show. This is life, and lives, countless lives. In your hands. And you don’t get it.

Who do you see in the mirror Theresa? A leader of her country, determined to do what is right for all of the country? An honourable public servant, intent on the best of outcomes for all the people?

Or an opportunist political operator, taking advantage of disruption and discord to grasp at power? Whatever the cost? To whoever cannot afford it the most?

Or a Tory party animal, more concerned, like her predecessor, with the retention of internal unity than the national good?

Who do you see in the mirror Barack? An honourable man, who struggled to get the message of equality past the entrenched interests of a broken political system?

The first to break the mould of white and male? The breaking of the mould as part of the reason that further progress was stalled and stifled?

A sadness behind the eyes seeing what began with such promise, such energy, such real value, dwindled into a polarised and more divided country?

The only one I can see looking back at themselves with honesty is the last. Intelligent, compassionate, committed. And aware and accepting that there were failures and mistakes along the way.

The only one who can look in the mirror and see the reality.

The others? I see no indication they can see the truth, or want to see the truth. Or ar interested in seeing the truth.

But they are in power. They hold our lives.

Allowing for the Christmas break, and nursing, packing and moving in that order, I am, around the middle of the first month of the new year, ensconced in my new home by the sea. Well – Bristol Channel. But close enough.

And in so many ways I am more content. Moving is a wrench, especially after nine years, but the negatives of my former location had been building for some time, so the time to move was spot on.

So, with a fresh breeze in my lungs, I looked forward after the turn of the year, in hope rather than expectation. And I have to admit I was disappointed in being disappointed.

It seems the world doesn’t hold much with ‘A New Year, A New Approach’.

All is same old, same old. Same old arguments. Same old back-biting, back-stabbing, back-stepping.

Our political representatives still seem incapable of accepting their real responsibility regarding leaving the EU, and saying no, we will stay. They continue with the ‘democracy’ of an undemocratic decision because …… Because why? Fear of losing their seats?

Guaranteed they will if, or when, things go belly up further down the line, when it will be too late to say I told you so. Because they didn’t.

The days of Trump are nearly here, and there seems to be no more clarity. Except that those chosen to be around him are more frightening than he is. Except that Twitter still seems to be his chosen tool of political discourse; and everything else. And his skin is getting thinner.

Aleppo is silent, well more or less destroyed. But down the road the guns keep firing, the bombs keep dropping. And the overfull boatloads of refugees still leave for uncertainty.

And all the other divisions and disagreements continue. Relentless. Unwilling to take one small step back.

Tempting as it is to hide away, to keep the head below the parapet for a year, or two; it is no answer.

All that we have, all that we can do, each in our own way, is to point, and question, and not accept.

So I don’t. I do not accept that this government represents me. I do not accept that ‘Brexit is Brexit’. I do not accept that the election of a buffoon cannot be undone.

I do not accept that innocence has to continue to be the everlasting casualty of this post-truth world.

Because the truth is there. We just have to say it. Again and again.

 

 

Loss is a strange thing. Personal, public, those close, those known but unknown, and the many that will never be known as individuals by us.

Each one has a name, a family, a start, a story, and for many an untimely end.

In the last year or so two people left my life. In the scheme of things they didn’t cause any great ripples in the surface of the world. But they gave me my life, and started a small dynasty that will keep expanding.

This year has also broken records for the number of exceptional, talented, life enhancing and enriching people we have lost. Each of us has their own list of singers, actors, writers, and public persona; creative talents that have given so much to so many.

Some gone in their own time, some too soon, but each leaving an indelible mark on our lives and the world.

All lost. But loss is only one half of the story. Of course we feel sad at their parting, knowing that they will no longer add to the sum of our lives with the joy, thoughts, ideas, inspiration that they brought over the years.

But, it is those expansions to our spirits, souls, minds, that creates the loss. We know them for what they gave us, what they added. We are sad that the show must end, but we had the show. And we will always have the memories.

The real sadness are all those unknown, unnamed and unnecessary that too were lost. In the name of power-broking, punishment for past and half-remembered arguments, post-truth and pointless conflict created from fear and jealousy.

The numbers mount, every day, every hour. Season of goodwill means nothing in so many areas of the world. Peace on earth is a distant dream for thousands, for millions, with no control over the forces that disturb and destroy their potential futures.

But each one is a loss, a unique element within the whole. And the whole will never be the same for their passing.

For those we knew the memories will be there to round out the loss with the time we knew with them. Mum, Dad, each day in my thoughts still and always.

For those we admired, watched, applauded from afar, their legacy will be with us to remind us of what can be added to our lives, and the lives of so many.

And those we will never know, will never have been a part of our lives, and now never will? They must be remembered as well. Because their lives too had meaning, and will always have.

We cannot forget them. To forget is to accept that they don’t matter, and they do, every one of those unknown and unnamed.

‘Tis the season to be jolly, I know. And usually, amidst my standard humbug, I do manage to show a little winter cheer around this time of year.

But it is hard, and getting harder. I will certainly be glad to see the backside of this year disappearing into the distance.

Over the course of the last 350+ days, the world has become a significantly less good place – how’s that for positive spin?

Innocence, innocents, decency, have all been casualties in a veritable cornucopia of local, national and international shite-fests.

Nations and religions have been used as blunt bludgeons to beat back progress, enlightenment, decency. Blame has been scattered indiscriminately at any easy target, as long as it creates a big enough noise to hide the truth.

That those in power, those that control the ebb and flow, really don’t like change. After all, how can you manage and control and retain influence if social norms keep evolving.

And if that means that the vulnerable, the weak, the good, the decent, the anonymous suffer and struggle in groups or as a whole, well it’s worth the sacrifice.

Hail the status quo. Or the status quo of 50 years ago, or 100 years ago. Whichever is cosier, and rosier, and farther away from who we are today.

And the multinationals march on, supporting, ignoring, exploiting, whichever suits the bottom line.

And even the individuals, the ones that add to the positive, to the brightness, have been disappearing. Far too many bright lights went out this year.

It was suggested to me that this is all part of the natural re-ordering. That there is a finite amount of energy in the world, and room needs to be made for the next generation of shining lights.

If that is so, why so many good lights? Why not a few of the less good, just to add some balance?

I count my blessings. I have a son of infinite joy. A family that always looks for the best in the world.

I have an adopted family which gives warmth and humanity to my life. And a slowly growing group of friends who bring new and rewarding tangents to the grump that is me.

So I try, and will continue to try, to look up and forward, and search for the glow in gloom.

But it is hard. Really hard.

All the bright lights, keep shining!

A while ago I joined what at first appeared to be a local community goods and services scheme. It includes the sharing of skills and abilities in exchange for goods, or other skills.

What soon became clear, however, was that this collection of individuals, and the interactions that the organisation instigated, became stronger as a community. The differences became of less importance than the advantages of a communal approach.

People who would never, in other circumstances, share the time and space with each other, became at least cooperators, and at best friends and advocates.

Of course, each person entered the scheme for their own reasons, but the group advantage always outweigh any small negative that may impinge on an individual. Overall, all the members gained significantly more than they may have lost.

As with any successful scheme, more and more people wanted to join. This put more pressure on the structure, and required more intricately defined rules to ensure that it could still function.

And, although some of the original members weren’t overly impressed, they still saw the overall advantages the new members brought.

But life is never straightforward. And, although the members were generally positive about the scheme, some members of their families, with only a partial awareness of the overall structure, saw the scheme as the cause of other problems in their lives.

And the more they complained, the more complained. Even though their problems weren’t related to the scheme, it was an easy target.

And the more complex it became, the more time the scheme members had to give to keeping it working, and it started to become less clear how the balance of advantage was working, but it was still there.

And then the whole thing was thrown into doubt. The chairman, for it was a white, middle class male, decided that it would be a good idea to ask the family members what they thought the scheme should do.

The assumption that the status quo would always prevail, because it always had, was proved wrong, not by much, but wrong.

And all of a sudden all hell broke loose. All the petty little family feuds found a scapegoat, and slaughtered it.

Instead of taking a step back and looking to approach the dissention with rationality, both sides set their positions in concrete stubbornness, and proceeded to throw every baby out with the bath water.

And a community that had become a focus of peace, organisation and cooperation began to turn back into the divided and isolated world of previous years.

Diversity is unity, separateness is isolation.

When will we ever learn.

I wasn’t going to say anything today, to add to all the various direct and indirect comments I have put up previously. It is too sad, and too wrong, and still stirs so much anger.

But what I can’t do is put it to one side. Because, along with Yemen, this is front and centre to the world right now.

That sections – religious, ethnic, tribal – within countries feel their only resort to achieve equality, peace, influence, is to turn to the gun and the bomb is e recurring theme over the centuries.

Some conflicts seem incapable of disappearing completely, just fading and reappearing over time.

And that is sad enough in itself. Because we are all human beings, on one planet. There is nowhere else to go.

But when outside interests decide that, to enhance their position on the world stage, or in front of their own people, or to tangentially maintain a disagreement with another outside interest, when they decide to weigh in with arms and death, then the sadness is multiplied.

It is an irritant that the only sensible thing Boris Johnson has said referred to Syria and Yemen as wars by proxy, but he was right. Never mind who invited who, proxy wars they are.

And people suffer. And people die. And people flee, to countries where the welcome is varied. And they become the target of blame for that country’s ills. And the suffering continues.

I count my blessings every day. For a son of infinite joy, for the friends I hold dear, for a cornucopia of little pleasures and activities that add to the total of my life.

But mostly, the fact that I am not in Syria, or Yemen, or on the road from there to a completely unknown future. That I have not lost loved ones to the proxy wars. That I do not have to see the horror, even when I close my eyes.

And yet it is there, the horror and the terror and the sadness and the shame of the world is there, for all of us, eyes open or closed.

We can argue philosophies and practicalities, we can criticise and complain, but we are all of one planet, of one life form, of ultimate responsibility.

I give what I can. I sign petitions, agree to campaigns, write endless words, shout into the night that it must stop.

But the compassion needs to be from all. The reality needs to dawn that we must stop.

There is no reason, no rationale behind the suffering of innocents. Only the world’s guilty admission we can’t stop it. Or maybe that we don’t care enough to want to.

When I started this blog, it was primarily as a vent for the anger that built up whilst watching the potential for good being squandered by, at best, buffoons, and at worst amoral despots.

Anger is tiring. And I am tired. And although the anger is still there, it sits alongside a cold, hardening state of sadness. Sadness at what potential has been lost, what might have been, if only…..

It would be comforting to approach it all with a naive hope that all will be well, there is a simple solution, tomorrow is a new day.

And I try, but five minutes in and all of the arguments, grudges, feuds, mindless hatred and ignorance spill in. Another day certainly, but nothing new.

I see the small, bright lights of hope, of humanity, of compassion. And each time I look beyond and see the blanket of vested interests ready to snuff them out as soon as I blink.

I know it’s not personal. I know they are not just out to get me. But I also know that I can see it all, and say it all, and it doesn’t matter. Because the brokers of power and control are not interested in solo rants, or small, bright lights.

Retention of power is all. Whether it is financial, political, moral: power for power’s sake!

The world of the multi-national corporations is for another day. Theirs is disinterested exploitation for gain, with no intention to disguise the fact.

The one that angers, and saddens me the most is the one that presents itself as the representatives of the people, the good shepherds of us all.

There used to be a time when the pretence was maintained that the political decisions, especially the tough choices, were being made on our behalf for our own good.

But now, after the sound bites of the campaign trail, there seems little attempt any more to disguise that, whatever else the agenda may be, it sure as hell isn’t for ‘our’ benefit.

We are now in a world where the political imperative is the protection of the political group, and the vested interests attached, rather than the good of all; with the odd carrot dangled that trickle-down will somehow save us.

And whether it’s a political élite protecting itself – see Tories and the EU referendum – or an anti-political élite finding a new playground to operate in – see Trump and his ‘swamp’ chums – the result is the same.

The people get caught up in the euphoria that, for once in such a long time, someone is paying attention. They say yes please, ignoring the negatives in the hope that they are visible once more.

And the con lasts as long as is needed to maintain the control of power.

But, that doesn’t seem to matter that much any more. The lack of concern to keep up the show of empathy is symptomatic across the board. It hasn’t sunk in yet with those that were conned, but it will.

And the real shame is that the opposition, both here and in the US, seem to have lost the reason for their existence, and have also descended into the mire of politics for politics sake.

There will always be those who enter the public arena to do good, and make a difference – Jo Cox being the exemplar – but they are unfortunately outnumbered by those there to maintain their political status quo.

Power for power’s sake.

So – back to the title – what we need is a benign dictator. One with no axe to grind, no hidden agenda, no urge for more just for the sake of it.

PLease submit your applications in writing, with a clear indication why you are NOT the right person to hold power. That may just be the best indicator of why you should.

For a cynical, grumpy, depressive, lumpy, aging, hairy and hairless, did I say cynical, old fart, I have been blessed for the last couple of years with a variety of lights that have made the misery recede.

The first: small, sparkling flashes that seem to shoot through to the centre of all that are caught in the shower. Tiny dots of brightness, full of promise, of wisdom to come.

The second: a beam of pure laser light. Straight, strong, searching. Dismissing shadows with a shining clarity too strong for anything but the truth. The honesty, the smartness, the desire for more.

The third: broad, deep and surrounding. The glow spreads into those dim corners where the dingy thoughts reside; bringing warmth, bringing a smile, taking the shadows away. The spreading brightness of the rising sun, the peaceful blanket of a sunset.

I have had moments of total joy, many revolving around a son of great honesty, integrity and compassion. And that should be enough.

So, maybe i am a tad greedy, but I have to admit that the corners of my life that have been lit up by these three are some of the best parts of me. They have given me a warmth  and a home and I am so much better than I ever have been.

This is me, on a Friday night, soppy and sentimental, and forever grateful for these three lights in my life.

P.S. There is also a splendid chap who changes the batteries to help keep the lights burning, but that didn’t really fit into the sentiment. So he will just have to assume, correctly, that I am grateful to him too!

For those out there who can remember the Age of Aquarius – happy clappy, long hair (yes I had some once) – welcome to the flip side.

The world is now blessed with two perfect exemplars of volume and volubility over substance. Two towering egos playing fast and very loose with people’s lives, especially those who, against every sensible argument to the contrary, put them in their exalted positions.

The first, of course, is the Cheesy Whatsit that is Donald Trump, but that one is only on the runway. After takeoff will be the time to dig the bomb shelter and stock up on tinned goods. But the support team he is assembling is boding well for future nightmares.

Meanwhile, on our side of the Atlantic, we have our own, our very own, Latin-spouting, verbose and voracious publicity devouring version.

Articulate where Trump is almost neanderthal, but with the same deep respect for women, the truth and the people, and a never-ending desire for self-engrandisement, Boris Johnson has proved, once again, that the mouth comes before the brain.

The most annoying thing about his latest utterances, that leaders in the Middle East are fighting proxy wars to settle their own long-running disputes, is that he is right. And that is proved by the fact that he agrees with me, as I have been saying the same thing, on this blog, for a long time.

Obviously he isn’t aware that he agrees with me, but that doesn’t detract from the fact that we are both right.

So why am I complaining? hypocrisy. Plain and simple.

He has stated recently that Saudi Arabia hasn’t as yet reached the tipping point in its involvement in Syria and Yemen, and therefore we can continue to supply them with weapons of wide-spread destruction.

He has now stated, to an audience in Italy, that Saudi Arabia and Iran are guilty of using and fermenting religious differences to cause havoc, destruction and death in other countries.

The first statement is beyond idiocy, the second is true. But both from the same person?

And it ignores the fact that, over the years, a variety of UK governments have also been involved in proxy wars, albeit not via the religious conduit.

Added to the fact that Johnson said this in Italy while his esteemed leader was trolling around the Middle East prostrating herself before their millions – of dollars – and we have the perfect political and diplomatic disconnect.

If he is going to make these statements, then make them to the actors in the drama, not the audience. And maybe, just maybe, have a consistency across the government’s representatives.

This is not intended to congratulate him on one astute observation, or that I am behind the public face of our government leaders.

What it is, I suppose, is a clear indication that international relations are going to be in the hands of flip-flopping egos.

It gets harder to retain hope within a world that is being pulled apart by narrow and destructive self interests.

And, as soon as my back has recovered, I will start work on that bomb shelter.

Every day I see evidence of the decency, empathy, sympathy and generosity of spirit exhibited by countless individuals and groups across the world. And each time it gives my jaded soul a nudge, and suggests that all is not lost.

And then I look at what governments and national powers do, and again I despair.

The ever-present tragedy behind the ongoing war in Syria is becoming almost a background noise to our daily lives. But close by is another humanitarian crisis, a level of atrocity that should never happen, and one that has our name stamped all over it.

Yemen, or rather the innocent civilians of Yemen, are being killed, injured, starved, decimated and driven into the dust with weapons supplied by the UK to Saudi Arabia.

There is no right in this. There is no justification. There is no tipping point to be reached. This is slow, despicable genocide with our assistance.

Saudi Arabia are friends and allies. They are a trading partner. The relationship creates and supports jobs.

In the UK, those jobs can be quantified by salaries, mortgages, shopping, utility payments, all the little trappings of a safe life.

In Yemen, those jobs can be quantified by death, starvation, the destruction of a generation, and the potential for another focus of hate that led to the rise of ISIS.

The moral high ground eternally claimed by our esteemed leaders over the years has at its root the convenient ability to forget ever despot and dictator that has been propped up over the years, for the pragmatism of international relations.

But even that isn’t the truth. Behind it all, behind every overlooked atrocity by every national leader that has been ‘a friend and ally’ across the decades, the reality is to ensure that those with the power and influence retain and increase it.

And now, with Brexit, the way is open for the justification to deal with any and all, as long as we turn a quick profit – and don’t look at the bodies left behind the curtain of national freedom and patriotic sovereignty.

The recent criticism of Fidel Castro illuminates the hypocrisy of those in power. Yes, there were atrocities in Cuba, as there were by the regime that Castro overthrew – the one that was ‘ a friend and ally’. But, no responsibility is taken for the west’s isolation of Cuba which created so many of the pressures on the alternative state.

Just as there is no acknowledgement of the involvement in so many other crisis zones around the world. Because we are never wrong. We have good on our side.

As a nation, we are made up of countless good and caring people. As a country, we are tainted with the bloodstains, one step removed, of countless innocents.

There is no moral compass amongst the power brokers in this country. There is a vacuum. A lack of acceptance of responsibility. A lack of courage to act with morality as the imperative, rather than the self.