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“We discovered too many care homes didn’t really follow the procedures in the way that they could have.”

That is the statement that Boris johnson used. Those are the actual words. But they are not. Because he says that he didn’t say that. Repeatedly he has said that he didn’t say that.  And other ministers have said he didn’t say that.

But I heard him say it. And so did everyone else who heard him say it. They heard it. Because he said it.

But he didn’t say it.

Which leaves me with a bit of a problem.

When he says something, and I hear it, and others hear it, have we heard what he said, or do we have to wait for an undetermined period to be told whether that is what he said? Even though we heard it.

Can you see my problem? It makes it very difficult to know what is or is not being said, when you hear it but it is denied, repeatedly.

You can only say “But you said that” so many times before it begins to sound like you are accusing him, or one of his esteemed colleagues, of lying. And that would be a terrible accusation.

After all, they are there to guide the country through some very difficult times. And if they are lying to us, then that is a worrying situation. And also makes it look like we were a bit silly to elect them in the first place.

I must admit that I am a little disappointed in Boris Johnson.

If he wants me to hear what he says he has said, thern perhaps it would make more sense to say that in the first place. Unless he did of course.

Except I heard him say something else. And so did everyone.

I am coming to the conclusion that the future is going to be a lot easier when each statement from him is introduced by an indication of whether I am supposed to hear what he says, or only what he says he said.

Because I guess there are some things he says, that he says he said.

Confusing, isn’t it?

I have been avoiding dumping the crackling mess that is the inside of my head for a while. It just never seemed justified.

I have, to some extent, established a framework to operate in. I go the the office Monday to Friday, at least for a couple hours in the morning. Empty office, Radio 4, very splendidly peaceful.

I walk twice a day, with a dog attached, or in attendance. I see regular walkers at the same times, which adds structure, solidity.

I, thankfully, regularly shop, and support in a virus aware way, two of the best people I know. Which means that I can add a further purpose to the framework, and do what I can for my ‘family’, who are stuck at the wrong end of both a virus and a general public who don’t always approach safety in the best way.

And I also get angry, because of the public’s inability to abide by consistently safe behaviour. And the frustration for their situation, is also because I can’t change it. Which makes no sense, but when has that been a problem.

And of late I have seen the best son that anyone could have, and the best son’s best girlfriend, and a very forgiving ex-wife, and why should my mind be crackling endlessly with static?

And the answer is, because it is.

The framework, the structure, the tasks, dampen the static, the sparks, the flashes.

But the errands finish, as they have to, and that leaves a silence. And, diverted by Netflix seasons, Springsteen loud enough to annoy the neighbours, and a diversity of books, the mess of electricity gets suppressed for a while.

But it never goes away. And as the structure gets adjusted by changes to external forces, wider access, reversing attitudes and behaviour, the static becomes more emphatic, more prickly, more impossible to get the muscles to relax.

Especially at 1, or 2, or 3, 4, 5 in the morning.

And I have no right to complain, because there are so many who are not as theoretically free as I am.

But the static doesn’t give up, so this mind dump is to tell it that I see you static. I feel and hear your silent crackle.

And I can handle it. And I can handle you. Because there are more important things out there to deal with, and maintain, and support.

And overall I am lucky, blessed, with knowing the very best of peoples. Each a singular star that hides the static, calms the crackle, soothes and relaxes the muscles.

I think I will be different if and when this is passed. I think we all will be.

And those I hold close will still be close, and that is what holds the true strength that beats any static.

You have access to a time machine. You are asked the standard question, ” if you could go to ant time in history, when would you choose?”

I wonder if, at any time in the future, you would pick 2020, because so far, it’s not shaping up as the greatest year, certainly since I can remember. Mind you, that fluctuates a bit these days!

There have, I will admit, been moments of real peace, contentment, and pleasure. I have been blessed with a daily choir of birdsong, the gradual change of nature, the joy of seeing new life along the river, the sweet pungency of wild garlic, and the endless love of a dog for his ball!

But being apart from loved ones by decree has been hard, and no amount of Zoom time makes that easier. And the emotional flights and dives, the concern for those dearest, the uncertainty of tomorrow, the anger at the callous incompetence, has coloured every moment.

And as the pandemic moves towards the next stage, whatever that may be, the anger becomes more of a constant.

There are other countries in the world who have been cursed with leaders of a deeply narcissistic and callous hue, and some of them have already begun to realise the implications, and the others will follow.

But the two that, at the moment, terrify me most are our own and the US.

The approaches have been different only in tone, although at times a lot closer than may have previously been expected. We have moved from bumptious and gung-ho to slightly more measured, and back to deeply callous within 3 months. The US never changed. It was high grade lunacy from the start, and still is.

And now the shit storm that those in power have created has pulled racism into the pot with Covid 19; although statistically it has always been there.

The fact that the majority of people in the UK have shown sense, and compassion, and humanity throughout the pandemic says much about who we can be as people, individually and collectively.

However, that doesn’t remove the responsibility from anyone who was happy to place a buffoon in charge, with a sociopath pulling the strings. And that includes fellow party members, and every single voter who put a cross against his name.

It was clear and obvious from the very start, lets be fair, for years before the start, that at the very least he was a callous and entitled opportunist, with no honour, no humanity, and not a care regarding the ripples of implication that would follow from his actions.

And before anyone cites the furlough scheme, and any other ‘supportive’ measure that has been activated, let us consider who will benefit from cheap government money. Strangely enough the exact same people who have always benefited from Tory ‘generosity’, the haves, not the have nots.

And the explicit river of racism that runs through all that has happened cannot be hidden, although of course it will always be denied. hose hardest hit, those suffering the most, are those who were accused of causing many of austerity’s wounds, the immigrants who have saved this country from a worse fate.

But hey, why bother with the truth when a good smear campaign gets you a vote or two. And being shamed into reversing a denial of free healthcare for those who are serving at the coalface of this crisis, is just a small indicator of the calibre of person we have leading us.

But across the ocean we witness the true vulgar horror of overt racism, and the complicity in that scenario is clear. And the knife edge that the US sits on art this moment is creating such deep chasms in that society that it is hard to see how it will ever heal.

We all have a very simple choice, and it has to be made now.

We must decide whether we allow the total avoidance of the hard questions, of the ‘why did it fail?’, ‘why did so many die?’, ‘why were so many from non-white ethnic backgrounds?’.

Or whether we demand, and keep demanding, that these facts are addressed, these questions are answered, these ‘leaders’ are held to account.

And that also means that each of us looks at ourselves, and what we allow to happen in front of us, what we allow to slide by, what we claim ignorance of.

Compliance is complicity, acceptance is complicity, and I, we, need to be aware. And we need to say no to a return to the status quo.

Because a return to normal is not acceptable, there is now only one normal that acceptable, the one where Black Lives Matter.

Honesty is an interesting idea. In general, it should be a good thing. There should be no need to be less than honest, especially concerning important, imperative matters.

It can be abused as a concept. For some, echoing inumerable TV reality shows, just being honest is actually a useful shield to hide behind, when all you want to do is criticise, attack and humiliate.

But, in principle, the ability, and the positivity, of being honest should be a good thing.

There is, however, one group of people who ignore it completely. This should really be no great surprise to any of us, after all, to get to a position of power, honesty becomes a secondary consideration to advancement.

To begin with, maybe just the odd matter of omission rather than confession. Then the acquired skill of answering a different question to the one asked, repeatedly, until the original enquiry disappears in to a flood of alternative truths.

So, it is really refreshing when a leader is honest enough to admit they got it wrong. When Emmanuel Macron said that the French government hadn’t done as much as it should have in preparation for the current pandemic, apart from creating distinct ripples of surprise, it provides a smidgen of hope that this situation is going to adjust the world in a more fundamental way.

And then you watch the performances of other leading political figures, and the hope shrinks back to it isolation.

Every day, the British government is providing a briefing, with the lead being rotated around a variety of ministers, as the PM is not available for comment. Alongside the presumably accurate numbers regarding infections, deaths, tests, presented by non-politicians, there is the Q and A on the government performance, response, strategy.

And here we return to the standard format. I have listened to many, although not all. So if I have missed the one where the minister admitted they had got the planning and preparation wrong, they were falling short of where they should be, then I apologise.

But i guess not. Because in every one I have heard, when questions are raised about the exact situation regarding support, tactics, strategy, the response is never an answer if it would admit anything remotely detrimental to the government.

Only once, when the buck was passed to an unnamed civil servant regarding the missed email detailing the EU wide purchasing of respirators – which was, of course, total bullshit – was there anything like an admission of failure.

But, overall, they do not, and will not, accept that the decisions taken, either after a trial run for a pandemic that showed enormous gulfs between what was and what was actually needed, or in more recent months.

And in the meantime they can build up any number of excuses to backtrack in the future on promises made under ‘different circumstances’.

And can ignore the previous diminishing of those who are now acknowledged as essential. And will easily slip back into that diminishing when the crisis lessens, because, well circumstances have changed.

One glance at the US is enough to see that the country is ripe for an even greater division than they have seen to date, with a psychopath determined to play god, and pick fights with everyone. It is beyond ridiculous, beyond frightening. There are so many voices of sense, of compassion, all being drowned out by the tantrums of a child in his seventies.

On a personal level, on a community level, I am sure that the aftermath of the pandemic will bring new and better and grateful connections.

Unfortunately, I see no evidence that, where the power still resides, there is any real evidence of an acceptance that there needs to be change. Because that would require some honesty.

And that is also in very short supply.

Before anyone gets the wrong idea, this isn’t meant to be a government induced instruction to comply with recent activity restrictions. WordPress emailed to say I hadn’t put up anything in a while, so here I am.

Day to day at the moment has fallen into a fairly simple routine. I am still betting up at 6.30 am, except when I adjust the alarm clock for BST and add an hour but deduct a day, so for an hour or so Monday was still Sunday.

I have also dropped the daily head shave – not sure why, but once a week seems to do for now. The rest is like times haven’t changed, although the short journey to the office is extremely deserted.

As the only one in the office, and the only one with any active work to be done – the rest are now furloughed – I can have Radio 4 on all day. It takes me back to the years I spent working from my attic office in Bristol.  The serialisation of Hilary Mantel’s latest is on at the moment, but have a feeling it is a bit of a plot spoiler as I haven’t read the first 2.

I know, I know. But then how many of you have read all of Dickens?

The only moveable break in the routine is when I pop round to pick up my canine office buddy, who is very useful to disguise the fact that, from time to time, I am talking to myself. Out loud.

Yesterday was April 1st, although current circumstances make April Fools pranks a tad difficult, especially in stir crazy scenarios, where a joke could lose its humour level very quickly.

But the one of best parts of the day is at a minute or so past 2.00 pm. The Archers. Now, in recent times this long-running serial has covered some relevant, tough and important topics, in amongst the minutiae of a daily story of country folk.

However, and the reason that this is an oasis in the day – COVID 19 doesn’t exist in Ambridge. Never happened. Not a thing at all. No social distancing, no medical emergency, no government incompetence – well no more than usual.

At first it was a little strange, that there was no reference at all, but each day at 2.00 pm now is just pure joy because of its absence.

Taking the dog for a trot regularly, and helping to support my favourite locked in people also add those moments of connection to what used to be the normal day.

But, thank you Ambridge, for having recorded far enough ahead to be able to ignore the existence of nature’s revenge – that’s my current theory by the way.

 

In these days of diverse, diverting and divine – by implication – religions, religious movements, and belief systems, there is one Order that rises above the rest.

Allied to no particular beliefs, in fact made up of a polyglot collection of diverse nods to all points of the compass, they are, none the less, a powerful focus of the most important of beliefs – love and kindness.

For each of us who know a member of The Sisters of Perpetual Sunshine, we can see how each acts a s a fulcrum for kindness and caring to revolve around. And because many exist in close proximity to each other, there are complex venn diagrams of interlocking love.

And this Order has been in existence for a good while now, and its presence is always there, in good times and bad, to lift, to hold, to support, to applaud.

And it has added new, individually and uniquely glorious Sisters to its ranks over time, and one or two honorary ‘male’ Sisters.

And even during these testing – no joke intended – times, or perhaps especially now more than before, their love and kindness is stronger than ever.

They cannot hold us, they cannot fold us into their supporting presence, and yet their compassion is clear.

They smile in the sunshine, in the  mottled shadows of a woody walk; they send messages of contact, to ensure that no-one feels alone in isolation; they provide endless examples of small and uplifting posts, pictures and prompts for positivity.

They are diverse, dispersed by geography, physically disconnected by present circumstances, and yet they are linked, and interlinked, and the connections are as strong as ever.

I close my eyes and I can see each of the Sisters that I know, and the light that joins them, and creates a network, and a net, that will catch all, support all, let no-one fall.

And even when the clouds return, or nightime comes, the light, the bright, the shine, is always there.

The Sisters of Perpetual Sunshine are the carers and supporters for today, and the guides and goddesses for tomorrow.

We are in interesting times. Confusing, scary, disorganised, disconnected, darkly funny, and touchingly uplifting times.

The last  moment of physical contact is fading in the memory – a hugger with distinct withdrawal symptoms, cushions are looking very appealing these days. But it’s good, because that means that the chances of infection are significantly lower.

But – stating the blindingly obvious – it is hard. To see those who are dearest to my heart, to my place in the world, but seeing them from a distance. To knowing that no close contact is best, and determined to maintain the separation, whilst doing whatever is feasible to support. But it is hard. Not just for me, of course. For all.

But we choose the option that promises safety, and do what we can to look at the positives.

Amongst the rapidly changing statements, advice, instructions coming from government, the differences and similarities across the globe, the emergence of impatience, criticism and conspiracy theories, there are small but infinitely heart-warming moments of pure humanity.

People at a local level, who always seem to take on extra,  and additional, are there again, organising, implementing, linking, coordinating. All to help those who are forced to separate.

Total strangers, connected only by a superficial swap of a child’s toy, and yet generating the offer to deliver essentials if needed. Neighbours, taking a few moments, minutes, to collect and supply the additionals to create and expand an enclosed existence.

The frustrations and idiocy of panic buying can certainly generate anger, but also a smile. The perfect exemplar of generational division in a supermarket queue, standing – a little too close – next to each other, an older woman with a large pack of toilet paper and a bottle of sherry, a young man with a large pack of toilet paper and a large box of cans of cider.

And we keep going. And most seem to take it on board that this is, very suddenly, a very different time. And those that don’t will be told, of that I am sure.

I am still managing to avoid expanding on the conspiracy theories in this space, but who knows what will happen in the next days and weeks after the social separation begins to have an effect.

And I am still heartened by the generosity of spirit and action of so much of humanity. And hope that the other side of this will produce a very different world.

And in the meantime, I have an office to myself, and social media to retain connections. And as to the rest, time will tell.

I suppose we never realise how habitual, how regular, repetitive and routine the majority of our lives become, until something drops a boulder in the way.

I am not going to get into which approach to deal with the pandemic is best, will prove to be best, or least worst. I am also not going to get into the conspiracy theories. Both of those can wait.

It’s the personal stumbles over what was always a clearway. There will be products, and produce, on supermarket shelves. There is nothing to stop you visiting friends, family. There is no reason that social, community, official activities should ever cease.

So the days tick through. Which means that the bigger stuff – holidays, visits, sport, entertainment – those times that create the target points through the calendar, that drive the more mundane, are the times we aim at, prepare for, anticipate.

And then they are gone. Or severely curtailed. Every brake that ever existed has been slammed oj with superhuman force, and your nose hits the stop barrier with significant force.

And then the mundane, the assumed, the clockwork, suddenly becomes a lost simplicity, a comfortable support to link the highlights.

No connections now. Everything is blocked off. No entry signs abound. and the unnecessary panic of assumed restrictions creates more anxiety and further restrictions.

We get used to the frameworks of life, even those of us whose work life formula is totally different from the norm. The structure is there so that we don’t have to think about everything. So much just is.

Until it isn’t. And then we are here.

And we cope, and adapt, and show support, and empathy, an assist and adjust.

But it is strange, how much of life can be a repetitive framework that allows us the freedom to fill the gaps, to appreciate the remainder to savour the special and the important.

I have a distinct feeling that, as and when we return to whatever normal will be, it will not be the same as normal used to be.

Which may be a good thing. But this is a shite way of getting there.

I am sure that I am not the only one who has noticed that there are a significant number of countries where compassion has been in distinctly short supply of late. Where power and the power of fear have become the daily recipe of life. Where progression towards a fairer, kinder and more just world has gone into violent reverse.

I am also sure that I am not alone in remembering when global health threats emerged, there were certain definers of morality who determined that it was due to the liberalisation of attitudes, of behaviour, the loosening of previous rigid codes of conduct.

I have been listening carefully, watching the news feeds, and the bits of social media I can cope with, to see which particular degenerative sector would receive the blame for the latest global threat. No, not Trump. The corona virus.

Nothing. Not a word. No pounding declarations from the reactionary right that it is due to the distinct lack of clarity amongst some as to where on the sexual identification spectrum they exist. Or that it can be laid at the feet of a determined 17 year old Swede with a message for the world.

So I have to assume that the blame must lie elsewhere.

And, as reactionary populism seems to be the growth movement across the globe at present, it would appear that I have found the culprit.

It would seem that the earth, having expended significant effort previously to punish those who look to instigate positive change, has now decided that reversal to the dark ages deserves equal treatment.

The unfortunate thing about the outcome, irrespective of who is theoretically to blame, is that the same people suffer disproportionately – the old, the young, the poor.

At least this time maybe we can blame someone else. It won’t protect you, and it certainly won’t cure you any quicker, but at least it gives fair minded people a target for their coughs and wheezes.

Bless You!

“How are you?”

That must be the most asked question in the English – and any other – language.

And, when asked in the usual perfunctory way that happens most, the hoped for answer is, of course, “I’m fine thanks. How are you?”

And the circle is duly completed, and the world moves on.

But what happens, what do you do, what do you say, when you are asked, and the answer is “No” but you have no idea why?

There is nothing tangible. Nothing clear. No unfortunate turn of events. No emotional hiatus.

And yet the feeling persists that something is off-balance. There is an small cloud of doubt, invisible, and about three feet behind. Nothing to identify.

So you say “I’m fine”.

Buty you don’t want to. You want to scream. For a long, long time. Nothing coherent, just loud, loud enough to hurt your throat. To make something real out of the untouchable feeling.

But you don’t do that. Because it won’t bring clarity. Or closure. You have to wait for that.

And that is no help to those that ask. Because, in their eyes, you can see they care. But you have been through everything it isn’t, which leaves nothing clear for what it is.

Because it isn’t anything. and potentially it is everything, or links to everything. Which is no clearer to being an answer.

But most of the time, that is as close as it can get. And time will evaporate it, or diminish it, or tuck it quietly away in  a safe and secure box right at the back of that room where all the unused silent explosions are stored.

So, to all those who have asked, and will ask, “How are you?” and know that the answer they get may not be the reality, at the time it will be the best I can do.

I am sorry. I am blessed that you ask. I am blessed that you care. And I will answer clearly when I have the clarity myself.

Until then, “I am fine thanks, honest”.