It’s easy to think that everything is shit, there are so many things wrong with the country and the world that you could be forgiven for seeing that a bleak existence is all we have to look forward to.

But I just watched something live.

On the phone that I’m typing this.

The same phone that’s controlling streaming music that’s playing while I cook chilli, drink a raspberry vodka martini made from my own raspberries and look at the ancient hills beyond.

I just watched science fiction become real.

A booster rocket in America just docked with uncanny precision into a massive metal arm.

This was impossible when I was growing up.

But so many things were.

And now we take them for granted.

I don’t travel for work or go to an office unless I have to, I sit in my own office that’s around 30 metres from the house, with music playing over the same steaming system and I can do four or five things at once.

If I look backwards, my grandfather was a blacksmith and he made me a bookcase from what would have been an amazingly expensive wood for him at the time.

The mahogany that he made it from looks as new today as it did fifty years ago and he’s the only person from my past that I’d like to talk to.

He taught me about the balance needed in nature, about how to pick nettles with your bare fingers and how to look at the world with open eyes when you can.

He also made sharp things, the apple doesn’t fall that far.

I’d love to talk to him and show him the world that I live in, I’d love to tell him about all the places I’ve been and the things I’ve seen.

I can’t.

But I can pause and think about it all though.

So….

What’s all that wonderment business about?

It’s a recurring phrase from a film called the Great Northfield Minnesota Raid as said by Cole Younger ( played by Cliff Robertson) –

‘Ain’t that a wonderment’

And here we are.

Growing up, I never imagined that I’d chat to people that I hadn’t met, send and receive photos and LEARN SO FUCKING MUCH EVERY DAY just by using a device didn’t exist until my 30s.

Or that an artificial intelligence could generate a picture like this within 10 seconds.

On the same phone

Or…..that I’d have a robot lawnmower that needs to be rescued when it’s icy.

Or that I’d be being watched by a dog that wants to go outside – and that at 16:33 on a Sunday afternoon, I can take a photo of her…

You get the idea.

It’s a wonderment – try to enjoy it.

Happy Sunday

Do you remember when things just worked?

The drains were cleared twice a year, potholes were an occasional annoyance, councils employed their own staff and they mostly got the job done unless they were striking.

But our bins got emptied, the streets were clean and in the poorest areas of London where I grew up, the oldest people still cleaned their own doorsteps religiously and many of them had a key on a string so that the milkman or his son ( me) could put the milk inside.

Policemen were large gruff creatures and they walked a beat with cars in reserve, you fucked with them at your own cost.

The NHS had a huge number of community hospitals and you could get local treatment for minor illnesses.

Our army and navy, although diminished, could fight and win a war in South America and the RAF could send a message that was undeniable.

If you can remember this, you’re getting old.

Nothing has worked like that for a very long time.

Our councils are nearly bankrupt as they try to cope with the sheer amount of migrants being forced on them.

So care suffers, particularly for the mentally ill, because some fucking genius decided to let ‘the community’ care for them.

The old suffer, fewer buses and services, more hostile young men fighting in the streets outside their houses and flats while they stay quiet and hope that the problem of the day blows over.

A politicised police service colludes with community leaders’ as to how they will police the streets.

The UK government gives 11 billion pounds to other countries to fight climate change or some such horseshit – knowing that the money will be stolen and funnelled back into a banking system that’s the only winner.

Our electricity is the most expensive in the whole developed world and we’re constantly lectured about our co2 emissions by rich scum and elected filth who fly everywhere and travel first class.

Our brand new, shiny Prime Minister, who lectured the country for years in opposition now appears to be the creature of a billionaire.

But.

As of a few days time from now, you have to register with the government if you own one single fucking chicken.

That’s not a joke, I wish it were

Here’s the thing though.

One of my very few, actual friends disagrees with me about almost everything, particularly politics and regulations.

I was walking the doglets earlier today and asked her if she’s registered her flock ( she rescues chickens) – and I was a little surprised.

‘No. I suspect my anti-establishment mate Thunderdog may have some views, but I’m VERY NERVOUS about registering them. I am a personal small holder with a protected coop and I don’t let mine free range in winter or if there is a bird flu outbreak, to keep them safe. I am very wary of Defra.’

And then the kicker.

The thing that I’d personally been thinking about.

‘Although one of my neighbours is a cunt and will rat me out, no doubt.’

So.

Do you remember when we just lived without thinking about whether our neighbour would turn us in for being against the current thing?

I do.

I don’t know how we get back there but if we don’t, it’s going to get bloody.

I know what side I’m on and it’s not the fucking Chicken Stasi

It’s pouring out there as I type this. We’ve had over a day of constant rain and more is predicted tonight.

I still had to walk the dogs though, or, more accurately, ‘dog’ – Milo the Weather Dog only ventures out when he needs to. He’s a dog that knows his own mind and he’s not a fan of rain at all.

Cairo needs the exercise though, even though we’d both rather not, but she sets a pace that’s tough to keep up with, so I get a workout too.

It’s a commitment and a duty that I understood when I adopted her and it won’t stop until one or both of us are too infirm to do it.

It’s part of the code that makes my strange little psyche up.

Anyone who knows me in real life will know that I’m as far from a saint as it’s possible to be, I’ve led a life full of incident and I’ve caused some hurt along the way, the pain that I’ve given some people to own gives me regret and….I’d change some decisions if I could.

But I can’t.

So I try to balance my life where I can and help others when possible as a partial balance for my less admirable actions.

But I do have a code of sorts.

Like most people’s, it’s stolen from others but some of it is hardwired and some taken from long observation of others that I have considered to be admirable in my life.

Some of the stolen stuff is here, but stolen or not, I try to live by them after a fashion.

“It is said that the warrior’s way is the twofold Way of pen and sword, and he should have a taste for both Ways.”

Miyamoto Musashi

The Book of Five Rings

“Everybody has laws he lives by, I expect. I have mine as well.”
“What laws?”
Bond Rogers was dismayed. Yet she waited, evidently as curious as her son.
“I will not be laid a hand on. I will not be wronged. I will not stand for an insult. I don’t do these things to others. I require the same from them.”

Glendon Swarthout, The Shootist

And when my time comes ( and I’ve had close enough calls to know that I’ll accept it ), I hope. It’s like this.

“When your time comes to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home.”

Tecumseh

I’ve worked at a senior level for over twenty five years now and I’ve lived by a code that demands that I take nothing that’s offered by others.

If a supplier buys drinks, I buy one back, I don’t take free trips, hardware, gadgets or cash.

I’ve been offered outright bribes a few times and laughed in the faces of those offering them, if they were existing suppliers, I cancelled their contracts the next day.

I’m nobody’s creature and nobody will ever be able to call in a ‘favour’

And so, the news that a very rich man has basically bought a whole government has given me a whole new perspective on the politics of our little country.

Watching these elected filth make excuses for cash donations, private shoppers, free tickets, pool parties, use of penthouse apartments and a fucking ‘working birthday party for press and lobbyists’ has made me realise that we’re a banana republic and probably have been for a while.

It’s going to get worse before it gets better and it’ll never get better if we don’t hold them to account.

Once upon a time, I’d have just shrugged.

Not now though.

I’m going to judge them by my own standards.

They’re failing.

It’s been raining here for the last twenty hours, the roads are flooded again and Milo the Weather Dog waited until 4pm to go outside, he hates the rain and can seemingly wait forever.

Cairo isn’t as bothered though and she came for a four mile walk through huge puddles and running water before coming home to a warm shower and a robe, there may have been treats involved.

If you walk out of my house, turn left and walk half a mile through a private lane, you turn onto an unnamed road that leads all the way to the A41, it’s all hills here and the water runs fast down to the curve in the road; it can get really flooded there.

Some people would blame those floods on climate change or whatever, but in reality, there are drains that run to culverts, they get blocked up and the road floods.

On today’s walk, I could see that the most useful drain was becoming clogged.

So I walked back a hundred yards or so to where somebody has left a spade by a gate.

I used the spade to clear the drain and the road around it, the water flow speeded up and began to clear.

We then carried on with the walk and I put the spade back when we returned – for the next time that it’ll be needed.

And it will be needed.

It sits there patiently waiting for the time that it knows MUST come ( or it would if it were sentient).

It’s a crappy metaphor, but it’s the closest that I can come to for the state of the country right now.

A draconian crackdown on mostly ordinary people has resulted in a strange, muted mood, but the problems that they protested about are still there and getting worse.

At some point, we’ll all have to play our part in opening the path for the flood that’s coming, or risk being silenced for ever.

And on that cheery note, I’m going to go back to reading a book, listening to music and snuggling up with the dogs.

It’s grim out there right now. Both in the real world where the onslaught of horror never seems to let up and in the virtual world of X (Twitter for you oldsters), where the news is faster, unfiltered and very raw sometimes.

I’m quite fortunate in that my psychological makeup is:

1. A thing of possible horror
2. Stable enough for me to actually manage my emotions about 97% of the time.

I don’t take offence, I don’t worry about things, I don’t brood, nothing keeps me awake.

There’s a ton of churn at work, but I could legitimately quit tomorrow and never work again, so that gives me a platform to be the person who tells the truth, who tries to do the right thing, to protect his team from the predations of the morally vacant and stupid.

But I recognise that some things are insidious, you have to make the effort to avoid them sometimes.

And this is one of those times.

Our country is in deep trouble, but the problems aren’t going anywhere just yet.

Our ‘leaders’ are feckless scum who are pointing at an imaginary far-right threat because they’re sitting on some truths that will make the past few weeks look like practice.

The press are weak, vapid, paid for shills.

At least half the population are acting like congenital idiots.

And so.

We have to pace ourselves. Anger and hatred are corrosive, violence is a tool that should only be used sparingly and dispassionately.

We have to be better.

These two idiots don’t care about any of the things we do, they want ( in a random order), treats, walks, snuggles, a routine that they understand, food, water, love and the feeling that they’re safe.

So I focus a bit of time to ensure that I give them what they need.

I resist the urge, I resist the urge EVERY FUCKING DAY, to look Milo’s original owner up and return the pain that he meted out, with interest. I know everything about him.

But it won’t help Milo.

So….

Where am I going with this?

We need to be clear headed and disciplined if any of our problems can be fixed.

And we need a balance.

Take a few moments every day to appreciate the beauty that we can find almost anywhere in this country of ours. From mountains to sea, from flatlands to sheep farms on almost vertical hills, country churches and ancient woods – this is a blessed land.

Or take some time to read, I’ve been doing a lot of that in the past few days. Nothing as good as this from Shakespeare and ‘The Tempest’

“We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.”

And that’s where I’ll leave it.

Our little lives should have some time for waking dreams before the long sleep.

Call a friend. Tell an old lover that you’re sorry, go out and meet new people, read books, watch whatever films make you happy, take a long walk or go and swim in the seas and rivers.

Pause for Breath.

Let’s begin with a small confession.

I wanted to be a policeman as a kid, our local beat bobby was held in high regard even though it was a fairly tough area – he was respected. He walked everywhere, knew everybody’s name and was good at calming situations down.

I drifted into another career though and it was probably for the best. I’d probably have been good at it though.

This story here sort of proves it

But I’ve been happy with what I do and I’ve travelled to some fantastic places and seen some incredible things.

I’ve had a number of friends over the years who’ve been serving or retired police and they’ve all carried themselves with honour and dignity.

The man in the front seat here is my recently deceased friend.

Oh yeah. He nicked Barrymore.

He was apolitical and fair in all things.

Why am I typing this?

Because most of the policemen that I’ve met in my life have been fair-minded, brave and there to help the public.

I’ll gloss over the little uniformed sergeant in Southend who told me that I’d get a kicking in the cells but will always remember the giggles of the two monsters with him when I called his bluff and said that as long as he came into the cell first, I’d take the kicking after I finished with him.

Spoiler alert. I was sent home without charge or any sign of him again.

But why am I typing this?

Because something is rotten with our country.

We see evidence of terrorism support, antisemitism, rising numbers of rapes and assaults and a steady flow of stabbings, murder and mayhem.

And that’s without the actual terrorists.

And then we have the ‘communities’ – well actually the same one in different towns, the police admitting that they agree policing tactics with ‘leaders’.

And now, as a backlash against the drama following a mass-murder of little girls for unknown reasons, we’re seeing people arrested for words on a screen.

This can’t end well.

And I can’t imagine that the police staff who aren’t thugs or sociopaths can be enjoying this drip-feed of horror.

Anybody who thinks that the actual elected government is doing this isn’t paying attention.

They’re keeping the lid on the pressure cooker.

It isn’t sustainable

And it’s going to explode at some point.

I’ve never been gladder to live rurally and in a traditional area.

Be careful out there.

Protect your loved ones.

Trust nobody outside your actual friends.

The storm is nearly here.

It’s been a busy couple of weeks, both professionally and at home.

I’ve triggered a sequence of work that may just give some of my team job security for the next ten years and I visited a site last weekend that may just give a load of people I hardly know today at least two years of work.

I spent some of yesterday writing the text for what I’ll say at my friend’s funeral on Thursday and I let my boss know in writing on Friday that I won’t be applying for his job when it’s announced in a week or two.

It’s a nice feeling to decide that an extra £25-£40k a year isn’t worth the drama that comes with it. Especially as the taxman will just take half of it by force and without lube.

It’s even nicer knowing that there’s probably nobody in the huge organisation that I work for that has a better claim on the role than me.

But it’s not worth it.

I spend a few days a month away from home and that’s more than enough. I’ve travelled extensively over the years and couldn’t give a shit if I never take a business flight again.

So… I’m sat in the garden, drinking a raspberry mojito and watching Cairo dig a hole to murder some small creature.

It’s idyllic – unless you’re that particular rodent.

As for the funeral, I know what to say, he was amongst the best of men and that’s the summary of my speech.

I’m amazingly calm, quite relaxed and reasonably happy.

Take these small moments when you can, recognise them for the victories that they are.

Enjoy your life, tell people that you love them.

The storm is still coming for us all but it isn’t today.

One of my oldest and dearest friends died last week. It wasn’t sudden or unexpected, he’d contracted a turbo-cancer, but he also developed Parkinson’s when he was in his fifties.

I last saw him face to face on the day of my father’s funeral last year, I walked to his house in the boiling sunshine, still wearing my black suit and tie and we sat for an hour and comforted each other as best we could.

I loved him for the man that he was, without affectation, devoted to his family and loyal to his friends.

I had a small cry when I heard the news, but luckily, I was on holiday.

I spent the rest of the week wandering hills and ancient woods, reading and drinking in the early evenings before cooking dinner, the dogs omnipresent as always, quick to demand cuddles and even quicker to sleep in my lap.

I have nothing but good memories of my friend, some of them genuinely hilarious and on one occasion in Las Vegas, scarcely believable as fact.

I’ll miss him but I’m glad that he was able to go out while he was still brave, dignified and stoic.

Sleep well mate.

See you on the other side.

Here’s to apathy, if you can be bothered.

Let’s hoist a drink to giving up, or not. I don’t care.

No amount of righteous anger is going to set this country straight. No Herculean efforts are going to save us.

The game isn’t just rigged, there’s a sign above the table that tells you to abandon hope and just hand your bank details over.

Playing by the rules doesn’t work, being nice just gets your watch stolen faster.

Terrorist sympathisers have been given the keys to the cities, good people are labelled as fascist and far right for pointing out obvious facts.

Perverts stalk swimming pools and female changing rooms, stroking their girl-penises and giving their wank-banks more contributions than Caligula could have ever imagined.

Elected members of parliament, having been caught in a gay sting, give the phone numbers of their colleagues and when they’re caught out; are called brave rather than cowardly perverted filth.

Our borders are porous and unvetted Iranians, Iraqis, Albanians, Eritreans, Syrians and Yemenis; instead of being sunk at sea or turned back at gunpoint are escorted by Border Force and put up in 4 star hotels. And given phones and money.

Pensioners are gradually being demonised for the sin of living long enough to take their pensions.

Local authorities make up new rules every day with the single intent of taking ever more cash from their citizens – while cutting services, closing libraries and making our roads worse than some third world countries.

If you’re unlucky enough to live in Scotland, just calling the First Minister a thick, unelected Islamist cunt with a tenuous idea of the truth is enough to get you a police record.

Stabbings and honour killings are through the roof. Try to point out that there’s underlying data that clearly shows ethnicity related crime and you’re literally Hitler.

Nothing works and everything is worse than before.

Oh. And it costs more.

Because.

Just because.

Shut your fucking mouth citizen.

Do as you’re fucking told.

We should be angry.

But there’s no point.

Enjoy your life.

Eat. Drink. Be Merry.

Just stop caring.

Because at some point it’s all going to fall apart and no amount of righteous anger will stop that.

Dodgson was a prophet.

“In that direction,” the Cat said, waving its right paw round, “lives a Hatter: and in that direction,” waving the other paw, “lives a March Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.”
“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you ca’n’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”

As seems to be usual these days, I’m sat on the sofa in the kitchen, listening to music and sipping a gin.

There’s a dog snuggling up next to me and today is her two year adoption anniversary.

She’s the perfect blend of athleticism, intelligence and affection. The fastest dog of her size that I’ve ever seen.

She’s cost me £,0000s in new fences which have proved mostly useless until the hedges regrow, she can run, jump and climb like a big cat.

And. My god, she can kill anything that crosses her path without blinking.

Ferocious and unrelenting. Impressive to watch.

And then she snuggles into me for up to 12 hours a day at the weekends .

So this post is partly about her.

And partly about us.

In his inauguration speech, Abraham Lincoln said this:

‘We are not enemies, but friends. We must not be enemies. Though passion may have strained, it must not break our bonds of affection. The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature.’

And I wonder if it’s time that we looked at our own natures.

I’m genuinely chilled and relaxed nearly all the time now, the outside world and the problems that our country face can be as distant as I want them to be.

But they’re not going away.

Like it or not, if you’re indigenous British from any of the countries, you come from warrior stock, your ancestors conquered – or fought against the conquerers.

It’s only in the past 20 years or so that we’ve become so passive, so conditioned by successive governments to blindly ignore the problems that THEY brought to us.

And now, they’ve started to makes noises about how bad things might be. Because THEY are being threatened now – happily ignoring the horrors that young women and little girls have faced in too many towns to mention.

But now, a populist politician has taken a seat in the commons that they can’t call racist or fringe – because he’s abiding by the rules that THEY set.

I don’t have any answers, I do have lots of questions though.

When does it start to stop?

What part will I play – if any ?

When will the tipping point occur when it’s too late for the country I love(d) ?

I don’t know.

I honestly don’t

But maybe we should let our better angels know that their time may be over for a while.

Be more Cairo.