Skip to main content

Mock oranges. And referendum results.

Beware of ranting ahead. Sometimes something just has to be said.

The mock orange -  a handsome, richly scented, majestic garden shrub, topped with a prolific exuberance of frothing white hair ... oops! ... flowers, that misleads with aplomb, pretending to be something that it isn't, as it masquerades as an orange.
From gardening to referendum in one giant mocking leap. For anyone who knows me, this will come as a surprise, as I am not known for my political prowess or astute deliberation on current affairs. However, in the light of current circumstances and because it is perhaps, sadly, unlikely that Ruth Alexander and Andrea Leadsome will pull together a united bid to beat Boris - I propose the establishment of a new political 'party'.

There! Surprised? Indeed; perhaps, surprised that I know who Ruth and Andrea are.
Okay, so you know I'm not serious. But ... indulge me. There will be a point to this. For a moment assume that at the birth of this resolutely, because-anything-I-invent-will-be-trite-and-incite-much-laughter, nameless party, I have a measurable mass of support. Now, let's see how quickly I can lose it.

First - until we stop hating each other, this is never going to become a great country again. I am against the haters. Oh dear - my party is haemorrhaging supporters already. Watch them jump ship. Off they go. Too rude to shut the door behind them. Off to incite a demonstration somewhere; outside a school, perhaps. Good riddance! I am ashamed that people who claim the same nationality as me, jeer refugee children on the streets of France; print leaflets to tell Poles to go home and make death threats against politicians. I am ashamed that it still makes headlines that a politician has "outed herself" - why is this news? It is normal. Whether a politician is gay, or that horrible, heavily loaded-with-judgement word 'straight', should be no more important than whether or not she has a freckle behind her right ear. What matters is whether or not she is a good politician. My party would let everyone be who they want to be. And would accept them for who they are. It would of course, be colour-blind, age-blind and ability-blind, too.

Second - actually there isn't a second. It's all about the first. Read it again.

Third - ditto the second. I hope I have some supporters left. I really hope I do.

I don't believe in anything. Other than that if you dig deep enough there is a central core to all of humanity that is good. I also believe that it is fine for others to think I am wrong. But not for them to mock me. For I won't mock them. I am afraid though that I might be standing in a pretty lonely place when I take this stance. And that racism, extremist nationalism and disillusion with the establishment, have united to awaken a sleeping giant that could blow our country and Europe apart.

So, back to my proposed party and my mission statement: 'Accept others for who they are. Stop labelling people. Stop hating each other.'
We need to join together, not rip ourselves apart. Far from the outward-looking, proud, liberal, free-spending nation as promised by Big Fibbers to voters who were too eager to dream of a promised, independent land, the referendum result has forced to the surface a bubbling, angry, over-full, deeply-shaming and inward-looking basket of phobias and hatred.

But on the 23rd June 2016 democracy spoke.
Democracy elected to leave.
The Big thing to do now is to unite and get the job done. We need to be big girls and big boys and stop the bullying and name-calling. We desperately need some statesmanship; a firm hand on the tiller of our little island steering it, if not entirely out of Europe then, perhaps, instead into a more comfortable, post-Brexit, Norway-like agreement. Where we can pause and breathe and try to mend some bridges.
My political party would be one forcing the protagonists of this mess together - sit them all down; serve them lots of tea; feed them cake and biscuits ... Oh! That sort of party! Yes - what sort of party did you think I meant? ... And, until everything is sorted out, don't let anyone leave (other than those refusing to put hatred behind them, who would be forcefully ejected. Via trebuchet - straight into the English Channel).

There could be a great future ahead. But only if we come together to earn the word great.

Phew! Rant over and I'm going outside, into the post-Brexit rain, to prune my mock orange.

Prune: definition - to remove unwanted or superfluous parts. Why am I thinking 'Boris'?

If you want to read a sensible take on all of this, written by someone who really does know what he is talking about, find it here my-two-cents-on-the-eu-referendum


Popular posts from this blog

Life in the slow lane - Part One.

Recent hypothetical text message from parent to adult son -

Been in the garden all day. Time for a bath first then I'll leave, with you by 8. Chilly here - have you had snow? See you soon. Lots of  love xx
PS. Bought too many aubergines yesterday - would you like some?

All very mundane; boring even? Hmmm.

In an effort to save time or appear somehow with-it or hip or whatever term is used now to mean 'not ancient', the parent could instead have sent this -

Been in the garden all day. Time for 🛁. Chilly here - do you have ❄️. 
PS. Would you like some 🍆? Lots of X

Yes, I punctuate my texts.

Punctuation, however, isn't the point here. Or rather it's not the only thing unmasking me as someone who is not hip/cool/sic or lit (which list, of course, proves without a doubt that I am none of these things).

No. The point is that with the insertion of a few emojis, I changed an innocent message about gardening, the weather and vegetables, into something x-rated and made myself …

#2019 Connections, characters and a stone ball.

Half-way into January. A small step into a new year. And I am another year older. How did this happen?

I could answer part of that by reminding myself that as I was born in January and have just had a birthday I am a year older. But half-way into January (over half-way now - several days have passed since I started this blog) and a small step into a New Year; how did these happen?

Time doesn’t stand still. I've said that before. In November's blog. I called it out as a cliche then too. It is. But if cliches can be good and I think this is a good one. Time is animated. Time moves. I wittered on about this at length. In November. Two months ago. Two months filled with frantic present hunting; over-eating; over-spending; under-sleeping; and wrapping (always late on Christmas eve - so late that I risk Father Christmas finding me sitting on the floor surrounded by paper and string - the sellotape always runs out at about 11.57pm on Christmas Eve, doesn't it? - hot chocolate insul…

Time and dreams. And a mountain or two.

Time doesn’t stand still. Not for any man or woman. Time is physics. It proceeds and there is nothing that we can do about it. Not yet anyway. Probably not ever.

While perhaps it's not great writing to start with a cliche (or even a few), the standing still of time, as sometimes observed in a moment of awe, is something we can perceive. Sometimes. Okay, time doesn't actually stop. But it feels like it does. Insert here any moment when for you time 'stood still'; that moment, perhaps, when you had raced to summit a mountain and - with your feet standing on the highest point, your body in that state of elated exhaustion - you watched as the rising sun crept long pillars of light above the distant horizon. And you realised - literally standing still - that you were holding your breath. 

The sun of course went on rising and time did not actually stop. At moments like these, we tell ourselves that it did; just for a moment. But that is an illusion. A mere mistaken perception.…