Taking Liberties

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I asked Gareth how, as a photographer, he would capture the idea of ‘freedom’.
“Dogs running over a hill”, he said. (My photo effort here)

So thinking about freedom……..Sheesh! Who isn’t thinking about it at the moment? From close-to-home to across the globe freedom is a big issue. So often we trade our freedoms for protection and then we have to remind ourselves what it was we wanted to be protected from so we can renew the contract if necessary. Some, like care-workers, for instance, are checking the small print to see where mandatory vaccination was mentioned. Of course, vaccination issues may not be front and centre in the minds of people facing famine, war and tyranny, with their very basic existential freedom at stake; how can I know, but, I’m just a little person in a little corner whose life is relatively safe enough (for the moment, maybe), trying to get my head around things and I figured on starting with the more banal stuff - like whether a party in Number 10 is unforgivable. Contentious? Hell, yeah! Bear with me, let’s see where it leads.

If you’re a libertarian (just had to check my spelling there as ‘librarian’ wouldn’t make sense) and you become leader of a government just as the country, the world even, enters a pandemic (real or invented - let’s not go there), how would you deal with it? To begin with, I guess you’d cautiously let people know what’s going on and give some advice as to how to protect oneself and ones loved ones. And that’s how it was at first, wasn’t it? Boris phwawed and mussed up his hair as he asked us all to wash our hands etc. Then, formulated Guidelines started popping up all over the place and became progressively more proscriptive as people asked for more detail; questions like “If I’m to stay within 5 miles of my home and the nearest supermarket is 5.5 miles away, what am I to do?”, “Is it ok to walk my neighbour’s dog?”, “Can I play golf/go surfing/drive to a walking spot”, “We’ve got five kids, so should I get rid of one to stay within the rule of keeping group sizes to no more than six?”  “Should I report someone sitting on a park bench?”etc. (I’ve made those up, but they’re close to reality).

The barrage of questions required refinement of the guidelines; a process that continued until they became a set of rules, laws even, that were often enforced enthusiastically with fines and prosecutions (there are always the conscientious sorts who like getting others to stick to ‘the rules’). I mean, imagine the frustration of those trying to manage things. However lenient a parent’s style might be, when kids seem incapable of working things out for themselves, and an occasion calls for it, boundaries and rules are laid down and have to be enforced And just as kids do, some people were busily disobeying the rules, whether for devilment or on principle. Whatever.

I doubt, though, whether Boris sat at his desk every night fine-tuning the guidelines so that every Tom, Craig and Jemima could find an answer as to how they in particular should behave in the circumstances. Our Covid-19 regulations were drawn up, I imagine, by committees of committees and you’ll possibly be familiar with the old reference to committees being like camels. Or, maybe it was some poor little person in a windowless office with a laptop, churning out rules;  straw into gold, like in the Miller’s Daughter fairy tale (I wonder who might Rumplestiltskin be in such a scenario - your guess). And, I seriously doubt whether Boris even read much of those regulations. He was busy making babies and having his flat redecorated.

I think we easily forget that government is a two way process. People react to how government behaves and vice-versa. Rules and legislation came about in the pandemic because so many of us demanded them for our safety. For many people freedom means protection, with rules that ensure the behaviours of others don’t impact on ourselves. I myself have bristled in shops when people seem blithely ignorant of the need for social distancing, stopping myself short of actually demanding more policing of it. I have to remember that my first response to being told that a killer virus was abroad was to exercise common sense. I soon discovered that everyone has a different notion of common sense in which case there’s nothing common about it at all! And then what?

I’m not a Boris fan, but I think his initial task was simply to get us on board with protecting the sadly neglected, under-funded, under-resourced, under-staffed NHS and I doubt he thought much further than that about how human behaviour works. Or am I underestimating him? Brexit? He’s been said to have some talent in ‘reading the mood of the public’….No….that was Cummings et al, surely. Winning the election? You can always win with nice promises. But as everyone knows, you have to keep them if you want others to remain on-side. You have to be seen as honest, sincere and trustworthy. Hmmmm. It looks like he’s been telling porky-pies. Naughty Boris!

Oh dear. This is turning into a ramble through the brambles of the pandemic again and the thorny issue of whether our government has made a hash of it. But I’ve started so I’ll finish. Those parties at Number 10 - If the rule-makers enforce the rules but don’t follow them themselves, what are we to make of it? Well, we can react angrily and demand resignations. After all, so many people lost loved ones without being able to spend last moments with them…..because of the rules. People across the country were being dutiful rule followers while our rule-makers were having parties. I very much doubt (in fact I know) that it wasn’t just Number 10 having parties. Not everyone was following the rules. Nor was it a rule that all happiness be forbidden because of the tragedies befalling others. I had moments of transgression myself though I was careful not to offend or to be a risk to others. I know that to be free I must not intrude on the freedoms of my fellows, but I believe that such deviances were and are necessary to remind ourselves of our individual sovereignty; in a world full of joys as well as hazards. I hope I’m not coming across as callous, but what really is the best way to behave when at any moment we could meet death? Do we shrivel and hide away in darkness, or do we live in the light?

To be honest, I’m not much bothered about whether the gang in Number 10 gathered together in the garden after work for a wee drinkie or two with cucumber sandwiches, canapés or take-aways. Are we still a free country? It’s best not to say one thing and do another, though, as most parents quickly discover, and as as our governors are now discovering, too. However, I’d be much more concerned about our leader if he was an authoritarian autocrat. Maybe that’s what he is - a bully. Certainly there are some, now standing in the wings of government, who could emerge as fully fledged tyrants. Or is he still, in his peculiar bumbling way, maintaining loyalty to libertarian principles……. even if those only apply to himself and his wealthy friends?

In my eyes, Boris is a clown and I didn’t vote for him but I think the furore over parties in Number 10 is a big distraction from the erosion of our freedoms going on elsewhere in government. Look to the Home Office for example and the creep of legislation there. The House of Lords can’t hold it back forever. And who will replace Boris when he falls? Uh-oh.

It’s a farce.

Note that I’m in Wales and have made no mention of Welsh government through the pandemic. Simply put, our Welsh government has a little bark and doesn’t bite very hard. Also, Wales is a lovely land so most of us haven’t complained too much about being locked down in it.

There are of course much bigger issues we can and will fret about, like an impending WW3 if Russia decides to impose itself on Ukrainian liberties, the creep of AI, new virus variants, Climate Change. There’s so much other stuff, but this little blog isn’t the best place for all of that, not at the moment, anyway.

So there I am, dear reader. A little clearer where I stand in relation to the pantomime of our UK government and a bit surer of what freedom means to me at least….I think. I chose not to be boosted for instance but that’s another story, so until next time - please ‘like, share and subscribe’ (only kidding - that’s apparently what you’re supposed to add at the end of blogs and vlogs).

A Yule Blog

Catching up with Facebook I’m late to the party with my seasonal wishes. Sorry. While I’ve not had Covid (as far as I know), I have had writers block. It’s not great having a blocked blog. Anyway, here is my wish for 2022 - that however eventful or uneventful it is, we all manage to hang on to the ideals of peace, goodwill, health and love for all (and by all, I do mean All).

We’ve now slipped into the New Year, whether on ice, oil slick, banana skin or dog poo, and here we all are, still alive (I certainly hope you are, dear reader). Pandemic aside, with all of the divisions it’s brought with it, 2021 was an adventure. I think it’s fair to call it that, even if a lot of the time was spent skipping around trying not to catch something or infect each other (some of us anyway). Mask wearing became more casual and at the tail end of the year people were queuing up for vaccination boosters instead of amusement park rides. If this becomes a regular thing it might be good to involve Merlin Entertainments in ways to keep the socially distancing queue (contradiction in terms?) happily distracted while they wait. It is a British talent, though - queuing. Maybe we actually, deep down, enjoy it.

A year ago, at chez nous we added four spaniels to the world of dogs. It didn’t do their mother much good though and poor Pwdin has been on a series of medical treatments ever since for some strange, unidentifiable malaise. It’s hard to have much confidence in any diagnosis as the vets at our usual surgery get younger every time we attend, as do so many of the professionals we come into contact with these days. It’s a truism to say that we get older every year and I’d like to stop counting, but it’s always a disconcerting surprise to be met with a child doctor, vet, nurse, police-man or whatever. And then there are politicians, too…..let’s not go there.

Ha! Gareth just interjected by reading me comments from a dog-blog discussing the amount of hair shed by spaniels. Hmmm, I didn’t need it confirmed on-line, Gareth; I’d appreciate it if you’d just vacuum as often as I seem to! (As I write, he’s still reading the blog)

Dragging last year’s memories from the recycling bin in my brain, we had our summer time at the caravan and turned the house over to AirBnB. It was a good way to keep the place dog-hair free though Gareth was regularly commenting on the amount of hair people left in the shower. We were pleased, however, that most guests treated the place respectfully and when we moved ourselves back in in November we haven’t had to fully redecorate and refurnish. If we AirBnB again this summer, though, we may well have to redecorate and refurnish as the present incumbents (us) haven’t been quite as respectful.

As I sit, I occasionally look up for a glimpse of sunshine through my dirty window (argh! there are snot marks where the dogs sit with their noses to the glass pining for the great outdoors that they know exists somewhere beyond our little yard). Anyway, now that I’ve added window cleaning to my post-Christmas house-keeping list, I can go back to digging into that memory bin. Special memories, like my son’s weddings, are, of course, safely stored, though I must be sure to properly archive them with the family history archive that my mother bestowed on us. Actually, she intended that my younger sister inherited it, but it seems to have remained with me along with the enormous archive of writings from both our parents, currently stuffed into the under-stair cupboard, the attic and little bedroom. If we’re making New Year resolutions, one of mine is to make a new assault on those boxes, reducing the volume sufficiently that when I pop my own clogs, it’s manageable for the next generation. I’ll never know what they choose to do with it, of course, but the importance my parents placed on it has certainly weighed with me. I don’t place much value on stuff, but I do have enormous difficulty disposing of things people have written. Heck, my heart churns after each visit by the grandchildren as I have to decide what to do with their ‘artwork’ and little written messages. My mother had the same problem, which is why clearing my parents’ home was such a heart-rending (and back-breaking, time-consuming) chore.

Some of the greatest delights one has as a grand-parent, is time with grand-children, even when they like to point out, as they often do, that one is old and likely to die soon. I’m lucky in being able to see two of mine regularly but the pandemic threw down a huge obstacle course between me and my other two, who live in the Midlands. We did have them to stay with us at the caravan for a few days in August though, and it was very special. I am acutely aware, however, that both of my grandsons are rapidly approaching the point of knowing grandparents as just wrinkly, hard-of-hearing things that move slowly, make naff jokes, and are utterly stupid. Soon I’ll be watching them from afar instead of having them cuddle up to me in bed after a sleep over. As a struggling-to-keep-up-with-everything young mum, I looked forward to the days when my kids were more self-sufficient. As a grandmother, I grieve (as I also celebrate, of course) each new step that my grandchildren take towards maturity. Of course, I praise the blossoming that I’ve seen in my now-mature sons, but my grandchildren are to me precious buds that herald a new Spring; little flowers turning their heads to the sun, ready to burst into full growth, and I do so enjoy the early Spring! My own petals started dropping off a while ago. I’m shrinking, too - a fact noted with great delight by my older grandson who will very soon be taller than me. With each inch upwards that he acquires, I appear to lose one! 

These children are getting too smart, by far. The other evening we took an evening walk for Reuben and Ivy to see the Christmas lights on people’s houses. It was about 5.00 pm so maybe people weren’t at home or hadn’t switched on and I expressed my disappointment and dismay at the limited show. Reuben then pointed out that I don’t even have any Christmas lights adorning our house-front so can’t really complain. He got me there. 

Looking up again from this page, the snot marks on the patio door window have disappeared into the shatter of raindrops and the sky has turned grey. Gareth will soon complain about me being still in my dressing gown and the need for us to get out for exercise and air. The dogs have given up on me completely, and have gone back to their beds. The grey doesn’t quite call me out, I must admit. There’s been no white Christmas - just a mild and soggy one. We venture out each day knowing that we’ll have three soggy doggies needing major mud-removal before putting on our slippers, pouring a brew and sitting in front of our virtual fire (such a comforting illusion, this YouTube fireside!) COP26 happened (you know I’d have to bring it up at some point) and I’m waiting to see how much effect my meagre attempts to reverse climate change have had. Can’t see anything yet, I’m afraid. By the way, if you’ve not seen it, watch ‘Don’t Look Up’ on Netflix - entertaining as well as meaningful. 

Well, I’m just about blogged out, now, dear reader. The blog is backing up again and I’m wary about flushing it with any flow of new random thoughts from my Christmas-addled brain. Best just to wait and let it clear. Gareth is bustling about, making the point that he’s now ready to venture into the great known and the dogs have awoken, braced to pull his sled (as if). So, I’d best get myself dressed and in the meantime wish you all the very best and hope to see you in 2022.