What I Did On My Summer Holiday:

‘The last man nearly ruined this place/he didn’t know what to do with it/if you think this country’s bad off now/just wait till I get through with it’

-        From ‘Duck Soup’

Hello!  And sorry it’s been so long since the last post (six months to be precise).  Let me fill you in on what’s been happening. 

I’ve entered three short story competitions.  I’m still in one.  One proved extremely problematic, as the entry criteria stipulated ‘no sex, violence or bad language’.  Which was a bit of a stretch for me; something akin to asking Van Gogh to paint without yellow.  I’m really proud of them in any case, and they will form a post-Brexit collection of short stories, called ‘Leaving’.

I’ve rediscovered reading.  I couldn’t read at all last year, due to depression.  This year, so far I’ve read 33 books. Mainly old favourites, but I’ve had long afternoons, sitting in the latent Devon heat, occasionally with a Lapford Sling (a gin cocktail of my own invention).  Music is coming back slowly, but I’ve heard some great episodes of Desert Island Discs.  

Oh, Liverpool won the Champions League.  In a thrilling – yet tense – encounter with a spirited, but blunt-edged Spurs in Madrid.  I felt very Scouse and wished I was up in Liverpool.  We also missed out on the league by one point and I had a further reminder that Noel Gallagher is a graceless prick; who wouldn’t have a career without at least two Liverpool bands. 

Oh and Boris Johnson became Prime Minister.  Elected by 0.1% of the population, including teenagers. 

Theresa May subsumed her own opinions, to take power. She was always completely lacking in the necessary skills (judgement, empathy, compassion) to succeed.  Now, we have this buffoon-in-chief, implementing a PR strategy known as ‘unlimited rice pudding’.  He’s not played ‘dead cat’ yet, which is Trump’s favourite weapon. And the sad thing is: this was always going to happen.

I predicted all of this (he says, sagely) in an article called The Second War in May 2015.  I also called for a ‘radical socialist alternative’.  And we got Jeremy Corbyn. Now: I like Jeremy Corbyn.  I think he’s a decent man.  I joined The Labour Party.  I attended a Corbyn rally.  But when I saw Labour’s strategy on Brexit was ‘do nothing and then actively assist a right-wing government’, I decided enough was enough.  I resigned, privately not publically and despaired about the state of the country.  I worried about what was next.

But no, I’m going to be optimistic.  Not about Brexit, which will be an unmitigated disaster.  But isn’t it nice that The Tory Party has made the last five years about themselves? And now the next three generations? We are in the Brexit Endgame and The Avengers aren’t flying to the rescue.  But we have every reason to be keep the faith, some faith. 

Art reflects the times, as much as the human condition.  I recently re-watched The Entertainer. It’s bitter, bleak.  But then again, it’s a John Osbourne play.  Archie Rice believes in his country, more than he believes in himself.  His country gives him the gift of the corpse of his youngest son. A new version tours in the Autumn.  Next year, An Inspector Calls is touring.  A young girl dies and everyone is responsible.  It seems that art is giving us little reminders that the darkest times are about to fall and it is now time to wake up. 

I also recently re-watched the Marx Brothers in Duck Soup.  It’s Brexit in a nutshell, though in America it’s been seen as a metaphor for Trump.  If you’ve not seen it, the inept shyster Rufus T Firefly takes control of the almost-bankrupt country of Freedonia and declares war on neighbouring Sylvania. It ends in chaos.  Sounds familiar?

And I am warning you now, again: times will get dark.  We all need to reach out to the person next to us, go on a march, and donate to a foodbank… whatever.  Because ultimately Trump, Johnson and Brexit will fail; due to their own greed and their own stupidity.  To quote Bette Midler, ‘When Trump says something’s boring, it means he can’t eat it, or he can’t fuck it’. 

As someone once said, there is no alternative. Or maybe there is.  On our Summer Holiday in the Basque country, we visited the town of Sitges; which on road signs, describes itself as ‘Socialist, Feminist, Green And Anti-Fascist’.  Maybe we should all move there.  Or: we can stay here, with a positive passionate, but not Panglossian state of mind.

No circus, no Summer is forever.