2019: Year in Review

2019: Year in Review

I began the year with a wondrous hangover. My friend cooked me a breakfast I almost had to reject. We then spent the morning watching back-to-back episodes of Bad Education. Did this augur well, or ill?

The world around me, as it happened

As current affairs unfolded through the year, I looked on mostly with a sense of impotent horror. Would we leave the EU without a deal? No. Would we leave with a deal? No. Would parliament make up its mind? No. Would May survive? No. Would parliamentary democracy itself survive? It began to look doubtful. The parliament of 2017-19 was so foul that it needs its own name to mark it out for posterity. There is the Merciless Parliament of 1388; the Rump Parliament of 1648; I suppose the parliament that ended in 2010 will be known as the Expenses Parliament; this one needs a fitting name as well. Here are some of my suggestions:

• Deadlock Parliament
• Parliament of Fouls
• Dishonourable Parliament
• Parliament of Liars
• Defectors’ Parliament
• The Parliament That Could Not Make Up Its Mind

Suggestions on a postcard.

The low point was after the Supreme Court overruled the Queen and sent the parliamentarians back to discuss Brexit some more – because, after three years of talking and voting for deadlock, they needed more time to talk about deadlock. Only, they chose to discuss something else: themselves. In scenes of fury and self-righteousness, parliament made itself irrelevant like it had never been before, and I hated the MPs for it; I hated them the more that they pitied themselves.

To cap it off, they refused for weeks and weeks to dissolve themselves.

With the election December, for the first time since 2010 we have stable majority government: the next five years will be without a major election or (one hopes, as one looks to Scotland) referendum. We have had, in the last five years, two referendums (both traumatic) and three general elections. That is too much for us to bear.

Personal objectives for the year that has passed

In my last review, going into 2019, I set myself six objectives, which I totally forgot about and ought really to have pinned to my bedroom wall. As it is, here they are, assessed:

1. Get the novel drafted to a standard that I can send it to an agent. Verdict: No. Utterly FAILED. I was too daunted when it dawned on me how much work needed to be done, more than mere tinkering. I have started, though, belatedly.
2. Get a story or poem published somewhere. Verdict: FAILED, but not for want of trying. My energies dried up with continued failure. I am less sure why my stories were not taken, for I thought they were interesting. My verse is too traditional to be of much interest to the gatekeepers; local poets have effectively said as much.
3. Get fit, not so much to lose weight as to tone up and be healthy. Verdict: Mixed. I seem to drift in and out of fitness. I was doing well with Parkrun in the Summer into the Autumn, but a foot injury has done for that. I shall resume in the new year.
4. Finish the album of music and vanity-publish it: FAILED, because I began to question the point. But I have renewed impetus now.
5. Play live more often: SUCCESS. Of all the objectives, this was the least likely, but I am in a band now, and the next year looks promising for us. 
6. Watch more local rugby: SUCCESS. The easiest to achieve, of course. I have adopted Tonbridge Juddeans as the club I support.

This time last year; and since

I began this year optimistically. Work was going well. I had my first flat. I had achievements I was justly proud of. Not much has changed since then. I still live in the same place, work in the same place, mix with the same friends. The year has been less about progress, more about stability, and in pursuing a life outside of work (but not always knowing how).

There have been some changes. I have continued to lose weight – and this continues to be expensive. But I think I have rediscovered the art of buying clothes. When I was bigger, I unconsciously opted for darker, drab things that attracted no attention. I am now aware of a desire for the opposite; to wear eye-catching, even daring things that I would never have countenanced before.

Added to this, I am also more aware of how welcoming my home can be for others. Especially with seating space and a large kitchen. I have started taking an interest in cooking and hosting, and I am shortly going to buy a cookbook – my very first! Probably Nigella.

Writing

Creatively, I am much stalled. I had a novel which I knew was miles away from being good enough; yet I was so blinded by what I had produced that I could not see how it ought to be. That problem now is solved; at least, I think so. I have radically altered the design; now, I just need to ‘action that’. Some of the pain will be in devising new passages; the rest of the pain will be in butchering and deleting much of what I have already slaved to achieve. Heart-breaking, in a way. But necessary.

Away from prose, I got involved with the local poetry society, but I am ambivalent about it. They have very well organised monthly meetings with high-flying modern poets, usually dividing the evening between an open mic and the guest slot. But I was not inspired by any of the guests. The low point was when two of them, on a joint ticket, recited their collaborative project inspired by Brexit. It became a group therapy session; for those of us not grieving, it was uncomfortable and a bit insulting.

Music 

Arcadian Dawn's first gig

We are Arcadian Dawn. We had our first gig, as a supporting act, in early December, and we were good. We had only had four rehearsals, but four was all we needed: when it was over, the whole thing felt to me as though it had been a real moment. We know we’re onto a good thing, so we are staying together going into the new year. This is what I have wanted for a very long time. I have been searching for other musicians online, but it’s worse than online dating. At present, we are doing covers, but I and one of my bandmates both write original music. For this reason, I now have added cause to get my demo recordings finished, for now there is actually a chance of some of them being played.

Outdoor pursuits 

I began well. In February, I walked around Bewl Water, which I think is 13 miles. I even filmed my day. But I never made a video of it, nor did I do anything greater than a day’s walk this summer. I regret that. The greatest achievement was in August, walking from Tonbridge to my friend’s place in Maidstone, where he put me up for the night. I traced the route of the Medway and saw it in its full Edenic beauty. I had often thought Kent was overreaching slightly when it bills itself as ‘The Garden of England’, with the obvious resonance of Eden; yet I saw it, on the approaches to Maidstone especially.

I wrote a number of pretty verses about the River Medway, before and after this walk. Together, they are basically a pilgrimage text and a love letter to Kent. I dedicated one of them to the outgoing GCSE students, who were good enough to tell me they liked it. I am doubtful any of it will ever see the light of day in publication, not for inadequacies, but because nothing I write ever finds favour with other poets. I am not modest; I know what I write is technically accomplished, but out of step with the times. This year was not my year; perhaps with some luck, I can begin to be published in the year ahead.

Resolutions and objectives for 2020:

1. NO dry January
2. Observe Lent: give up coffee (did me the world of good last time)
3. Reach a decision about the Reserves
4. Keep up the exercise routine
5. Do a proper walk of several days, across some county or other
6. Get the novel done
7. Get published (prose or verse)

Can Writing Heal the Brexit Wounds?

Can Writing Heal the Brexit Wounds?

Channel 4: Uncivil War

I have not seen the recent Channel 4 drama, Uncivil War. I doubt I will. I expect it will be too painful. But I have heard much in its praise, especially from partisan sources on social media which suggest it does not take sides and that it paints no one in a particularly flattering light. One comment I saw - from a leave supporter - suggested that anyone who was able to watch it without reflecting upon their own position was beyond reason. 

This got me thinking about how art might start to respond to events. It has to respond at some point, but because we are still undergoing the process, it is less able to do so, unable as I think we are to take a clear perspective on things. But perhaps the time is arriving, and this drama in particular is the first sign of art trying to help us process the pain?

Healing

Some kind of healing will be necessary. The archbishop of Canterbury has called for some government leadership in order to facilitate this, though I wonder if, rather than imploring the government, it were better the church seize the initiative and do it instead. Either way, he is right that this mood cannot be allowed to fester. He has a model to follow in this in the Church of Scotland, which held a service of unity following the 2014 referendum, though I know of none of its work in this area since that time. 

But what of the rest of us? Just as I argue Welby cannot simply wait for the government to take the lead but should seize the initiative himself, so too I argue the rest of us have a duty to do the same, whatever our place in society. If I am right about Uncivil War, then television and drama might already have made a start here. 

Harming

There is, of course, a danger. Words can heal, and words can harm. A cursory glance over social media should reveal just how ghastly some people are determined to be right now. Even in more formal work, there will be a number of people who relish opening fire at those who vote differently to them, or share a different vision. Such behaviour is the outcome of a petty mind, impossible to reason with; the product of character that desires not to reconcile but only to denounce. Most recently, the BBC version of Poirot at new year falsified history in order to associate the leave vote with fascism, so it has already started. I therefore state, with total confidence, that poisonous, tendentious and polemical work will naturally constitute the weakest work, most worthy to be disposed.

The form it should take

As suggested above, the perspective that time lends to us will enable us better to make sense of what we have been through, and I don't believe we are securely in that place, even if one good drama has made a start. Sometimes, these events will need to be tackled head on. At other times, it might help to explore these things through allegory.

It is easy to conjecture how. Take some of the factors of these times:

• long term friends falling out
• irreconcilable interests between different parties, factions or groups
• paranoia, denunciation, suspicion
• political rhetoric and its power for good and ill
• identity
• borders

and anything else you care to mention. All of these things can be discussed in drama, literature, art, music, whatever, without having to revive the myriad ghosts that lurk behind the spectre of Brexit, and this might help to reduce the inflammation. 

My own contribution

I have a first draft of a novel which does some of what I argue for, totally by accident. The story requires a hard political border and tension between two states. I invented a parallel world in which one of those states is the former capital city of the other, but which seceded several generations before. I conceived of the idea before the 2015 general election, when Brexit had not come into view, whilst out walking on Southborough common, soaking up the beauty of the place in the sunshine and contemplating the difference between my life in Kent and my old life in London. But if anyone were to read it now, not knowing these things, they would naturally see Brexit in it. I am comfortable with that. My world being a false creation, I can present secession without presenting a view on it, or alienating those who do come to it with their own views. 

Now I just need to redraft and get the blasted thing published.

Conclusion

It helps that I conceived of this story before Brexit, for I might not have been able to handle it so dispassionately in this atmosphere. But that only makes it more urgent that we try: feeding feuds and despising your neighbour, chewing the gristle of old grudge - this is easy, even satisfying; to reconcile requires good will and determination, which is in short supply at present. That is why Welby, and all of us who desire to reconcile, should find ways, including ans especially in writing, to seize the initiative, for otherwise we will be in the power of those who relish discord.

2016: The Wonderful Year

2016: The Wonderful Year

As told by a cast of many and featuring Edgar, the electric guitar.

2016: As told by Dekker

I borrow the title of this piece from Thomas Dekker, who wrote a pamphlet, thus titled, about the year 1603. In this context, the adjective 'wonderful' did not carry its positive connotations of something memorably jolly or praiseworthy, but was rather more descriptive: something to wonder at, be astonished by; something notable, not necessarily in a jolly way. 1603 saw plague in London, the death of Elizabeth and the accession - but not the coronation - of King James. Not, then, a settled year.

2016: As told by everyone, it seems

2016 would also seem to a be a wonderful year: a slew of high profile deaths; God knows what atrocities in the middle east; Brexit; and Trump. One tweet in particular, I thought, captured the prevalent mood, at least online.

Humorous as this is, it also seems to tell a truth that 2016 was a particularly fatal year; but you have to buy into that truth before this tweet become meaningful; and I do not particularly buy into this truth at all.

2016: As told by me

Truth be told, I have had a great year, and I don't think I'm the only one. My career goes well, my relationships are solid, and I am finding more time (at a squeeze, admittedly) for music, reading and sport.

Beyond my own circumstances - for it wouldn't do to crow - I do not find this to have been the news-disaster year of common repute either. The celebs who have died are of a generation; that generation is now going to start passing away, and keep going well past 2017:

Thou know'st 'tis common: all that lives must die,
Passing through nature to eternity.

Syria is undoubtedly ghastly news; but every year has bad news. This is the real low of 2016, but it does not mark this year as being especially vile, for the war has raged a long while now.

I did not wish for Trump to win, but there is a feeling in me, deep down, that the American voters understand Trump and Clinton much better than we do; I cannot judge them for their choice, nor do I pretend to understand the likely consequences. But as I look at America now, divided unlike it has been in many years, and as I look at the wreckage of Obama's non-leadership abroad, I cannot weep for the Democrats or the repudiation of the things they stand for; nor can hide my anxieties for what Trump means for the future of NATO.

And as for Brexit - well, like 1999 and 2012, that's another Armageddon that has failed to materialise. The reaction to the vote has been disappointing, with some people absolutely determined to see catastrophe unfold and for Britain to disintegrate, just in order to vindicate a smug smile and one of those 'I told you so' gloats. But I can't help but feel immense optimism. The vote itself seems to have breathed new life into our political process; the divisions that have been exposed have forced a long overdue national self-reflection, uncomfortable though it be at times; and given how unsuccessful - and worse - the EU has shown itself to be, how can it be that we can't survive without it? I am convinced we can do better than survive - we can flourish; but we could do without the dreary carping and whining, thanks.

2016: As told by Edgar, the electric guitar

Meet Edgar, the latest addition to my family:

I am most grateful to my father for gifting me Edgar.

Edgar is a Fender Telecaster (MX Standard, for those who know). Edgar has a beautiful voice, and he can really, really sing.

The story of Edgar's name will shed some light on the year that has passed, more meaningfully perhaps than all the straightforward stuff I have written above.

Edgar's serial number begins with MX16. I looked up the coding patterns and, sure enough, this means that the guitar was built in 2016, so this year is his 'birthyear'. (Wonderful year indeed!)

Hitherto, I had long been scratching around for a name. My custom is to name my guitars like I name my cars: after characters from Shakespeare's plays. My older guitar was an easy case, for his lean and hungry looking body shape ideally suited Caesar's description of Cassius's 'lean and hungry looks': so, Cassius it was.

But look at Edgar. He's beefy, but stately; muscular and athletic, but also comfortable and smooth. I thought of Prince Hal; but inexplicably, he just isn't Hal.

But then the mood around this year fell upon me, and I was put in mind of that most distressing of tragedies, King Lear. Basically, most people die; Lear having first gone mad and left for dead in a howling storm, and Gloucester having been blinded and attempted suicide. But at the end, there is a small band of survivors, on whose behalf young Edgar, who endured and survived betrayal, a man-hunt and near fatal exposure to the elements, speaks the closing lines:

The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most. We that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.

These elegiac words, so tenderly phrased, seemed to me more apt a summary of the times than any sneer, whine, rant, GIF, meme or any other cyberflotsam I had seen drifting around the interweb. After an especially fatal time, Edgar here acknowledges the passing of a whole generation, and not just a particular band of characters. His imperative that we must express what we 'feel' rather than what we 'ought to say' acknowledges also that the times have changed, that the ground has sifted, and that those surviving must face facts and take it all in hand, as ordinary protocol will no longer suffice. The fact, then, that Shakespeare has a young man speak the final words of the play is an expression of optimism, for the burden now falls to young Edgar and his generation, and Edgar acknowledges the future as his, with humility.

So, Edgar it is. Wonderful year, i'faith.

Wishing everyone a happy 2017.

Reasons for Optimism

Reasons for optimism

What a world.

But there are reasons to be cheerful. Polonius-like, I shall be brief.

· If the West be in a state of revolution, and I think we are, then it is the most peaceful in history, done with votes instead of pitchforks or bombs. (I might be counting my chickens, but at time of publication, this holds true.)

· Brexit might work. Lots of countries have expressed interest in forging closer relations with us, including America (except for Obama, who is halfway out the door) and New Zealand. Furthermore, the referendum might have woken our democracy from its deep slumber, and lead to a democratic renewal in England. All of us must play our part, and move on from these traumatic and tormenting events with courage. We really are all in this together, and that is a good thing.

· Politics will stabilise. The Tories look set to reunite, and if Labour split (as they must surely do) the social-democratic wing should be able to renew itself with clarity and vigour, and provide the effective opposition that every democracy needs. This might be the shake-up our party system has needed.

· Women are set to take charge. Probably Theresa May, possibly Andrea Leadsome in Britain; already Merkel in Germany; probably Clinton in the USA. If there were any doubts that the glass ceiling was rebuilt after Thatcher left, then it must surely be shattered now. And it wouldn't be the first time the England had turned to a woman for her salvation in her hour of need.

· We can heal; divisions can be reversed. If there are two nations now in Britain and America, then at least we know it; and now that we know, we can start to do something about it.

· If it takes Brexit to wake the EU up to the dangers of its own making, then maybe - maybe - it can reform and save itself, for it is an accident of timing that popular pressure exploded in England first - I had always expected Greece to be the first to fall away from the EU. And if the EU cannot, or refuses to reform itself, then perhaps it is for the best if it pass into history, as it surely will.

· Social media never reflects reality. People must soon realise this. It's time to switch it off. Those who can't switch it off can be relied upon to get hysterical; it is safe and acceptable to ignore these people.

· We have survived worse. Probably. I think.