March 2020

March 17, 2020

Self isolation or normal life

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Self isolation or normal life

When I was young I would quite often fetch a chair, a book, a drink, a snack and some music on my trusty tape recorder. My Mum would glance wryly in my direction and say, “You’re having a party, aren’t you?” And I would agree, pleased with myself, and pleased also that I didn’t have to excuse my seeming passivity. It was never part of my plan to examine why? Why was I having a party for one?

This pandemic will have far-reaching outcomes for many of us. There is much talk of economic collapse, travel and leisure restrictions, and self isolation. We are alarmed at the prospect of managing without normal human intercourse for two, three weeks, even months.

Which got me thinking. How many of us spend a lot of time alone anyway? For whom is self isolation alarming? Those of us who go to parties, meet lots of people, travel as part of their normal expectations and eat out most lunchtimes may have to start thinking about that. Until yesterday, the prospect of spending three weeks with family at home was bracing, and had not made me unhappy. It was simply par for the course, and, actually, when I thought about it, perhaps I have been used to spending acres of time alone anyway, at home. I’m used to it, and I’m certain I’m not the only one.

It seems alarming to so many of us that we will have to curtail our expectations, but a lot of my disabled friends live day and daily with curtailment, and with expectations that make the prospect of enforced home stays almost a pleasure: no more having to pretend, or make such an effort, or be part of a bigger something that simply refuses to see, and that characterises honesty as self pity.

Perhaps an unintended outcome from this is that we learn to have more empathy for those with so little: the homeless, the poor, the vulnerable, our brave minorities who only wish to belong. I count myself as exceptionally lucky that I have support, love, kindness, options and a sense of humour. And that I am good at living with little, and have been so chronically accustomed to having low social expectations. Ski-ing holidays in the Vosges? Forget it. Parties and clubs? Pubs? Not often…

Thanks for listening. Stay safe.

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March 13, 2020

To be happy

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To be happy

It seems to be increasingly difficult to be happy or peaceful when, lately, lots of things seem to be happening to us, and “out of the blue”: at the end of a bruising and politically divisive three years, on 31st January, 2020, the UK finally left the EU. After the flags had finally been re-arranged following the end of the final – final – extension period, full-page adverts placed by the UK government appeared in newspapers to remind the few of us who might have forgotten, that, “The UK has now left the European Union”. Good to know that, in the face of gloomy post-Brexit forecasts, revenues were being well deployed.

At the same time, at the end of last year, new headlines were appearing indicating the origins of coronavirus in Wuhan and speculating wildly about its causes, spread, and likely mortality rates. I watched the news and tracking reports with fascinated alarm, as one would watch the approach of a tornado following a clear path and bound, at some point, to pass nearby. By now we are beginning to realise that we don’t need a direct hit, for life to change utterly.

If there is any good news to be had out of recent events, it could be that, in the face of a growing climate emergency, the natural world has the chance to recover some ground. We also have the opportunity to reassess what really matters to us, and to work co-operatively to find sensible, practical and compassionate outcomes that include us all. Increasingly I see that working together need not be difficult, but can be immensely rewarding, both for the unexpected joy we uncover and because in working together we are more open to sharing and being inspired by new and interesting possibilities.

By finding solutions that include everyone – it is interesting, for example, that the emergence of Covid-19 in the USA has finally forced the political concession that everyone who needs it can get tested, and everyone in need can get treated – finally, we may see the beginnings of a recognition that effective solutions are, and have to be, inclusive. “Value” is not just about the stock markets or the size of our wallets.

I’m going to be taking a break for a while. It’s a time for reassessment and reflection. More than ever, we need to listen to each other, avoid jumping to conclusions and try to stay healthy, cheerful and optimistic.

Thanks for listening.

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March 10, 2020

“The Charioteer” by Mary Renault

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“The Charioteer” by Mary Renault

I finished reading “The Charioteer” by Mary Renault for the fourth time, with a view to, I suspect, deciding that I had passed beyond my juvenile crush for it. Instead, I find myself more in love with this novel than ever. I have read and re-read every word. But quite why it has such a profound effect on me is much harder to discern. Why does it make me feel achingly sad?

It’s the story of two men who fall in love; more specifically, of one man, Laurie, who can’t choose between his love of a young conscientious objector Andrew, a Quaker, and an older, cynical but very-much-in-love-with-Laurie naval officer. My money is on the officer: dashing, handsome, emotionally intelligent and loving. What’s not to like? I side with the older man, Ralph, because he is at heart kind, articulate and certain of what he chooses. He trusts youthful Laurie with his love and asserts, proudly and unashamedly, the importance of physical love in the whole idea of being “in love”, challenging Laurie to flesh out his youthful idealism.

Physical satisfaction in love is something that I’ve always suspected represents a minority interest in the lives of disabled adults. So I’m blown away by Ralph’s honesty. He expresses so carefully the challenges of an integrated, unashamed desire for every aspect of being in love, without resorting to euphemism or coy evasion. How refreshing! I can hardly imagine the impact this novel must have made when it was first published in 1953, when homosexual relationships between consenting adults were still criminalised in the UK.

I’ll always be indebted to this novel because of its honest exploration of hypocrisy and the rights of adults to self-define. The main characters stand up for the rights of a minority who must keep their physical desires hidden, and of whom it is expected shame must be a daily burden. Ralph does not accept that; and despite his mixed – and at the time, probably shocking – sexual history, he is prepared to act heroically. In myself being part of a minority group that probably shy away from talking about their intimate relationships, I find my identification with him and am challenged to live as fully as I can, every day.

This book will keep its place on the short shelf of books that I will own for always.

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March 7, 2020

Cancellation of the London Book Fair 2020

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Cancellation of the London Book Fair 2020

On Wednesday, I thought I would check the website again. So I looked, and only ten minutes earlier, the cancellation of the London Book Fair 2020 had been announced.

In what would have been its fiftieth anniversary, the news was all over Twitter and Facebook, yet I found myself compulsively checking and re-checking, making sure there wasn’t a mistaken double-negative tucked somewhere in the public statements.

So I’m not going to London next week. Not such a big deal, you might think, apart from a meeting I have been very much looking forward to, the non-refundable train fares and costs of accommodation near the venue. No problem.

Except… The Fair is the one place I may hope to meet like minded folk, since, for the rest of the year, I spend too many hours with my nose up against my computer screen and communicating in the virtual world of avatars and emojis. This annual meeting of minds also throws in my direction the hope that I may meet interesting folk with a lot to say, and who have the same obsession with writing that I have, albeit with a different flavour and emphasis.

I feel at home in the London event even if, as usually happens, I come home with lots of postcards, fliers and ideas, few of which get further than my jotter or notes. But the hope inherent in such a gathering is motivation enough for me. Because the hope is what keeps me going.

Without that jolt of hope and enthusiasm to the system, the rest of my writing year now looks very different. And now, where will I find that jolt? Well, from me, obviously. I can hardly expect anyone else to supply it. So that’s where I’m at: despite the gloomy global forecasts, I have to start applying to myself and my own life, all the lessons that I wrote about in my three books to date: I know the theories, and now is the time to bring them out of retirement – that is, the satisfied glow of publication – dust them down and use them every day to take me forward, peacefully, happily, and in the certain knowledge that the biggest miracles I may bring into being, start with me.

Thanks for listening.

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March 4, 2020

To sum up

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To sum up…

I said earlier that I would mention ten ways to make a difference, and I have now written ten posts – this is my eleventh and final post in this series – to sum up some of the things we can all do fairly easily, to make a difference.

There is a marvellous Grizelda cartoon in the latest edition of “Private Eye”, featuring a well-dressed shopper loaded down with bags and her “John the Baptist”-style husband, for which the caption is, “He’s saving the planet, I’m saving the economy”. Which just about sums up our current dilemma: the more we consume, the more we have the potential to cause damage; but if we fail to consume anything, we reduce life to its most basic, at which point it becomes almost unliveable, especially given urbanisation and the wonderful inventions we now rely on, such as hot water, the wheel, computers, books…

There are many ways in which I find my life options limited, yet there will always be ways to reduce my options even further and thence to absurdity: I can’t cycle, nor walk far, so the ecological option would be to stay at home and go crazy. But clearly that is not feasible, unless I am reconciled to wasting my life.

So rather than saying, “Do less, be less, live less,” the focus of my efforts is to tailor my hopes so that others can have similar hopes too.

Instead of going for the biggest, best car I can afford, I would rather have a small car, since if we all had small cars, it might become possible for anyone who needed one, to have a car and live sustainably with it. Instead of opting for cheap fashion, I tend to go for more expensive clothes and wear them until they fall apart. That way, I hope to take a longer term view of what stays in my wardrobe, and I can wear nice clothes – and isn’t it amazing, how many of our nice clothes we never wear? – that don’t cost the earth. Instead of insisting on having asparagus out of season and strawberries all year round, I visit farmers’ markets and buy their fresh produce in season.

In so many ways, steps like these can be life enhancing, instead of life limiting. My focus has had to evolve, so that I continue to do what I can, but in such a way that others can have a hope of doing them too. On restoring beauty so that others may enjoy it, restoring dignity so that it may extend to others, on restoring balance, so that all may participate.

Thanks for listening.

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March 1, 2020

Live Local

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Live local

If we want to live sustainably, we can increase our efforts to live local.

Wherever possible – in other words, without going fifty miles out of our way, spending a whole day driving around in the car trying to find something, or parting with an overdraft-crippling amount of cash – as a household we try to avoid air-miles and motorway-miles in the sourcing of our food. We also try to avoid and reduce our use of palm oil, refined goods, soft drinks and plastic-wrapped produce. And generally to reduce our reliance on those things that we think we need, but which, actually, are surprisingly unhealthy, un-necessary and expensive. Personally, I do try to avoid refined carbs, sugar and caffeine but I can’t realistically place such restrictions on others: I simply recognise that, as the main cook and bottle washer in our house, I can certainly influence what we purchase and eat.

It is ironic that, whereas a hundred years ago, a diet of wholemeal bread, brown rice and cabbage was seen as crude and primitive, nowadays plain, whole, home-produced food is seen as highly desirable – think of artisan bakeries and health food shops – and comes at a premium both in terms of cost and the time and human labour expended in producing and sourcing it.

In “living local” I also consider alternative modes of getting around: the bus instead of the car, the train instead of the plane. I have reason to be very grateful to airlines – and I do sympathise with their plight in the current economic slowdown – but without them, I’m sure that alternative arrangements would have been possible and I would have been reconciled to travelling less. As an easily accessible way of getting from A to B, I have made use of flying, which for longer journeys is often less expensive than train travel. With flying falling slightly out of favour, might rail fares reduce?

A recent and peculiarly disjointed news bulletin has me thinking with fresh urgency about the difficulties that arise in making consistent, national policy decisions in response to the climate emergency. Three headlines, all delivered without any ironic inflection, the first about the battle to construct a third runway at Heathrow; the second, about the impact of the coronovirus in shrinking the global economy; and the third, about the likelihood of further flooding in areas of Britain already metres deep in water.

Since it appears very challenging for national agencies to come up with a clear, co-ordinated policy to tackle climate change, once again, the onus falls on consumers to vote with their choices. Let’s hope that our choices, and our voices for change, can make a difference.

Thanks for listening.

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