The Politics of Dancing

The battle over Brexit is over, however this battle, which is really a battle over Britain’s place in the world, represents only the first battle in a long struggle. It is a struggle over whether we remain a Liberal democracy or take a much darker route into intolerance, nationalism, and xenophobia. I. I have often thought the categories optimist or pessimist as a typology suspect, certainly in my own case what mood predominates is dependent on a whole range of factors, not least being the subject at hand. I suspect this is true of a great many people. One of the primary factors being trends, the direction of travel. In politics over the last few years for anyone of a progressive disposition there has been little to inspire optimism. From Brexit to the 2019 election result the cause of progressive left of centre politics has received setback after setback. Reasons to be cheerful have been thin on the ground, pessimism seems an appropriate response. Though in such circumstance’s pe...

WHERE WE ARE NOW A discursive look at our current predicament  The bleak relentlessly beating heart of this period, is a cocktail of populism, fascism and the corruption that is never far from flawed democracies and all by their nature are flawed. We swirl around this black hole, that devours journalists, doctors, scientists, judges, and those enemies of the people, the ‘ experts.’   In the night people wake afraid, invisible, and everywhere the plague. Morning brings no relief only the stark clarity of daylight an extra five minutes in bed, listening to what the stale voice on the radio says. Then coffee, a laptop life in which we isolate. Still better than the crab commute, the fearful juggling of hot coffee umbrella and business bag, sweaty, cramped, and struggling to breath, chest tight with an animal anxiety. Across the city the room is vacuumed and disinfected for the press conference at noon. The insomniac stare of the politician at the lectern as he reads his car...

There is something childlike about Twitter, something of the playground. Gangs form, fights break out and others pile in. Shaming and name calling are rampant and bullying widespread. I say these things as a regular contributor to Twitter and also as someone not without sin himself. Indeed, even the most intelligent and erudite contributors sometimes seem unable to resist the temptation of the trite and unfair sideswipe.  Twitter is not Britain, although it does sometimes accurately reflect some of the more unpleasant aspects of a particular type of Englishness. And it also provides a mirror image of the most politically exercised and excitable elements of the population. In this way it provides a portrait of a certain mindset that may dominate the politically active. Which brings me to bookshelves. Bookshelves have suddenly gained an unexpected prominence in public life. Given the need for social distancing and safe isolation politicians have been invariably interviewed at hom...

Well the novelty has certainly worn off. I like increasing numbers of people live alone, the lack of physical face to face contact can start to tell on the psyche. This can be particularly hard in a big city like London in which, paradoxically you are surrounded by people, sometimes only separated by thin walls. For myself I am better equipped for solitude than most, not only used to my own company and remaining alone in the flat* all day. I have a wide range of interests, a love of reading, cooking and music. With modern technology I need never feel at a loss for intellectual stimulation. So, if I am beginning to flag a little, I can only imagine what it must be like for those with less interests or a lack of access to technology. Though I make no special pleading for the solitary. For those unhappily married cooped up all day in a tiny inner city flat with small children and someone they are increasingly beginning to hate the idea of solitude must sound like bliss. The weather, which...

1 History, it is said, is written by the winners. This is almost invariably true, but almost  since it only tells half the story since now it can be equally said that history is shaped by those who wrest control over the narrative. Thus, the South lost the American civil war but managed to successfully re-frame the struggle as one between a proud and civilised people who nobly sought to resist an uncouth and bullying centralising state, that went down fighting for independence and state rights. Of the real cause of the war slavery there is little mention. This ‘lost cause’ narrative has lodged itself into American consciousness and is still there and is unlikely to be completely dislodged any time soon. On a much more trivial level there is a classic example of who controls the narrative controls the way events are perceived. In the mid-eighties when the Conservative party was wiped out in much of England during local elections but managed to hold onto Westminster and Wandswort...

1. We live wrapped in comforting historical myths, from plucky Elizabethan privateers, heroic Empire builders, Nelson at Trafalgar, infantry squares at Waterloo, Jutland, the Somme, to the Battle of Britain and the blitz. All have supplied rich sustenance for the nationalist and populist demagogues to feed on. But not only demagogues and the hard right buy into such mythology, they have entered the public imagination to such an extent that even people born long after the end of the Second World War seem to imagine that they participated in the ‘blitz spirit.’ The writing of history must attempt to understand what happened, to untangle complex events and deal with ambiguity and nuance. Historical myths might best be called ‘ faction ,’ that is the dealing with historical facts but presenting an idealised version of events with inconvenient truths airbrushed out.

As the trees blossom like flowers and the days become longer it feels like a strange spring, nature unaware of the clammy disaster that has invaded the city. We seem to be paused momentarily at the point just before the contagion is about to devour significant numbers of the unwary and foolish, who flock to the London parks, many who will soon be ill, while others fill their shopping trolleys with kitchen towel, toilet roll, pasta   and anything else they can find on the shelves   in a daze of angry panic. The citizens will not submit without a fight, albeit for the last pack of Andrex toilet tissue. There are no potatoes, or indeed any fresh veg in Tesco. Where once there were carrots, onions and purple sprouting broccoli in abundance there are only empty pallets. I find some sea bass which fills me with joy as I place it in my basket. In the freezer there is little to buy, bar ice cream, potato waffles and chocolate cake. However, I do find some breaded mushrooms which ...