It has been a busy week in the Holme Valley,
if somewhat frustrating. We have,
finally, now got the camper van back on the road, and, during the week, I have
more or less reconciled myself to the idea of having to go on holiday. As the I Ching puts it, rather succinctly,
“there is no journey without a return”. The weather, however, has had other
ideas, and so, at the end of yet another week of preparation and frustration,
we find ourselves trying to load up in between showers. Even Debbie, who cannot
see an envelope without wanting to push it, balks at the idea of driving three
hours in the rain, then sitting in the yard at Mossburn watching it rain, then
getting up the next day and getting ready in the rain, then driving on from
Mossburn to Ardrossan in the rain, and so on. So we’re hoping it’s going to
pick up a bit. I’m taking enough work
with me on holiday to last till December, but nevertheless, it’s always better
when the sun shines.
Matilda has been her usual catty self. Several times I have
attempted to take her to one side and explain to her that soon we will be going
away, and while we are away it does not mean we do not love her, she has not
been abandoned. There is no journey
without a return. She is to come when she’s called, not play up Granny, Uncle
Phil or Auntie Katie the dog nanny; she must eat what she’s given, come in at
nights when the foxes and badgers are around, don’t get ill, don’t go missing
and above all, don’t die. She took
absolutely no notice. She has, however,
been showing a great interest in the camper while the side door has been open
and Debbie was inside working. The last cat to be so interested was Nigel, and
we always lived in fear of being half-way up the M6 and hearing a catty “prrt”
from the back seat.
Misty and Zak (who has been staying here prior to his
departure with us) have absolutely no idea that they are about to be plunged
into 30 days of playing “stones” on the beach at Kilbrannan Sound and/or being
dragged up various mountains by Debbie.
However, before this can happen, we must all work in harmony to complete
the crazy jigsaw which must be completed before we can go away anywhere in the
camper, and which always takes much, much longer than we think. The instructions for Doggy Nanny to come and
feed Matilda went through four drafts.
The news from the outside world grows ever more bizarre. We
are, of course, all in it together, we must never forget that, particularly
when we see video of Lord Sewel, who sat on the Lords committee responsible for
members privileges and conduct, seeming to snort cocaine, but only with a £5.00
note – he is a Labour peer, after all – while referring to Asian hookers, in a
conversation with to two “sex workers” [out of shot] as “whores”. The
fact that he only had a fiver could, at a pinch, be an indication that times
are hard – he has, after all, resigned from his £84,525pa role as committee
chairman and now would merely be able to claim £300.00 per day for expenses
(unless his colleagues bar him from attending, while he is being investigated)
The fact that this is a
Labour peer is a symptom of everything that is wrong with the Labour Party
at the moment – well, that, and the ham-fisted intervention by Tony Blair in a
last ditch, last minute attempt to stop Jeremy Corbyn winning the leadership
contest. Heaven forfend that people are
joining a political party and becoming interested in politics and a potential
leader who is proposing some alternatives to the robotspeak austerity-lite
drivel which the other candidates intone at regular intervals. Apparently the interviewer on Radio 4’s
flagship Today programme commented
that Labour was “in danger of becoming a populist anti-austerity movement.” And
the problem with this is what, precisely?
It’s a funny old world: when
people joined the Labour Party and helped Tony Blair get rid of clause 4 and
ditch some of Labour's most fundamental policies, that was called
"modernisation". When people who despair at the Tory-lite, feeble
pale pink "opposition" that lost Labour the last election, join the
party because they are inspired by a potential leader who seems to be offering
a real alternative to "austerity", apparently that's
"entryism". Who knew?
It’s not all bad news, though. Michael Gove ended up on
crutches. Before you start saying that I am being unchristian here, or at least
uncharitable, I should point out that all I am doing, as I see it, is
reflecting back on Mr Gove the same amount of love and respect that he and his
kind have for the institution of the NHS. I am surprised he wasn’t in BUPA
anyway, but when he damaged his ankle his wife drove him to a local NHS
facility then penned a peevish letter when it turned out that this cottage
hospital they’d gone to didn’t have (in contrast to the two much larger
hospitals 40 minutes away) 24-hour X-ray facilities, so it was shut on a Sunday
night. The government (in the shape of
Jeremy Hunt, a man who probably does not show up on X-rays) has a downer on the
NHS apparently not working at weekends anyway, even though it does, and at first
it seemed as if the Gove story was going to be more grist to this particular
mill – until it started to backfire spectacularly, not least with the
revelation that the NHS facility he did attend is managed by one of the
government’s preferred partners for NHS privatisation.
And finally, as Trevor McDonald used to say, irony has truly
eaten its own tail and consumed itself. A Tory MP officially opens a food bank
in Dumfries.
Next week, Count Dracula is put in charge of the Blood Transfusion
Service. Will God ever send us MPs who close food banks, on the grounds of “no
further need” instead of opening them? That’s the sort of bloke I would vote for.
Whatever you do, don’t ask John Bercow to open it for you,
unless you want a large bill, that is. He has been rather caught out this week,
like a Treen in a disabled spaceship. A freedom of information request revealed
that he had spent £170-odd on being chauffered to a conference less than a mile
from the houses of parliament, and £346 or thereabouts for being driven to
attend a conference at the University
of Bedford on the subject
of how parliament was much more responsible in terms of spending these days!
You literally could not make it up. And people wonder why the electorate is so
disconnected from politics, and why people think that all politicians are
lying, self serving corrupt bastards. See also under Lord Sewel above.
Anyway, we stumbled through to today, the eighth Sunday
after Trinity. The gospel for today
(Matthew 7: 15-21) is suitably apposite, in view of events in Westminster:
Beware of false
prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening
wolves. Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of
thorns, or figs of thistles? Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit;
but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit. A good tree cannot bring forth
evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. Every tree that
bringeth not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire. Wherefore
by their fruits ye shall know them. Not every one that saith unto me,
Lord, Lord, shall enter into the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will
of my Father which is in heaven.
But what to do, eh?
Every tree that bringeth not good fruit is hewn down and cast into the
fire, but who is going to do the hewing, and how does that square with “vengeance
is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay”. Although in recent months, the Church
of England has seemed more like the official opposition than the Labour Party,
nevertheless, the official church position is, I guess, like the Buddhists, to “let
it go with both hands” and take solace in the fact that the next world/next
incarnation will be better, and that everything that happens, happens for a
reason, even a gang of criminal morons intent on wrecking the economy and
making war on the poor. Blimey, Jesus,
you’ll be asking me to forgive them next! Anyway, it’s something for me to ponder on
while I’m watching the cormorants dry their wings and looking out for a pod of
porpoise or a basking shark in Kilbrannan Sound.
Actually, I should be making sure I don’t fall out with
Jesus at the moment – or more importantly, with St Gertrude of Nivelles, who
has the brief for cats in the pantheon of Saints. So, St Gertrude of Nivelles, if you are
listening, look after Matilda while we’re away and keep her safe. We’re off on one of our jaunts – and, as a
first for me, I’ll be taking the last Arran
book with me to finish it and restore the missing pages I accidentally burnt,
at the same time as I might be working on the next one. Haven’t these people
suffered enough?
Come the morning, we’ll be gone – not exactly like a bat out
of hell, not in that camper anyway – but more like Vashti Bunyan’s caravan –
Jog along, Bess, Hop along May: It’s a long road and weary are we. Bubble up
kettle, and make us all some tea. Every
journey has a return, and I hope to see you all again in two or three weeks, if
we’re all spared.
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