Why Blog?: or Blogging by Candlelight?

Why Blog?!; ( Or blogging by candlelight?)

I think that being asked why you have a blog is a good question and so is, and, ‘...what’s with the name!?’ This is a very normal reaction. My reply, sometimes, is that I am like the character in E.P.P.Thompson’s essay, ‘Writing by Candlelight’, (1970) who sounded off in a letter written to The Times as a result of the country being blacked out by the power workers strike. Better to write something rather than suffer the frustration of silent dissent. The letter came from the Surrey Hills and its author won the lottery of getting it published. By good luck, no wasted effort.
This blog comes from the hills of the Welsh borders and my writing is not by candlelight but in what might be, for all I know, a cyber padded cell. No one may hear. It may be a symptom of not having to descend into the lowlands and put the world to rights while taking the cattle truck to work. It might have much deeper meanings for well paid counsellors of some type. However, my justification is that this cyber cell takes up little room but has the special feature of a partially sound proofed window in the door. This means that there is just a chance that some other poor victim or member of the management might pick up a few words which, by happy chance, in the former case might allow them to carry on for a bit longer, or in the latter, might cause them to ask themselves, ‘Is this really the best way of running the asylum?’ So, no more burning effigies or reaching for the Private Eye rubber brick when watching TV. As long as we are not running on emergency candles, of course., my wife’s new command is, ‘ Save it for the blog.’
So it is most fortunate that, what I shall call our first pre-election leaflet, fell through the letter box this morning.. Instead of being used to light the wood burner these will now be a source of inspiration. This first example was quickly followed by our polling cards for the European Elections, due next month. In taking another look at the leaflet, which tells me all this particular prospective parliamentary candidate is doing at the moment, no mention is made of any election whatsoever. I would have expected some references to the European Election but perhaps this is a canny candidate. Perhaps he knows that most people have no interest in such matters. I have no idea who the candidates listed will be until I get to the polling station and the candidates seem happy at the moment to keep it that way. It is probably explained by election etiquette. If your standing for Parliament its the MEP’s prerogative to mention Europe. This distant relationship with Europe is rather unfortunate for democracy and the rural community. We seem to be forever picking up the work schedule sent down from Brussels. This week it’s the new procedures for tagging sheep, causing yet more fears of departures from the industry. See what I mean. Another bee escapes the bonnet and Europe wasn’t even mentioned on the leaflet! Are you .listening in the corridor out there?

Nearly forgot the name. This is part of my newly created campaign to make use of all those family names that are never used or have been forgotten. It makes a change from the usual label and is a gesture against Jacqui Smiths now confirmed scheme to get us all fixed up with our National Identity Cards. She has as much chance of convincing me that it will work, let alone serve liberty, than she has of convincing me that she has a second home in Redditch. Nice to know she thinks we can afford it though, like Trident.....
Dacier.

‘I expect you will be going home for the Bank Holiday weekend, Jackie?’

‘ Nice of you to ask Gordon, but with it being the bank holiday I thought I’d spend a few quiet days at my second home in the country.’
‘Now that would be, don’t tell me, in Worcestershire, the town where the main industry used to be pins and needles and where Enfield motorbikes used to be made. Isn’t it now a centre for the prison industry?’ Must go Jackie, got a U -Tube thing to do.’

Meanwhile back in Redditch, the lounge has been really well tidied up, the children are wondering if this will be the time that mummy takes them back home with her, leaving behind the verdant pastures and sun soaked valleys of what has become more of a way of life for them, rather than a holiday.

Somewhere on the M4 near Swindon, Rupert is passing the time while stuck in a tail back by raising the question of whether they should still be bothering with their hideaway second home. Once they were part of the ‘zonely’ brigade. ‘Darling, you must visit one weekend, its zonely 2 hours drive from the Hammersmith fly-over.’

‘Jocasta? I suppose we really need to keep the cottage on? What with the capital gains tax implications, the need to get the holiday lets booked up, the business rates now we let it from Easter through to November, and the continuous increases in the contents and buildings insurance? Not to mention inheritance tax. It was so much better when we could afford to leave it empty for most of the year.
‘No Rupert!, the children love our occasional weekends there and besides, if things get any worse at County and Ripoff Securities, we may really need to use it as a hideaway. Especially when the depositors and shareholders realize we’ve been having ‘bank’ holidays on them for years.
Rupert looks very depressed. ‘Well darling, we already have one home, surely that’s enough. It’s not as though we have any connection with the place or actually know anyone, let alone do things in the community. Think of all those people out there with only very tiny homes, or the few with no homes at all. There must be a way round it. Of course! Working for the community! I’ll stand for Parliament! The present old boy is retiring, going to the House of Lords for services to blustering or something. We could leave the kids in the cottage with a nanny. Things would be so much simpler.’

Jocasta’s’ eyes light up, ‘And we could sell the Putney house before values fall any lower and move in with my sister and get one of those allowance thing- a- me- jigs for the cottage. Perfect!.’

Meanwhile, in a Bed and Breakfast, in nearby Swindon, the homeless persons legislation is getting good nights sleep.

Dacier

( See my earlier item in response to Mark Thomas and his Peoples Manifesto. A slightly more detailed analysis of the second homes debate will follow shortly.)