Fragile Little Pickles

Did you hear the one about the comedian whom was asked to sign a “Behavioural agreement” prior to a gig at the School of African & Oriental studies in London? I shit you not, this was actually a thing. Unsurprisingly, the comic in question, Konstantin Kisin declined to accommodate, and in a near miraculous outbreak of common sense the campus in question have apologised and declared to be in full support of free speech. All a bit “woke” isn’t it? Well actually it’s just flat out deranged as far as I can see. As delicate as these flowers on campus must clearly be, they really need to appreciate that the world isn’t one big pink and fluffy safe space. It has edges, it can be painful, and with the evolution of ears came the risk that one might, from time to time, hear stuff you’d prefer not to. I’m sorry, but suck it up buttercup. The world is not a safe place. It wants you dead. And in funny kind of way that’s what gives this whole charade meaning. Exactly when did we begin to infect our kids with the delusion that we can protect them from everything? Isn’t it obvious if you try to protect them from everything you actually prepare them for nothing? Isn’t that so screamingly, crushingly, achingly self-evident? Apparently not. A word to the wise young person; I am not a safe space. I am a random generator of unsafeness that owes you no obligation to appease your fear of, well, apparently everything. Being emotionally robust is one of the most important gifts you bestow upon yourself. You want to spend your life aggrieved? As a victim? As some vessel of offence that cracks at the slightest emotional impact? Well good luck with that one. You’ve a world of pain before you. You’ve set yourself up, by virtue of your self-imposed fragility, for a life of unnecessary angst and insecurity. What a way to live! Better instead you face up to the reality that you are in control of precisely nothing. That the safe space you crave, whilst all warm and mushy, does you very little good and most likely a huge amount of harm. Tension and rough edges and blurred lines are just the way life is for the most part, give or take the occasional oasis. Why not do yourself one huge favour and take that aboard? Better still, open up those emotional pores and accept that you’ve no fundamental right to demand that others accept your spurious lines in the sand. We’re apes. We thrive on conflict, and for the most part we’re all living during time when the most extreme form we come across are of the verbal variety. A bit of verbal jousting isn’t the end of the world? Hearing people say things you don’t subscribe to likewise. Just gird those sides, people. Be a little brave, a bit more inquisitive. You might end up seeing things a little differently, or at the very least come to a place where you can demonstrate some emotional resolve.

An Intruder In The Home

Just had an interesting discussion with a work colleague whom I respect. General chat about the job we do. The subject got onto burglary, and I have found myself very clear on how I would react should I encounter an intruder in my home. I would respond with disproportionate violence. I would use any object that came to hand to hurl at them, and should things become physical I would gouge, I would bite, and I would break and actively seek to incapacitate my combatant. They would understand, at the bare minimum, that to target my home was an incorrect choice. I am not proud of any aspect of this, but I know in the very core of my being that I could respond in no other way. I would not be measured, I would not be reasoned. I would be visceral and the violence would be immense. What is it about this offence that provokes such a strong reaction in me? I am the least violent person I know. I always try to discuss and reason and engage in workable compromise, but when I think of persons entering my home I feel a gut urge to respond in ways that I cannot defend. I hate violence and consider it as a left over facet of our primitive ancestry. But by God it’s within me; I’m not a fallen angel but rather a risen ape. I try to make sense of the contradiction yet struggle to do so. There’s no real rationale I can deploy; it would be far better to call 999 and take to least amount of risk. It’s weird to me on so many levels that I should feel this way. I would always, and I mean always urge other’s not to do as I fear I would. There’s no sense in it; why put yourself at risk for this? I suppose we all bear our fair share of contradictions if we are honest; perhaps this is simply one my more overt examples? What’s your biggest contradiction? The thing that you cannot apprehend about yourself? I bet there’s something. You’re no more of an angel than I. When you strip away the denial what’s your double standard? Answers on a postcard.

We're All Quite Possibly Mad

The left hates the right, and vice versa. Men hate women and women hate men. Dogs hate cats, and cats hate dogs. What I detect here is this trend towards tribalism that I just don't think can lead to anything good. And I don't know what it will take to put an end to it? Everything is hyperbole and opinion, we're all screaming into elevators. You're either on one side or the other and there's a chasm where the middle ground used to be. Why are we doing this to each other? To ourselves? Who gains anything? Why has everything become "I win, you lose"?
I've taken to dramatically reducing my time on social media these days. It brings out the worst in me. It certainly seems to bring out the worst in other's. I see posts from people I like that seems to suggest something close to hate towards opposing sides. All Tory voters are twats, all Labour devotees are social justice warriors? What on earth are we hoping to get from this? I mention all this because there are times when I've made the same miscalculation. Especially when I was extricating myself from the Christian faith over a decade ago. I let anger dictate my path, I chose ridicule over reason. I expect I persuaded precisely nobody in the process and just reinforced my own biases along the way. Sure, I can entertain other atheists my criticising faith and mocking the devout. It's fairly low hanging fruit after all. Yet I think I've concluded that nobody wins a race to the bottom. We just further alienate when we preach only to the choir. One quality I do see in myself is that I do go out of my way to take aboard the views of people with whom I disagree. I want to, at the bare minimum, at least understand alternative perspectives even if I might not subscribe to them. When I view social media these days I see straw-man arguments and casual contempt writ large. Are we even aware that we are doing it? And I see it from otherwise decent people. I wonder whether we all need to take a backward step here and perhaps consider the possibility that disagreement doesn't have to equal discord. We don't have to have animus towards the other side. It's a corrosive and ineffective tool.
And then there's this culture of offence that we seem to be cultivating. A place where a word misspoken, an incorrect intonation, or some other minor transgression can and has led to people losing jobs or getting banned from various media channels. When did we become so easily offended and terrified? Who let that fucking cat out of the bag? It's deranged in so many ways. Every day we hear some celebrity apologising for something, or some company mealy mouthing an admission of guilt over something so trivial that it hardly bares a mention. It's idiotic. We've allowed ourselves to become fragile. And in so doing we self immolate and make it harder and harder to speak what's on our mind. So what if we have an incorrect opinion? Let other's come forth and correct it. Let's talk, let's lock horns, let's disagree and make some effort to understand why other's might think as they do. But no, we're all tribes now. And there's a set narrative. And nothing good can come of it. We're all rough around the edges and we'd do well to just face that fact. But we're all so busy taking offence and I'm concerned that we might be becoming less outward looking than we've ever been. To this end the internet has both helped and hindered. It's created these little bubbles where like minded people cluster, which would be fine if they also took time to tip their toe into other ponds. Apparently this is too much for some. Better to surround ourselves with people who sing your tune, who can recite your mantra, who can confirm all your biases. Heaven forbid that we should expose ourselves to alternate ways of thinking. Perish the thought that we might be open to correction. It's just bizarre. And it's damaging in the extreme. We've got to be outward looking in order to evolve, haven't we? So here's my own solution to the problem; I'm not joining a tribe. You can all quite literally go fuck yourselves. I'm going to be an intellectual prostitute and take the ideas from the left, the right or centre, depending on whether they make sense to me. I will not be defined by some demographic. I won't necessarily support you just because I've done so before. I'm going to seek out ways of thinking but yet never allow myself to become enslaved by them. I need to breathe deeply, to be able to stare into all the caverns and all the fissures and all the recesses. I can't stay in one place. I have to poke around and see what's out there. So don't try to annex me to your cause, or assume that I'm on your side. I'm not. I don't want to be. I need to be freer than that.

Middle Age And The Journey Before

You know you've arrived at this glorious point in life when you really can't decide whether great sex or a nice curry is the best way to spend an evening. When you inspect nasal and ear hair more closely than seems appropriate. When the thought of being in a nightclub leaves you with an unpleasant rash. My transition came into sharp relief during this years world cup. I watched all the games at home bar one, that being the semi final. I'd been in the pub for all of 10 minutes when I become offended by the sheer absence of IQ of the fellow patrons. Grown men were yelling profanities at a wall mounted screen, stumbling around with glazed eyes whilst the few females brave enough to share the space looked on with bewilderment. God, I just wanted to be at home. Heck give me a long walk in the country and a quiet country pub at lunch time any day of the week. I'm also starting to utter sentences which begin with "Back in my day" or "When I was a lad", which fills me with a vague self loathing. I come from an age when the internet didn't exist. When you knocked on your mates door or used a phone to ask if they were "Coming out". Youth club was the central social hub twice a week, and we'd all turn up on bikes and play pool and table tennis and lie about all the sex we'd not actually had. I'd like to think those were the days, but I'm not actually convinced. I was an angst ridden teen, a little insecure having carried a few extra pounds until my 15th summer when I spent weeks doing various sports and grew a few inches. I lost the puppy fat, developed a tight arse, and lo and behold girls began to notice me for reasons other than being the class joker. I clearly didn't have a clue how to be around them. Clueless doesn't even begin to describe it. It was a perplexing minefield and behind my bravado was a fairly shy lad who just didn't know how to be. He still surfaces from time to time. Of course the passing years do, or at least should bring a little maturity, and I recall distinctly walking into town one day a couple of decades later, a husband and father and homeowner, and suddenly being struck by the reality that "I was an adult". I'm 47 now, but I don't think I've lost the drive to explore what life has to offer. I'm very open minded, ravenous to learn things, and determined not to settle into some dreary holding pattern. I mean, surely none of us should allow ourselves just to fade away? To grow dim like one of those adjustable wall lights? I've got a journey ahead of me, ideas and dreams. And of course responsibilities. Both my daughters are older now, 13 and 17 respectively. I want to give them the strongest possible foundations, to encourage them in their hopes and dreams, and above all to give them confidence that they don't have to conform to some societal norm. I long for them to discover who they are on their own terms, to never live their lives as an apology. It's important to me that they both know that Joy and I "Have their back". I started this blog waxing lyrical about middle age, then veered off on the usual nonsensical tangent. That's OK. I've no editor I have to answer to. This is me free wheeling. I'm off to work in a while, during which I'll encounter people at their worst, and occasionally best. My job reminds me that there's any number of ways which a life can veer off kilter. Some of it under our control, some of it just bad life choices. It sounds so glib to use the cliche that we need to learn from our mistakes, yet I see no alternative. Life owes us nothing and comes with no assurance of happiness. We have to carve out the special times, chart our path through the random nature of existence. And perhaps be a little appreciative of when the seas are calm. Treasure the good moments, pause and cherish them. We spend way too much of our lives "Doing" and not nearly enough just "Being". I think if middle age has taught me anything, it's probably that.

The Quiet Place

It’s been months since I’ve blogged. I’m out of the habit. I’ve had little to say. The world seems to be become stranger and wilder, and its inhabitants more intent on self harm. Keeping up with it, making sense of it is quite beyond me. As I type this I’m in a remote farmhouse in the High Peaks, a region on the Derbyshire / Cheshire border. In every direction there are rolling, dramatic, undulating hills. There’s a big sky that wraps around in every direction, and come the evening the sunset illuminates the underside of immense clouds, giving them a tinge that makes them even more voluminous. I feel calm. Calm in a way my life so often prevents me from reaching. I’m breathing deeper, I’m able to reflect. I feel alive. I do a job where I see what insanity is, what cruelty is, what mindless selfishness is. See that every bloody day. I see people in extremis, at their worst, often their least human. I’ve been doing it for a decade and I think it has taken something from me. A little humanity, a bit of hope, the dopey optimism that I once held close. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m proud that I get a chance to make people’s bad days better, and bad peoples good day’s worse. But as I reflect now in this quietest of quiet places I’m aware it comes at a cost. So when I get the chance I seek solitude, the remote places. Blackhill Gate Farm has been perfect for this. I’ve been able to reach escape velocity, to be with Joy and Holly and Lowenna and our idiot canine for several days without having to think whether I’m on an early, a late, or a night shift. I haven’t had to manage my energy levels. It’s liberating. I sometimes wonder whether I should seek another job but I’m really good at what I do. Properly good. And I don’t say this out of arrogance although I get how it must seem that way. I appear to have the ability to perceive, for the most part, when I’m dealing with a scenario that has the potential to escalate, and when I’m dealing with a group or an individual that really doesn’t need us at all. Apparently I also have the ability to insult people without them ever realising that I have done it. Not sure how I feel about that, although it doesn’t sound like a quality when I think about it. I suppose I can be eloquent when I apply myself, although I’m never too far from obnoxious if I’m being honest. You know what? This week has reminded me that I need the quiet places. Solitude. Silence. Ok, the sheep all around the farm rarely pipe down but that’s just a charming ambient. Never realised just how different the various baa’s can sound. We’ve literally walked “Uphill and down dale” most days. I’ve taken in view after view, and my breath has been taken away more than once. I’ve enjoyed the remoteness so very much and I shall miss it when we leave tomorrow. I’ve another week off but we’ll be back in the south east, which is a busier and lesser place. Irrespective I’m grateful that I’ve had chance to breathe, to be, to stop and take it all in. Funny how I only realised just what a conveyor belt I’m on until I get off it for a while. And no. there’s no real purpose behind this blog. I’m just writing again. Just letting it all cascade out. I hope you’ve had a chance to seek those quiet places, too. I think it matters. . .

This Isn't How You Win

I get it. There’s a lot of bad men out there. A lot of weak men, immature men, socially inept men. I agree. You are preaching to the converted. But if you want me to believe that this entitles you to tar all men with the same brush then you have all your work before you. You also have reality against you, so good luck with that one. I say all of the above with a kind of weary boredom, because I am just a little tired with all the heat and noise that radical feminists are now making. And no, I do not want to silence you, but I do reserve the right to shrug my shoulders and dismiss all your assertions that we are complicit in the patriarchy as nonsense. It just isn’t true, and I’m not going to be silent about that. By way of example I want to use an example of how I try to interact with the lady closest to me, which would be my wife of 20 years. I’ve formed what I hope is a balanced view on how I should seek to interact in this regard, and my position is fairly simple; I just want to see her flourish, and take all possible steps to empower her accordingly. I want her to be fulfilled, emboldened, and free to make choices that enrich her day to day life experience. I’d never dream of standing in the way of what makes her happy, or seek to impose any degree of dominance over her. I wouldn’t want to, and she’d not indulge any such aspirations on my part. Yet according to some I’m part of a patriarchal deep state designed to keep all things feminine under some dark, despotic yoke. It’s an alien concept to me, and a hugely undesirable one. As I’ve said before I remain a fan of the #Metoo movement, and I accept that the project to raise better men is an urgent and pressing one. But know this, by dismissing all men you potentially alienate a large swathe of the male population that is really keen to see genuine equality, and for the creation of a fairer and kinder world. So please do not disregard those of us who are truly and passionately on your side. Whilst you might not need us, there are strong male voices that have something to say that might effect a positive change or two. Man hating is daft because any form of hate is daft. And to fail to recognise this is only going to slow down a movement that is impressive and vital to making the world a better place. So to conclude, I stand with you as a proud white male. As a man who absolutely refuses to accept the extreme condemnation and the broad brushstrokes that I see from some elements on the extreme tip of the feminist movement. I won’t apologise for being who I am, and nor will I remain silent in the face of such self-defeating absurdity. There’s a culture to change, a world to shape, and I really hope to see this in my lifetime.

White Man Accused Of Being Correct. Chaos Ensues

As I write this, I have gone into hiding, fearful that an army of politically correct imbeciles and social justice warriors could descend on my location laden with pitchforks and hashtags. I’m about to suggest that as a society, we return to the good old days when we let common sense occupy the ground where sound bytes and hysteria now dominate. As a white man I’m not really allowed and actual opinion these days, because I’m a part of the patriarchy therefore automatically bad. I’m not complaining. I’m doing what I always do, ignoring the clamour of the crowd and the hysteria of the masses and just trying to chart a course through life on my own terms. In a recent comment Matt Damon suggested that there’s a difference in patting someone on the butt and say, rape. He suggested that there’s a sliding scale of offences which we need to be aware of rather than simply jumping off the deep end and declaring all levels of harassment, sexual or otherwise, as equal. He’s right, of course. Therefore the internet devoured him. Because this is how the world appears to work now. #Me too is in and of itself a wonderful consciousness raising platform, and a powerful potential tool in the necessary and overdue task to change male behaviour towards women. But like all things there’s the risk it gets hijacked by idiots and reactionaries that have no grasp of nuance and no capacity to think in intricate terms. And the internet, and social media in particular, gives them a voice they never had before. This is good, by the way, because as a free speech prostitute I’m happy to allow all and sundry to make a noise and show me what post lobotomy behaviour looks like. But I have a little advice. Or actually a challenge if you like. Indulge me for a moment if you will, and in your mind go to the subject that you feel most passionate about. That one issue that stirs up the hornet’s nest inside. You will likely agree with those that share your view, and via social media you can select your news feed so it contains predominantly the content you already agree with. Voila. You’ve just created your own personalised echo chamber. You’ve inadvertently annexed yourself from all dissenting opinions. You’re well on the way to becoming less informed than you might like to think. So here’s my advice. As much as this might trouble you, why not try actively seeking out some alternative voices? Why not actually seek out opinions that flat out disagree with everything you stand for. What have you got to lose? If nothing else you come away with a better understanding of what the other side thinks. You might not change your view, but you’ll understand theirs much better. I did this over a decade ago during a time when I held very passionate religious views. It was a real palate cleanser, and as a result I made the best decision I ever made, which was to reject religion in every shape and form. I began to think for myself. I widened my lens. I embraced new views and ideas and let them all ferment. Above all, I was being intellectually honest. I was breathing deeper. I had space to change my mind based on evidence and reason, and break free from all my biases. I will never regret this, and I’ve never lost out by taking the time to listen the people who I do not agree with. Quite the opposite. I’ve grown from it. And my concern with the world these days is that we’ve created for ourselves these bubbles of agreement, fencing ourselves off from really learning and developing. I think we are the worse for it. So to conclude, perhaps if you’ve reached the end of this, 2018 will be the year when you emerge from the nest. Perhaps you might change your mind about something. Perhaps you won’t. But this much I know; to seek knowledge without bias is noble and praiseworthy, and to do so is a path I can only encourage you to take.