Since I learned four years ago that both my eyes show ‘age related macular degeneration’, I have assumed that my wee Fiat Panda would outlast my fitness to drive. But this week, unexpectedly and peacefully, my fond companion of 13 years expired; “we buy any car” in Livingston gave me £200 for the ‘remains’. Thanks to a very generous family intervention, I now have a Fiat 500 at my gate – which enables me to remain in the remote cottage I love.
The last years of our life are ‘uncertain’ – like an old car, bits of us wear out and fail. When I was young, I lived two years in a Catholic religious community; afterwards, I often imagined that, when I was old and decrepit, I’d want it again – the solitude and simple frugality of the religious life: bits of gardening, reading, scribbling – lots of silence. I particularly remember our gathering in the chapel of an evening, singing Compline – the peace of that. But ‘closed’ belief systems have never been my thing; I remain in awe of the God who is revealed in the harmony of nature and the universe – but not of a God concerned with the fate and actions of human beings; nor can I conceive of an ‘afterlife’. So, I accept that I’ve long forfeited the succour of the cloister.
My new car has only done 25,000 miles and will be around longer than me; it brings none of old Panda’s uncertainties and I hope we will share fine adventures together: “This could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship”.
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Peter Alliss, who died this week aged 89, was an important role model for me – and not only as the consummate ‘voice of golf’; he also embodied a kind of ‘Englishness’ I grew up admiring: decent, upstanding characters who do the honourable thing. I feel my identity as mostly Scottish, which I define through dozens of memorable contemporaries: William McIlvanney, Margo MacDonald, Jimmy Reid and on and on. But, quite separate, there was always a quintessential Englishness: well-mannered and well spoken, unassuming, gracious, principled; opposite of the present loutish English nationalism. Peter Alliss presented golf with gravitas and with unfailing enthusiasm and bonhomie, but for me, he represented a wider and gentler set of values which I hope don’t disappear with us oldies. Rest in peace my friend. Golfworld posted this tribute.
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While we all expected brinkmanship, I never imagined Brexit negotiations would get as ‘hairy’ as this; the PM’s got me convinced he might walk away – resulting in lasting harm to the UK – not only our economy. This Guardian piece looks at how different European newspapers view the state of talks.
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Scottish independence now has such momentum that Westminster has created a new Govt unit to oppose it. In this impressive Open Democracy article, Laurie Macfarlane argues that the SNP’s Sustainable Growth Commission, chaired by Andrew Wilson, is dangerously inadequate – because it failed to interrogate how different economic models might contribute to different social, economic and environmental outcomes.
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For whatever reason (new leadership?), recent reports from Carnegie UK have caught my attention; two links: ‘The Courage to be Kind’. The reflections of Covid healthcare professionals – and ‘Gross Domestic Wellbeing’ – a holistic alternative to GDP as a measure of social progress. Summary says – a useful framework for measuring wellbeing – but significant gaps.
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Of the £14billion spent on digital advertising in the UK in 2019 – 80% was captured by Google and Facebook; meantime our print media and journalist profession are in decade long decline. This Conversation piece not only scans the industry’s doldrums but identifies some new green shoots that offer hope for the recovery of public sector news.
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Long term readers will recognise ‘Sometimes’ by Sheenagh Pugh, which I’ve used before – but it cheers me up.
“Sometimes things don’t go, after all, from bad to worse. Some years, muscadel faces down frost; green thrives; the crops don’t fail, sometimes a person aims high, and all goes well. A people sometimes will step back from war; elect an honest man; decide they care enough that they can’t leave some stranger poor. Some men become what they were born for. Sometimes our best efforts do not go amiss; sometimes we do as we meant to. The sun will sometimes melt a field of sorrow that seemed hard frozen: may it happen for you.”
