England, awake

I recently wrote about how the SNP showed change is possible within our political system. Even the safest seats are vulnerable to a well-organised and inspiring opposition party.

In England, the SNP were not on the ballot paper. A plurality of voters backed the Conservatives.

The Conservatives aren't promising a better tomorrow. Oh, they want to tinker with health, education, and policing as all governments do, and they have their obsession with the EU. That is not the core of their electoral appeal.

They want to cut taxes, slash public services, deregulate and make life easier for business; but I don't think the typical Conservative voter believes this will bring a new golden age of joy and prosperity.

Here is the Conservative promise: If you are one of the 64% of Britons who owns a home, and you have a good job or pension, tomorrow will be pretty much like today. That's all.

(Corollary: For the other 36%, including all of the poor and most people aged under 30, tough shit.)

It's not noble or ambitious, but it resonated with frightened voters in these uncertain times.

It's a depressing truth, and I fear the consequences. As a resident of England, I am seriously concerned at the damage the Conservatives may do to public services in the next five years. However, Tory victory was not inevitable. If some alternative party inspires the English to come out and vote in sufficient numbers, the Conservatives will be beaten.

What could this alternative be? I don't know. It wasn't Ed Miliband's Labour, with their vapid platitudes carved into a stone tablet. It wasn't the clowns and xenophobes of UKIP either, for which I am grateful.

I can only hope that before too long, someone better comes along to knock the Conservatives off their perch.

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England! awake! awake! awake!
Jerusalem thy Sister calls!
Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death
And close her from thy ancient walls?

Thy hills and valleys felt her feet
Gently upon their bosoms move:
Thy gates beheld sweet Zion's ways:
Then was a time of joy and love.

And now the time returns again:
Our souls exult, and London's towers
Receive the Lamb of God to dwell
In England's green and pleasant bowers.

— William Blake

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Yes, I've read a poem. Try not to faint.

— Malcolm Reynolds, Serenity

Cute Cat Friday 2015-06-05: Belle

The cat is in the bag once again.

(There's a lot of competition, but this may be the cutest photo of Belle ever.)

On Charles Kennedy and Alex Salmond

Charles Kennedy, former leader of the Liberal Democrats, passed away on Monday. He was an exceptionally decent, principled and humane politician. My sympathy goes out to his family, friends and colleagues.

Charles Kennedy.

I will remember Kennedy for one thing above all else. In 2003, Tony Blair was marching the country to war in Iraq, with the enthusiastic support of Iain Duncan Smith's Conservatives. Kennedy was one of the very few senior politicians who stood up to say it was a dreadful mistake. He was a voice of sanity in an insane time. Like Robin Cook, another principled opponent of the war, he has left us far too young.

It is unfortunate that the mourning for Kennedy has been overshadowed by Alex Salmond's ill-judged remark:

In terms of the independence referendum, I don’t think his heart was in the ‘Better Together’ campaign.

Salmond later clarified:

I have made no claim whatsoever that Charles Kennedy was either a Yes or an SNP supporter. He was not. He was a committed federalist all of his political career.

Very well. Let us take Salmond at his word. If he doesn't mean Kennedy was a supporter of Scottish independence, what on earth does he mean?

Cute Cat Friday 2014-05-29: Belle

In need of some lap time after being in the cattery while we were on holiday.

I believe Dexter occupied more of Belle's energy than I ever suspected.

Here's the scene at 5 am today:

Belle: The sun is up. Feed me! (Prod, meow, claw at blankets.)
Me: OK. (Gets up, shuffles downstairs. Puts cat food in bowl and bowl on floor. Goes back to bed.)

So far, so normal. I expect Belle to eat breakfast and then go amuse herself, but it is not to be.

15 minutes later:
Belle: I've eaten now. I'm bored. Play with me! (Prod, meow, claw at blankets.)
Me: No. Need sleep. (Leads Belle into hallway, closes bedroom door, goes back to bed.)

5 minutes later:
Belle: I'm still bored. Play with me! (Meows, scratches noisily at door.)
Me: No. Need sleep. (Leads Belle downstairs, closes doors to kitchen and living room to keep her there.)

2 hours later:
Me: (Gets up, showers, goes downstairs. Belle is standing by living room door and meowing.)
Belle: There you are. Love me!
Me: OK. (Pets Belle for a while, then has breakfast.)

20 minutes later:
Me: (Sits down to tie shoes.)
Belle: Hey, there's a lap. I want to sit there! (Jumps into my lap.)
Me: (Pets Belle for a while. Considers calling into work to say, trapped on the stairs by a needy cat. Reluctantly dislodges Belle from lap and goes out.)

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It's tiring, but I must admit it's very sweet of her. We might adopt a new playmate for Belle in a few months. Meanwhile, I'll deploy the cat toys and laser pointer to see if I can wear her out this evening.

Services to Democracy

Political parties like to pretend they own votes, but they don't. The SNP proved that on election night.

The first-past-the-post electoral system used to elect the UK government is archaic and unfair. I've said so myself, as have many others. In our fully justified railing against the system, it's easy to lose sight of the fact that we still have a vote. The UK is a democracy, however dysfunctional.

Parties say past elections and opinion polls determine the future. They make claims like "only we can beat That Other Party in this seat". They openly ask for tactical votes, from anyone who dislikes them less than their opponents. The example below was put through my letterbox in Cambridge, and it's far from the worst I've seen.

Strictly speaking, and with all due respect to Julian Huppert, this is not true. There is no such thing as a marginal seat, or a safe one. There are only parliamentary seats.

I've never stood for election myself; but I have gone hitchhiking, and I imagine some similarity. You make yourself visible, stick out your thumb, and hope for the best.

Cute Cat Friday 2015-05-22: Belle

Photo of Belle taken the day after Dexter passed away.

I think she misses his company, but she is a young and adaptable cat. We might adopt another cat to live with her, but not for a while.

We are very grateful Belle is happy and full of life. Even though we miss Dexter, life goes on.

Rest in peace, Dexter

Dexter passed away on the night of Friday 15 May 2015.

He was a rescue cat and we don't know his exact age, but we think he was about eleven years old. He died of severe anaemia. He had contracted feline immunodeficiency virus (FIV), most likely when another cat bit him a few months ago. The anaemia was likely to have been a complication from FIV.

The picture below shows Dexter enjoying the sun on Monday. At the time, we had no reason to think anything was the matter. His end was very sudden; at least he didn't suffer for long. He will be cremated, and we will scatter his ashes in our back garden where he had so many happy times.

I'll write more later about how much Dexter meant to us. For now, I just want to say he was the warmest, gentlest, most adorable feline companion anyone could ask for. We loved him very much. We will miss him terribly and remember him always.

I have set up a Just Giving page for donations to the Blue Cross animal welfare charity in Dexter's memory.

Dexter, 2004? – 2015

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Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ‘tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –

    — Emily Dickinson