It’s been more than a while since I last wrote anything
here, so it’s high time I corrected that. In the past year I’ve been busy with
one thing or another and – well – updating 22 Billion Energy Slaves somehow
managed to slip down the list of priorities. It’s not that I’ve been up to
anything particularly interesting outside the usual earning a crust, raising
kids, fixing up the house, working in the woods etc. so please accept my
apologies.
Right, where were we? Well, when I last wrote anything here
the UK was in the grip of the so-called ‘Beast from the East’ a high pressure
system of cold air that had moved down over the UK from Siberia, that was met
head-on with a winter storm that brought snow to most of the country, including
down here in Cornwall where I live.
Although this wasn’t a particularly remarkable weather event
it still managed to cause its fair share of disruption and destruction, with
just-in-time deliver systems fouling up and perhaps reminding a few people how
ill-prepared they are for such things in their lives.
Following the ‘Beast’ we had a very long dry spell, as an
unusually hot summer saw grassy parks everywhere turn a dun brown colour, with older
people reminiscing about 1976, the last time when something similar had happened.
Regular readers, if I have any, might remember that I am
custodian of a piece of land that is mostly given over to coppice woodland,
orchards and a small forest garden. I’m pleased to report that this suffered
almost no damage from the hot, dry weather, other than the loss of a few young
saplings (easily replaced) and the water level in my hand-dug pond sinking low
enough to worry the resident newts. If anything the land, which I try to leave
as ‘natural’ as possible, proved remarkably resilient, and for the first time
ever I got a bumper crop of apples from the young trees (well, about 300, but
it’s a start).
Summer also afforded myself and my family the chance to get
away for a while. Instead of being
sensible and going somewhere to cool off, we opted to go to Greece, which was a
bit like stepping out of the frying pan into the fire. Nevertheless, not being
one to miss an opportunity to practice simpler living, I booked us a couple of
pleasant weeks in a shepherd’s stone hut in isolated rural splendour on the
island of Crete – it’s amazing what you can find on Airbnb these days.
With temperatures in the upper 30s (C), and no air
conditioning except for one small room where the children slept, it was
uncomfortable but bearable. The immense stone walls kept the worst of the sun
out during the day, and by shutting all the doors and windows until after
sunset it was possible to keep the indoor temperatures within a reasonably
tolerable range. This was presumably not the case for the poor wretches in some
nearby newly-built modern ‘villas’, who relied on the air-con being constantly
on – something that wasn’t possible during the regular power cuts the island
seemed to be experiencing.
It had been a few years since I had last travelled in
Greece, and things didn’t seem to have improved much, despite the touted
‘recovery’ there. Driving around was a particular problem as the paint markings
had been worn off roads and not replaced by the municipal authorities, and road
signs were often rusted or vandalised. Away from the finely manicured historic
centres in the cities, the conditions were bordering on the third world, with
the requisite piles of rotting garbage, abandoned shells of cars and scavenging
cats and dogs being strangely absent from any of the holiday brochures I’d seen
before arriving. Still, Greece seemed to be hanging together, like it always
manages to, and there was plenty of luxury on display amongst the decay.
Speaking of decay, this brings me to what I wanted to write
about in this shortish update. Coming back from Greece and travelling through
the English countryside on a sleek new train, I was gazing out of the window
and marvelling at how lush and wealthy it all looked in comparison. The cows
and sheep were healthy and fat – quite unlike the ragged and mangy livestock,
mostly goats, we had seen wandering around the barren, litter strewn hills of
Crete – the cars were shiny and mostly new, and the landscape was not littered
with half-built but abandoned concrete shells covered in graffiti, which had
been an all-too common sight in Greece. All in all, my country looked pretty
wealthy, fertile and healthy.
This impression was confirmed by a couple of trips to London
I took. The first one took me to Knightsbridge and Belgravia, in which I was
shocked to find myself walking up a boutique-lined street where handy-looking
security men stood just inside each store, only granting entry to those
wealthy-looking enough to come in (i.e. certainly not me). And there were
plenty of them. Even during my brief foray I saw wealthy Arabs and Chinese
women pull up in limousines and enter these boutiques for a spot of exclusive
shopping. I was later told that some of them might even have flown over just to
buy a single million-pound handbag.
Ferraris tore up and down Sloane Street, racing one another
at stoplights, while women with fur coats and dainty little dogs passed me by
on the pavement. It was the kind of place where the term ‘obscene wealth’
seemed apt.
My impression, however shallow, of Britain being a very
wealthy place was only confirmed by several other trips around the country,
most recently to the Midlands town where I spent my teenage years:
Solihull. Now merely part of the urban
sprawl of Birmingham, Solihull has changed a lot since I lived there in the
1980s. Back then it was a dull but fairly prosperous place – a good small town
in which to bring up a family, perhaps. And now? Now it seems like every
building has been turned into a wine bar, a department store, a fancy eatery or
a café (just how many hipster cafés does one town need?). Every other car is a
BMW or Audi or a pumped-up SUV, and – to my horror – the pub where I misspent
much of my youth – where we used to play Motorhead’s The Ace of Spades on the jukebox at Volume 11 – has been turned
into an upmarket bistro.
Trips to other places around the country offered me a
similar view. So, there is plenty of wealth on display, but how much of it is
real and how much of it is a mirage?
I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear me say that the vast
majority is a mirage, mostly paid for by debt that can never be returned.
Because every glowing jewel of wealth is swamped in a landscape populated with
people drowning in debt and finding that every month their wages or benefits
seem to buy just a little bit less than the last month. Dilapidated housing
estates are filled with food banks and addiction and mental health therapy
services, while a ragged and growing army of homeless people populates the
streets even in wealthy towns.
Britain really has turned into a ‘tale of two countries’,
with the shining metropolitan elite and the wealthy upper middle classes who
are able to earn a salary from globalised business on one side of the scales,
and everyone else on the other. Unlike in America, it is still theoretically
possible in Britain to work a minimum wage job and just about scrape by on the
rent, the utilities and the food bill, but only if you have access to some
state-provided benefits and don’t have any expensive tastes or addictions.
Nevertheless, one unexpected bill or unforeseen expenditure, such as a boiler failure
or a car breaking down, can throw you into debt – debt that you may then
struggle to break free from. More and more people say they are skating on thin
ice.
But then many people don’t even have the luxury of a minimum
wage job, and are instead forced to work in the gig economy or an a zero-hour
contract where they must make themselves available for work yet perhaps only be
allocated one hour or more a day. One only has to join a money savings tips or
debt advice group on social media to read daily tales of woe from ordinary
people who just can’t figure out how they have fallen through the cracks or
haul themselves back out again.
On the subject of cracks, the biggest crack of all is the
one that has opened up politically between the haves and the have-nots – being
played out in real time in the proxy war of Brexit. Most people don’t recognise
Brexit for what it is: a fumbling attempt by the ordinary working people of
Britain to plunge a dagger into the dark heart of their own elites. The standard official explanation promulgated by the
mainstream is that Brexit was a horrendous error of judgement on the part of
former prime minister David Cameron, whereby he allowed the (racist,
xenophobic, unwashed) population a chance to exercise their ill-informed judgement
on a matter of great importance, namely whether the UK should leave the EU.
Following a period of intense state propaganda to coerce
people to vote ‘the right way’ a 52% majority responded that they would vote
for the exact opposite of whatever the bunch of celebrities and suits was
telling them to do. The fallout from this has been nothing less than
spectacular. In some cases, long term friends became overnight enemies, people found
themselves ostracised by their families and the liberal (i.e. globalist) media
has become a kind of video loop that simply repeats “We’re doomed, you stupid
fools” over and over.
What’s more, long-standing political parties are tearing
themselves asunder over the issue, with both the Conservatives and Labour
endlessly trying to figure out whether to fight one other or amongst
themselves, or both. The result is a kind of Bird Box Kabuki theatre of
blindfolded politicians wandering around on a stage randomly stabbing one
another.
The elected politicians, of course, know that it’s their job
to defend the status quo, which at the moment means defending the interests of globe-spanning
corporations, over the will of the people ,while spouting fine words and making
a show of ‘democracy’. And yet those cussed voters (52% of them) won’t be quiet
about demanding that their elected representatives bow to their will.
And while it might be amusing to sit back and watch this
absurd display of political theatrics, the fact of the matter is that it is
less than three months before the official date when the UK leaves the EU and
nobody seems to have the faintest idea of what will happen because they are all
too busy arguing.
Is this the sign of a stable country that is confident about
its place in the world, unified as a whole and willing to make short-term
sacrifices for a longer-term common goal? I think not. One could only imagine
if someone of the calibre of, say, Winston Churchill was still prime
minister. He would no doubt go to
Brussels blow cigar smoke in the faces of Donald Tusk and Jean Claude Juncker,
slam his fist down on the desk and lay down the law to the snivelling
bureaucrats. He’s then walk outside the European Parliament, give his famous
victory sign and make a speech about all the glories that will lie ahead, without
neglecting to mention the shared hardships we’d have to go through first.
Instead, we have Theresa May; a vacillating, automaton-like
career politician with no discernable moral credo; someone who actually campaigned
against Brexit in the first place but now, unconvincingly, claims to own it.
The suspicion, of course, is that she stitching the nation up, selling out its
interests and handing over sovereign power instead of retaining it.
I’m no fan of Churchill, but you get the point, I hope.
Anyway, the idea I’m trying to convey here as I get back on
track with this blog, is that we are reaching limits, both nationally and
internationally. The bad choices made over the last 50 or 60 years are coming
back to haunt us, and they are playing out through the systems of society and
economy in complex and unexpected ways.
In the UK we’ve got ‘Brexit’, in France it’s the ‘Yellow
Vests’ and in the US it’s Donald Trump. All of these so-called populist
uprisings represent dissatisfaction with the status quo – a cohort of people in
each place who have seen themselves and their families and towns become ever
more disenfranchised, broken and dispirited, while all the time the media
cheerleaders insist that they are mistaken.
For the most part, the people don’t yet recognise the
tectonic shifts that have taken place in the realm of energy availability that
has led them up this blind alley, or the over-financialisation of their
economies that has got them to this point, instead they still think political
and technological solutions exist that will allow the problems of our age to be
dealt with.
Unfortunately, unless the Chinese discover the
dark side of the Moon is covered in a vast black sea of crude oil, they are in for a rude
awakening. Alas, it will be a messy and confused time if and when this
realisation kicks in. Interesting times indeed.