Tuesday, 31 July 2018

What could go wrong?

A free haircut.

Well, the youth have to learn on somebody's head, so why not mine? I have an /extremely/ fine head of hair. Thick and lustrous. With a hint of of the sensual. Er, OK.

My experience thus far is sitting and waiting but I did overhear "I'll just fetch a plaster" which wasn't all that reassuring.

If you don't see me in public for weeks feel free to assume it didn't go well.

Referendum addendum

“In the unlikely event of Jeremy Corbyn having a heart attack and Chuka Umunna taking over, he says the objective is to be in the European Economic Area. Why would we refuse?”


Monday, 30 July 2018

I want a referendum (which I don't want)

Everyone else seems to have written a screed on Brexit, so why can't I?

Oh.

Okay then.

[There's a baked-in assumption here that Brexit is, net, bad for the UK (in the short and medium term, at least). Feel free to disagree]

A referendum. A gritted teeth referendum. Referenda are stupid. I suspect we need another one.

Not, I hasten to add, a referendum where UK membership of the EU is on the ballot paper. We had that one. 'We' lost.

I hope that, in the not too distant future, we join the EU because Parliament decide to. (Assuming that they let us. Assuming that the EU still exists to let us.) I don't want another EU membership referendum, any more than I want a referendum on the death penalty, or MPs pay, or tax policy, or anything. No, thank you.

Any referendum where EU membership is on the ballot is lose/lose, I think. If Brexit won it would be a waste of time. If they lost, Farage, Johnson and Co. would be able to indulge in the 'stab in the back' myth they so desperately crave. They want to lose. None of the ardent Brexiteers is in the slightest bit interested in the UK, post-Brexit, which is why Johnson and Davis walked away to snipe from the side-lines, and Farage spends most of his time trying to impress Steve Bannon.

They want to be martyrs. (Living, of course). Martyrs for the nationalist cause, like Yaxley-Lennon.

'Remain' winning a re-run would be worse, for the fabric of my country, than losing. I think. I think this because it would give all the shits a cause to rally around. Too horrible to contemplate for long (thankfully it is cooler this week so I am sleeping more soundly).

So, to re-cap, yes/no, again, is toxic.

There is, I think, another way out. The EU is willing to offer the UK membership of the EEA (assumption - EEA members could be persuaded to let the UK join). This is A.

The EU has already stated it is willing to offer a free trade deal, presumably along the lines of the one that Canada has. This is B.

In a functioning democracy you'd think that Parliament would be able to weigh up the pros and cons of A and B, and decide. The current Government can't do this because to admit that A & B are the only options that are really on the table is to tell the public it can't have everything it wants without consequences, and getting elected is all about telling the public 4 incompatible things before breakfast (yes, you can have a fully funded NHS, a triple-lock state pension, low taxes and we'll slash the deficit!). Plus half of the Tories want A and the other half are so virulently opposed to the concessions that A would entail that they are willing to be very nasty to the PM indeed, and perhaps even subject her to a leadership challenge she'd win.

It's not clear* if Her Majesty's Opposition believe they can negotiate the economic benefits of A but the freedoms from EU law offered by B, or are just pretending that they can for political reasons (or for a laugh, though Jeremy doesn't seem like a very witty guy), but the effect is the same. Neither party, right now, is in favour of A or B, but rather favours the not very common 'free gym membership' model where you quit and stop paying but still want to use all the machines you liked from before, when you were a member. And the showers. But not the personal training sessions. Except on Tuesday's when they aren't fully booked. Also, we want the floor re-tiled by our mate Darren, who is pretty good at that sort of thing.

I never go to the gym.

So we can have A or B. MPs, of both parties, want MAGICAL THINKING because coming off the A/B fence would cost them votes. And Theresa has held on to her job by sitting on that fence so hard she, er, has physically metamorphosed into a metaphor for someone who spends a lot of time sitting on a fence. Like a stylite. But without the glamour.

Which is why, regretfully, I get to the point. And why, regretfully, I think an A or B referendum is the most sensible way out.

You can hardly scream betrayal if we've left the EU, like we voted, and then the same electorate votes for a relationship with the EU which you don't like. Furthermore, a referendum on two very clearly defined relationships with the EU doesn't (so far as I can see) need to be held in some insane rush between now and March 2019. Barnier could offer us B (with some form of Irish backstop**) with the option to move to A in 2021 if we decided to in time (presumably mid-2020?).

The referendum to end all referenduasae? I doubt it. But it might be a way to move to a sensible*** (i.e. broadly status quo) arrangement in a way that is equally democratic and transparent to the stupid vote**** that got us here in the first place.

And if Farage kicked off we could tell him, "Please don't thwart the will of the people." (I was going to write something ruder there, but I think being scrupulously polite to Farage and his ilk is essential. He drinks in a pub I like. I was going to stop going there, but what would that have proved?)

So, to wrap up, er, yes. We should join the EEA. It will take a national vote to get there. I think that's a better outcome than trying to re-fight the referendum. And if 'Canada' beat 'Norway' in another vote, we'd all have to suck it up and make the best of it.


* when it comes to "Her Majesty's Opposition" very little is clear, I think.

** Hey! I may be a Civil Servant but I never claimed to be an expert on international trade law!

***  If you think such a thing is more sensible that Canada, or no deal. You might not.

**** A vote I thought was not a bad idea, having not, like David Cameron, thought the consequences through.

Failed public drinking

I'm afraid I've spent a significant chunk of time on SouthWest  Trains today yesterday with nothing but my phone and a notepad to keep me company. So there's rather more Blog output than usual.

For starters

Me: "Doom Bar?"
Trolley Man: "Nope. Tanglefoot?"
Me: "Cider?"
Trolley Man: holds up horrible looking fruit cider
Me: "Urgh. Gin and tonic?"

Trolley Man: holds up tiny tin of pre-mixed Gordon's - there is no obvious ice or slice in sight
Me: "OK. I'll have a Tanglefoot please."
Trolley Man: hands me a Tanglefoot. "Cash or card?
Me: waves phone
Trolley Man: frowns
Me: getting desperate "Card?"
Trolley Man: "I'm sorry sir. It's the weather sir."
Me: ?
Trolley Man: helpless shrug
Me: passes Tanglefoot I never wanted to drink anyway back
Trolley Man leaves
Me: "Well, that was a waste of time"
Passenger next to me: grunts

Friday, 20 July 2018

Current affairs

Sometimes this thing writes itself.

At 8.45am on Wednesday I was feeling OK. Sure, the school bell rings at 8.55am, and we hadn't left the front garden (it has 3 rose bushes in it, ergo it is a garden and not merely a bit of paving the stops the house from bumping into the pavements) but we were outside the front door, I'd already extracted my bike from the bike shed and I hadn't forgotten my keys. We can do front gate to school in 7 minutes flat. This was running like clockwork.

Then Jonathan, looking slightly pained, told me he'd swallowed a battery.

I immediately rush off to get water, which he rapidly drains. He looks better.

I'm in the front garden. I have two boys. Fergus needs to be in school in 9 minutes. Jonathan's situation is unknown. I google "child swallowed battery" on my phone. It can, if it is lodged in his oesophagus, burn a hold in it. I am pretty sure that it is no longer in his oesophagus but no so sure I am willing to risk it.

Fergus gets his long cherished wish to walk to school on his own. I get him to the other side of our street, which is the most dangerous one to cross, and he skips off. I cross my fingers.

The Uber takes longer to arrive than any Uber has taken to arrive anywhere, ever.  On the plus side, there isn't any indication that a battery is burning a hole in Jonathan's oesophagus, or anything else.

I don't want to tell the drive that Jonathan has swallowed a battery in case he decides that means a 5 year old is about to throw up in his car, and turfs us out. Jonathan doesn't throw up. The Uber driver is friendly but not overly chatty, which is good, as my nerves won't take it.

The hospital is thankfully devoid of patients. Children's A&E is virtually empty. We are seen by a student nurse and a staff nurse. The staff nurse pulls out an airport-style hand-held metal detector (we clearly aren't the first, or even twenty-first). It beeps when she holds it to his stomach. For the time being, the oesophagus is safe.

The rest is tedious, but extremely kind and efficient. Jonathan is examined and has his temperature and pressure taken. A paediatrician is consulted. We are sent to X-ray. We sit there for a while, then get X-rayed, and returned to A&E. The paediatrician is re-consulted. The X-ray image is transmitted electronically and doesn't get lost, so everyone who needs to look at it can. There's the battery. Right there. Small intestine.

We are discharged with some laxative. I don't get anything. Not even gin. Despite protests Jonathan is back at school in time for lunch, and I am, somehow, in work by 1pm. Kate gets the pleasure of taking Jonathan back for another X-ray the next morning, to check that the battery is progressing through the intestine. It is. Slowly. Keep taking the laxative.

The end.