Sajid Javid takes back (out of) control!

"In wartime truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies." Winston Churchill

Undoubtedly the numbers of truly worthy blogs, in stark opposition to those that can so easily be dismissed or ignored altogether, is vanishingly few. And I would definitely number my own amongst the latter category. That is not to entirely dismiss my ideology, arguments or observations, instead perhaps merely to acknowledge that others have said it better or in a more entertaining fashion. At best these posts occupy a space, or whatever substitutes for actual space, in the global cybersphere.

For months at a time I have, with intent, abandoned my ramblings. Sharing, or perhaps offering up, one's thoughts in such a fashion, if noted at all, can all too easily invite or invoke such burning rage! This is not my intent.

So, instead, I have opted to regard these scratchings more as notes to self, essays if you will. If chanced upon by others then so be it. I like to see a thought process laid bare and here are some of mine, I could whisper into the aether. Maybe, at some point I will meander back through the months or years. Maybe, if an offering offends or concerns me I may delete it. If an error leaps at me I may amend accordingly. If amendments are of significant note I may tag them in the comments.

Of course, and referring back specifically, to the gist of the opening paragraph, I would still argue that my arguments are both better researched than are many (so termed) mainstream (alleged) journalists, and that they are a great deal more honest. Therefore they stand as less subservient to self-censorship.

Upon which note, and yet again, I felt compelled to record a troubling trail of thought. But first to observe that, still in the midst of this global pandemic- Indonesia 27,000 new cases, 555 deaths, Colombia 26,000 new cases, 582 deaths, India 40,000 new cases, 743 deaths- so short is the collective UK memory that humanity, nation ever peculiar to 'nation,' it seems has already re-reverted to its spoilt-child-like former-natural-state. As evidence I offer just two from countless examples.

First, and in the stark light of the fact that well over 160,000 arguably-avoidable deaths have been wrought upon the UK, I would cite instances of the worst of youthful driving! Within months of our rested streets having been filled with clapping, cheering appreciation for the sacrifices made upon our behalf, again it is as if our globe is not quite deep enough in crises- global warming, deforestation, overfishing, pollution. Whether it be noise by design, speed, tailgating, showboating, it is as if the pandemic has completely bypassed their neural receptors. Perhaps it has! How so? Thankfully such infantile minds do not hold sway over the running of nations, except to consider...

My second choice of example rather contradicts this, because money talks, it buys influence, and influence begets power! Yet sadly none of these things negates the infantile mind, instead, all too frequently, opening doors! So, on to Mr Branson, he of Virgin Records and those Covid handout pleas. Joyfully bounding back from his months of dejected poverty upon his Caribbean island retreat, Mr Branson has announced to a largely disinterested globe that he believes he is now set to just about pip Jeff Bezos into (not quite) 'space.' At approximately 55 miles he will spend minutes gazing down to realise that, "If you see Earth from space it changes you. It changes your relationship with this planet, with humanity..." Of those who will even care or be aware few will be holding their breath for any sort of enlightenment! We have already learned that such egocentricism requires no rationale beyond the 'self,' no humanity, no purposeful comprehension.

Speed? Showboating? Noise? Egocentricity? Compare and contrast examples one and two! Imagine, if the world was run by these wealthy egocentrics!

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Behind the bedroom door the indulged child rules his roost- he has snatched back control!- nobody may question his choices, let no-one doubt 'his' selected decor. He may change his mind at a whim. Here he is king! The plastic troops are suitably aligned; which one shall he select, the one with the roundest head, the most rotund arse, the most vacuous smile, the one whose practiced underbite may sever an infant's outstretched arm?

Little Jack Horner,
He sat in a corner,
Eating his Christmas pie.

Maybe downstairs, where the 'adults' still reside- the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, the head of defence procurement- conversation and maybe even the odd rare fact is of little consequence. If he so chose he could squeak open the door and eavesdrop upon the wider world but it bores him so. He plucks the toy with the roundest head. If he blows into the hole where its right ear should be he can sometimes illicit a curious whistle; it sounds like nothing so much as utter, utter despair. He frowns into the painted smile and imagines what it will say.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

If he closes his eyes, untucks his shirt and sucks upon his overly long tie, the words are almost credible, thoroughly convincing. If he omits the stutters and the blather, the misdirected and inappropriate joking (not really humour as such), the message, to him, sounds statesmanly, almost Churchillian! Should the embarrassing subterfuge escape and take flight it will, in reality, sound not unlike an awkward schoolboy, reading nasally from the smudged notes of an idiot accomplice, jarring and wooden! Unconvincing, even to the speaker.

Who killed Cock Robin?

"I spent my first day as Health Secretary, just yesterday, looking at the data and testing it to the limit... (What, the same data that the adults- some of them- have sought to employ?) we know we cannot simply eliminate it, we have to learn to live with it... (Or, conceivably, to die from it?) the restrictions on our freedoms, they must come to an end... with the numbers heading in the right direction... (Which numbers, the real ones? Or the 28 day 'adjustment?') keep on our roadmap to freedom, so that we can build back better... (And, throw in that meaningless three word slogan!) It is a task that I am deeply honoured to lead!" And, cut! Perfect! That's a wrap!

Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity.

Better! The previous toy is now discarded; maybe, the CCTV footage could generate revenue as an advertisement for mouthwash? The god awful mess left behind echoes, far too closely, that which he may have caused in his own past... more than once, or twice, counting... Still, it's not real, life on the other side of the door, if he gets bored again he can simply leave the room for nanny to tidy.

And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon.

The adults ask, pretend, "Who could have done any better?" The grownups have asked the question with the requisite sensitivity (and omissions). If only there was some way in which others could be prevented from asking the same question with or without omissions? Any ideas, Rupert?

Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew

Is he sulking, hard to be sure, he's refused to come down for too many house meetings to count! It's not as if important people are dying, is it? Ruffled hair bends over a hastily conceived (suitably underfunded) project- crayon clutched tightly in a bulbous fist.

National Thank You Day! Ahh! Brilliant!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!

Just so long as we keep on pretending to ourselves, that there is a cigarette paper of separation, one day it'll all be someone else's (far greater) problem!

Sajid Javid studied economics- not medicine or health or epidemiology or virology- at Exeter, of course he did.