Power to the People

I know you’re not supposed to talk about religion or politics, but I’ve never understood why, and I’ve never been one to blindly follow rules. I’d rather discuss the big, deep important issues that make people argue than maintain the trivial equilibrium any day, and surely not talking about them only serves to perpetuate the segregation, lack of communication, narrow-mindedness and apathy that cause serious, widespread disruption. There’s a general election looming in the UK, our Prime Minister handed in his notice this week and then took part in a much-hyped televised debate with all of the other major party leaders. So on this most religious of weekends, I’m going to write about politics. But fear not, I won’t impose my beliefs, or tell anyone what to do, mainly because I have no idea what to do myself.

I’m struggling with the same dilemma as it seems a growing sector of the UK population are in the face of this election, and that’s knowing what to do, who to trust, or whether to bother participating at all. I’ve completely lost faith in the party I supported in the 3 elections I’ve previously been eligible to vote in. I never, ever thought I’d say this, and my mother despairs of her parenting skills when I do, but for the first time in my life, I’ve even seriously considered not voting at all. It wouldn’t be an easy choice for me – I believe in democracy in its purest form and as somebody highly insignificant in our society in terms of social standing and wealth, by not exercising my power to vote I am flying in the face of all that it stands for. Abstinence would also be a difficult act to reconcile with my belief in feminism. Had I been around in the early 1900s, I’d have surely been out there among the suffragettes fighting for equal rights, so as a woman, I would never surrender that extremely hard-won entitlement without very good reason.

But although he often talks a lot of the kind of hot air that would usually be followed by an excretion from a male cow’s bum, for once I think Russell Brand has a point. We need something worth voting for, and there’s currently nothing. We know from recent decades, when all three of the major parties have had some level of control, that they’re now almost impossible to separate from their cosy little scrum in the centre ground. Everyone is sick of privileged, career politicians who seem to have no idea or care what real life is like for the majority of people living in this country, and no problem with ignoring their wishes and screwing them over. We know that none of them will really change anything drastically enough for a population who are clearly ready for a big change.

However, I also believe that apathy has no place in politics. Everything in modern life is political, and therefore everyone has, or at least should have, a direct interest in politics. But I think in a lot of cases it’s not apathy or indifference that tempts people to abstain, it’s total, impassioned disillusion. When the only three parties in serious contention all occupy startlingly similar territory and have all been recently proven as liars when it comes to implementing policies from their rosy manifestos and the expenditure of public funds, I question how that’s a choice, and whether we truly live in a democracy at all. And when the fourth party gaining popularity and a sneaky outside chance stands largely for their own idiotic brand of right-wing nationalism, I find myself embarrassed by my countrymen and really don’t know where to turn.

The sad fact is, I don’t trust or believe in any of the major political parties standing, or approximately 99% of their employees. I’m not even sure I believe in our archaic political system any more. So how can I possibly vote without being a total hypocrite?

We, in our increasingly disunited kingdom, hold ourselves up as an example of the developed, western, wealthy, successful, free world, but it’s mostly built on extreme capitalism, barefaced lies and clever publicity. We have all the same issues of social and economic inequality as everywhere else, we just seem to be better at brushing them under the carpet, spinning them into something justifiable, using other issues as a way to detract from them or just outright covering them up. We pride ourselves in not suffering from the high-level corruption and dictatorial governments seen in other countries, but the continuing MP expenses scandal, the tax-dodging loopholes for million, billion, zillion and squajillionaires, the Hillsborough justice campaign, the propaganda against immigrants and benefit clamants, the so-called ‘war on terrorism’, Operation Yewtree, the Leveson inquiry and other recent events too numerous to mention prove this to be completely untrue. High-level corruption is absolutely a major issue in our country, it’s just hidden away, lied about and only gotten away with by the incredibly powerful and wealthy. These aren’t things I could ever comfortably respect or support.

So on that basis, yes, some kind of protest, or rebellion, or revolution as Brand so flamboyantly puts it, would be the best thing the masses could do to invoke real change – not just in the leadership of the country, but perhaps in the whole system, and even our culture. However, I’m sensible enough to know that this plan will only work if NOBODY votes, and that’s never going to happen. There will always be the party stalwarts and the staunch upholders of our democratic rights who would never dream of abstaining. Russel Brand doesn’t seem to see that this makes his plan become very dangerous indeed. Ultimately, the rest of the populous not voting would only mean we ended up in a worse situation - being governed by the choice of the few, rather than the many. I suspect the non-voters would be among the first to complain.

Which brings me back to the dilemma of where to place my cross on the ballot paper. I briefly considered voting for one of the smaller parties, but I can’t help but see it as a pointless exercise. Perhaps if we had proportional representation it would be worth doing, but in our nonsensical ‘first-past-the-post’ voting system, it won’t achieve or change anything in the grand scheme of things, ultimately making it a wasted vote. Plus, there aren’t any of those I truly believe in either. The closest is probably the Green party, not only because they seem to be the only ones concerned with the environment and climate change, but also they are the only party who aren’t controlled by wealthy corporate sponsors and actively refuse donations from tax-dodgers. They are concerned with tackling problems at their root cause, rather than mopping up the consequences of obvious social problems. They also oppose austerity and stand for full nationalisation of the NHS and transport, as well as calling for a Living Wage for all workers. However, despite their appealing policies, I have no faith in their leader, Natalie Bennett, has continually shown weakness and a lack of knowledge during their election campaign. Plus it seems voting Green is not even an option for some, because they’re not a large enough party to have a candidate standing in every area.

While it would never be a consideration for me, it seems from the polls that a lot of people are leaning the opposite way, towards voting UKIP as a protest, or as the only alternative to the three major parties who can guarantee major change. I can understand why this is happening, but I find it so sad and scary that we’re following France in leaning towards the far right in our desperation, rather than using people power and coming up with a more liberal left alternative, as Greece and Spain seem to be doing. Nigel Farage spent the entire TV debate scapegoating, and I quote: ‘foreigners from 10 former communist countries’ for all the UK’s problems and outlining his plans to pull out of the EU, while conveniently ignoring that highly skilled, tax-paying immigrant workers are what keeps his precious NHS afloat and that his own wife comes from one of those EU countries and is employed by his party. Having said all that, I can’t deny that I actually admired him for keeping out of the schoolyard bickering the other leaders so often succumb to, and for at least having the balls to clearly state his beliefs and proposals despite their controversy, rather than pandering to his perceived voters like the lying, fawning, polished, heavily media-trained TV personality politicians we’ve grown accustomed to. In that sense, it’s easy to see why the voting populous are drawn to him. However, it’s almost amusing that such a traditionalist Briton can’t see the irony in a country that proudly invaded and colonised half of the free world closing its borders and cutting all ties with foreign countries. And I presume that the thousands of British expats (because strangely, it’s not called immigration when we do it) enjoying life in foreign climes will be allowed to continue.

Einstein once said that the definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. We’ve seen what nationalist, right-wing governments have done to Europe and the wider world before, and I can’t believe we’re willing to go down that road again.

But for the overall, tip-top, most important reason to vote, we only need look at the statistics from the last election in 2010, which left us with the ill-fitting and unsatisfactory Con-Dem coalition. Of the population eligible to vote, 10.7 million voted Tory, 8.6 million voted Labour, and 6.8 million voted Lib Dem. However, 15.9 million didn’t vote at all, which only goes to show what a massive difference that huge number of unused votes could have made to any of those figures, and to those of the lesser parties, who could have used that support to become serious contenders. We can also see from the policies implemented by the current government and the targeted manifestos surfacing now that each party works hardest to serve those groups of society who bother to go out and vote for them. At the last election, 76% of pensioners used their vote, compared to 44% of 18-24 year-olds. As a result, we saw university tuition fees reach astronomical levels, housing benefit removed for the under 25’s and plans to force the young unemployed to do voluntary work for their welfare payments. Meanwhile, even the wealthiest pensioners kept all their benefits and perks, were excluded from the bedroom tax and had their private pensions protected against inflation and made easier to access. Incomes for the over 60’s have risen 1.8% since the economic crash of 2008, while incomes for the 22-30 age group have dropped by 7.6% in the same period. Interestingly, the Conservative party had a lead of 12% over Labour among voters over 55 years of age, while Labour received more votes from the 18-24 year-olds. Little wonder then, that Ed Miliband is pledging to cut tuition fees and increase affordable housing available to the young. The point is, if you want the government to meet your needs, or to represent you at all, the only way to do it is to curry their favour and vote for them.

At a time when voters and their rights are largely ignored, it’s difficult to keep believing that voting is an effective way to instigate change. But when there’s no alternative, when protests and revolutionary acts are also ignored, or worse, met with a violent response and/or punishment from the establishment, voting is the only power we have. Never forget how fortunate we are to live in a state of relative freedom and to have the option of exercising those freedoms in choosing and influencing our government. In the current system, voting is the only way we can realistically instigate change, and therefore it’s more important than ever that we all actively utilise our democratic rights and call out those MPs to make life fairer for their constituents. Left with a choice of feeling like a hypocrite and either voting tactically, to avoid the worst-case scenario as I see it, or just picking the best of a bad bunch, I still don’t know who I’m going to vote for, but I know I have to vote, and I know the only way to create change is to make yourself heard. I hope everyone, especially the young, the poor, the disenchanted, and the under-represented recognise the importance of their input. If you can’t see a way to vote to make things better, then consider voting to prevent making things worse. Even the small impact your voice can make is surely better than having no say at all.

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Evolution Devolution Revolution

There’s been much discussion in the media and on social networks lately about breastfeeding and photos of breastfeeding, and whether they should be allowed in any public domain. Well, of course they should, that’s not worthy of even a sentence of debate in my blogosphere. What makes the argument even more ridiculous is that we had a simultaneous debate in the UK about whether national daily newspapers should finally stop featuring page 3 girls, who have continued exposing themselves in public for money and male titillation for decades, with fewer complaints. But I’m not going to enter into a rant about societal misogyny, the sexualisation of women’s breasts, or the hygiene implications of being forced to feed a vulnerable baby in a public toilet, because the thing that saddens me most about it all is the confirmation that our ‘civilised’ society just keeps on pushing humans further and further away from nature, and I really don’t believe that’s a good thing.

The fact that this most natural of human practices is even questioned seems absolutely ludicrous to me. It’s the very thing that makes us mammals and a part of the natural world. Our species could never have survived without it. The fact that we’ve now largely replaced the most nutritious, immune-boosting, perfectly designed substance in the known world with dried chemical substitutes and deemed the delivery of it somehow indecent or offensive is completely absurd. What other animal ever has to hide away from the rest of its kind for simply rearing its young? It’s the fundamental purpose of every species and surely a thing to be celebrated.

But the (over)reaction to seeing babies get fed is not the only indicator of this sad truth about humanity that’s caught my attention.

Nudity in general is deemed somehow shocking and vulgar in modern society, and also has to be kept away from public forums and the children. Unless, again, it’s for sexual gratification, in which case it’s acceptable, or at least something we can turn a blind eye to. People who enjoy being naked as part of their normal, daily lives are made to do so behind closed doors or in designated areas only, and often labelled as weirdos. Because civilisation has decided that wrapping yourself in irritating fibres, suffocating your skin and weakening it to the effects of the sun and environment is a far more normal, healthy and sensible way to live.

Everyone I know who is looking to buy or rent a house wants it to come with the biggest gardens possible, not so they can enjoy the beauty, wonder and power of nature, but so they can endlessly cut, trim, shape, mow, weed and hack things to death in some endlessly futile effort to order and control it.

I often hear children warned against and scolded for running off, getting dirty and climbing trees or any of their artificial counterparts, when in actual fact, as curious little apes, it’s in all of their natural instincts to do so. Apparently we now think it’s better for them to avoid any risk or adventurous discovery whatsoever, and instead sit sedentary, indoors, in front of light projectors, eating processed, additive filled rubbish.

We can’t even resist interfering with the natural properties of other species. We love to share our lives with animals such as dogs and horses, who at their evolutionary peak have developed windproof, waterproof, warm and protective fur to allow them to deal with whatever the elements and environment can throw at them. But humans, in our infinite wisdom, shave all that off so we can replace them with vastly inferior, man-made coats instead.

I for one am wholly unconvinced that any of these examples prove the superior advancement of our species.

But humans are bizarre creatures. We still depend on nature for everything that keeps us alive, yet we are so arrogant as to think we can abuse or be repulsed by it instead of showing gratitude. We treat the natural as the unnatural. We think we’ve risen above the animals, when in so many ways all we’ve done is become the worst example of them. We’re certainly the worst on earth at just being the species that we are. Instead, we have become animals who constantly fight and deny our natural instincts and urges and try our damndest not to behave like animals. We’re conditioned to not want to be what we are, or behave as we’re innately programmed to. We’re often advised to ‘be ourselves’, when in actual fact, that’s the last thing society wants any of us to do. And then we wonder why there have been such dramatic and alarming increases in depression, anxiety and dysfunction related mental illnesses across the globe.

How much will we allow this twisted lifestyle to affect our health, our development, our planet and our future sustainability before we realise it has to change? I’m not saying we should all revert to caveman mode, but the boiled-down fact is we are just an overpopulated bunch of clever primates, and there has to be a line drawn somewhere. Going ‘backwards’ even a little bit would do far more good than harm. I look at humanity and I look at the rest of the animal kingdom, who are all experts at their own individual lifestyles and appreciative of everything nature has given them and resourceful with it, and I genuinely wonder who really are the intelligent ones?

Je ne suis pas sûr si je suis Charlie

Since the atrocities in Paris this week, beginning with the attack at the offices of Charlie Hebdo, there has been much talk of free speech, and a sudden and impassioned public uprising to defend it. Before I say anything else, of course I wish to retain all of the freedoms we enjoy, and I condemn the actions of the gunmen regardless of their race, religion or cause. However, I have really struggled with two elements of this story bringing up a moral dilemma for me: Firstly, that nobody in Europe truly has freedom of speech while apparently deluding themselves that they do; and secondly, that I’m not always sure we should be trusted with total freedom when we so often abuse the forms of public expression available to us.

Free speech is of course, an essential civil liberty in the west. It’s changed the world several times over, caused revolutions, wars, political and constitutional changes, etc, etc, etc, and allowed art and media to provide powerful reflections of the past and present societies in which they were created. It’s something we almost take for granted, it’s so inbuilt in our values. Indeed, it’s the first amendment on the US bill of rights, only marred by the fact that second on the list is the right to bear arms (presumably to use against those whose opinions differ to your own).

My point is, that while it’s a fine libertarian ideal to uphold and defend, we’ve never had freedom of speech in the west anyway. Freedom is an absolute. We can’t be a little bit free - either we are, or we’re not. This murky middle ground in which we currently exist, where nobody’s quite sure what’s permissible and what might land us in jail or get us killed is definitely not free.

Every country celebrates it, and yet every country modifies it with the stipulation: ‘within the law’. While those laws differ throughout Europe and the US, none are without restriction. In fact, the UK has stricter laws on free speech than anywhere else in Europe, covering everything from threats, abuse, insults, harassment, breach of the peace, racism, terrorism, incitement, gross offence, treason, indecency, obscenity, defamation, trade secrecy, classified material, copyright...the list goes on and on. Countless songs, books and films are still banned and re-edited every year. The TV schedule is subject to watershed rules and the internet routinely regulated and censored. It even came to light during a televised political debate on the subject this week that the BBC operates a ban on all depictions of the prophet Mohammed. Here is a direct quote from their editorial guidelines on political, religious and topical sensitivities:

‘Due care and consideration must be made regarding the use of religious symbols in images which may cause offence. The prophet Mohammed must not be represented in any shape or form.’

So even our nation’s public-funded, impartial, fair and most highly respected broadcaster obediently stays not only inside the law, but also its own, harsher, self-imposed rules. So much for freedom of the press. How can we possibly encourage journalists to dig deeper and push boundaries when it’s so unclear how far those boundaries are allowed to be pushed? The Leveson Inquiry and continued sales of certain related newspapers proved beyond doubt that not only do we not have a free press in the UK, but we don’t actually want one. Meanwhile, those who dare to break the rules to publish things they believe the public have a right to know end up in prison, or being forced to take long-term refuge in a South American embassy.

Just as many in the western world now mock the religious for believing so wholeheartedly in something that they don’t think is real, consider that perhaps the rest of the world are now laughing just as hard at us for believing so staunchly in the myth that is our so-called freedom.

I saw this cartoon shared on social media shortly after the killings at Charlie Hebdo, and it really got me thinking. It highlights one of the many double standards at work in western free speech, particularly where religion is concerned, and probably due to our terrible Holocaust guilt (because let’s not forget that the west has been and continues to be responsible for many of its own despicable atrocities and acts of terrorism). 

In France, the Gayssot Act of 1990 prohibits any racist, anti-Semitic or xenophobic activity in speech or print. It’s interesting to note that the term ‘anti-Semitic’ has only been exclusively applied to Jews in recent history. The true definition of Semites actually covers many of the peoples of the ancient Middle East, and the Semitic religions include Islam and Christianity as well as Judaism. So if we’re allowed to criticise and ridicule Islam and Christianity so freely, then surely it has to apply to Judaism and every other denomination too.

Blasphemy concerning any religion is one of the restrictions on free speech in many eastern countries and even several in the west, so it’s bound to be a highly inflammatory area for people living in other cultures under different constitutional laws, especially in the current climate. For me, when it comes to derogatory depictions of Islam at the moment, it’s not about defiantly making a display of exercising free speech or rejecting fear and terrorism, it’s about basic humanitarianism and compassion towards that enormous majority of Muslims who aren’t extremists, and causing obstruction to any hope of mutual respect and peaceful resolution. There’s a huge difference between using satire as a humorous device to shine a light on shortcomings of institutions, and using it as a one-sided and deliberately insulting vehicle to further enforce a divide and fuel such a volatile fire. I don’t know what the answer to all this is, but I know that it won’t be reached while communication between both sides consists of persistent insults, threats and extremely violent acts.

The editors, journalists and cartoonists at Charlie Hebdo had been warned many times before about taking their deliberately offensive satire too far. They had already suffered numerous threats, even seen their office firebombed and been ordered to pay many heavy legal fines for taking their use of free speech beyond the law, all the while continuing to skate along the borderlines of provocation. In many ways it’s admirable, of course they had the right to satirise, and nobody could ever begin to suggest that all those innocent people deserved what happened to them. But then I can’t help but think that perhaps just a little more BBC-esque thought on their part to political, religious and topical sensitivities wouldn’t have gone amiss, and may even have saved lives. So I guess my question is not why shouldn’t everyone have the right to be offensive and antagonistic, but why does everyone want to be?

I also noticed that the tragedies in Paris buried the big European news from the day before the first shootings, which reported the Pegida anti-Islam and immigration marches which continued to gain momentum in Germany throughout the week. I myself, and I suspect many others, especially Islamic extremists, are more offended by events such as this than any cartoon that ends up in the next day’s recycling.

Unfortunately, the defence of freedom of speech is a tricky area, in which everyone has to defend things they find abhorrent or offensive so that they may be allowed to continue to express themselves. So while I may disagree with Pegida, I will always stand up for their right to march for whatever cause they see fit. But I also believe that we ought to be very careful about purposely and publicly insulting or ridiculing other cultures, races, religions politics and beliefs, because it ultimately makes us no better than those who judge us for our own. So at the same time as defending free speech, I will continue to stand up for tolerance, because if we are to be granted these freedoms, then we have to allow everyone else those same rights we claim for ourselves. And even though the law says it’s okay to emotionally damage whole nations or groups of society, so long as you don’t physically hurt them, I disagree.

So I guess in my ideal world, we’d have total freedom of speech, combined with total respect and understanding and a desire to peacefully coexist that meant we never felt the need to push our freedoms to their limits. What a shame we’re human.

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A Call to Alms

I almost wrote this blog a few months ago, after the death of the amazing Stephen Sutton, but thought it might come across as insensitive. Then I almost wrote it again after the insane bandwagon-jumping weeks of the ALS Association’s Ice Bucket Challenge, but suspected it would be seen as self-righteous. Following the tragedy at Manchester Dogs’ Home last week, I can’t put it off writing it any longer, whatever effect it may have.

I can’t bring myself to write about the horrendous event itself, how those poor dogs’ lives ended so cruelly after a lifetime of suffering, the local heroes who risked their own safety to save lives, or even the motives and potential punishment of those responsible. As worthy of discussion as all of those things are, they could easily turn this blog into a 300 page social study. Instead, I wanted to focus on a wider issue that all three of these national events had in common, and that’s the stark reflection they gave us of our current culture. Our society has sadly become reactive, not proactive.

Before firefighters had even dampened the flames at the dogs’ home, news broke, and hundreds of people descended on the scene with equipment, vehicles, extra pairs of hands and anything else that might be needed to help. These people left their houses at night, some travelling miles, driven by their compulsion to do something. Those that couldn’t do this set about quickly raising hundreds of thousands of pounds to rebuild the centre. Obviously, these actions are highly commendable, as were the donations to the Teenage Cancer Trust and various ALS/MND charities in the previous weeks. I would never dream of undermining these beautiful outpourings of all the best bits of human nature. But what saddens me is that it takes such a devastating catastrophe, a heart-tugging TV telethon or a social media phenomenon to inspire it.

‘Raising awareness’ seems to have become a buzz-phrase around charitable causes these days, probably because it allows people to believe they’re making a contribution and feel good about themselves by sharing a meme on facebook. I can understand this where rare and lesser known causes are concerned, but what person in the western world hasn’t heard of Heart Disease, or Diabetes, or Alzheimer’s?  Who doesn’t know that developing countries are desperate for adequate healthcare and clean water? We are all only too aware that children and animals are frequently abandoned, neglected or abused and taken to live in specialised homes which can barely cater for their needs while they wait in vain hope for a better future. Some charities even spend some of their precious budgets on TV and newspaper advertising in order to get these messages through to people in their own, comfortable homes.

We all have causes close to our hearts, and in the digital age it’s never been easier to find organisations that support them and ways to assist. Yet none of this is enough to motivate people to get off their sofas and act as passionately and immediately as they do when disaster strikes. If only it were, we may be able to prevent many of the disasters from happening in the first place, and ‘social conscience’ might become a trendy slogan too. But in daily life at the moment, people seem far more concerned with those better off than themselves than those who have always had it worse.

Stephen Sutton was a brave, determined and kind young man who vowed to live life to the full despite his terminal illness and single-handedly made an enormous difference to a lot of lives. But nobody can argue that they’d never heard of Cancer before he told them about it, and he certainly wasn’t the first young person to lose his life to it.

The ALS Association was established almost thirty years ago, in 1985. Most people are familiar with Stephen Hawking’s battle to survive motor neurone disease and continue to function so highly throughout its terribly debilitating effects since the 1960s. Yet its supporting charities had never raised millions in one month until it involved people sharing amusing videos of themselves and playing dares with their friends.

Manchester Dogs Home was founded in 1893, and staff have fought to cope with the ever-growing numbers of abandoned animals in the city ever since. I doubt that at any point within those 120 years, they’ve ever seen crowds queuing up at the gates to help before.

My point is not only that these charities and many others have all needed urgent help for a long time before some despicable events drew attention to them, but also about the people I’ve mentioned. Not one of them waited for the worst case scenario, for lives to be lost, or a media storm to break before they stepped up and did whatever they could to solve a problem they’d identified or been affected by. That’s the kind of positivity that should inspire us to make change, not the death and destruction that comes from allowing a problem to go on for too long.

I am a trustee of Shy Lowen, a small horse and pony rescue charity, and I’m sure the board members of other charities would agree that our main aim is ultimately to put ourselves out of work – i.e. to fix the root cause of whatever problem requires the charity to exist.

I despaired the other day when a teenager enthusiastically enquired about rehoming a horse, which should be a lovely thing to hear from a young person. However, she went on to mention that she ‘can’t wait until we get some more new horses in’. To her, this would mean more to choose from for her own personal gain. To us, it would mean that the problem we set out to eradicate goes on and on; and the limited staff, space, facilities and budget have to be stretched even further. To the horses, it means that though they have already suffered at human hands to end up with us in the first place, they will often continue to be treated as toys or commodities once again when they leave.

I’m not saying everyone should become activists, or volunteers, adopt multiple animals and children or dedicate their lives to charity, but if everyone did just the little bit that they can, we would see a massive improvement. As demonstrated in my anecdote above, changing attitudes and educating the ignorant are just as important in solving a problem as helping physically or financially.

Even responsibly thinking through the consequences of actions and choices can still make a major change for a lesser effort. For example, in the case of Manchester Dogs’ Home, there might not have been so many dogs trapped in that burning building if more people neutered their pets, or refused to buy them from careless breeders and puppy farms, and spent more time caring for and training them. If everyone gathered outside had consistently shown them the level of support and compassion they displayed the night its premises were destroyed, then they might not need all the help they need now. They might not have needed to be there at all. And we might not all have to live in a world where car and clothing brands, bum size and eyelash length matter more to people than the suffering of our fellow sentient beings. Or at least not until it reaches its most awful extreme and it becomes impossible to look the other way.

If everyone could only harness what they felt for Stephen Sutton and those 53 dogs and pay it forward to the countless others still living in similar situations, just imagine what could be collectively achieved.  

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Live Television

I’ve seen a lot of memes, jokes and videos lately about smartphones hogging attention, causing accidents and absurdly, preventing people from talking to each other. While I agree that they are one of the most double-edged technological inventions so far and often wish I’d never got one and become a dependent, I’m finding myself far more disturbed by the change that the digital age has made to one of our much older electronic distractions.

There was a time when TV was an extravagant luxury. A person would be fortunate indeed if they knew someone that had one, even if it could only display a crackly, fuzzy, intermittent black and white picture. When they eventually became available to a wider audience, they were used to transmit huge events – moon landings, world championships, royal weddings, whatever might be deemed important or newsworthy in the society of the time. Documentaries eventually gave way to entertainment shows for families to spend their quality time on. The soap operas that initially only aired for half an hour each week built up to several instalments competing for airspace every weeknight, followed by impossibly long omnibus editions to see addicts through the weekend. The variety of programmes, foreign imports, number of channels and broadcasting times continued to increase until TV stealthily became an inescapable and integral part of life.

Now, with the advent of wi-fi laptops, tablets, aforementioned smartphones, digiboxes, media players, streaming and a wealth of speedy downloadable content from across the globe, I genuinely fear that the western world is blindly and obediently entering some Orwellian state of totalitarianism.

When I was growing up (which wasn’t that long ago), anyone sad enough to collect VHS copies of favourite shows to watch consecutively and repeatedly were labelled as geeky, socially deficient saddos, and encouraged to get out more and find a real hobby. Any twenty-something who told their friends they’d spent Saturday night sitting in watching telly would be pitied and/or ridiculed. How times change. In the ‘enlightened’ 21^st century, a couple sitting down to 6 consecutive episodes of the same series on their night off would probably be considered a date.

TV has undergone a magical transformation from something people did when they had nothing better to do, to something people choose to do above all other things. It’s deemed freakish to NOT have one in the house. I know a few people who don’t own a TV, and from the reactions they get from others when they tell people this, they might as well be saying they have serious psychiatric disorders and enjoy depriving their children of vital stimulus and education. Oh, the irony.

I’m not an innocent in all this, I do watch TV myself and I do have favourite programmes which I have been known to get very enthusiastic about, but I try to incorporate this into my life in a healthy way by following them one at a time on a weekly basis, and not allowing any of them to take over my life. During many lengthy periods I’ve lived without a TV, I’ve remained happy, felt liberated in many ways and definitely been more productive. Even with a TV in my bedroom, I still find time to write, read, exercise, go outside a lot and interact with real people.

 I find it off-putting that the occasional well-written, acted and produced shows capable of providing great insight, or provoking genuine emotion and thought are milked dry by greedy distribution networks, endlessly imitated and far outweighed by the mindless drivel and cheap cannon fodder. I won’t have the TV on even ‘in the background’ if that’s all its hundreds of channels can offer me. I’ll just find something else to do. There’s a real world out there.

What saddens me the most is the willing acceptance of this as our new culture. It’s actually become a preferred lifestyle choice. People don’t find common ground any more, they find mutually agreeable viewing material. Small talk and social media posts centre around it. I rarely see some of my friends more animated than when they’re extolling the virtues of Netflix or whatever US series they happen to be in a serious long-term relationship with at the time. I despair at the use of Cbeebies as a primary source in child development and behaviour management, and of grown adults sacrificing so much of their own precious lives in exchange for the contrived experiences of fictional characters.

One of my closest friends recently expressed a strong desire to procure himself a media pod – which seemed to me to be some horrific, Matrix-esque virtual reality device in which a human being can voluntarily incarcerate themselves to stare at screens for hours on end and endure a slow, electronic lobotomy. Another showed me a diary she’s started keeping of the numerous shows she is currently following simultaneously, as it’s becoming too difficult for her evolved, intelligent brain to keep track. I confess that I myself have succumbed to the temptation of downloading a show from another country so I can watch it a whole 24 hours before it’s due to air in my own. It’s looking increasingly like manufacturers will continue developing the sound and image quality of their overpriced equipment until their complexity exceeds anything that basic human senses can hope to process. I don’t want to consider where it will all end.

Maybe soon it will be normal for everyone to live in individual pods with only a carefully catalogued digital menu of noisy, colourful, crystal clear distractions for company; oblivious to the fact that it’s keeping them quiet, quelling their energy and lulling them to sleep on a much grander scale than the Disney channel does to unruly toddlers. Maybe by then it will be too late to wake up and reclaim life.

Call me over dramatic, but if Orwell’s nightmare prophecy taught us anything, it’s that if there is hope for the future, it lies in the masses. Only we can change it, but we probably won’t.

Because the Walking Dead starts again soon, and there’s a Breaking Bad spin-off on the way.

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Faith in G.O.D.

All my life, it’s been a dream of mine to become a traditionally published author. I even had two favourite publishing houses and a literary agent picked out as my preferred choices of representation. I knew it would take a lot of hard work, which I gladly and diligently supplied, and some talent, which I believed and had been told I possessed. But I had absolutely no control over the amount of luck it would take, and a pretty poor production record in previous attempts to make my own.

We’ve all heard the stories of even the best and most famous writers suffering continual humiliation and ignorance before their eventual breakthrough. The chances of the right person picking up your manuscript from a slush pile of thousands are slim, and the odds of them being bowled over by it within the permitted three chapter submission even slimmer, especially when you’ve written a book as odd as mine. It’s complicated, it doesn’t fit into any current literary trends, and it’s not for everyone. After a year or so of entering competitions and submitting to agents, I got sick of all the months of waiting around, relying on other people, only to receive another unexplained rejection at the end of it. Especially as it didn’t necessarily mean my book was bad – it just meant they didn’t think it would sell, because sadly money is the be all and end all of artistic endeavour in the cynical modern world.

I never cared about the profit, I just wanted an audience. I wouldn’t have spent years writing this book voluntarily if I was concerned with being well paid for my labours – I wrote it because I felt I had something to say. I’d be unlikely to make much money from traditional publishing anyway - I read an article only last week stating that the average full-time writer earns just £11,000pa, so I wouldn’t be giving up the day job even with a book deal. People getting what I was trying to achieve and appreciating how I’ve gone about it is, to me, a far greater measure of success than amassing wealth or fame. I eventually decided I needed to do what I always end up doing in every area of life (see previous blogs), and go independent.

I’ll confess to being snobby about self publishing in the past. It seemed to me to be nothing more than modernised vanity publishing. Anyone could do it, it didn’t require any recognition or skill, and I didn’t want to see the beloved novel of which I was so proud languishing in undiscovered ebook oblivion among the millions of other wannabes. I would only consider it as a last resort, when all else had failed.

Then I recalled the many tales I’ve heard from traditionally published first-time authors I’ve met over the years of their efforts to promote their debut novels and persuade stores to stock them, with little assistance or budget from their publishers. It often resulted in them remaining largely unknown despite their enviable achievement. It occurred to me that in the end, both routes require the same gamble, as putting the book out there is only half the battle – making it known to potential readers is by far the greater struggle. At least with self publishing, worldwide availability is guaranteed.

Further research proved to me that the book industry is changing. Publishers aren’t spending so much time and money on new authors or producing paperbacks, and more and more novelists are discovered after publishing and promoting themselves. Some are even opting to remain independent, and some that have previously had book deals are going independent by choice. I realised that self publishing would not mean I’d given up on my book, but that I still believed in it despite all the rejections. I also still hope it might be seen by the right people by putting it out into the world, but even if it isn’t scouted by anyone in the industry, I’ll honestly be happy if a few strangers enjoy reading it and leave a nice review, or if it makes just one person think differently.

I was also wrong about it being easy. During the dark days of final preparations, ruthless revisions and tedious formatting that have been the last few weeks of my life, I’d have given anything to have a team of editors, proofreaders, designers and marketing experts behind me. But in the end, doing it all myself only gave me more to be proud of, and allowed me to retain all rights and complete creative control of my work, which are also major positives of indie authorship.

The biggest test of all applied to either publishing method, and that was having the guts to place it at the mercy of the public at all. It’s hard to let go of something that’s been a part of my life for so long. It’s my creation and it contains a lot of me, so in many ways it feels like sending my child (or rather my outcast Frankenstein-esque creature) out to make its own way in the world. I want to set it free and allow it to do the best it can, but I’m also terrified of letting other people anywhere near it and will be most upset if anything bad happens to it. So please take care of it for me. 

It’s strange and complicated, and not to everyone’s taste, but stick with it, and you might just find something interesting hidden beneath the surface. I did say it was like me.

Buy G.O.D. in paperback here: http://www.feedaread.com/books/GOD-9781784079451.aspx

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I am not a number!

It was my 34^th birthday a couple of weeks ago. Most people’s response to this was not a joyous congratulation, but rather a sympathetic concern for my wellbeing, like I’d just announced that some terrible woe had befallen me. But that wasn’t what bothered me most about it all.

I can’t deny it’s weird to think of myself as this age, and I certainly don’t feel it, but I’ve come through a lot to get here and I’m proud of it. I don’t think I’ll enjoy getting officially old, once it starts to affect my mental and/or physical capabilities, whatever the numeric definition of that turns out to be. But I’m finding ageing while remaining reasonably in control of all my faculties is a fantastic experience. I’ve been a late bloomer throughout life, and I only really started growing into myself and taking bigger risks in my late twenties. I’m finding all those magazine clichés of growing wiser, more rounded, accepting, confident and comfortable in my own skin throughout my thirties are, like most clichés, repeated so often because they’re true. So I love being 34, and I feel I’m only beginning to reach my prime and be ready for anything now.

Except for one problem. It’s an issue that I probably should be grateful for, but it’s that I don’t look 34. Most people are surprised when I tell them my age, but their estimates are usually somewhere in the mid twenties. I can live with that. It’s a reasonably mature age, and it doesn’t interfere too much with my life. But four days after my birthday, for about the fifth time this year, I was asked to produce ID by a shop assistant to prove I was over 18.

This has been a fairly regular occurrence throughout my adult life, and while it has decreased in frequency, I can still expect it at least once every couple of months. It’s happened considerably more since I could legally buy alcohol than it did during the many, naughty times I had done so before. In my late teens I took it as an opportunity to show off my shiny new proof of age. It became embarrassing in my early twenties, funny in my mid-twenties, and flattering in my late twenties. But it’s just getting stupid now.

I don’t get it at all. I might not look 34, but I definitely don’t look 17. I don’t even look 21. Shops tend to have such crap fluorescent lighting that’s hardly soft focus. I once briefly noticed a pattern of middle aged, mumsy women being accountable for a higher percentage of it, but there’s been numerous times when the person behind the till has laughed or embarrassedly apologised upon being presented with my date of birth, because it’s 10-15 years before theirs, and even they can legally buy alcohol. I’m biologically old enough to have a 17-year old daughter, and have met people my age who do. It doesn’t even provide funny anecdotes any more, because everyone else is bored with it too. Enough’s enough.

So, to all the shop assistants out there, please stop withholding my beer and/or treating me like a child, or you may become responsible for a self-fulfilling prophecy whereby I regress to my angry teenage state; or a full on, Michael-Douglas-in-Falling-Down-style violent episode.

Obviously, it’s a silly thing to complain about, and it’s good to look young. You would think it a particular advantage in a modern world where it seems to be a lot of people’s main goal in life. But to be honest, looking too young is just a pain in the arse.

The trouble is, when people assume you’re 17, they tend to talk to you like you’re actually 12, making it very difficult to be taken seriously in many situations. I’m regularly accused of being a liar just for stating my age, which always baffles me as to what possible reason anyone in their teens or twenties might have to pretend to be 34. I’m sick of having to fish out my driving licence and share my personal details and bad photo with strangers when I’m already in a hurry and carrying loads of stuff. Then there’s the 18-25 year old males who, during their attempt to chat me up at a bar, discover their error and make a panicky retreat. I wouldn’t want to go out with them either, but at least spare me the palpable horror of their reactions. Meanwhile, men in my own demographic don’t approach me because they’re worried they might get arrested for it.

I wouldn’t even mind so much if I could see it myself, or if I hadn’t aged, but it’s clear to me that I have. I see my graduation photo regularly in the homes of my family members, and I look like a cherub in fancy dress, so I can understand how I might be mistaken for 17 back then, though I was 23 at the time. But a few weeks ago, I was looking through some photos with a friend from when we’d first met five years ago. I was 29 then, and I still didn’t look anything like 17. Yet I did look considerably younger than I do now. But I’m still required to prove I’m over 18.

The mind boggles.

I admit in some ways I don’t help myself. I still dress exactly like I did as a student, and I refuse to get any sort of sensible, grown-up haircut that I would have to spend time styling. I have pasty, sensitive, paper-thin skin, meaning that I do still get spots regularly, and I don’t cover them with make up or fake tan, which probably isn’t helpful to my protest. But, exposing my Celtic skin to all weathers, gravity, chemicals and bad dietary habits amongst other things has also caused me a few wrinkles, and it shows all the signs of working regular night shifts in my inappropriately-named day job. I pity all those 17-year-olds with frown lines and eye bags that the staff in off licenses and supermarkets must be confronted with regularly enough to mistake me for one of them.

In another ten or twenty years, maybe I’ll be more grateful if people still think I’m 15 years younger than I really am, but by then, being 15 years younger won’t halve my age, and I’ll still be a fully grown adult, even in their obviously defective eyes. But for now, I’ll just have to try and take something positive from it, and make a new goal in life to be asked for ID at 35, which will surely break a record, or at least make me worthy of an award of some kind. I’ll celebrate its ridiculousness anyway.

Just so long as it doesn’t happen too many times in between. Or after. 

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