Shores of Night

In many ways, the new year feels depressingly familiar. The themes that dominated 2016 of death and chaos continue to grind their way across the world, scattering reason before them. Tribalism, blind patriotism and the march of nationalism are the background beat to the news reports we read, watch or listen to. What's different is that with the ascension of Donald Trump to the White House the world feels infinitely more dangerous, not least because someone who appears to have all the self-control of a five year in a cookie shop has now taken power. His first week in power has been a salutary lesson in the speed at which change can happen in the modern world and there's little doubt that many of the Executive Orders ( http://www.politico.com/agenda/story/2017/01/all-trump-executive-actions-000288 ) he signed this week had been prepared in advance, probably as long ago as his election victory if not before. He has an agenda and he intends to stick with it, for good or for ill. ...

The news stories about Rolf Harris, along with a myriad of other celebrities and their improper behaviour towards children, coupled with the revelations about what's been going on in football, where coaches have also been abusive towards minors, have left me spinning my wheels a bit, as I hate that sort of thing (obviously). I feel similarly about dick pics and men shouting abuse at women in the street. In fact, there are a lot of things we men do in this area that I don't get at all, and which I think are downright skeevy and unpleasant. More to the point, I just don't comprehend what makes men do this sort of thing. Not at all. It's as if I'm sitting on an island looking at a huge continent of people talking and acting in a way that not only seems alien, but reprehensible. It may be that I fall too much into the School of Life's 'nice man' category - there are certainly things that resonate with me in the video I've posted below, but I doubt a ...

Let me tell you a story. Once there was a lady called Margaret Vobe, she was a kind woman, one of those women who always worries about people, who does their best to make everyone happy. She lived down the road from me as a child, a kindly old lady who was always there with a kind word and a cake if you needed it, or with rhubarb crumble. Then, one day, when she was very old, she contracted Alzheimer's. The change in her character was noticeable almost immediately. She became confused, withdrawn and difficult to predict. On good days you could still see the woman she was, and sometimes in her confusion, she would say things that were amusing - 'there's a cow on the bed', for example. But those were rare and it was more common for her to be... lost, really. And as the disease worked its course, it became more apparent how lost she was and eventually she was nothing more than a little bundle of bones, in a room with a TV. She was also my Grandmother, so I got to see h...