America in 2024

 'An old, blind, mad, despised and dying king.'

In the lead up to the US election I was resigned to a Trump win. He'd been leading for an age and despite Harris's late dead cat bounce, seemed to be on track to become prez. 

And yet... The mood music of the last few days hinted at a different outcome and like many, I allowed myself to be seduced. It's the hope that kills you.

Never underestimate the US's love of cheap gas and a carnival barker preying on their worst instincts. Not all of Trump's voters are racists and misogynists but all of the racists and misogynists voted for him.

Harris was an uninspiring candidate dealt a completely shit hand with 100 days to go. So, it could be argued that you can't blame people for picking the populist they know. But you can blame them for believing anything he says. He was a flailing president last time with an anti-Midas touch who lowered America in the eyes of the world.

In a decent society, Trump wouldn't be within a million miles of the candidacy given what we know of him. Is he really the best the US can offer?

Watching this angry and exhausted old man giving yet another rambling speech yesterday, it still beggars belief that the country has fallen for a conman who will piss on them and tell them it's raining.

As for the UK's 'special relationship', well it wasn't that special last time (nor under Obama TBH). Trump got to meet the Queen, so what else can we offer? Maybe Starmer's planning reforms will allow him to lay out a few more golf courses but he doesn't need us. Europe seems to have realised this and will cling together for strength while we shiver on the sidelines.

So four more years of this. Scarily, this time he's come packing a toolbox of ideological wingnuts like Vance and Musk so his capacity to wreak havoc will be even greater.

Frightening times. When America shits the bed, we all get a whiff of the stink. 

Better than me

When I was in my teens, me and a mate, Paul used to go through periods when we would try and get 'superfit'. This typically involved getting up before school and going for runs round the quiet streets of our market town. Maybe we'd throw in some sits ups along the way. Anyway, it usually lasted a few days maybe a week at most - before tailing off, until the next time we started the cycle again.

In the past couple of months my youngest has taken to going running in the evening with one of his schoolmates. They do a couple of miles round a local park but unlike me and Paul, they've been doing it continuously with only the odd night off if one is ill or there's something else in the calendar. 

They just started doing it - I'm not entirely sure why. They've now joined a local running club and have started training a couple of days a week on top of their own runs.

He's already proved himself to be an accomplished young actor with roles in school productions and local drama groups. And he's book smart too.

As is his brother, who in recent years has also flourished as a musician. Performing with the school and county orchestra, and writing his own compositions. He's even being invited to conduct the orchestra at an upcoming school concert. I can't wait to see that.

Obviously I'm very proud of them both. It's amazing to see how they have developed as young men and to ponder how much, or possibly how little, it has to do with me (I won't speak for my wife as she has definitely done more to shape them - positively - than I have).

It never ceases to amaze and delight me how they have emerged. When they were young, it's hard to imagine that you will ever be less than indispensable to them. But as they get older, the times you are called on get fewer and fewer - dad's cab and cash mainly.

I sort of missed the points at which they outstripped me at so many things. You can just about pin the time when they're suddenly taller than you - not much of a challenge that one - but when did they become stronger, faster, actors, musicians, more creative, more empathetic...?

There's not much left for me. I can still cook better - that's a crown neither seems interested in. I think I'm funnier, but that is probably a matter of taste.

And you know what? I don't care. They're great young people that I'm blessed to have in my life - pardon the mushiness. My competitive dad days are over. It's time to bask in their light.

24 hours in A&E

Well, not quite but currently about 10 hours and counting.

Went out for a bike ride with my son today. I haven't been very active lately due to a combination of COVID and an almost back to back series of lower limb ailments since summer.

I'm constantly trying to restart some degree of fitness kick in the hope that it will help with my various issues.

My son had asked about cycling this week so it seemed like a good opportunity to combine a healthy ride with dad-son time.

It wasn't an especially energetic ride but there were a few hills and I was struggling on these to the extent that I decided to shorten the ride and just get home. 

With a couple of miles to go I was feeling sufficiently puffed and with some tightness of the chest to stop and have a puff of the GTN spray I carry everywhere.

However, rather than helping it seemed to make me very lightheaded and my vision became almost psychedelic. My son said I was yawning a lot and wasn't responding to him. He thinks I blacked out at one point.

We were in a park and luckily there was a man there who helped. My son, who is 16, was immense, calling the emergency services, providing them with details of what happened and where we were, and looping in my wife who was elsewhere.

The guy was great. He was an Afghani gentleman who had worked for the government in Kabul but couldn't stay when it all kicked off. He literally gave me the shirt off his back as I was shivering so much, as well as providing a blanket and trackie bottoms. He offered for us to come to his home but I was pretty shaky and my son didn't want to walk too far. I'm so grateful to both of them.

I'm also very grateful to my sister in law who raced over from her house to pick us up and take us to the hospital. The ambulance looked like being a long time coming. 

I thought that this was a heart attack. I'm still waiting for results but feeling a lot better now, to the extent of being antsy about being here. I know I shouldn't be. It's busy, as it always is but the staff are calm and caring. I feel I'm in good hands but I would like to get home before that 24 figure becomes reality.

It's good to be back

Oasis are returning and dads of Britain are getting very excited.

Everyone has their Oasis connection - they were omnipresent in the late 90s. And with a reunion tour rumoured to include 10 nights at Wembley, there will be room for all. Whether they retain (or have ever had) that level of appeal is another matter.

I saw them four times in their pomp and that's probably enough for me. The idea of standing among coked up Oasis fans in a football stadium that still reminds me of how badly behaved England fans can be, is as appealing as having my eyebrows plucked - something the metrosexual Gallaghers of 2024 probably know more about than their oikish younger selves.

The first time I saw them was just before Definitely Maybe came out. The early singles were the most exciting things I'd heard in years and I got tickets for their show at the Kentish Town Town & Country Club which was about 10 minutes walk from where I lived in Chalk Farm.

Surprisingly, the gig was pretty flat through a combination of unfamiliarity with the album, which wasn't yet out, and a standoff between bolshie band and an entitled London crowd. I maintain that if they'd played a week later when people had heard how brilliant Definitely Maybe was, they'd have blown the roof off.

The next live appearance was on the morning of the release of What's the Story at a 'secret' gig at the old Oxford Street Virgin Megastore. In a sign of things to come Liam stropped off drunk so I never got his signature on my copy of the album - Noel's is though.

A couple of months later they redeemed themselves with a great pre-Christmas gig at the Hammersmith Palais which was probably their peak for me. The two things that stick in my mind have nothing to do with the show itself though. It was where two friends, who are now married, got together, and I bumped into underachieving singer songwriter Nikki Sudden (a slight obsession of mine) at the bar.

After that high point it was a while before I saw them again. I had no interest in the Knebworth love in, but for some reason decided it would be a good idea to see them in Finsbury Park in 2002, probably because it was nearish to where I lived in Hackney.

Bad idea actually. The crowd was a menacing, belligerent bunch of mainly men, off their heads and bellowing at the few women there to 'get 'em out'. It really didn't feel safe for women.

And the band themselves were bored and boring. I was glad to get away from there with my then girlfriend, now wife. I don't think either of us were that bothered about Oasis for a long time after that.

Yet, they still linger and I'm not completely immune to their charms. It's just that they seem slightly comic nowadays. The cutting description of Liam as "one of the great anorak wearers of our times" still makes me snigger.

As an amateur strummer, I have a certain respect for Noel's gift with melody. You only have to play that Em7 chord and warble "Today is gonna be the day..." to have the rest of the room chime in.

But see them live again? No thanks. If they meant anything to my kids I might sort out the inevitably overpriced tickets, but if they're even on their radar, it's as a bit of a joke band - the old guys with the big eyebrows.

Hopefully there will be enough multigenerational and mixed sex groups at the upcoming shows to make them more joyous and less sinister than the last time I saw them. Both Liam and Noel are dads themselves now and it's always been a family affair.

For me though, I think I'll wait for the inevitable showing on the idiot box. That's as close as I need to be this time. Definitely... maybe...

White riot

Worrying times in England. The last few nights have seen coordinated rioting in mainly northern English towns and cities - Leeds, Liverpool, Manchester, Hull, Rotherham.

It's rioting weather - hot and warm. The schools are on holiday. There's no football on and possibly lingering grievance that England didn't win the Euros.

The spark was a horrific attack on a children's event in Southport that left three girls dead. This has been weaponised by online right wing provocateurs calling for protests against immigration - the attacker was actually a British national.

As often with these outbreaks copycat events have occurred. At the moment, it feels like things are teetering on the edge and police are struggling to cope.

The obvious comparison is the rioting of 2011. The genesis was different but the rapid spread, the descent into violence and looting, and the overwhelming of police forces all looks horribly familiar.

There are big differences though. There is a racist element to this rioting. Asylum seeker hotels are being targeted. Shops and businesses owned by minority groups have been targeted. Black people have been attacked by racists.

It's nauseating to see the cocky way in which young white men have embraced these riots. Any cover that they were in some ways protests about Southport disappeared pretty quickly. They've devolved into a coke and booze fuelled carnivals of idiocy by prats in balaclavas and track suits. Parading their battered streets with twin armed salutes at possibly the most meaningful moment in their lives. Hold that smile lads - it's all on camera.

There will inevitably be long sentences for many of these dickheads, and so there should be. It's not a crime to be thick and gullible but it'll get you banged up.

Hopefully there will also be comeuppance for those who have thrown fuel on the fire, whether that's the keyboard warriors who spread disinformation and organised riots, or the snake tongued politicians like Farage who give them succour and encouragement. Shame on them.

For now it's sad and concerning as another night of increasingly violent rioting looms. As in the hot summer in 2011, I'm hoping for a downpour to dampen the enthusiasm of fairweather knuckle draggers.

Of course, a year after the 2011 riots came the triumphant London Olympics of 2012 which still feel like a hug around the country. 

Don't let the idiots win. There are more of us than them.

Labour landslide

The election already seems an age away after the lead up to the day seemed like we had entered slow motion.

Thursday was a real slog. A beautifully sunny day, we voted in Colchester and also in picturesque Dedham for Charlotte's friend Catherine who lives in Spain.

Then we waited. Charlotte went out to see The Bluetones leaving me home alone. Well, the kids were here but showed little interest in potentially witnessing history.

I was so nervous before the exit poll fearing a late Tory surge. However, the prediction was for a Labour landslide. This was tempered by one of the night's other stunning events - Reform predicted to get 13 MPs.

There has inevitably been a ton written about the result, but I'd like to add a few personal observations.

Firstly, I'm happy, which bears recording now as the naysaying has already started. Britain does need change and the Tories were never going to deliver it.

My expectations are set fairly low. Starmer is bang on in managing expectations. There is a lot to be done but surely Change Labour or whatever they'll be called can deliver more than their predecessors. Contrary to the slagging in the campaign, I think they do have a plan but don't expect fireworks.

As such, it's a victory for the centrist dads, and I'm okay with that. No more drama for a while.

Colchester has it's first female MP and the first Labour one in an age. I never thought I'd see that so soon. Pam Cox smashed former Olympics oarsman James Cracknell an' all.

Reform's performance is worrying. I don't see what they offer anyone beyond a protest vote. Farage doesn't give a damn for Clacton or any of the blighted spots they're spewing their hate. They're not going away though. Best argument against PR evah!

In ordinary times Labour would be settling in for at least 10.years given how the Tories have imploded. But these aren't normal times. Labour itself is back from the brink of 2019 to lay waste to Sunak, helped by Reform. They really have to deliver for a cynical and unforgiving population, and they face a bucket load of challenges. This will be the shortest political honeymoon ever. I wish them well - they'll need it.

Election day tomorrow

I can't remember a general election where the result has seemed so preordained. 

Actually, that's wrong. Lots of Tory wins have seemed inevitable. It's the opposition wins that always seem unlikely.

This time however it looks like Labour will be the next government. Unless the polling and pundit industry have got things seriously wrong, the only question seems to be how big the majority will be.

Such certainty makes many people (me) cringe. I well remember 1992 when many people (not me) thought it was in the bag. It was one of many electoral disappointments in the past couple of decades.

Is 2024 different? It seems so. Labour started with a 20%+ lead in polls but surely this would close as the long campaign ran. Well, it hasn't.

The Tories have had a string of gaffes - Dunkirk, Gambling-gate, dodgy tax claims - but that 20% hasn't budged. The re-emergence of Farage with his Reform Ltd vehicle has also hurt them. It looks like he will be a local MP to us - Clacton is just half an hour from here.

Colchester itself is in play for Labour, and a string of nearby Tories could lose their seats - something that would have been inconceivable after the Labour collapse at the last GE.

Keir Starmer really has done quite a job although few seem to give him much credit. They call him dull, lacking in ideas, stiff, and uninspiring. That seems harsh to me. After what we've had with Truss and Johnson, competence, which he has in buckets, will seem almost revolutionary.

A massive Labour 'supermajority' (no such thing in our GE, I know) will not mean anything to me. A good working majority will be plenty. Anything more though will demonstrate how fully the country has turned against the Tories. To use a phrase beloved of Boris Johnson, a punishment beating could be on its way. 

Is it deserved? That's for voters to decide.

It will be massive weight off many shoulders if Starmer walks into 10 Downing St on Friday. But expectations should be tempered. Blair faced a similar situation in 1997 but the winds were more in his favour economically. Britain expects the Change that Labour says it can deliver but Starmer and Reeves have been caution exemplified. It will take time to sort out a lot of the mess the Tories have left. A few early quick wins would be clever and I don't doubt they'll learn from New Labour that feel good policies in the early days will create a sense of movement.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. No votes have been counted yet and the time between now and the much anticipated exit poll tomorrow night will seem like an age. And the time before the count confirms it will seem even longer.

But we've waited 14 years. We can wait a little longer.

Summer in the city

Colchester is officially a city now but as I had to head into London today, I mean the Smoke.

It was approaching the mid 20s as I lumbered off to the station carting a rucksack containing my ancient, breezeblock laptop, in the off chance I would do some work at the conference I was attending.

(Reader, I did!)

I'm even less great in the morning than I used to be. Not a morning person. Not an afternoon or evening person either.

And definitely not a heat person. Therefore I opted for comfort over style with my normcore outfit of chinos (with in built elastic adjusters 👌), check shirt, and trainers. Can't work out whether the look is more Woody Allen or the Only Me dad.

Despite the heat, I returned to the house to pick up a fleece 'just in case'.

Once on the train, it was a bit more relaxed. AC was on max which helped. Because the past few days have been pretty, pretty hot.

Heading into London reminded me of the difference a mini heatwave makes. Britain goes into a kind of weird fever dream. It feels like a different place - one that offers up the chance of a different way of being. People smile more, there's a sense that there's more to life than work, and everything looks a bit more exotic. The shittiest street corner can be transformed into a bit of the Med or the Caribbean with a coupla chairs to sit and take in the passing tapestry of life.

We can never get it quite right though. A few days is usually enough before the fever breaks, and usually some shop windows and bus shelters too. It's the heat. And the booze. 

Those few days are priceless though. I remember one hot summer in my teens when my football team played some early evening games in the fading heat of the day. 

We usually played on battered, muddy pitches on wet and cold Sundays. For these games we were upgraded to the flatter, less battered pitches, baked to a dusty hardness by a few weeks of good weather.

Some of the local girls came to see us and cheer us on - I felt like a legend even though we were notoriously crap. It's one of my abiding memories of that age.

Did we win? I can't remember, but I felt like a winner.

Everything feels different in the sun.

Mush alert!

It's nice to have a day where the focus is on you as a dad but for me every day is a father's day.

I've always loved being a dad and it doesn't seem to diminish as the kids get older. Sure, they were a lot more obviously cute when they were little as opposed to the hulking great teenage eating machines they are now. However, they continue to delight in different ways.

They're smart, funny, annoying, intriguing, and endlessly fascinating to me. Now they've reached a certain age, I'm sure that I'm about as interesting to them as an ancient tortoise, so I'm grateful for their forbearance.

Anyway, thanks for the gifts lads. They are appreciated but entirely unnecessary. Just keep being you.

Savour every sandwich

I never really notice memorial benches but this one stood out. It was a rather lovely crafted example made of naturalistic blonde planks of wood that retained a suggestion of the shape of the tree they came from. It was also situated beautifully on a village green overlooking a lovely stretch of river.

The name was quite an old one, 'Sidney', so I initially assumed an elderly person. But as I stared, the dates didn't seem right. Sidney had lived for only nine days.

Later that day I encountered a very different memorial. It was an old tractor wheel propped up on the edge of a slightly bleak field opposite an area of concrete hard standing. A piece of wood had been shaped into the silhouette of a pig and carried the name of a nearby farm. A second plaque gave the names of a 'dad and lad' that it called 'two country boys'.

It was the morning that news broke of the discovery of Michael Moseley's body. The TV doctor, famous for encouraging a slightly pick and mix approach to healthy living, was found on a Greek island where he was holidaying. His disappearance, and death, has caught the public imagination in a big way.

Partly this is because we are now so health aware and proactive on this front. In a way, it is rather like the modern approach to spirituality favoured by some - selecting what they like and creating a bespoke set of rituals and beliefs that can feel like a modern form of superstition.

Health is like this too. We all have ideas about what and when we eat, how to lose weight, how our mental health affects the physical, how we can live longer and better...

At the extreme it manifests in tech bros changing their blood, taking hundreds of daily supplements, and exercising more than they sleep, in the hope of living until... forever maybe?

For the rest of us, there is a smorgasbord of tricks and hacks we hope can game us a bit more time, or a better quality of life. For us, people like Michael Moseley are the high priests of healthfulness. His death has hit hard because it underlines the ultimate futility of trying to cheat the grim reaper.

I'm no different. Yesterday, I was on a bike ride - part of my latest stop-start journey to better health. I have my own set of health superstitions based on nothing more than trial and error, observation, and supposition. I don't know if they work, but sometimes I think they do. It's a work in progress and one that we're encouraged to do given modern expectations of health and wellbeing. I can't even explain to my doctor what ails me. They treat me at the edges and will hopefully be there if anything critical happens, to cure or alleviate.

The rest is slightly up to me it seems.

It may sound like yesterday's ride was a morbid affair but it was anything but - it was lovely to get out and experience our lovely countryside. One point of memento mori is to remind the living to live and to enjoy life.

Hence the Warren Zevon quote in the title. He was on the Letterman show with only a little time left as he had terminal cancer. What should have been a terrible, sombre occasion is actually very funny and uplifting as he wisecracks through his last appearance. He sums up his thoughts on life with those pithy three words.

Enjoy every sandwich, and enjoy every ride. For glass half empty types like me, it's perfect bumper sticker philosophy.

How the Tories broke Britain

I was actually still living in Hackney when the Tories came to power in 2010. 

Our second son had been born a month previously so we had our hands full. I remember being relatively resigned to the Tories coming to power albeit sad. The air was going out of the New Labour project, the government had been holed below the waterline by the global financial crisis, and despite being a titan as chancellor, Gordon Brown was struggling to project himself as PM.

It seemed like time for a change, and under the youthful Cameron, the Tories did seem to have changed. 

That didn't last long.

First they started to break our services with the vicious assault on spending that was austerity and the results of which are still playing out. George Osborne remains unrepentant that there was any alternative but there was - less savage cuts that didn't demonise the poor and cast them adrift.

As new parents, one of the greatest policies of New Labour was Sure Start which provided us and all parents with a great support at a time when you don't know your arse from your baby's elbow. There's an argument that it was too middle class but from experience I'd say there is little class distinction when you're trying to deal with a meltdown after a sleepless night. Sure Start was great and we definitely benefitted from it but those who followed didn't as it was cut to the bone.

Then, having heartily pissed off half of Scotland with his peevish IndiRef Day After rallying cry to English Nationalists, Cameron gambled on the EU referendum to placate the wingnuts in his own party.

Never forget what a non-issue it was for the majority of people. This was Tory party over country and it backfired spectacularly breaking our links with the EU that will unfold for years with none of the supposed benefits.

Cameron walked followed by his successor May who was succeeded by lying incompetent Boris Johnson who claimed to have delivered Brexit which crumbled in his hands.

He then mishandled the pandemic response, lining the pockets of rich cronies, reacting too late to circumstances, and breaking rules he imposed on others. 

Without Liz Truss who broke the economy, he'd be regarded as the worst PM ever.

I have no animosity for Rishi Sunak - thanks for furlough support, although it is our money and we will have to pay it back - and he's done a job of sorts in stabilising a ship that was in danger of over turning. But it's time for change.

The Tories have done enough damage. Let's start rebuilding.