the christmas grump

I was going to write this anyway. 

I didn’t need the Centre for Social Justice report  to tell me that there are two nations – the have’s and the have nots.   And that as the haves got more, the have nots got less. I’ll leave the “up” because not a day goes by without us being told about yachts, millionaire hotels, extravagant properties, £1000 for breakfast – gelt gelt gelt.  Sometimes you wish they’d eat the money and choke.   But the down have been faced with cruel social arithmetic fed into dysfunction by the unobtainability and unsuitability of the dream machine Aldous Huxley called soma and we know as television. 

And mine is the simple model.

The Centre was founded by a Conservative so the party has come a long way from its tradition of help for the poor. Never mind what it called the others (this is the classic story of us and them), never mind the terminology for its help.  To hell with what you call help as long as it helps..

But the present systems have imploded. 

Some of the figures for mental ill health among children are exaggerated.  Whereas in my generation, even a partial diagnosis (whether for child or adult) gave you a direction to go in, now it gives you a label under which to behave. An accredited psychologist, working with the young, commented that some of ADHD diagnoses she was seeing were inaccurate, more to do with family behaviour and lack of structure.  I am sure you too could write about lack of structure.   One of the great British ills is lack of management,

…but it is easier to leave a job than a family!

in families, in businesses, anywhere.

But children and young people are unwell.  Boys and young men are increasingly at risk of suicide. The figures for addictions and domestic abuse are through the roof  (almost certainly related), all exacerbated by poor housing, the disparity between benefits and poor pay so it isn’t worth working at low paid jobs, family breakdown and school absence.

And for us (forget “them”) money is worth less and less.   The report says lockdown is the dynamite that blew everything up.  

But this isn’t new.  It’s been coming since I worked at the old Talk Radio on the third floor above Oxford Street and looking down on a sea of black, a sprinkling of denim, but lots of people dressed in black, I thought  “The new Victorians.”

I remember the falling away of the pressure groups and helpful associations which gave so many support while they sorted out how to go on, when things had gone wrong.   Technology has taken over the NHS and I am here to tell you that  a couple of weeks ago  I could not access the programme they used, they subsequently sent me an incorrect email address so when I tried that it bounced back while the last ditch morning of the appointment telephone number (theirs, printed) wasn’t answered, even by machine, three times  – from the time of opening, 15 minutes later, and fifteen minutes after that.  I am not seriously ill but I wonder what would happen if I were.  NHS 111 is now medical students reading prepared text.  God forbid you should ask a question and get an answer.

Some years ago, responding to a terribly ill friend on the far side of London, I rode late night and early morning buses from time to time.  And I remember the tangible utter weariness on those buses.  The carol says  “Silent night, holy night”

but those people were quiet because they hadn’t the energy to speak.  They were hanging on by their fingernails.  I wonder how many have dropped off into cold (punitive heating bills), poor diet (cold bad food – so nothing heals), broken hearts and sullen deprivation.

A favourite television column asked its readers – what do you think of tv in 2023 ?   My reply is unprintable.  The BBC is in default of its own remit, and wants more money to offer unthought repeats times 10, endless quizzes, and gladiators of goo (not one cooking programme about “making do” or nutrition).   Surely the mark of a gifted presenter is that he or she can make anything interesting ?   

Yes, this is a grump but it’s worth remembering, you only complain when you care.