I’ve been silent for two months — hard for my friends to believe. There are some rules I try to keep when blogging — such as not ranting about politics and not rabbiting on about the wonders of grand-children or the achievements of our children.
For 2 months, since the build up to our European Union Referendum in the United Kingdom, I have been preoccupied, riveted by events, all of which would contravene my rules of engagement if I were to write about them!
First, we are in the midst of a mini baby-boom, an echo of the post-war bulge and we have been dashing about inspecting the bumps and the newborn.
Secondly, we have been glued to the telly screen by interesting arguments, political turmoil, resignations, general jiggery-pokery, conspiracy (I’m always prone to favour that explanation over any other), treachery and selfless falling upon swords. The voting habits of the whole country have divided according to completely new criteria — age, education, region (metropolitan vs. bumpkin) and national identity. Brother, not against brother, but against father in a worrying resurgence of ageism as petulant democrats blame all the old people for voting Leave!
This has all been most diverting from our personal position of reality (because everyday things here are actually happening and are much the same) with our feet firmly planted in mud and with lambs to feed and eggs to collect, somewhere to grow potatoes and a real product to sell (albeit in very small quantities).
Friends and relatives in the metropolis don’t seem to be enjoying the general upheaval (the jolly good shake-up) half as much as we are (it’s just all so interesting).
Local people are suddenly politicised and pub-talk is most revealing. Wales, particularly rural-Wales, voted resoundingly to leave the EU. Welsh farmers, on paper, would seem to have more to lose from Brexit than almost any other group (their subsidies come from the EU) but I have yet to come across one who voted Remain — that must tell you something about the direct experience of how the whole thing works. Perhaps, at last, they feel more British then European. Or maybe, like us, it’s the realism in their industry (the mud) that protects them from the projected horrors of Brexit.
Then, as we wonder if our concerns about security might have been exaggerated, we are bombarded with horrendous news of terrorist attacks in Europe.
And now there is the US to worry about, you see we don’t have our feet on the ground there. All we have is what we are told on the media and we know that alarm and panic stories are what promote journalists. At least that is what we hope!