The State Of The Nation

A bonfire of our vanity

My regular observer the ever reasonable Viper John last week commented on my strange silence on the recent riots. What can one usefully say? Not much. At these moments I feel estranged from my native land. As far remote as I was from the cultish hysteria at the time of Diana's death. These polar opposites of behaviour share roots in self-indulgence. Rather like writing a blog you might say. Except my blog is not foisted on anybody. It does not push its way forward and bleat its sense of entitlement. It exists but only if you want it to.

Bosting little theatre

But an antidote was administered on Tuesday evening. I was in that London learning how to be a lawyer again (CPD - dread initials standing for compulsory Continuing Professional Development - a compulsion that has made some men rich and most lawyers none the wiser) and had a fallow evening to fill. This I did with a trip to The Globe to see All's Well That Ends Well. Deep breath, pause for thought, here comes a big statement: this was the best Shakespeare I have ever seen and, by way of being an English student and the son of an English teacher, I've seen quite a lot. It is far from a perfect play but the production, the venue, the weather, made it an unmitigated joy. Walking back across the Millennium Bridge afterwards I encountered that occasional certainty that this was a night I would not forget. I wish Sharon had been there with me, though it has to be said (she would say it herself) she doesn't really do Shakespeare. As that great Midlander Shakespeare might very well have said himself, 'You gotta go to the Globe - it's bosting.'

Severe blow-back

So that was a good thing. Such that I decided to treat myself to a bottle of plonk from the Sainsbury's Local opposite my hotel to toast my elevated mood. This I would accompany with a bag of posh crisps and some chicken thighs, for dinner had I none. Thus equipped I lay on the bed and watched the Sky News coverage of two foreigners pissing hopelessly and self-damagingly into a very strong headwind. They are pictured above, poor misguided souls. As usual it took the boys in the City a couple of days to cotton on to the implications of this grisly spectacle, but sure enough the FTSE has duly gone south today. You ain't seen nothin' yet boys. But me, I'm happy. The rugby season nears. I took the dream machine out for a pedal earlier this evening and made good time without any physical or mechanical mishap. I have a glass of claret. Acrobat by Maximo Park plays in the background. Don't let the bastards get you down Dave, that's the secret.