Scotland – The Independence Referendum

I have done my very best to keep out of the “debate” on whether Scotland should be an independent country or not.  However, I did watch the televised sessions between Salmond and Darling, which then got my interest if only in despair at the lack of properly presented and reasoned discussion.  I am not naïve, if I want an answer the last people I would speak to would be the politicians or indeed the baying hounds that represent the scandal seeking media.  So on the eve of the vote and, as you may surmise, without any intention to influence or inform anyone, this is my 10 pennies worth of what I would regard as quite reasonable and thought out concerns.

First of all I am English and I do not care whether or not the people (I say people because not all of the eligible voters are Scots) currently living in Scotland choose to become independent of the rest of the UK or not.  It is their right to choose and I have no truck with that.  My family and many friends are Scottish and I believe that most of those do not have a vote in this case, I have not discussed my views with them or sought to get theirs.  It is not that I am concerned about causing divisions in relationships, I think we are far too mature and sensible to allow that to happen, no.  In fact I have probably, like most of those in the rest of the UK, been rather complacent and arguably arrogant about the whole thing.  I have thought, Scotland would never vote for independence, surely?  They get such a good deal from the partnership, what possible benefit could there be to breaking away?  The realisation has occurred, far too late and I would still not do a great deal to attempt to influence things even if I could.

I have lived and worked in Scotland and, for an Englishman, there is something that borders on harassment and intimidation when engaged in so called ‘banter’, unfortunately this has rather tainted my view and driven me to the point of exasperation at the continued grudge that seems to be held over events from hundreds of years ago.  I have got to the point where I just want the griping and abuse to stop and shout ‘get on with it, one way or another, just stay and shut up or go and play on your own’.  If I hear cries of ‘you don’t understand, you have never been oppressed!’ or whatever, then yes, you are right I don’t understand because I am living in the 21^st century and I would prefer to focus my energy on solving the problems we have and not reflecting on the bad things of the past. 

This might be a good point to interject that on a family holiday to Scotland when I was very young, maybe 9 or 10 years’ old, we visited some of my Step-father’s relatives in Kirkcaldy, in the Kingdom of Fife.  There were two girls about the same age as my brother and I and they were most ardently anti-English and made no bones about telling us (that said they still played games with us too).  We went to pains to explain that as soon as you cross the border you don’t get given 100 acres of land, a pack of hunting hounds, horses and then go and chase foxes, with your attendant surfs and slaves (foreigners of course).  They did not seem to appreciate, albeit at such a young age that there were normal people across the border, living below the poverty line and with the same sort of trials and grumbles as they had.  In fact you would think by the way they described things that England was some kind of utopia (the kind it would appear an independent Scotland thinks it will become) and that we did not in fact live under the same unpleasant and anti-social government run by that dream lady Mrs Thatcher.  I have to add at this point that none of the political parties thrill me but I would never describe myself as a Tory, a kind of swear word if uttered by the Nationalist campaigners.  My views have moderated over time from being socially supportive ie we should subsidise and support UK industries to one of compete and survive but look after those who genuinely cannot look after themselves.  Anyway I digress.  The point is that in England and in fact the rest of the UK it is not some kind of oppressive wealthy regime that kicks the poor in the nuts and denies the rights (as ludicrously compared to apartheid) of different sections of society.  No we have problems and these will remain challenging whatever the state of the nation is post the vote.

Moving on to what it means to be a Scot, I make these comments of course as an observer, it has been said that you are not a Scot if you vote no to independence.  Really?  I will put it to you that wherever you go in the globe it will not be long before you come across a Scot and should you have the stupidity to question their sense of identity then you will be quite rightly put back in your place.  I have never met a Scot who has denied their belonging to Scotland.  On the contrary I have met many other nationalities who go out of their way to exaggerate their affiliation, association or direct lineage to the wonderful land that is Scotland.  You just have to see how often bagpipes make an appearance at a wide and varied range of events to see this overt display of brotherhood with Scotland, you cannot escape sometimes it really can be a pain…  There are nations that are united by these distant hereditary connections as well as other associations or forged friendships either in battle or shared history.  Whatever happens you cannot deny these and although you may try to re-write history, it does have a habit of getting out in the end.  What I am saying is that once a Scot always a Scot, and even if you were never a Scot I have never known anyone to be rejected from this very friendly (usually) group of people.  Of course that has been slightly called into question by the divisive Yes campaigners but I feel it will survive this ‘blip’.  As an afterthought but in no way reflecting the importance and value of these people, the Welsh, Irish and English are equally as welcoming in my experience (although the English tend to be a tad more reserved about it).

Back to the debate I suppose.  I would like the United Kingdom to stay together, even if it does mean more unrelenting moaning from those who seem unable to move on.  That said the whole situation is a no win situation either way it is bad.  Whether we like it or not the world is watching and wondering why the hell this small island group would want to break up what is otherwise an extremely successful and productive relationship.  We have and will continue to lose credibility as a nation whether we are together or apart, the reputation has been damaged and continues to suffer damage.  If we ‘divorce’ it will be expensive, distracting, painful and arguably will knock the UK further down the world order in terms of influence and respect.  It is going to be an absolutely mammoth task to split institutions, invest in new facilities and quite frankly duplicate unnecessarily a huge range of structures.  No disrespect, but just look at the state of governance in Belgium and you might get an idea of the kind of duplication and waste that could occur.  I have probably offended and alienated my Belgian family and friends with that statement but I am sure they will forgive me…hopefully.

If on the other hand the vote is a no, then it merely deters the debate for a period of time but then presents the politicians with the issue of implementing Devo Max, whatever that turns out to be.  It has been a bit of a mistake not to have defined this, but then no more than the lack of detail that the Yes campaign has thus far provided.  My concern is what about England and the considerable number of Scottish MPs that vote on purely English (and occasionally Welsh) matters. My view is that Scotland has been chomping on the cake and are about to get more cake at the expense of the rest of the country, I feel slightly aggrieved at this.  Of course we will lose because in all likelihood we will set up another bureaucratic sponging government to look after English affairs, this is why we all lose whatever the outcome.

Now, I thought I might end with some ‘observations’ in the event of a Yes victory announced on Friday morning.  I have thought about this and I was wondering, will all non-Scottish people in Scotland get dual nationality?  By that I mean if I was living in Scotland as an Englishman would I have both Scottish and British nationality and what would that mean vis a vis employment, EU etc?  If you are a Scot (anywhere in the world) would you again be granted/confirmed British nationality or have the option to obtain Scottish nationality (which if I were a Scot then I am damn sure I would want)?  Moving on from those inconvenient aspects, what about the status of EU nationals, for example students, they would no longer be studying in an EU country.  What would their status be?  What would the status of a British student be?  Surely they would be EU as far as fees are concerned?  Either the EU students would lose their funding and status or the British will be allowed to claim free education?  I am not holding my breath on that one… 

We know that the EU has ruled out membership without having established a banking system and currency and the UK has ruled out a currency union (in so far as such commitments can be made).  An independent Scotland will find itself outside the EU and NATO, are they going to welcome in the Russians like the Ukraine?  Okay that is a step too far but quite frankly I would not be surprised if some novel relationships were established with other nations in a bid to move forwards.

It is maybe important, no crucial, to mention that Scotland and indeed any group seeking autonomy can and will set themselves up.  I have no doubt that an independent Scotland will be able to successfully survive and progress as would any new or reborn nation.  The main issue here is that some believe it is a giant leap backwards in order to obtain power and others seem to think that once the leash is off then utopia is just round the corner.  The reality will be a mix but harsh decisions will have to be made and reality faced up to make no mistake.  It is not a threat, it is what is inevitable and there may be blame games afterwards but that is the pain of divorce.

The last thing before I wrap up.  What happens to all of the Scots in key positions across the rest of the UK?  To put this into perspective and regardless of trust and loyalty, quite frankly we will have ‘foreigners’ operating at high level in key areas of our organisations.  In some cases this is simply unacceptable.  For example, access to intelligence and nuclear assets is, surprisingly, restricted.  Overnight there would be foreign nationals (not in NATO or the EU) that have access and control over quite a bit of our infrastructure and sensitive information.  I hasten to add that I am sure it will not be an issue in terms of sorting it out but it is a novel and unusual situation to resolve especially given that most of them have not had a vote and would feel aggrieved that they have been stuffed by the Yes campaign.  Talk about rubbing your face in it!

I want to finish simply by saying that I think we are better off together but, if we split then we will just have to get on with things and make the best of it.  Maybe there will be a ‘special relationship’ or maybe Scotland will be the despised ex who we visit every now and again to ‘see the kids’.  I feel sad and disappointed that it has come to this and that the divisions created may have a lasting and destructive effect on those that have to put up with them.

Breakfast Annoyance

Stille Tocht

Slowly they began to gather, coming together from the side streets, old, young, men, women, children.  There was no rifle or bayonet prodding the unwilling residents of Aarschot on this the 100th anniversary of the atrocity that saw 173 inhabitants killed at the hands of the German army as they swept through Belgium at the beginning of World War 1.  I cannot say whether the townsfolk on that evening of 19th August 1914 knew what was going to happen or not, I don't know if they struggled or just simply cooperated with the orders of the soldiers.  This time, there were no orders, we were shepherded into the main square by our memories of the relatives that were lost.

We waited, probably much the same as they did 100 years ago, not quite sure of who was in charge or when things were going to start.  We milled around, some of the people recognising each other.  Edie, my mother-in-law whose grandfather was killed, is my particular connection to this act of remembrance.  Her sister and brother were also present along with her sister's husband and my wife.

There was a big difference with our gathering, apart from the time and the circumstances of course, we knew where we were going and how things would end.  We also knew for certain that we would be in the protection of our homes in the warmth and shelter at the end of the evening.  Did the victims know that this would be their last evening?

Someone took charge of us, instructing us with gentle encouragement to file in rows of three abreast, we were getting ready to set our along the same route.  There was no wind or rain, it was a pleasant summer evening, quiet too.  For us there was no emotional goodbyes, no clinging onto loved ones, no tears, yet.  I don't know if the victims a hundered years before had any idea that they would not be returning and if there were scenes or struggles.  I do know that Edie's grandfather gave a purse to his son to keep hold of it, perhaps he knew or perhaps he was afraid of the Germans robbing him.  It was a significant and powerful act that had an enduring impact on the young boy who took it.

We started off, ironically, escorted by the police.  It was a somewhat solemn affair as we filed quietly on our way.  This time the women and children came with us, I say children, there were children as young as 14 who were victims of this atrocity.  Our column was maybe 100 metres long, as it wound it's way down the streets on out to towards the site of the first memorial.  I cannot speak for the others but I felt very much like it was a final walk, gazing up at the windows and taking in the route in the most minute detail, more so than at any other time when I have passed, busily and thoughtlessly through the same streets.

I noted the occasional shifting curtain and slightly open door as the curiosity of the residents got the better of them, they tried to discretely catch a glance at us as we made our way past.  I wondered whether the same had happened to the victims, indeed, did the women and children follow or were they kept away?  I doubted whether many people outside our group even knew of the event or were aware of the lasting impact.  The most powerful onlooker was a child looking through an upstairs window, no emotion in his face, just looking.  I thought of the last time I had hugged anyone and I was grateful that I would get the opportunity to do so again, it would mean a little more than it had before.

As we made our way, the limited traffic was brought to a halt and made to wait for us.  I wondered whether they knew what was going on or why.  Perhaps they were irritated or were happy to patiently wait.

It was not long before we arrived at the first memorial and gathering in this cramped residential street seemed to be several hundered people around an otherwise inconspicuous monument.  I was glad to see that someone had removed the broken rail and replaced it with some new posts that would protect the monument.  Presumably someone had carelessly reversed into the old one and simply left it there.  There was a short service and the names of the victims at this location were read out along with their ages.  Arthur's name was read out, this was where Edie's grandfather had fallen, one of 75 to do so.

We filed on towards the second monument, where a chapel had been built as well as the memorial.  Instead of standing outside we all filed into the church and a more lengthy service was held.  This was the location where a further 25 were killed, including the mayor.  At both services I paid particular attention to the details of my surroundings and observed the expressions of those present.  Most were solemn but not tearful, maybe hardened by the years that have passed.

Although the services were given in Dutch, I knew enough to understand the meaning and impact of the event and I recognised the continuing importance to remember them.

I am glad I was there and I was glad I could hold the hand of An as we walked comfort that could be provided where I could.

Suicidal Slugs and Snails

Once again I geared myself up to commence some sort of exercise regime and the latest target was to cycle for at least an hour at a reasonably high intensity.  I donned my special lycra padded shorts, my luminescent top and, perhaps more importantly, my not too often used heart rate GPS watch.  I always feel like I am strapping on a bra when I put the sensor round my chest.  I then wait for the tell tale beep that it has been recognised by the watch.  I had got my Ipod out of the car earlier on and loaded up some 'cycling' songs.  Some of these songs are quite pacy, others are not really suitable but I like them, Insomnia by Faithless being one example and The Race by Yello another.

The bicycle is a purpose built hybrid bike complete with not so trendy shopping panniers.  I pump the tyres up to a good hard pressure, which does not quite seem adequate when I mount it.  I should wear my helmet but my route does not take me along too many roads so I just put on my Gran Canaria cap, there is a story in itself behind that but it is much too off putting to write it in a blog.  I make sure that I have paid a visit to the toilet before departure, there is nothing quite so annoying and uncomfortable as getting caught short whilst on the move.

Opening the garage door, as though preparing to launch Thunderbird 4, I may as well be playing the tune as well.  I don't of course that would be a bit too much...  I also have the pregnant pause of waiting for the GPS to register on my heart rate monitor before I begin.  The GPS records, distance, time, elevation, speed, heart rate and calories burnt.  It is really a bit of a motivation tool to help me compare my performance with future trips.  Once the satellites have been picked up I have the odd timing event of starting the music and the timer to make sure I don't lose any time, not that it makes a vast amount of difference.

The weather had been rather wet and it was still coming down a bit every now and again, but not so heavy.  I turned right out of our street and then left towards the bank.  This first kilometre or so is all road/cycle path and, as this is Belgium, I have a status on the road akin to the Man of Steel (Superman, in terms of invincibility), cars, lorries, buses and any other motorised machine on the road trembles at my sight and had best not get in the way!  To fellow (more serious) cyclists I am Mr Magoo and I need to keep my wits about me as I fight the herds of lycra clad wilder beast that stampede their way along the paths and roads.

The aim of the exercise is to keep going, burn calories and get fitter and so as my journey continues I make my way to the riverside path, this entails passing under the railway line and then running parallel for a while before I get to the River Demer, there is a decent cycle path that runs alongside and for some considerable distance.  There are several interruptions to the path in the form of bridges and, when I have run the same route I have only ever got to the third bridge before crossing and returning.  That run is approximately 10kms.  This time however my aim to was to get to the fourth bridge, which was some considerable distance further along, almost level with Rotselaar.  The distances get progressively further between the bridges with the first two fairly close together.  I have to cross the road to get past the first and this is still in Aarschot, near the industrial estate.  The second I can sweep beneath the bridge and it is one of the two fleeting climbs on an otherwise flat route.

The real work starts as I get on towards the third bridge.  Mentally, both for the run and the cycling, this is an aiming point, a marker.  I am constantly thinking of my muscles and how I will cope, whether I am going too fast, if I will get a cramp or, for comedy value, trying to concentrate on the unlikely event that I would fly off either side of the bank and end up swimming or in the trees and bushes on the other side.  It is a sharp drop on either side and with the disdain that other cyclists show you, there is the possibility that you could be pushed off the path in some Last of the Summer Wine moment.  My field of view is quite narrow as I focus on the hazards immediately ahead of the bike, it is not a leisurely ramble through the countryside, I have no time to view the sights as I go by.

It was whilst keeping my head down that I first noted the suicidal slugs and snails.  The wet conditions had clearly given them the opportunity, perhaps more so than they could otherwise take, to cross from the non-river side of the path to the river side of the path, but with it came the hazard of cyclists and remember, they stop for no one and would not hesitate to hurl their fellow cyclists into the nettles.  I on the other hand was swerving in a vain and fruitless attempt to allow them just a few more moments of life.  As I came close I was oohing and aahing as I narrowly flashed by their antennae with the force of a high speed train, comparatively speaking of course.  To be honest they may as well have been doing pyramids in front of me and been lining up end on end.  Eventually I just did my best but no doubt some ended up a little bit flatter and wider than they had started.  The birds were enjoying the mashed slugs and snails and at least they could get out of the way in time!

By the time I had made it to the third bridge my bottom was getting a bit sore and I started going numb in the tips of my fingers, which then turned to pins and needles when I tried to exercise them (in my fingers not my bum)!  I had the sure knowledge that the fourth bridge was some distance off and in fact was the longest stretch.  This time, not caring for the lifespan of the gastropod molluscs, I buttoned down to reaching the final marker before crossing and turning for home.  After what seemed like ages, the Bailey bridge came into view.  This bridge was laid down, presumably by British forces in World War Two at Rotselaar and has stood the test of time since.  There are a number of such bridges in the country and the website at the last link is a bit of a spotter's guide.

Having crossed the river I now doubled back along essentially a dirt track.  It is a good track with only one or two muddy puddles, but narrow due to the grass growing in the middle of two shallow furrows made by cars.  Psychologically this was now easier as I was homeward bound, but the conditions were a bit more difficult due to the lack of smooth surface.  By now my legs were getting tired but both the music and my recent reading of an exercise book gave me the motivation to keep going. I have recently read The First 20 Minutes - The surprising science of how we can Exercise Better, Train Smarter and Live Longer, I thoroughly recommend it to you.

As I got closer, there were more suicidal slugs and snails and even less room to avoid them, I had waypoints that signified that the ride was almost over.  Passing each bridge on the return, going under the railway line, passing the school and the Knoet, getting to the bank and then finally drawing up to the house and quickly stopping the timer.  Time to get my breath back, return Thunderbird 4 to it's 'hangar' and disrobe (not in the street I should add).  I checked the watch and it indicated 1700 calories burnt over 22kms and the time of 1hr 2 mins.  The last run I did I came in at 57 mins, so I am already improving.  I will need to extend the distance as the good book tells me that to do endurance training you need to keep it up for more than an hour.  The trick now is to keep the activity going and not let life or work get in the way of it!  My last run was done after coming home from work before eating, it takes a bit of self discipline to do that.

Swimming PT

A Moment of Reflection

I was just thinking, a dangerous pastime if ever there was one.  I was reflecting upon the microcosm that is my life, along with the trials and challenges that I face.  No matter how trivial something may be, if you do not look beyond the boundaries of your own life then you cannot put it into perspective and learn to accept the situation for what it really is.

I have faced a rather stressful time at work recently, family challenges, the prospect of finding a whole new career in 6 months and a host of other bits and pieces.  I have laid plans, as far as I can.  I have taken account of what may or may not happen so that I can avoid threats and take advantage of opportunities.

We had a rather lovely family birthday party this weekend, with a small dark cloud which cast an unfortunate shadow on the event, but still we braced ourselves against the weather and made the best of it.  Some of us laughed so hard, it has been such a long time since I have seen such laughter.  I got mixed up between David & Goliath and Samson and Delilah when I asked if my wife could cut my hair.  In my version David was clearly a hairdresser and Delilah was chucking stones at Samson...  We played a fun game where we had to choose a cartoon character and the others had to guess who it was, this turned out surprisingly well and is a good game for a multi-lingual party!

Putting it into perspective and bursting free from that bubble for a moment.  I think of the Malaysian Airline that has been shot down and the 298 people who have lost their lives.  More so I think of the people of Ukraine, both sides, who have also suffered and lost their lives.  The pain that spreads across the world from the loss of that one aircraft, people who were, in all likelihood, going to have a birthday party this weekend and laugh as hard as we did as they played games and said silly things.  But they won't now.  I suppose the other advantage is that they will not have any more trials to face, except that is for their loved ones who are left to pick up the pieces and are reflecting themselves upon the challenges they faced, how their plans have been shattered and how they regret that the last thing they could have said was 'I love you, you are so important to me and I want you to know'.

What I am trying to say I suppose is that I am eternally grateful for the things I have, for the people I know and for the time I have.  I aim, in so far as possible, not to let myself get hung up on the challenges of life, but I am human and I will err from time to time.  I have recently learnt that breathing deeply can help to calm the tension, it is something I have really known for a while, but I did not know the science behind it.  It is handy because, quite frankly, you need to breathe and so it takes no real effort to do it!  I choose to reflect during those periods and I am sure it helps.

A serious one for a change, but then life can be quite serious at times.

Circuits!

As I find myself struggling for breath and straining to push just one more repetition out I fleetingly wonder why I allow myself to be put through this torture week after week.  For the most part all I have in my head is the determination to physically muster the strength to keep going and the knowledge that the trial can only last for an hour at most.

The subject to which I am referring is mandatory physical training (PT) that is held every Tuesday morning between 08.30 - 09.30.  The session is led by a fully qualified and trained gorilla who is fully versed on how to drive the last vestiges of energy from your body and to ensure that muscles , which only ever get called upon in such sessions, are strained to the point of exhaustion and take upwards of a week to recover.  The Geneva convention prevents the signatories from inflicting such treatment upon captives.  It is almost like we are prisoners with the psychological gun against our head, and we endure it too.  Mutinies have begun over lesser pain and grief.  Am I overdoing it?  Well there is always a bit of exaggeration but I am being deadly serious when I say that on most occasions I cannot physically lift a cup of tea to my lips, so tired are my arms.

Normally the session begins with the dread of not knowing which particular gorilla is running the session, we more commonly call the gorilla Clubs, in reference to Club Swinger.  The Royal Navy PT branch has two crossed clubs as it's emblem, presumably from days when they used to do displays and before we moved to more technically advanced items of equipment such as the kettle bell (a cannon ball with a handle)!  Other popular names are 'tit swinger' and 'muscle bosun', for obvious reasons.  Some gorillas are more preferable than others but they are all experts at inflicting discomfort, only some do so in a polite if deceptively cunning way.  Usually Clubs has set out the gym with their instruments of torture and this generates disquiet among the victims whilst we wonder what we will be asked (told) to do and how long it will last.  Sometimes the equipment causes intrigue and sometimes we are completely wrong in anticipating the pleasure that will follow.  For some it is obvious, I mean what else can you do with a large tractor tyre other than roll it end on end?

There are in essence two types of circuit, the first is one where there is a set time for each exercise and the other is where there is a given number of repetitions that must be achieved.  I prefer the former as that means I can go all out and it does not matter how fit or unfit you are you can get maximum benefit from the workout.  If you have a set number the fit people are finished well before the not so fit and the not so fit do not get a chance to recover before moving on to the next element of the torture.

The circuits start off and end with a warm up, which is almost a pleasurable experience.  The gorilla offers motivational encouragement which is unintelligible to most but has somehow been indoctrinated into those of us who have endured this over the years.  Before we engage in the main activity we are briefed as to the number of exercises, repetitions, time frames, whether we are acting alone or in pairs, how many times through the entire circuit, whether we have any injuries or missing limbs and finally if we have any last wishes (questions).  Once ready the music is turned on and you usually begin and change exercise to the whistle blow of the tormentor.  During the circuit the evil one is heard to berate the victims as a whole, but, in this world where bullying is frowned upon, rarely does the individual get a good blast.  We hang on his every whistle blow as we fight our way through the circuit, more than most probably think he has forgotten the time or is in a bad mood as he prolongs the pain.  I think for the most part this is all in our heads but then club swingers are not known for their mathematical genius or ability to read.  In my case a pool of sweat often develops around the area where my head comes into contact with the mat or indeed the area over which my sagging head hangs over the mat.  Some people do cruise but if this comes to the attention of the tormentor, then they just add to the agony as they let the time run or think up an impromptu additional exercise that seems 'fun'.

The circuits usually finish with a decent warm down and stretching exercise, which I am sure helps but still does little to prevent the cramps and stiffness over the following days.  Maybe it is just me getting old?  Apart from the health benefits, about which I am somewhat skeptical, the greatest benefit is that it takes you out of the office and away from the pressures of the job if only for an hour.  Once you are engaged in PT, the priorities shift to very simple physical endurance and survival instincts and you share a common enemy for a while, which gives the team a sense of purpose and belonging.  In the military you face lots of trials and experiences together, which separate you out from others and generates an understanding and sense of ritual.

I value the concept but I hate circuits!