Corona Virus - Lockdown

The road has been quiet, the wide expanse of the M1 is a joy to drive.  I have seen relatively few lorries and cars since I started out from London, keeping to my strict 79mph on cruise control most of the way.  Leicester, Chesterfield and then Sheffield flew by. Driving alone always makes the journey seem longer.  

Then I saw it, the police patrol car as it shifted almost casually from between two lorries and into the middle lane.  I am Mr Grey when it comes to driving, I keep my speed steady, my driving sensible (for the most part) and I follow the rules even if it means a long detour having missed an exit.  I watched him like a hawk and clicked my cruise control down several notches to about 72mph.  I have only ever been stopped once before for speeding and that was speeding at just under a ton.  It was also many, many years ago.

Slowly and inevitably the patrol car caught up, no special effort, no flashing lights, just gradual, calm controlled approach.  Little did I know that the occupants were conducting some mandatory checks before proceeding with the stop.  The police have an amazing ability to track and interrogate the details of cars and, due to the unique crisis at the moment, they were running through an extra set of checks.

As I watched the painfully slow approach of the car I started to wonder if my tyres and lights were okay or perhaps something else I had not noticed.  The patrol car joined formation behind me and kept a safe but slightly intimidating distance behind me.  By now my cruise setting had dropped to bang on 70 and normally the police would sweep past, probably amused that they had asserted their authority without actually doing anything.  For my part most of my focus was not on the road in front but the spectre haunting me from behind like death itself.

Mentally I started to go through a checklist of possible offences I may have committed and I ticked them off, in the negative sense, as I worked through them.  I had not got started when the blue lights sent that epileptic inducing flash bouncing off my rear view mirror.  Immediately I indicated and angled onto the hard shoulder, coming  to a stop beneath one of the motorway gantries.  Okay.  Here we go.

The patrol car came to a halt some 3 metres behind me and, after what seemed like an age, the nearside door of the patrol car opened and the officer stepped out.  I rummaged in my glove box to get my documents and my driving licence ready.  I had it in time for him getting to my window. which I lowered about half way.

Licking the Knife

Twisting and lifting aloft, he held the blade at a slight downward angle to avoid the rivulet of blood from running down the handle, over the fingers and onto the wrist.  It was in vain, as the blood ran too quickly.  Instinctively he used the tip of his tongue to stem the leading droplet.  Expertly following the reverse path, he licked up and over the fingers to the blade, and then cleaned both edges.  Despite this, the stain of red could not be cleansed from between the hairs on his fingers and ridges of his knuckles.  Only moments before he had taken the blade and drawn it across the throat of his long time adversary. Asleep as he was, he offered no resistance.  The urgent attempt to catch the drips was rendered entirely futile, given that blood was now spurting over his otherwise pristine shirt and trousers.

Well, that is one imaginative interpretation of my title, however, it is not my intended interpretation.  When I thought of this I was actually thinking of the childhood pastime of licking the honey or jam off the knife after making a sandwich, the same urgent desire not to spill anything is still part of the deal though.  In fact more so as I would deliberately overload the knife for the sole purpose of getting a freebie.  If I am honest, this habit has stayed with me, and now I am 47!

Now I do think about the germs I leave and potentially the fact that my wife may come along and unwittingly use the knife.  Usually though I give a guilty shrug of the shoulders and drop the knife into the sink.  In my own mind I am averse to taking a used knife, not because my wife or anyone else has licked it 'clean', I just don't like the contamination of condiments such as cocktail sauce or, heaven forbid, rhubarb jam (Yuk).

When thinking of the title I was feeling a bit sentimental about my childhood days, in particular when we used to go to my granddad's house for Sunday dinner.  This was where the family gathered.  My grandfather would be at the social club and come home after a few drinks, my auntie (at the time the sister of my grandfather, family is complicated as we later found out) would walk about a mile from her house, my uncle (grandfather's son) would always appear and disappear in time for food, my mother, stepfather and brother made up the rest of the regular crowd.  

Sundays comprised of:

• The journey to granddad's house 
• Playing in the garden (weather permitting) or inside the house if not
• Pre lunch boxing matches where my brother and I fought for the entertainment of the family.
• Sometimes going to Saltwell park  (and having the crap scared out of me on boats or swings)
• Being bored senseless watching football, snooker or formula 1 on the TV
• Catching a war movie or western (if we were lucky and there was no sport)
• Having Sunday Lunch and then tea (sandwiches and pudding)
• Baking of scones and apple pies by my auntie
• Bath time (a once-a-week event)
• The journey home - which could be interesting when my granddad drove!

The general formula was the same with variations for special events like shrove Tuesday, bonfire night, Christmas and birthdays.  Sometimes we took special trips to the car wash, beach or rarely we went to the Jingling Gate for a pub meal.

As my brother and I got older, the family evolved, as they do.  My uncle left for London, time moved on and things invariably changed.

My brother and I would take occasional trips to accident and emergency at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital to get a tetanus injection after stepping on a rusty nail or having an otherwise routine injury.  I think my brother just liked getting needles stuck in his bum by nice nurses.  He was and is a risk taker and his tally of injuries and hospital visits reflected this.

The Journey

I cannot remember what time we would set out but it must have been around 10 ish.  We would walk about a mile or so, which to a six year old seemed like much, much further.  I don't remember many times when we walked the route but I do recall one time when my mother, brother and I walked along Rectory Road.  Rectory Road was at the bottom of our street, Cromwell Terrace (now demolished).  It was the opening leg of the walk, anyway we would walk past a house where a girl I knew lived (most of the houses were terraced, with little or no garden and a small backyard).  This girl, Claire, leaned out of an upstairs window and called me as I walked past, it was so embarrassing and I tried to ignore her as I was cross examined by my mother and brother, in a friendly fun poking way.  The girl in question was my first girlfriend, which at about 6 or 7 years of age was an early start!  She was a tomboy and, looking back on things, it was an interesting experience.  Of course nothing could be divulged to the family!

The route, importantly enough, ran through territory that belonged to other kids.  On at least one occasion, when walking alone, I was surrounded by kids and under significant threat.  Thankfully a passer by intervened before anything could happen.  The gang in that case was led by one of the 'hard' kids that went to the same school as me but came from the other side of Whitehall Road.  School was a bit of a traumatic thing for me due to the bullying and general thuggery of the kids, fear was a big factor and I became adept at running and diplomacy.  Later on I would resort to fighting as a very last resort.  Really looking back on things, I should have thrown more punches and worried less about the consequences.  Unfortunately I worried about being caught and also I was not a bully or violent child.  Anyway, I digress.

The route was normally under escort with my brother and mother and if not it was a very rapid trip, so at least I was fit!  My grandfather lived in a council semi-detached house towards a boundary of housing that split the terraced (cheaper houses) with the more affluent (seemingly) semi-detached houses.

The great thing about my granddad's house was the scope for play.  The house had a huge garden with a gooseberry bush, trees (small ones that you could not climb), a large tree (made for climbing), an alleyway that you could play football in, a further alleyway (where you could pinch rhubarb from a garden), a shop directly across the very busy and dangerous Saltwall Road and a neighbour's lawn garden (where we were occasionally allowed to play).  I used to play with my soldiers in the garden and, indeed many other toys too.  My brother and I used to make bows and arrows from the smaller trees (Glen was much better than I was at this).  We would also fire these arrows at eacho ther!  In fact Glen managed to throw a spear and hit me in the waist (thankfully there was no broken skin).

The alleyway was used for football and had three posts at the bottom of the slope to stop cars driving through.  Later, much later, the local authorities decided to put up a railing to stop kids and balls careering across the busy road and down the street opposite.  Glen, if he was feeling kind, would let me have the goal at the upper end of the alleyway.  The reason this was helpful is that he was always a much better footballer than I, to the point where I would get bored and do something else.  Anyway if I had the lower goal I would spend more time chasing the ball down across Saltwell road and that would be a double whammy of having the downhill disadvantage.  When my uncle played there would be three of us and I would have this tiny side path, this was easy to defend but then that made me a target.  At least the path was level but you would be surprised at how far the ball would go!

Glen and Peter (my uncle) honed their ball control skills and I developed my strong dislike for football!

Anyway, that is enough for this particular post!  More to follow. 

Why I Run

Why do I run?  I ask myself that often as I pound, rather slowly, along the track.  I have never been a fan of this form of exercise.  In fact I have been averse to most intense exercises.  I reserve a special place in the septic tank of hell for circuits, but let's not go there.

For me I do not seek personal bests, although progress would be nice.  My lifestyle does not lend itself to consistent and dedicated training that constant improvement would demand.  I all too often find myself breaking out of the habit by being unwell, travelling or committing to other things.

I am now less than a week from my 8th Antwerp 10 Mile run and, due to lack of training for the reasons stated above, I am in doubt as to whether I should participate.  Yet this is one of the core reasons why I do run in the first place.  Determination.  It is a mental as well as a physical challenge and it takes a degree of courage and willpower to drive forwards in the face of obstacles.

My lungs and my legs will suffer but a short inconvenience.  It is the desire to start, take part and finish that is worth the pain.  For some it is not so much of a challenge, everyone has their own personal reasons for running and, although we run with thousands of others, we run alone at the same time.

An unexpected bonus, once my lungs and legs could cope, was the thinking time that a long and gentle run affords.  The, relatively, fresh air and time to consider your life, your problems, solutions or maybe just hum the Star Wars Imperial March tune, as often comes to mind when I run without my music.

The anticipation of starting a long run, after having had a blocked nose/cold, can be quite intimidating.  Sometimes you just have to get out there, in all weathers and commit. 

I recently re-started my training whilst staying with some friends, some would say a bid to escape the 3 year old goddaughter.  I was not familiar with the area and my friend kindly sketched out a route and indicated where I should expect slopes.  She highlighted one in particular, which she recommended I walk up.  Of course my mind was made up that I would take this head on and jog up.

I was unprepared for the run as I expected better weather, it was minus something and I was quite numb in my tracksuit trousers and two t-shirts.  Mentally I wanted to see how far I could get and so I set out.  It was only 6 km the first time then I did another run the next day, which was just over 7 km.  It is always worth it, getting out again and getting started.  You notice so much more when you plod along and can breathe at the same time!

Starting up again is always going to be a risky choice, mainly as so many friends and family suffer from bad knees.  I often think of my body as a machine packed with sensors monitoring every aspect of my well being.  The twinge in the knee, the capacity of my lungs, the beating of my heart and fatigue of my muscles.  I monitor for the signs of danger and am constantly reviewing whether I need to cease and recover.  Preserve myself for the next day.

To the Antwerp run, I know it well.  Having been round so many times you know where everything is and learn to dread or perhaps steel yourself for the final, long, tunnel.  It seems such a long way and never has the term 'there is light at the end of the tunnel' been so fitting.  That light, however, takes what seems like hours to see, let alone reach.  It is a real motivational challenge, made more so by the odd casualty falling by the wayside.  Determination, perseverance and the will to succeed.  Last year was stiflingly hot, by far the most challenging run I have done, to be followed by a half marathon where the temperature was also oppressive.  It is in these conditions that the will to succeed is really tested.

So why do I run, well, fitness, determination, escape, thinking time, fresh air, definitely not for fun!

Give This Post a Miss if You Are Averse to the Word Fuck!

The great thing about the mind is that you can entertain yourself without upsetting those around you.  As I travel back and forth, I take time out from the real world and delve into my mind to seek out distraction, solace or relief.

The warning in the title of the blog is essential, if fact I am not sure if it will be censored altogether.  My intention is not to offend but to open my mind to you, if you are interested in the musings of a commuter.

So, Fuckwits.  That was not a form of address, but the subject and more to the point the application of this noun (I had to look this up and quite frankly I am not convinced I am using the term correctly, I could qualify as an ignorant fuckwit in such case).

So why?  What is special about fuckwits?  Well let me tell you, there are some particular fuckwits out there that deserve special attention.

We are living through a particularly challenging time in the UK where there are over 600 useless, arrogant and ignorant fuckwits deciding, or not as the case seems to be, our future.  One could argue that they are cockwombling, cunting fuckwits, but let's not stray from the point.  Try getting your mind around that description, it is a thought that you can dwell on for a while.

I am not biased, it doesn't matter whether you are a remain fuckwit or a leave fuckwit, collectively it is better to just blanket the term across all.  We often do this when thinking of fuckwits at large, and I don't mean roaming bands of fuckwits, although on a Friday night these can be found congregating around pubs and nightclubs, throwing up and fighting with each other.

Of course the term can apply on an individual basis such as when I lost my hearing aid at the weekend and labelled myself a total fuckwit.  It had been a long, painful and expensive week.  I had my car repaired by some dodgy fuckwits, I say that because the fault they were meant to address was not resolved and I had to rely on a trusted garage to apply a rather expensive fix.

Still, where were we?  I am often surrounded by ignorant, mindless fuckwits, who cannot walk on the left, take their eyes from their phones, express any manners or indeed acknowledge their fellow commuters.  Occasionally there are rare moments when you discover the human being travelling with you, that is, among the zombie fuckwits.

I have to say the term fuckwit is not one that I use in my everyday discourse and that is not due to the lack of them around me.  In fact, thinking about it, it tends to be when I am driving and I am threatened by the dangerous manoeuvre of some thoughtless fuckwit.  The kind of mental fuckwit that has no concept of personal space.  The kind of fuckwit that believes that it is sensible to hog the middle lane of the motorway.  We could spend all day on this.  Bus drivers often qualify when they lack the skill or will to apply the correct level of force to the accelerator and brake.

I don't believe that you can have an intelligent fuckwit, bit of an oxymoron (yes, I looked that up).  That said, intelligent people can be arrogant and insensitive fuckwits, so no escape there.

Useless fuckwits, now there is a wide ranging category, I think back to my training and watching some of these trying to master the art of weapons training.  I was in despair that they were on the same side as I!  You can have disorganised fuckwits trying to run your life, these tend to be immune to the consequences of their actions.

The thing is, when my mind applies this broad brush label to my fellow fuckwits, it is a sweeping judgment that takes no account of who they are, what their intent is, what they are going through or what they have dealt with.  It is a judgement that I would normally keep firmly in my own head, no need to upset anyone is there?

My mind, your mind, is such a great place if you want to explore it and are free to demolish the ethical and moral boundaries that we usually have to adhere to.  After all, we can't yet be arrested for having inappropriate thoughts, at least not yet.

My god, it would be like Tourette's, think of the movie What a Woman Wants, only with the gloves off.

Dodentocht - The Training Continues

Since doing the walk back from work at the beginning of February I have managed to get in 5 other walks in the continuing build up.  Each time I try to understand the impact on my body and mind so that I can try and be as best prepared as I possibly can.

The walks that I have done are

• 1st - 16km Work to Home
• 2nd 19km Richmond Park
• 3rd 27km Antwerp
• 4th 30km home and back to Richmond Park
• 5th 39km home and back to Richmond Park (2 laps of park)
• 6th 29km Aarschot

In between all that I have changed my boots and socks.

Today I started at around 04:50 in order to get the walk done and not lose most of Saturday in the process.  I had every intention of doing in excess of 40km but I started to get blisters in new places and I think I made the mistake of not taking care of my blisters from the previous walk as, once lanced, this small blister seemed to cause some discomfort.  This was also a change in tactics from switching between pairs of boots, in this case I only had the one pair with me.  The other thing I made a mental note of is that the ground I was walking on was mostly paved, ie hard.

There is something to be said for starting out before the sunrise, the silent streets, the heightened awareness levels.  I was ultra aware when passing under bridges and through darkened patches, watching for threats.  Once or twice a lone cyclist passed, but nothing else of note.

The route I took is one that I am quite familiar with, having run and cycled it many times.  In essence it is my River Demer run, it is good to know what is coming up and, despite knowing that some stretches were quite long, it did not seem too bad.  My route back took me towards Rotselaar and then towards Aarschot, this was following the main road and thus was not pleasant with lorries and cars passing at high speed.

In terms of food and water I took some yogurt covered nut bars and about a litre of water, my pack also had talc to dry off my feet and plasters.  I wish had had a needle with me to pierce the blister and also some proper blister dressings cover the blisters up.  Still it is a learning experience.

The next walk will be in the North East, although I am not too sure where I will go or the route to take.  The Derwent Walk springs to mind, it has been a while since I have done that walk.

The Dodentocht - Training Walk 1

The Dodentocht is an annual event in August in which those taking part walk 100km in less than 24 hours.  It has been a desire of mine to participate at some point and, with the encouragement of my sister-in-law, who is also participating, I am now on the path to partake this year.

I originally thought that the Dodentocht was linked to a march of POWs during the 2nd World War, but when I look it up I can find no references to this.  So For information check out these sites: Wikipedia and Dodentocht the official website.

I have decided to apply a logical, mathematical approach to training but, let's be honest, it will be an emotional and psychological feat to complete the course.  I have a training plan, I have looked into my footwear and socks.  I have checked out the amount of energy I will need and decided on mixed fruit and nuts (so far) to provide for my needs.

My aim is to build up my endurance over the next 30 weeks by going out each Friday and putting in the KMs.  That in itself is a challenge not just in time but also to dovetail with my travel and work plans.  Commitment is required, clearly!

Training Day 1

I work in Canary Wharf in London and live just next to Clapham Junction, approximately 10 miles.  It dawned on me that this would be a sensible start point in my regime.  Fridays make sense as I could recover on the Saturday.

As my working day drew to a close, it was already dark outside and I was beginning to suck the air in in anticipation of starting out.  I ended up working over by half an hour, but that was not down to any nervous reluctance to start.  I discretely changed my socks and donned my hiking boots.  I maybe should have doused my feet with talc first, but I was not that prepared.  I topped my water up and packed my gear.  Saying my goodbyes I headed for the lift and down to the lobby of the building.

I had not read my map to get an exact route, nor had I set any kind of navigation in my phone or watch.  No, my nav preps consisted of: Walk to the river, turn right, follow the river all the way to Battersea and turn left towards Clapham Common.  I was worried about some of the areas I was going to pass through but, as it turns out, I needn't have been.

Canary Wharf is essentially a financial district full of suits and an ambitious international community of thrusting individuals, some of them quite rude it has to be said.  I looked entirely out of place with my hiking boots, lightweight walking trousers, green Jack Wolfskin coat and Black Northface bag.

I reached the river fairly quickly and took a moment to reminisce as I saw the expanse of the Thames stretching for the far bank.  As a young Naval Reservist I had often sailed down the River Tyne on our way out to commence a training weekend and I felt the cold windswept memories of those trips as the breeze touched my face  Turning right, I now followed the river, keeping it on my left hand side until I could reach Tower Bridge.

During my military career I have been required to do a few, but not many, treks/hikes.  The key to enduring and keeping able to function is the timely consumption of water and food.  It may not seem important but it soon tells when you cover any reasonable distance in challenging conditions.  It also helps if your team keep an eye on you as you do with them, but in that respect I was buggered!

The route, reassuringly, was alive with walkers, runners, cyclists and post work drinkers.  I had carried out an assessment of the value of my possessions prior to setting out and, throughout the walk, I would run through the immediate action drills should I be confronted with some unsavory characters wishing to deprive me of them.  You could never be sure.

I had started my watch to track the key stats of the walk, but failed to bring my phone charging cable and thus my phone was on its last legs early on.  It was later to die and then my watch decided that it would stop recording my time/distance, a minor irritation that occurred just over half way through.

On the initial leg I was transiting through Wapping and Shadwell, away from the riverside due to the number of developments closing off the path for the privacy of those living there.  More than once I saw signs urging passers by to keep quiet.  My thoughts turned to the Blitz as I walked past old converted warehouses and cobbled roads.  I wondered how it must have been during those horrific nights of bombing during the war.  I also thought about the printing unions and their riots when Wapping was being closed down.  I ended up, annoyingly, going down some blind alleyways.  I was following some misleading signs but the diversions were not much to speak of.

There was something rather pleasing when I saw Tower Bridge come into view, it plays on the mind when you try and estimate how far you have come and where you expect to see things.  I had not really orientated myself much over the numerous visits I have made, but this was to change.

I heard the klaxons sounding as I approached, these signaled that the bridge was raising the causeway.  This was not too bad as I had planned to stop and refuel.  I had 800ml of water with me and 1,000 calories worth of nuts.  My back was already quite damp with sweat but my heat rapidly turned to chill as I waited to cross.  I was only wearing a polo shirt underneath my coat, it is important to regulate the temperature and not to lose too much fluid, something I will have to be careful of for the longer distances.

Setting out, I passed a number of landmarks and, interestingly, I started to learn which order these are in.  We had HMS Belfast, a veteran of WWII and the Korean War.  I longed to feel the metal decks under my feet as I reflected on my service career, the many times I had stood guard on the gangway in port in such conditions as these.  Naturally the Tower of London was on the North bank next to Tower Bridge.  On the South Bank I first passed the Lord Mayor's building before getting to the Belfast.  It gets a bit hazy after that but the Shard came next and then, surprisingly later and eventually the London Eye and Tate Modern.  I had decided to have another pit stop when I got to the London Eye.  On the way I noted that the Houses of Parliament and St Pauls are on the Northern side.  I had also noted the Ministry of Defence and the Foreign Office on the Northern side as well.  It seemed to take quite a while to get to the Eye but this was the 9km mark, just over half way.

The next phase was less certain, only because I knew that I would, at some point, have to move South towards Clapham Common.  In the distance, I thought I could see the MI6 building and Battersea Power Station, but I was not sure.  I did pass (presumably) the old London Fire Brigade HQ on the South side.  I checked out the numerous maps on the lamp posts as I passed, keeping a lookout for Battersea Park, that was my waypoint to turn in.  I could not see it on any of the maps, but MI6 almost came up on me without warning.  I knew I was approaching Vauxhall and that it should be there.  At this point, for no particular reason, the Russian national anthem was humming in my head.  I cast the building an inquisitive look as I walked by, but my focus was on the road traffic signs indicating that Clapham Junction was nearing.

I made the decision to turn South and follow the Clapham Junction signs.  I had checked out a map and seen that Wandsworth Road would lead in the right direction, to a point.  As I walked on I came across the Wandsworth Road Overground station, this is one of the stops my train passes through on the way to work.  So I paused to take stock and, following another sign heading towards Clapham North Clapham /Common, I started to weave through some residential streets.  This was quite a punt as I had no idea if I was heading in the right direction or not.  My feet were also starting to tell at this stage so the last thing I wanted was an unnecessary diversion.

I 'burst' onto the main road connecting Clapham North to Clapham Common, instinctively turning right.  It was maybe a few minutes before I realised how close I was to Clapham Common Station.  Going visual with the underground station, I was firmly locked in to the last mile or so, a little relieved but now wondering if I had acquired a blister on my left foot.  The ball of my left foot was feeling sensitive, but not yet painful.  My water had run out but I still had my nuts (forgive the pun).

When coming down the home straight it is quite uplifting, but the physical assessment was already beginning in my mind.  How were my legs, my feet?  How much longer could I have endured?  What point should I change socks?  How many pairs would I need if I change them every 16km!

I stopped off at Tescos, just a 150 metres or so from the house.  I had stopped the clock.  3 hours and an estimated 16.5km.  My watch said 22km but 3.5 would be walking to work.  Google maps indicated 16.5, so I settled for the lower figure.  The average speed of 5.5 was a good rate and included stopping, so if I could maintain that kind of average it would be okay.  As the distance progresses it is unlikely to stay that high, but one must try.

Post completing the first walk (my target was 12km), some friends have said they want to train along with me, which is great.  Things can be a lot easier when you have some company.

Day 2 - Richmond Park is due next Sunday, all being well!

Brexit - The Stigma

As we proceed with the Brexit circus, I feel increasingly compelled to write.  I have felt stigmatised into silence, unwilling to reveal my views.  I feel I am not entitled to express my views as they are apparently so offensive to those who choose to differ.  I feel the intimidation and intolerance of those who patronise me with their judgmental generalisations.    It may be that those supporting remain do not think they are having this effect or that they wish to, but then again, maybe they do.

Intolerance and intimidation are, of course, the very antithesis of the values that Remainers are espousing.  That is a reflection of society as it is, and perhaps historians of the future will reflect on this period with interest.

We are approaching the vote on Tuesday the 11th of December of Mrs May's Brexit deal.  As you would expect the respective parties are in overdrive to put their position across.  The deal being presented is, apparently, much worse than remaining and supposedly better than no deal, depending upon who you speak to.  Refreshingly enough both remain and leave supporting MPs are united in their opposition, this is democracy in action. 

I have not read the agreement, but I feel that it is not necessary for two reasons: firstly the MPs are responsible for understanding and challenging this.  Secondly, the deal is widely expected to fall and therefore there is no benefit in examining it.  It is an expensive waste of time, unfortunately.  The only opinion I have on the deal is that it is my view that it has been deliberately engineered to be as unpalatable as possible, perhaps this is too cynical a view to support, but it would not surprise me.

I want to spend some time on the mini-campaign by both sides during this period.  Once again, as before the referendum, we are getting full on negative impact assessments from business leaders, the Bank of England, Treasury and other bodies favouring remain, or in this case, the unsatisfactory deal on the table.  The first point I would like to make is that the doom laden scenarios lack credibility, this is not because I am an economics, supply chain or legal expert that can present a well informed view.  It is because the evidence of growth and resilience of the country, post the referendum, has demonstrated the lack credibility.  Remainers will state that we did not experience the significant downturn because of actions taken by various players in mitigating the effects.  This point then demonstrates the second flaw in the argument, which is that we will not simply sit back and do nothing, which is what the forecasts and scenarios seem to imply.

In terms of the leave side, they are of the view that somehow they can reject the deal and then go back to the EU to re-negotiate an alternative deal.  The EU has unequivocally stated that there is nothing else on the table, it is this deal, no deal or no Brexit.  So my opinion on this is that it is also a fruitless exercise, unless you believe that the EU will somehow buckle under the threat of no deal.  I don't think they will.  The only alternative is no deal.  This is not what I would like, but then I have no choice when presented with the alternatives.

So where does that leave us?  Well, considering that Parliament is Remain leaning, it is conceivable that the MPs will simply ignore the vote and remain in the EU.  Indeed, it would seem that this is both possible and desirable from the EU.  One of the possibilities is that the deal is rejected and either before or after Mrs May then resigns or is ousted, a so called peoples vote is held.

A peoples vote or referendum Mk II, would be in keeping with the EU approach in overturning the democratic decisions of voters by simply asking again.  The point made by remain supporting MPs and commentators is that people are entitled to change their mind now that they know the true impact of Brexit.  I cannot disagree with this, people are entitled to change their minds if they feel better informed.  The first issue I would take with this is that the voters were clearly promised, indeed threatened, that the original referendum was a one-off.  But then broken promises are not uncommon with politicians.   Another issue is that the impact of Brexit, as represented, lacks credibility and impartiality.  The deal is not a Brexit by any, even a broad, definition.  The last thing on this subject is what happens if the decision is again to leave?  If, and one presumes that this is the case, the result is to remain, then what happens when UKIP MK 2 or whatever incarnation comes to replace them starts to gain traction again with the voters?

My view on the outcome is that, as a voter, I do not feel I have any choice.  Both of the main parties are split and the smaller parties are a waste of a vote.  Tony Blair made the observation, among others, that no one is holding the centre ground.  Voters feel disenfranchised.  So the rise of an alternative party would seem likely.  It is interesting to note that more right-wing  leaning parties are on the rise in mainland of Europe, please listen and address the concerns of voters or the slide will most likely continue.

I want to talk about the economics of the situation as I see it.  I currently do most of my shopping at Waitrose, it is expensive but convenient.  Occasionally I go to ASDA and Tesco if I am passing.  Why is this relevant?  Imagine if there were laws which said I must use Waitrose and I am only allowed to go to ADSA and Tesco for particular goods but that I have to restrict how much of them I can buy.  If Waitrose was in charge of what I was allowed to buy and from whom then clearly they would wish to limit the ability of ASDA and Tesco to threaten their position.  So they key factor here is controlling the market to your advantage and by expanding your catchment area you can capture more of this market.  Even better, because your expansion is covering less mature economies, you benefit by controlling their economies and making full use of their inexpensive labour.  This is basically competitive advantage.  As it is now if I want to leave the Waitrose dominated arrangement and choose to shop in Aldi, Tesco, ASDA and Sainsburys whenever I wanted to then I would not expect to have to get the agreement of Waitrose.

So how does this translate?  The EU is paid a large amount of money as membership, more than we take out in benefits directly.  Our trade balance with the EU is in deficit, ie they sell significantly more to us than we do to them, perhaps some of this is due to restrictive practices, but it doesn't really matter.  The main point is we represent a valuable market and a source of direct income.  If we choose to leave then we are choosing not to pay the membership fee and to check out the competition to see if we can get a better deal, in a nutshell.  No one likes losing control and influence and therefore it is no surprise that the EU is unhappy with this.

The EU started out as a restrictive cartel to control coal and steel production, ostensibly so no single nation could start an arms race without the others being aware.  One of the pressing arguments made by remainers is that the EU has been a force for good in introducing changes and tacking the issues of the day.  I would not disagree with this, but the implication that the UK would regress is judgmental and not based on any firm grounding.  They are trying to foresee the future as though they will not be part of the decision making process that guides the values and beliefs of our society.  If we choose to, we can do everything the EU does, but the key point is that we can choose to.  We can choose not to if we don't agree with the changes.

So that was a very long way of me saying I have felt stigmatised for having what I think are quite reasonable views.  I am becoming less concerned with my friends and family knowing my voting preference because my expectations of being listened to or understood continue to diminish.  I have surprised at least two people with my views this last week and that is understandable given my connections with Belgium and my interest in being able to continue unfettered access to my home and family.  It is also worthy of note that Belgium has been the unfortunate battlefield site across many wars fought by various nations throughout history.  Of more concern, the very institutions of the EU are in Brussels and therefore are the most likely target in the future and even now for civil unrest.  I genuinely worry about the safety of my family in the future.

There is not an easy end to the current situation because it is driven by power and politics rather than reason and economic judgement.  As a remainer or leaver you can interpret that to fit your narrative and continue to disagree or you can try and understand by reasoning, without threats, why the other side thinks the way they do.