We live in strange times.
The heads of our security agencies are dragged before a government committee to explain why their snooping on all our communications goes far beyond what anyone had realised, including our elected representatives.
Economics undergraduates realise that they are still being taught the same ultra-liberal free-market dogma that is continuing to drive us closer to global financial meltdown, and actually propose an alternative curriculum to cover other models that may stand a chance to get us out of the mess we’re in.
In 450 cities around the world on November 5th, thousands of people with Guy Fawkes masks march under the banner of “Anonymous” to demonstrate against both economic injustice and the mass surveillance by our governments’ security services. Russell Brand joins in the London march and in an interview with Jeremy Paxman calls for a revolution to do away with our tawdry big-business-loving political system that seems to be failing us and our planet in so many ways, sparking a media storm.
And the world’s climate scientists gather together and produce the first part of their fifth report in 23 years which once again sets out in dry detail how humanity is heating the planet and acidifying the oceans, and how this is going to make things very unpleasant for our grandchildren. Humanity shrugs its shoulders and carries on as it did before.
It all seems a bit unreal. Did the German leader really call the American president and harangue him for having her personal mobile tapped? Did George Osborne really tell the Chinese that he would relax banking regulations to encourage them to move to London? Meanwhile dirty wars flare up or fester in forgotten parts of the world such as the Central African Republic, mostly ignored by the Western media.
At Pilsdon, life goes on in much the same way as before. The events of the wider world seldom intrude, and that’s how it should be. Here I can spend the day with my gardening gloves on, turning the compost, weeding the brassica patch or sowing spinach in the glasshouse, stopping occasionally for a cup of tea, a chat or a communal meal.
The small everyday things fill our days. I forgot one of my milking duties, a very rare occurrence I assure you, and discovered that Bill (not his real name) had stepped in for me, doing the mucking out of the cow’s quarters without having time to put his wellies on. Later I harvested the last sweet peppers he had grown as we’d agreed, and then pulled up the plants which apparently he had not agreed. He had wanted to keep them alive till next year somehow. We turned the kitchen waste compost together. I think he’s forgiven me.
The weight of Jamie the cat is a topic of lively debate, as he is being fed now by Sara (another unreal name) since his regular feeder left a few months back. Some say he’s fatter than before, others that he’s skinnier. All agree that he is a lot less active now, spending his days sprawled at the busiest intersections of corridors, as old age set in.
The highlight of the week has to be the “Krispy Kreme”-style ring doughnuts made by our resident American couple, consumed with gusto by everyone on Bonfire Night as I and two other brave men lit the fireworks on the wet grass inside a paddock. Many of these fireworks seemed to have a fear of heights and so discharged their obligations safely (or otherwise) on the ground, making it all somewhat less of the jaw-dropping spectacle people expected. Still, the doughnuts were lip-smackingly excellent.
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