According to the Guardian recently, the super-rich are preparing to leave Britain ‘within minutes’ if Labour wins the forthcoming election. While no great fan of Jeremy Corbyn I think, if I had a vote, this news could swing it his way because, frankly, even though I no longer live in the UK I’d be very happy to see the back of these wealthy parasites who live near tax-free off the backs of ordinary Brits.
In reality though, it makes not the slightest difference to me, a British born and bred citizen, because after Brexit I will no longer have the right to vote in any election, anywhere. Not in Britain, nor France, nor America where I lived for nigh-on fifteen years. Yes, the reality is I’m stateless, thanks to something called the “Representation of the People Act 1985,” which went a long way towards disenfranchising British citizens not resident in the United Kingdom.
I have a near worthless document called a ‘UK Passport’ which has ‘European Union’ in gold letters on the front. If the lunatic fringe, both inside and outside the British Parliament, ever manage to drag the UK out of Europe, those words will be meaningless, though as my passport doesn’t expire until 2027 it will no doubt carry that lie around for another seven years.
The Tory government recently tried to amend the ‘Representation of the People Act 1985’ to give British expats the right to vote throughout their lives wherever they live. It was talked out by this arrogant prat….
…Tory MP Philip Davies, who appears to take some perverted pleasure in filibustering bills just for the sake of it, even if it means going against his own party.
The Labour Party is heavily opposed to amending the rules, apparently based on the outdated idea that only wealthy people live abroad, must therefore all be Tory voters, and as such would help keep Labour out of power in any election. Jeremy Corbyn and Co really should try to drag themselves out of the Victorian era and into the twenty-first century. Most expats today are ordinary, hard-working, or retired folk reliant on a wage or pension to survive. We don’t have luxury yachts in the Med and drive Lamborghinis!
Those that do are all living in tax haven Britain, and most of them aren’t even citizens of the UK.
Once again apologies for the lack of posting of late. I’ve been back to Britain visiting my 104-year-old father after his bad fall a few weeks back. The good news is he’s doing well, is back in his home, and learning the intricacies of manoeuvering a wheelchair through narrow spaces. He’s not quite ready yet for the grid at Silverstone, but given time…I’d not put anything past him!
My French Peugeot 407 performed very well in covering the one thousand or so miles of the round trip, but if I’m to spend more time in the UK I’m considering the purchase of a German motor car. I’ve noted that the plethora of BMWs, Mercedes, and Audis continually zooming past me at around 100mph in the outside lane of the British motorways, now have a special dispensation from the traffic police to travel at whatever speed they like without fear of speeding fines.
I consider this a nice gesture by the UK police force. After all, if you can afford one of these powerful, luxury, motors it’s only right you should be able to raise a finger to the rest of us poorer mortals legally bound to seventy miles an hour.
While on the subject of UK traffic, it’s an absolute delight to return to the roads of France where, certainly in Brittany, the motorways are relatively free of traffic, roadworks almost non-existent, and driving once more becomes the pleasure I remember it used to be in Britain back in the fifties and sixties.
The British road system has reached virtual gridlock. Long stretches of motorway are restricted by seemingly never-ending roadworks. Motorists are told these highways are being converted to SMART motorways, no doubt to convince drivers that in years to come, when it’s all finally completed, there’ll be ample space for all and Britain will again become a motorist’s utopia.
Frankly it all smacks of another of Boris Johnson’s tall tales, given that all they’re doing is converting the hard shoulder into a fourth carriageway. Presumably, some glib civil servant has decided that as vehicles are more reliable than fifty years ago, and given four lanes, there’ll no longer be any accidents so the hard shoulder won’t now be required for its originally designated purpose. Anyway, the police and emergency services can always abseil down from a helicopter, if required.
It’s time for a new law in the UK forcing supermarkets to provide ear plugs to all their customers. Having frequented both Morrisons and Tescos during my time in the country I was appalled by the noise levels in these emporiums. Given the sheer volume being produced by children screaming and running wildly around the aisles…
…coupled with an even louder cacophony emanating from parental throats, as they try vainly to control their offspring’s outbursts, and all homogenised with some off-key pop singer plus band blaring out of the speakers above their heads, it must have the guy running the hearing aid centre down the other end of the mall rubbing his hands with glee.
In one branch of Tescos I asked the young man at the cash desk how he put up with the incessant racket. He leaned closer towards me and shouted, “Pardon!” I made a gesture indicating, “Don’t bother,” and trundled my cart rapidly out the store.
Back in France I needed groceries and headed for the local Leclerc superstore. It’s on par with a Tesco or Asda. There, I found peace. The children walked quietly alongside their parents, the smaller ones sat silently in their cart seats observing the activities around them. There was no music blaring; no kids loudly demanding the latest toy or sweet and screaming blue murder when denied. Shopping in France is a pleasant experience, after which one does not require two hours in bed with an ice-pack.
I lived in Britain for over fifty years. I left it seventeen years ago to live in America. While I’m no fan of the United States, the UK is now bottom of the list when it comes to traffic gridlock, spoiled, badly behaved children, and over-testosterone-fuelled, self-centred individuals with way too much money, tear-arsing around in expensive German automobiles.
France has much to teach the British. What a pity they voted Brexit and decided to go it alone. Still, on second thoughts, Europe may well be better off without them.
There’s been much written both in the press and social media of late concerning an accident involving a young motorcyclist, Harry Dunn, who was killed by a car driven on the wrong side of the road in Northamptonshire (UK) on August 27th.
Much of the vitriol has been fired at the car driver, Anne Sacoolas, an American who had only been in the UK a few weeks. While initially cooperating with police she then fled back to America. I for one can’t blame her.
When did we stop being human? Why have we allowed ourselves to become as cold and digitized as the computers we use every day? In binary language everything is reduced to one(1) or zero(0). We are allowing our brains to do likewise. ‘For’, or, ‘Against’; ‘One’, or, ‘Zero’: the formula is simple, as soon as an issue arises we choose a side, one or zero, and pursue our cause with blind conviction, never pausing for a moment to consider the implications, or human aspect. We regard people as though they are computers. We don’t expect our digitized machines to ever be in error, so when human fallibility creeps into our lives we ignore it utterly in our arrogant condemnations .
The human brain is an amazing organ but it’s fallible, and never more so than when it has been trained for years to follow one certain pattern of behavior and is then suddenly expected to do the opposite.
No-one knows this better than I do. After driving buses, lorries, and cars for fifty years on the left in the UK I moved to the United States. I knew I had to drive on the right and found it quite easy to adjust. Too easy! While my conscious brain was in control I was fine, but after a while complacency sets in and, as happens with those who drive a lot, the subconscious begins to take over. At first it’s still guided to some extent by the conscious, but as our thoughts begin to drift to other matters we rely more and more on the subconscious, learned, patterns in the brain to control our driving.
On more than one occasion I suddenly found myself where I didn’t want to be – on the wrong side of the road. Once, while driving a school bus, I pulled out of a car park, turned right onto the road, and without realising drove happily for a few hundred yards on the left-hand side until an approaching car instantly made me realise my error. I swerved quickly back to the right and no harm was done.
It can work both ways. After fifteen years in America and four years in France, where they also drive on the right, I took a trip back to the UK. My brain had had time to learn that now I always drove on the right. One morning, while leaving the hotel where I’d stayed, I needed to turn left onto a quite busy road. The hotel was situated on a bend and my attention was focused on ensuring no traffic was approaching. The road was clear, so I drove out and across – onto the right-hand side. As I did so a car came around the bend directly towards me. I narrowly avoided an accident only by swerving back to the left side just in time to avoid a collision, while the other driver braked violently.
I was fortunate. The drivers of those oncoming vehicles were also fortunate. They could have ended up like poor Harry Dunn, and all because the human brain doesn’t work like a computer. Sometimes it will tell you to do what you’ve done all your life, without it being aware you need to do the opposite.
Their were two victims in that tragic accident on August 27th in Northamptonshire. Anne Sacoolas was the victim of her own brain, just like Harry Dunn. She wasn’t deliberately driving on the wrong side of the road. Her brain was telling her it was the correct side. It was only when Harry Dunn’s motorcycle appeared in front of her that realization dawned, but by then it was too late.
Fleeing back to her home country was a wrong decision, but perfectly understandable given her trauma. The fact she was in an alien country not given to welcoming foreigners probably tipped her decision.
None of this is intended to take away from the suffering of Harry Dunn’s parents. I lost a dearly loved sister to a fatal accident in London some years ago, and a son in similar circumstances just two years after that. I feel the suffering of the Dunn’s and that of Anne Sacoolas.
You should, too. Anne Sacoolas never meant to kill anyone. Those moments when her subconscious brain told her she was on the correct side of the road will haunt her for the rest of her life.
The Oxford dictionary defines an ‘accident as’: “An unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury.”
“Unexpectedly and unintentionally,” is the relevant phrase.
Human beings are not computers. They make mistakes. Their brains send the wrong messages. Sometimes people die as a result. Harry Dunn was one of the unfortunates.
As they say, there but for the grace of God go – you?
Richest 1% Own Half The World’s Wealth
