In these quieter moments, I've been afforded more time for reflection, which, paradoxically, tends to fill with anxiety rather than tranquillity.
This anxiety often stems from a place of empathy, as I imagine the challenges faced by my former colleagues in the Commons, to the detriment of my blood pressure.
My digital sanctuaries are two WhatsApp groups that cater to distinct circles of my acquaintances. The first, affectionately termed "Obsessive Proto-Pensioner," is a gathering for those among us navigating the nuances of future retirement.
The second, comprised of former MPs, serves as a weekly reminder of our collective relief at having stepped away from the political frontline. Don’t get me wrong, I’m absolutely delighted for last night’s two by-election winners. They’re going to be fine MPs.
This week, attention has turned to Graham Jones, a Labour candidate who found himself at the heart of a media frenzy over comments made at a meeting. His ill-considered remarks were clandestinely recorded, and snippets of his speech subsequently permeated the media.
This incident was particularly poignant due to the presence of Azhar Ali, our erstwhile candidate in the Rochdale by-election, who managed to utter comments so egregious that they led Keir Starmer to withdraw his support.
My acquaintance with Azhar, albeit limited, did little to cushion the shock of his words, especially given his previous stance against antisemitism. It's a reminder of the intricate and often confusing nature of politics.
Having worked alongside Graham, I feel confident in asserting that he does not harbour antisemitic sentiments. However, his situation is symptomatic of a broader issue within Labour, an enduring struggle with individuals whose views towards Jews are reprehensible.
In the wake of the Corbyn era, which saw antisemitism surge alarmingly within this great party, Graham finds himself suspended, his future candidacy hanging in the balance as the party strives to reconcile with its past.
Poor Graham’s plight reminds me of the line from The Crucible: “Until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in Heaven.”
The unforgiving demands of contemporary politics are crushing.
Reflecting on my journey, I’m clear that if I were at the outset of my career today, the path of an MP would not be one I'd choose to tread.
Reading
Relight My Fire, C.K. McDonnell
I don’t read fantasy novels often these days but I’ve enjoyed the ‘Stranger Times’ series. C.K McDonnell laces his stories with culutral references and satire. Look out for the appearance of Margaret Thatcher in the fourth book in the series!
Watching
My co-authored book, Dial ‘M’ for Murdoch, has been used as the basis of a fantastic play called Corruption at the Lincoln Centre in New York. See writer J.T Rogers and director Bartlett Sher talk about the creation of it.
I’ve read the script and winced with embarrassment whilst laughing uproariously. If you see it, remember its a scrupulously researched act of fiction!
Listening
I really love this song. Thank you neighbour.
Poem of the week
I am currently concerned with as many things as possible to avoid weight loss.
Video games, audiobooks, poetry, speech writing, phone calls to old friends, garden design. All of them are distractions.
So thank you to a lovely little anthology of poems, “Whatever the Sea, Scottish Poems for Growing Old”, edited by Lizzie MacGregor.
It’s thoughtfully compiled, but more importantly, the poets within it are themselves a wonderfully meandering distraction.
Top of the list is Ian Hamilton Finlay, who was an artist, poet, garden designer and Scot. Check out the many battles of Little Sparta to see how this uncompromising artist seized life.
Ian’s poem spoke to me this week. There is so much going on in the four lines of The Old Nobby.
The maritime imagery explores vulnerability and resilience. It paints a picture of a leaking hull and flaking paint that symbolises the wear and tear of life that creates imperfection, which over time leads to our authenticity.
And despite an unfashionably guarded approach to emotional expression, the contrasting idea of those vivid scarlet patches on the sails hints at deeply held emotions that drive the hull onwards.
This simple reflective poem is a brutally honest embracing of vulnerabilities and experiences, acknowledging them as crucial to our growth and life’s journey.
Here’s to all my fellow flaky hatches!
Have a good week.
The Old Nobby
My hull is leaking like a sieve,
The paint is flaking off my hatches,
My Heart’s not worn upon my sleeve
(But on my sails are scarlet patches.)
Ian Hamilton Finlay
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