No particular place to go
You know how it is. Your boss is expecting a piece of work at 9 am tomorrow and it’s way past time and you have nothing to serve up.
That’s how I feel today. It’s a week since my last blog and I’m required to produce something. Nothing. At the moment I’m so benign that if someone broke into my house and stole my possessions I’d just blink and switch channels. No there’s nothing in the news that riles me.
Not even the monumental, mind numbing arrogance of my council’s cabinet gets to me. Not even the self congratulatory smile of RSB’s boss at losing nearly a £1 billion can upset me. Or Caroline Flint’s bullying of Kirsty Wark on Thursday’s “News Night” can disturb my equilibrium.
And that’s bad news. Because without fire in my belly I can’t blog. Hey what a great title for a song!
“Can’t blog, if blogging is without you.
Can’t blog without fire in my guts.” Maybe not.
But you see my difficulty. I need to be angry, at least annoyed to get the juices running. Even a slight ache in the gut might spark me; but nothing. Tranquillity base I am.
Why is that? I’ve searched high and low for an explanation. But none is forthcoming.
Except….the Olympics….If there is a bigger example of our ability to pervert a noble ideal I cannot think of one. And we all fall for it. Politicians, the media, and the advertisers, you and me – we all jump on the self aggrandising machine that is the IOC. A lot old self serving self appointed farts who connive with governments to put on jingoist, drug fuelled, ego satiated, dollar drenched spectaculars that are more akin to the ideals of Las Vegas than the Olympiad.
Apparently Hitler’s manipulation of the Olympiad ideal was an aberration. NO…it was the logical conclusion.
We gasp in awe at the gymnastic skills, we swoon at the speed, the grace and the oh so wonderful dream, holding back the night. It is as if for three weeks the world goes on holiday. Crisis is suspended, death and destruction is banished.
Except there was Munich: except there was Seoul. And Beijing, for all its stupendous achievement can’t keep the darkness out. On the 8th day of the 8th month of the 8th year – the reawakening superpower on China’s borders is sending a chilling message.
And I’ll wrap myself in the Olympic and Great Britain flag for a while. And hope that a minor skirmish at the edge of the Russian Federation won’t spoil the party.
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