Thursday, 28 May 2026

Of Belonging, Membership and Being An Utter Tool!

The human being is a social animal. Anyone who doesn’t belong to a group tends to be viewed with caution by those who do. The demands made by the group of its members often influence the modes and the degree to which loyalty is expressed. Demands such as a membership subscription may enable the group to carry out its intended purpose and such shared payments can smooth the way in enabling the group members to take part in their shared activity. Pretty much stating the B.O.!

The human species also espouses contradictions. It’s a part of being human. Even fully paid up members of a group may consider themselves free-thinking individuals no matter how much of their individuality they have surrendered to the group. “I am a member of this gang because I think this or that" can so easily become "I am a member of this gang and so I shall think this or that". Some organisations, including religions and political parties exact a penalty for daring to deviate from the group's aims and priorities. I was raised in a high demand religious cult and coming out in much later life prompted the local ecclesiastical authority to request a meeting and accuse me of flouting the "law of chastity". I hope he felt as demeaned as I felt annoyed. I had known him since he was a child and in all that time I had never done anything more than sit in church to help my then wife with the children. I certainly had not professed any belief, since that had abandoned me long before. I did not consider myself a member of the flock, nor did I accept he had any position of authority in my life. Church had become simply a place I had to be to keep relative peace in the family. My wife and I had met and married as teenagers. Within six years I had come to the realisation that I no longer believed, but I had made what I thought was a serious commitment. I tried to support her priorities until I could no longer do so. I found myself as co-babysitter in church for more than a decade.

I joined the Ecology Party in the 1980s and was a member when they changed their name to the Green Party. I even stood for election in a borough council election in 1986. I was surprised to receive as many as 59 votes but very relieved not to be elected to the borough council. That left me free to start looking for jobs doing something I much preferred to do, namely music. When I moved out of the town to another part of the country I let my Green Party membership lapse and have never rejoined. I have felt almost tempted since Zack Polansky was elected leader and has been incredibly articulate in espousing many of the same thoughts as me on so many issues. However, I have decided that being a member of a gang is really not all that great when they start to make demands that one should think the same thoughts. I'm happy enough to add my ballooning weight to the throng in demonstrations and at rallies, if I can see the point of an action, but I'm not tempted to join or rejoin a gang. I will admit to a twinge of something approaching nostalgia every time someone calls for people to join up to increase the numbers in the party and add to the money available to fight campaigns. One of my favourite people, a kind, articulate and caring medical professional, a town councillor near where I moor much of the time, had their party membership revoked after using their professional knowledge and research to offer a different point of view to the prevailing group think on T issues in LGBTQIA+ matters. I don't know the details, but the party lost a good member who was willing to stand up for the main principles in the Green Party manifesto. As I understand the situation my friend wanted to explore nuance, but hardliners in the party would not tolerate nuance. The current leadership has said that the Party can be inclusive as long as any member is broadly in accordance with established principles. That is fair enough. Otherwise what is the point of people joining together for a common cause? My friend's expulsion went beyond this consensus. It was a witch-hunt and we've seen the same kind of expulsions happen in other political parties as well as organised religious groups. 

Does the same thing happen in the worlds of sports, the arts or other fields of human endeavour? They are certainly tribal enough. From time to time I have found myself parrotting a phrase or idea I have heard from someone else. Perhaps it seemed apt or amusing or poignant. I'm not always convinced I fully subscribed to the actual idea and it is only when someone takes the trouble to express their thoughts on something I have said that I may have been forced to confront my assertions and revisit them. Our society is all the poorer when nuance is seen as betrayal and something to be punished. A change or reconsideration of a thought may be derided as a u-turn. Whether the simplification of ideas is a deliberate ploy to mislead or an honest attempt to make an argument accessible to all, something is frequently lost in the reduction. It makes me sad when people seem not to be able to talk ideas through to find a place where different priorities might meet. "My way or the highway" leaves little room for the power that argument can offer to sway a decision. The way leaders express themselves gives permission to members of the gang to behave in good or bad ways. Why is it so often in bad ways - storming the senate, wearing masks to root out and expel people of other cultures, standing on cliff tops to gesture and shout at the sea to repel so-called "invaders" who are not invaders at all, but simply fellow humans in need a safe place to live? Were I going to "invade another country" I would probably choose a more robust method of travel than an inflatable raft. However invading a neighbouring country, manipulating the law to recruit the internal forces of law and order into dragging people away to the courts for merely sitting in a public place and holding a handwritten sign to express dissent are all crazy power games. Under threat of losing their membership, their citizenship, their jobs or their pensions the powerless will feel emboldened by the size of the gang and pride themselves on their ability to follow orders. The largest mob with the most amount of power wins and a thought-through argument does not figure in the process. I wish I saw more evidence of people who could and should know better following orders to enforce some sometimes arbitrary rules to a good purpose, but it feels somewhat rare. Maybe it's simply that the good examples happen in the background and aren't deemed worthy of attention. Only one political leader has actually discussed priorities that moved me to something other than dismay or anger. Hearing Mothin Ali discuss his passion for gardening was rather lovely. Hearing him described by those who disagree with his point of view as a dangerous terrorist is very upsetting, but I'm still not rejoining the gang.

Being the contrarian that I am, I have signed up to membership of a couple of waterways support groups that campaign and work for facilities I feel may be of benefit, but I'm still not joining the gang!

Wednesday, 6 May 2026

Of Subliminal Mysteries

I think Ive spent most of my life being confused and full of questions. Had I been born an Elephant's Child I would have been accused of satiable curtiosity. The questions mostly become stuck in my head these days or fly out of it so quickly they are never voiced. I guess a lifetime as long as mine may have knocked some corners off some of the more jagged questions, apart from those that query the inequalities of circumstances, still I can't help but ponder. I daresay I've already remarked somewhere among these essays that my questions have often led me into trouble, but still the qustions come. 

As I write this the time has just passed mid-day. I woke up early this morning with a dream song still reverberating in my head. As is sometimes the case I was dreaming of a school music workshop, an activity that featured in my life very prominently over many years. Four boys dressed in something I took to be far-Eastern or south Asian attire formed a line and began to sing a song made of vocables, rather than words. As they sang they danced into a space in front of the rest of the class and the line curved into a circle, at which point I woke up. However, since the music was still so loud in my head I grabbed the manuscript book I keep close to hand and transcribed the tune along with the sung syllables. I didn't have time to go back over it, because my other notebook, the one in which I attempt to capture snatches of lyrics, poems or ideas to be developed into such, had fallen open at idea number 322, dated April 2022. It was just a couplet and the rest of the page was blank, but these four years later I finally saw where the song could go. Now I have the skeleton of a new song, cross-referenced in my lyric book and music manuscript notebook and I have no recollection of what was my original concept four years ago. I only know I haven't broached this subject or storytelling style in any of my other work. There is a kind of refrain containing (at the moment!) the line "Follow, why? Follow, where? ..." I guess the mysteries are finding a voice in the song.

Yesterday I spent the day signing up to or renewing subscriptions for boat related organisations. I've never been through Stanground Lock and I fancy travelling out in that direction, specially with the cott blocking my way in my normal direction of travel. Consequently I am now Friend of the River Nene. In fact I was so keen to avail myself of their facilities I think I've paid twice after getting a bit confused following instructions on their website. I had plans for this morning, including cycling into the village with my application form and membership fee for the Well Creek Trust and basket for fresh vegetables, but every time I have attempted to get ready to carry out my plans I've been struck by yet another new tune idea. In between mixing seeds, fruits and grains for breakfast and medical routines popping the pills that are supposed to be keeping me alive along with boiling the kettle for a hot compress, followed by massaging my eyes and applying ointment for a recently diagnosed eye condition with enough hot water left over for ablutions, I've had to stop and write three tunes. Again I've no idea whether they are any good, but why, after months of little in the way of creative ideas, have the ideas started to tumble out of my head again? It happens from time to time, but normally I'm not in a situation where taking the time to actualise what is in my head is convenient or even possible. I first became aware of this phenomenon in 2005 following a serious change in my personal circumstances. It got quite bad. I would be woken up several times a night with the clamour of the music in my head. This was when I first took to keeping a manuscript book nearby at all times. I had been very unproductive for about thirty years and I felt a responsibility to record all these tunes that appeared to be coming as a gift from the muse. I would also have to leave for work early knowing I would have to stop driving more than once to be able to make a note of yet another new idea. I was afraid that ignoring these tunes would leave me dry again and I couldn't risk that. Friends observed that I was becoming a little obsessed and no doubt it was some form of hyper activity after spending so many years in depression. Whatever was the cause, it was exhausting, even if it supplied some of the best tunes I composed for The News of the Victory. Eventually I had to let some of the tunes go just so I could get some rest and the episode calmed down after a few  months. These days, in between new ideas, my head is littered with ear-wormery leaving no space for my own thoughts. This noisy mixture of sound that goes unnoticed by anyone else, gets quite jumbled up with sounds that pop up over the radio or on a podcast and I am left asking myself every time I compose whether anything I have written is actually original or a plagiarised rebranding of someone else's work. I suspect it's probably closer to the latter, but often I don't know for sure. And, oh Best Beloved, I promise I have tried to keep a little more balanced.


Returning to the major topic under consideration it is a mystery to me why, when I have an idea for a blog essay, I don't seem to be able to get straight into it. There generally has to be some irrelevant diversion. Apropos of nothing so far, it is a complete mystery to me why my boat collects massive quantities of cott around the prop, while other boats cruise through known weed patches untouched. I believe I may have made reference to this mystery a couple of essays ago. 

Meanwhile out in the real world, why are the loaves of bread I make so inconsistent when I turn them out of the pan? I only use a breadmaker, so the variations can only be in the ingredients or the amounts, rather than the processes. Usually they turn out elegantly enough, but sometimes the end result of more like a large rock cake! I've had two rock loaves recently and don't know why. I'm guessing that the proportion of flour to water has varied sufficiently to make a difference, though I do measure everything as carefully as I can. I've been through five breadmaking machines over the past twenty-five years, but this one has started producing these mutant loaves. Why?



Thankfully they taste okay, so now it is lunchtime and I shall cut myself a slice or two, slather them both with humus and garnish them with onion. Then, O Best Beloved, I shall disembark with my bicycle and go about the day I thought I had planned


P.S.
Those who know, know 😉