I’ve occasionally toyed with the idea of changing the title of this here blog to Donecancer and as I write this the fears rush in. Don’t know what other crabby folk think, but once you’re plunged into the crabby pool what lurks under the stones and in the crevices remains very much just below the surface. And thinking, writing or uttering such a thing immediately invites hubristic response. So I won’t be writing any such soon. Especially as another check-up looms and every pain and skin blemish is viewed through a crabby prism.
Also been feeling a little low of late, must be some sort of stage I need to go through on my ‘journey’; you twat using the term ‘journey’, pretentious, middle class bollocks you narcissistic onanist. Anyway, excuse my rather aggressive alter ego, I am feeling somewhat flat, but I suppose it’s to be expected after all the excitement of diagnosis, treatment, recovery and retirement. I’ve also gone through quite a few activities, maybe the currentest one of T’ai Chi will help me through the flat period.
And it does lift the spirits watching the tts rip each other to shreds. And even after the referendum result there will be considerable fall-out either way.
And listening to Kate talk to Jaike’s girlfriend Lauren about what she wants to do workwise and so on provided a classic vignette of modern times. Of all her university friends only one has got a job he wants with ‘prospects’, and guess what? His parents are wealthy ceos and have helped him with internships, contacts, placements, finance and so on. And her friends have a fair spectrum of degrees. And most still live at home or are travelling because there is little for them here.
Still, all won’t matter when the little englanders get their ‘brexit’ and we return to feudal times, s’pose I’ll have to beg for a small plot of land on slaver drax’s estate to keep the family going.
So there was a lovely conflation of stuff in yesterday’s Grauniad letters, and I do so like conflation, it helps my fevered little brain understand things better. They were about The Archers and the rob n’ Helen abuse story providing a trope for our current national situation. Firstly, on a personal note I reflect more on my behaviour and wonder how much I might be manipulative, sometimes saying ‘call me rob’. Kate and I discuss and observe others’ behaviour and call both males and females ‘robs’ as we see narcissistic and sociopathic behaviour everywhere.
One letter highlighted how psychologists call such abusive behaviour “gaslighting”, from a 1938 play called Gas Light which showed how the narcissists and sociopaths control, confuse and debilitate others. Other letters then go on to describe this “fictional gaslighting” as synonymous with our political situation, for example the 2008 ‘financial meltdown’ was caused by the Labour Party, or us with our profligacy and not the true culprits. And it continues with the ‘austerity narrative’ that further blinds people to the truth and deflects yet more from the venal kleptos.
Then one letter I’ll plagiarise in full:
“I don’t normally listen to The Archers, but the antics of rob titchener have drawn me in to listen regularly. Every episode makes me more mad. Why doesn’t Pat see what’s going on? Suddenly it hit me. rob is george osborne, Helen is the weak and needy, and Pat is the electorate”
And soon we’ll have an opinion piece by a member of the media commentariat saying just all this.
Up the Foxes.
Keep on keeping on, love Duncan