Queen of Hearts?

Yesterday, I had the mixed experience of watching The Diana Years. I say 'mixed' because although (as I have hinted previously) I am not a huge fan of the Royal Family, the programme documented an era of social history that I find fascinating, not least because I remember it.

Retrospective accounts of the decade often focus on Diana's death for obvious reasons: it was a tragedy that made international headlines and lead to an unprecedented show of public emotion in the UK. Personally, however, I think its significance is overplayed. For all the feeling that we were living through momentous times, nothing actually changed. The most significant (British) death of the decade has to be John Smith's.

Unlike Diana's, John Smith's death changed things. It is impossible to know what would have happened had things turned out differently, but it seems likely that Smith would have lead Labour to victory in the election that took place in 1997. He may well have had a smaller majority than Tony Blair was able to command; in this case, the Conservatives could have elected Michael Portillo as leader, something they weren't able to do in reality. The next election (the one that took place in June 2001) would have been contested by parties lead by Smith and Portillo. Would Prime Ministers Smith or Portillo have done anything different to the real-life Blair? Would they have been more reticent about, for example, invading Iraq? I don't know: that's the problem with this kind of counter-factual speculation.

The other question is what would have happened had Princess Diana not died. It's difficult to think that things would have been that different, but what of the huge outpouring of grief that followed her death. I felt at the time, cynic that I am, that it was totally out of proportion. Of course, people were sad, but a lot of people seemed to show more grief over the death of someone they had never met than they might over the death of a close friend or relative. I feel now that the grief was really about something else.

This was (in the 'real' world) only four months after the defeat of the Tories and in particular John Major, a man who seemed to epitomise a certain kind of old-fashioned Conservatism (if that's not a tautology). It seems likely that for many people the illusions of certainty and greatness that the Conservatives had relied on for seventeen years had been laid bare. Regardless of a person's opinions about these ideologies, it is understandable that many people felt disorientated and scared: Diana's death provided a focal point for these feelings. Where would these feeling have gone had Diana survived that crash?

Approximately ten months later, England were competing in the World Cup, an event that inevitably provokes an upsurge in (confused) nationalism. Predictably, they were knocked out; equally predictably, there was a scapegoat: David Beckham. Beckham became a pariah for a while. If the collective sense of grief had not found an outlet the previous September, imagine how much worse it would have been for him. It's not in the same league as the invasion of Iraq, but I'm aware that both these scenarios are nothing more than idle speculation.

Stoned

The Stone Roses have been in the news recently. I won't write about my objections to their reunion as others have already done so. Instead, I'd like to relate a little-known story from their early years.

The band have generally been regarded as being chilled-out and amiable, in part because of their song 'One Love'. Few people know, however, that the song's lyrics have their origins in an event that took place before the band were successful.

Singer Ian Brown and guitarist John Squire took a cheap day out in picturesque Cheshire town Marple. While there, they decided to enjoy a treat in a local teashop. Finding themselves strapped for cash, they decided to share one cup of tea. Unfortunately, the waitress misunderstood their order and seeing two people sat at the table took them two cups. Seeing her error, Ian Brown - later to become an exemplar of courtesy - shook his head: "one, love" he said, "we don't need another, love." Squire, so legend has it, whipped out his guitar and a classic was born.

A blog that might require sponsorship

As regular readers will know, this blog does not, as a rule, advertise. I occasionally look at the 'monetise' option at the top of this page and think about clicking it. The chance to make a bit of extra money out of something I write for fun is quite tempting, but I worry that I might find myself plunged into a capitalist purgatorio in which I am expected to sell my own grandmother, or perhaps link to a certain online retailer. It's a risk I've avoided - until now. For now, I feel I have to mention a brand name.

I am part of the Walkman™ generation. I was a pre-pubescent youth when a large electronics conglomerate introduces the personal stereo. They were ubiquitous when I was a teenager, and the long-term result is that many people my age (I have just turned 40) find it more-or-less impossible to spend more than an hour without being engulfed in music. Ok, we're hardly unique in listening to music on headphones - my own dad (some years older than I am) owned one before I did - but, we may be the first generation to expect to be occupied constantly while awake. Equally, although plenty of other manufacturers made similar devices, the power of the brand was so strong that it became a generic name for that particular device.

The device in question has now been discontinued, however the brand name survives. A friend of mine had a mobile phone - I suppose I see the connection - that used the brand, while I own an MP3 player. There are two ironies here, one personal one general: on a personal level, the MP3 player is the first device with that brandname that I have owned (previously I have had to make do with cheaper brands); an a broader level, the generic name now belongs to another brand (no plug for this).

Despite firmly reaching middle age, I still walk with earphones in. I have always told myself that this is because of my love of music: over the years I have spent a good proportion of my money on CDs, tapes and legal downloads; I also own several musical instruments, that I play with varying degrees of incompetence. It occurred to me recently, however, that the real reason is to shut myself away from reality. Putting the earphones in the moment I leave the house and not removing them until I reach my destination saves me the hassle of interacting with the world. Not anymore: I have decided to renounce the Walkman.

Well, maybe not. I still listen to it, because I love music; from now on that will be the only reason. I will no longer put the earphones in automatically; I will try to live without constant stimulation; I will take the time to listen to my surroundings. I don't think this will change the planet or make me a better person, but it might stop me going completely deaf for a couple of years.

Nostalgia, entertainment and war

There are three things I dislike intently, nostalgia, entertainment and war. I'm not trying to make a moral equivalence between these, but as I've just spent several hours experiencing all three in combination, I thought I'd lump them together for the sake of a blog that no one reads.

Bantock House in Wolverhampton is a perfectly fine place to spend a quiet afternoon. The parkland and gardens provide a nice escape from the City traffic, while the house itself is moderately informative about Wolverhampton's development, although the contextual information about Victorian households is nothing that can't be found elsewhere. The house also hosts regular events, including an annual music event which provides local acoustic musicians the chance to play at somewhere other than the usual circuit of nondescript pubs. The standard of performance is variable, but this reinforces the sense of watching a real musical event, rather than X-Factor or some such nonsense.

Today, they were hosting a 40s weekend. I attended for a variety of reasons far too tedious to go into here, but with low expectations. The event was also attended by a variety of people, most of whom too young to remember the War, dressed as soldiers, spivs and Vera Lynn-alikes. The official entertainment was a 'sing-along' of wartime hits, lead by a medium-sized group of the above soldiers, spivs and Vera Lynn-alikes, most of whom were too young to remember the War. All of this is perfectly harmless, and I really don't mean to sneer, but I did find it profoundly depressing.

Part way through proceedings, the host reminded us that the men who fought in World War II were fighting for the freedoms we enjoy today. It was at this point that I realised what was making me so uncomfortable.

I am not, when push comes to shove, a pacifist. When I was younger, I felt that I would have fought against Hitler, and I still suspect that I would have done, but that shouldn't prevent any of us questioning the myth-making that surrounds this period. If Hitler had lived, he would now be 122 (or dead). Even if we had lost the War and been invaded by Germany, things would have changed; we would not still be living under a fascist dictatorship. There would also have been internal resistance, which combined with the inherent instability of any form of dictatorship would have lead to the collapse of the Nazi Party. Ultimately, National Socialism would have collapsed the same way that Communism did. And, of course, Hitler did not rise in a vacuum: the treaty of Versailles created the political and economic conditions in which fascism flourished; Britain, as a nation, was complicit in this.

None of this is intended in any way to diminish the sacrifices of that generation; I simply feel that sitting back and enjoying a nostalgic sing-along romanticises and decontexualises a complex area. Personally, I would rather engage with someone singing about their lives, while struggling to play the guitar than be entertained by well-known songs that were originally intended to distract people from harrowing events. For similar reasons, I prefer history to nostalgia; I want to learn about context and causes, not hear about how wonderful it all was, and not just because it wasn't.

I am still not a pacifist: I would have fought against Hitler - Chamberlain's appeasement made this inevitable - and I would have fought against Apartheid. But, just as I prefer history to nostalgia, I prefer peace to war.

Warning - This blog has no point

Earlier today, I read this article by Charlie Brooker. It is slightly encouraging in that Brooker explains that despite a bungled educational background, he has managed to succeed in life. At the same time, it is rather discouraging for me personally, because I am the same age as him, but, despite having similarly bungled my education, I am still in the dead-end job.

Stories of people who have become successful despite not doing well at school are not particularly rare. What struck me about Brooker's article is the similarity with my own situation. Like him, I scraped through my A-levels; easily distracted, I got marks that were better than I deserved, but not quite what I needed to get a place at my first choice institution. Like Brooker, I was offered a place anyway; and like Brooker, I started a course at a polytechnic, that became a university while I was studying there. Also like Charlie Brooker - and this is the bit that really impresses me - I failed after three years.

For the uninitiated, the last is something of an achievement: some students drop out part way through; this is nothing to be ashamed of if you've made a bad decision, or simply find it difficult for other reasons. Very few students, however, stay for three years, but leave without a degree. In my cohort, I was the only one; by way of contrast, two students were awarded Firsts.

Like Charlie Brooker, I also spent my 20s with poor qualifications and no real idea about what I wanted to do. This is where the similarities between us end. He has since become quite successful, despite not having a degree; I went back to university as a mature student, and obtained a First - but, I'm still stuck in a poorly-paid, unchallenging job that I don't like very much.

There is still no real point to this blog. I'm not trying to suggest that Charlie Brooker is wrong, or I am unfortunate, or even that going back to university was a bad idea (it wasn't). I'm simply sharing a bit of personal history and trying to bask in the reflected glory of a mildly successful journalist.

A hacking great scandal?

As you might be aware, there has been a bit of a hoo-ha about phone hacking over the last few weeks. It is a story that significant enough in its own right and one that will, I suspect, rumble on for some time before we begin to see the full extent of the wrongdoing. The story is also significant, I think, because it is part of a longer-running power struggle between three large British institutions.

For a while (perhaps a long while) the press, Parliament and the judiciary have been at war (to use a tabloidism) over who holds the other to account. In the past two years, we have seen the press unveil details of MPs' expenses with varying degrees of relish. All this is justified (not unreasonably, I think) by the claim that part of the job of the press is to hold our MPs to account. The judiciary have joined in with the fun, sending disgraced politicians to prison.

The press and the judiciary, meanwhile, have been at war over privacy laws. The recent case of a celebrity footballer (no links, as you probably all know anyway) who attempted to prevent reporting of his sexual indiscretions illustrates the point well. The judiciary attempted to curb the press, granting an injunction preventing reporting of the issue (not to mention the very existence of the injunction). The press, of course, found various ways round this, aided by a certain social networking site. Ultimately, Parliament had its final say, with an MP using Parliamentary Privilege to name the player in question.

There are countless other examples of judges making decisions that press and Parliament (with an eye on their popularity ratings) find ludicrous; or, alternatively, judges mitigating Parliament's attempts to introduce outrageous or ill-thought out changes.

Ultimately, all three see themselves as the final arbiter. The press do not want to be over-regulated (or regulated at all) - who does? Most media commentators argue that a free press is vital in a democracy. This is perfectly correct and I think it could well be the case that we have to put up with a press we don't like as the price for this. It is also right to say that the press should not be above the law - written by Parliament and interpreted by the judiciary.

This seems to leave us chasing our own tails, but perhaps this is as it should be. Democracy is not perfect, but I don't think humanity has yet invented a less imperfect system. We have to accept compromises and inconsistencies. This doesn't mean, however, that we shouldn't work to improve the system, or at least our application of it.

We have heard a lot during the last few weeks about 'regulation' of the press; personally, I think 'accountability' is a more useful concept. I am wary of any attempt to stop someone publishing or saying what they like (it's a complicated debate best saved for another time). Accountability means that journalists, and proprietors, who break the law will be punished in the same way as everyone else - perhaps even more severely. The press enjoy a privileged position within a democracy and with that privilege comes responsibility. We should be able to expect the highest standards from our journalists, just as we should be able to expect them from our MPs and our judges.

Priorities

Apparently there is a big wedding happening in the UK soon. Personally, I'm not a big fan of the Royal Family. I'm not a republican - aside from anything else, I'm not convinced a president is necessarily a better option. So Prince William and Kate Middleton are getting married - I have no real opinion on this, other than to wish two people well: I won't be getting an invite, which saves me a dilemma, but not much of one.

This morning, I was in the room with someone who was watching BBC News. The item of 'news' they were covering concerned this wedding, in which I have little or no interest. The groom, apparently, will be giving the bride his ring, but will not be wearing a ring himself. This does not concern me; or you, unless you are one of the two people getting married (which I doubt). The show's editors, however, felt the need to run an item about this non-story for several minutes. They interviewed two 'experts' - I make no effort to check their qualifications - and several members of the public.

It won't surprise you to learn that I became increasingly irritated as this item wore on. This was partly because, as hinted at above, I'm not a huge fan of the Royal Family; it's also because I'm an irritable so-and-so anyway. Was there not, I asked myself, anything more important happening in the world? There was, and is: the story immediately before this piece of nonsense, informed us that Libyan civilians have been killed in a coalition air-strike. They had dedicated less than thirty seconds to that.

All of this probably makes me seem overly earnest, and perhaps naive. I accept that news programmes have to strike a balance (and I am a big fan of BBC news in general); I accept that the world isn't all doom-and-gloom (although it certainly seems like it some days); but surely, a serious news programme can do so much better than waste time on a matter that has little interest, beyond the two people immediately involved.

Overfed Liberal?

Today I visited an all-you-can-eat buffet. As I sat down with my first plate, the instore sound-system was playing 'Sowing the Seeds of Love' by Tears for Fears. It's a record that I thought was thrillingly inventive, when it was released in the late 80s. I now think it's musically fussy and ludicrously over-produced; the lyrics, meanwhile, are trite and naive. It was the lyrics that caught my attention this time. As I was about to start stuffing my face, I heard Roland Orzabal sing about "an end to need / and the politics of greed". How undiplomatic.

This set me thinking about what I was doing - eating at a restaurant chain that encourages over-consumption of 'Pan Asian' food in an affluent Western society. (By the way, I know that last link isn't strictly relevant, but I hope you appreciate my reasons for not advertising the chain in question). How many people across the continent (take note, George Bush) of Asia can't afford to feed themselves? And there I was, spending money I won't miss, feeding myself well past the point of need.

Some of you might think I need to get over myself, and start enjoying the (relatively) good life. Others will think I need to stop being a hypocrite and do something about global poverty, instead of stuffing my face. What I will actually do is continue to live the (relatively) good life, while feeling terribly guilty about it.