Freedum here, Freedom there

It is really worrying to me how few people can keep two thoughts in their heads at the same time, without one obliviating the other.

Take the recent protests in Canada against the Covid mandates – and then take the Russians protesting the war in the Ukraine. These two things can happen in the same universe and it really isn’t necessary to make comparisons. Mostly because there’s little sense in doing so. But we just can’t help ourselves, can we? So you get the authoritarian left lauding the noble Russians risking jail time for demonstrating against an unpredictable and authoritarian leader while pointing a long jabbing finger at those common Canadian protestors ie. the truckers.

This tweet from George Takei sums it up.



Not sure why “convoys” is in quotation marks, but “freedum” – yeah, that’s there to show us how much smarter and better Mr. Takei is than those truckers and their rabble-rousing supporters. Oppressed people around the world fight for FREEDOM, but FREEDUM is what the workers here at home fight for; some slack-jawed inbred strain of what the Founding Fathers meant. FREEDOM makes you feel all warm and righteous inside. FREEDUM makes you look over your shoulder and check your wallet bulge.

If you keep using freedom like your personal lackey and then throw it under the nearest truck when it starts to demand a price, well, that seems like an invitation for some kind of reckoning.

Firstly, it’s very poor taste to use the situation in the Ukraine to take more potshots at the Canadian protestors. And secondly, because people somewhere are demanding a say in the direction of their country doesn’t de-legitimize people demanding a say in the direction of their country somewhere else.

Are the Russian protestors braver than the Canadian ones? Maybe. I don’t know. Is there a test for that? Does it matter? The Russians are a very brave lot, that’s for sure, and they have much to lose for their dissent. The truckers camped out in minus 20 weather for weeks. That’s pretty brave to me. The Russians can handle a nippy winter too I’ve been told. I heard several truckers say they were willing to die. Being willing to die for what you believe in is as brave as it gets, regardless of what other people think about it. I haven’t heard the Russian protestors speak but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if there were some who felt the same way. I heard their bank accounts were shut down, their assets seized and that the police have vowed to hunt down all who participated and make them suffer. Wait. No. That was Canada. See how easy it is to get confused these days?

No. Canada is not as bad as Russia. Isn’t that a good thing? And yes, we need to protect freedom and democracy BEFORE things get as bad as Russia. Because if WE DON’T, IT WILL.

And I’m not sure that Takei is a very good judge of human behaviour. He called the BLM protests ‘peaceful’ and he retweeted a post that called the Ottawa protestors ‘thuggish’. Does he know what these words mean?

No, not ALL the BLM protestors set fire to buildings. True. And no, not ONE of the Canadian protestors did.

Those who use words like “thuggish” to describe the Ottawa protestors really want to use the word “violence” but they can’t because, well, because the protest have been remarkably peaceful. As much as the legacy media hunted for smashed windows and petrol bombs, they kept bumping into people clearing sidewalks of snow and opening soup kitchens or holding hands, singing and dancing. But of course, you couldn’t report on that. Thousands, probably millions, of us saw those videos and photos on alternative media platforms For us, the legacy media reporting on what happened in Ottawa was a new low in an already gravely propagandistic time.

Takei’s tweets have the tone of much of the authoritarian left lately when discussing ordinary working people, like a character out of Downton Abbey who gets all pouty when the help gets ideas above their station. These thugs should stay in their place. How dare they imagine that my FREEDOM and their “FREEDUM” is the same thing? They need to get back to shipping me my Fair Trade RTD mochas (warp speed!) so I can get back to posting dance footage of Volodymyr Zelensky on my Twitter feed. The message from such people to the Canadian protestors (and as such to all the ‘convoy’ protestors around the world) is “Your job is the servicing of MY FREEDOMS”. So stop your honking and we’ll say no more about it.

I don’t want to be a prophet of doom, but you may want to start reconsidering your supply chains.




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The FDA is laughing at you


I was already having one of those mornings. You know, the ones you only talk about with your cat because anything else is pretty much the definition of ‘oversharing’. The kind where you see the jogger in the same turquoise tracksuit, blonde hair and pink headband running up two perpendicular streets within seconds of each other. And you have one of those ‘simulation moments’.

When I watched the kind and earnest Dr. Suneel Dhand talk about this on his Youtube channel, I thought he must be having us on. Or maybe the Food & Drug Administration had got their calendars mixed up and thought it was already April 1st.

But no, it was true. The FDA – the health agency of the United States, just recommended pizza dipped in chocolate. For real.


But no, it was true. The FDA DID recommend pizza dipped in chocolate.

Are they just laughing at us now? Those simulator editors. It’s like they ran the movie Idiocracy through the simulation just to see if we would notice.

I’m not going to insult you with explaining WHY pizza dipped in chocolate is one of the absolutely unhealthiest things you can put into your body. But I will mention that pizza and chocolate are 2 of the top 5 MOST ADDICTIVE FOODS know to humans.

Scientists Find Pizza and Chocolate Are the Two Most Addicting Foods

Well, I’m going to just go and dip my pizza in chocolate and quietly die. Because I’m guessing this is what they want. And you know, I like to follow the science.

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Hate has no home here: how lies about the Canadian protests are lighting up the truth



CLICK PHOTO TO LISTEN AS A PODCAST – Nothing Going on Here.

Like many of you, I’ve been glued to scenes of enormous numbers of trucks that have crossed the great country of Canada and together with thousands of protestors are presently camped out in the nation’s capital, Ottawa, to voice their dissent against the government’s health mandates. It’s impossible to know what numbers we’re talking about since the legacy media consistently plays them down to a ridiculous degree and the organizers are likely to exaggerate them. But at this point it’s pretty clear that whatever figures you believe, that it’s 250,000 trucks, that the convoy was 70 miles long, or a lot less than that, no one can continue to effectively frame this as a ‘fringe’ movement as the opposition keep trying to do.

Whatever happens from now on in, the truckers have already won. They have garnered far more support than their wildest dreams, raised 10 million dollars in only a few weeks on GoFundMe (putting aside the fact that the fundraising organization tried to fraudulently relocate the donations) and have catalyzed a movement that has now gone global. And things are still in flux. Even as I’m writing this, the premiers of the Canadians provinces of Saskatchewan and Alberta have both ended their vaccine mandates. Next Monday, thousands of trucks are going to converge in Brussels from all over Europe, all inspired by the Canadian truckers. As one French friend said to me over cake and coffee this morning, “Merci au Canada.”

Who has lost? To me it’s very clear that the losers here are the Canadian government – including the opposition – and the mainstream media. It has been pretty obvious for a while now that the media has acted as little more than government mouthpieces during the pandemic, but the protests in Canada have brought a sharp clarity to this realization.

The lies are acting like supercharged photographic developer, slowly but surely exposing the outlines of the truth. Trudeau and his cronies are desperately trying to stop the film from developing, or to convince you that what you’re seeing is something else entirely.

The smear campaign against the protestors carried out by Trudeau and echoed in the media has been so obviously orchestrated to foster fear and mistrust and to further divide people, that the prime minister and his Ministry of Truth media is losing the respect, not just of his own citizens but of the entire world.

Back in 2020, Justin Trudeau was hailing the Canadian truckers as heroes of the pandemic. Now, that they don’t want to follow his dictats he calls them names. He sounds like a fanatic when he does this. Racist, misogynists, fringe, people with “unacceptable views”. He claims they are coming from a place of hate and do not represent Canada. These are scornful and hateful, and they are aimed at his own people.

Canada’s public safety minister, Marco Mendicino, claimed that some of the protestors were planning on the violent overthrow of the Canadian government. Opposition party NDP leader, Jagmeet Singh, suggested that some wanted a “Canadian version of the terrorist attacks on the U.S. Capitol.” The demonstrators have also been accused of desecrating war memorials and of being anti-science.

The problem for these people is that anyone with access to the internet can see for themselves who the protestors really are. The organizers hold press conferences which are shared widely online. We can actually hear the things they actually say; the words that actually come out of their mouths, not the ones that the government tries to put in them. We can use our own judgement to assess their character. We can verify their claims with supporting media. We don’t need other people with questionable agendas telling us who these people are.

Okay, let’s take these claims one by one.

TERRORISTS AND INSURRECTIONISTS: When the Twittersphere got all bent out of reports that protestors appeared to be building wooden structure near City Hall and stockpiling propane tanks and diesel fuel the reaction was predictable in light of the media conditioning. One user tweeted: ‘Why are police allowing seditionists to stockpile potential explosive devices near city hall?’

What were the protestors ACTUALLY doing? They were building a soup kitchen. Yeah, the kind that feeds people.

ANTI-SCIENCE ANTI-VAXXERS: Actually, the vast majority of the protestors are vaccinated. If you’re going with the updated definition of an anti-vaxxer as being someone against the mandates then so be it, but let’s be clear what you mean when you use that term. As for being anti-science, well actually several countries in Europe have already dropped the Covid restrictions and many more are in the process of doing. There have been dozens of studies including one recently from St Johns Hopkins showing that lockdowns were ineffective at stopping the spread of the virus and vaccine mandates were always a political, not science-based, policy. And the protest organizers actual travel with a group of scientists who have offered to debate any government representatives. I doubt anyone will take them up on it though because debating actual science is not the same as shouting orders at people and shaming them for not complying.

And we also don’t expect that tens of thousands of people gathered in an emotive demonstration are all going to act perfectly. We understand there will always be some bad apples and idiots who don’t represent the majority. But wow, it’s hard to find even those.

RACISTS AND WHITE SUPREMACISTS: These accusations are hardly worth the time to debunk, but I’ll do it anyway because racist is such a loaded term, but oh so easy to chuck into a situation like a Molotov cocktail. Because the only thing you can really say in your defense is no I’m not a racist. The truckers have wisely let the evidence speak for itself. Yes, there WAS a swastika waved around – and that’s utterly reprehensible – there was also a Confederate flag (Confederate flag in Canada? that was a bit weird, don’t you think?). I heard the truckers intervened pronto to get the offender to remove them, but you have to wonder who this person was. Some characters on social media were in an uproar claiming this incident meant that the protest must have been organized by white supremacists. But does this mean that? There were also Nazi flags at a number of BLM protests, but in those cases the media said things like beware the white supremacists infiltering the protests. The Canadian protestors on the other hand get no such fair play. And the beautiful thing is they don’t really care.

Protestors have also been accused of DESECRATING MEMORIALS – Now it does seem unfortunately true that some protestors danced on the tomb of the unknown soldier. Which is really a stupid and ignorant thing to do. No defense there. But dancing is not desecration, unless they were really really bad dancers. The protestors were also reported to have ‘desecrated’ or ‘defaced’ a statue of beloved Canadian politician Terry Fox across from Ottawa’s Parliament Hill.

Protestors have also been accused of DESECRATING MEMORIALS. Unfortunately, it does seem true that some protestors danced on the tomb of the unknown soldier. Which is really a stupid and ignorant thing to do. No defense there. But dancing is not desecration, unless they were really really bad dancers. The protestors were also reported to have ‘desecrated’ or ‘defaced’ a statue of beloved Canadian politician Terry Fox across from Ottawa’s Parliament Hill.

Now, I didn’t know who Terry Fox was, I had to look him up. And I was happy I did because he seems like he was a very decent human being. Terry Fox was a Canadian athlete and humanitarian. In 1980, with one leg having been amputated due to cancer, he embarked on an east to west cross-Canada run to raise money and awareness for cancer research. Obviously a brilliant guy.

The Toronto Star reported that: The figure was draped with a hockey cap on its head, a Canadian flag wrapped around its neck, an upside down Canadian flag hanging from its arm and a placard reading “Mandate Freedom” wedged under another arm.

So, I read that story completely differently from the way I was supposed to read it, I guess. To me it pointed to a couple of giddy protestors, after a couple of beers perhaps, putting the Canadian flag around the shoulders of the statue of this honourable human being, BECAUSE they admired him? Because they saw him as ONE OF THEM. Someone whom they imagined, would be ON THEIR SIDE. Later the MANDATE FREEDOM sign was replaced with another HE WILL NOT DIVIDE CANADA, even more telling of the actual intent of the so-called desecrators.



I mean, if this was someone they despised – like for example how Black Lives Matter protestors saw John A. MacDonald, Canada’s first Prime Minister, regarded by them as a white supremacist for his treatment of indigenous peoples, the mandate protestors would probably have done what the BLM protestors did back in May 2020 as described by CBC Canada.

A handful of people climbed the monument, tied ropes around the statue and held up banners before unbolting it and pulling it down. The falling statue’s trajectory caused the head to fly off and bounce onto the cobblestones below.

Now THAT’S a fair description of desecrating a statue, even given that the decapitation was accidental. Not putting a hat on it and a flag around its shoulders like some drunk tourist. And the news story about the BLM protestors desecrating the John A. MacDonald statue had a really important sentence – It was not clear what affiliation, if any, those who pulled down the statue had with the march. Why couldn’t we apply the same kind of journalistic standard to the mandate protests in Canada? Why? Because there is an agenda to make sure you think of these people a certain way, and no other.

Why is the assumption always that these anomalous elements represent the body of protestors at large? Because they’re ALL supposed to be fringe. You can’t have the fringe of a fringe. The agenda to paint all of these people in a very negative light is crystal clear. But the labels just don’t stick because there is so much evidence that they are wrong. You have videos of Sikhs handing out boxes of samosas, indigenous tribespeople conducting blessing ceremonies, people of all stripes and ages joined together in unity. And isn’t THAT the real threat for the government? People strong and united instead of divided against one another.

The Canadian protestors might have been more or less abandoned by their elected representatives but have been adopted by anti-authoritarians the world over. These are the people who have borne the brunt of the pandemic measures, the frontline workers who worked the hardest and lost the most and have now said ‘enough’. Those privileged enough to have managed the last two years from their personal fiefdoms, have disconnected even more with the rest of society. They have suffered less economically but in many ways are more emotionally damaged, more fearful, more anxious, and far more conditioned to remain uncritical. As much as they might like to look down on the truckers and those who support them, they are consistently far less eloquent and intellectually adept. Their words are frontloaded with hate and fear and with that comes a lack of discernment and even a kind of grunting stupidity.

The media uses words like “toxic” and “dangerous” to describe these protestors while the protesters talk about “non-violence”, “unity”, “community” and “hope.”  They talk, in short, about all good things. They do not spew hate for hate. Videos of protestors holding hands and singing “Oh Canada!”, and clearing sidewalks of snow have circulated far and wide on social media. My favourite banner of all was HATE HAS NO HOME HERE. Think about that for a moment. What a beautiful sentiment.

But no matter what they do, they are assumed guilty of the most heinous crimes of wrong-think and wrong-doing. This leads to the most bizarre communications from on-high such as Ottawa mayor Jim Watson tweeting, “It’s disturbing when you see the protest turning into what looks like some kind of fun carnival, where they’ve got bouncy castles, and hot tubs, and saunas.”

THAT’S disturbing to him?? He must have become apoplectic when they started feeding the homeless. This is the craziness where detractors have to resort to comments like this because they can’t find any evidence of terrorism or any of the rest of it. They’re not blowing up buildings, they’re blowing up bouncy castles. Run for your lives!

It is evident that the organizers are in this for the long haul. They seem un-phased by the hate they are receiving from their government, from the media, and from certain sectors of the public. They are asking that the government sit down across a table and speak with them. They ask this very calmly and rationally. It’s so refreshingly old school. A good old fashioned sit-down dialogue to resolve human conflict. How civilized. And to be willing to sit down with a man who has does nothing but run away and demonize them – Classy.

What Trudeau does not understand, along with some of his peers across the Atlantic, is that when a government uses hate-speech against its own people for peacefully expressing disagreement with its policies, people start to ask questions like: WHO DO THESE PEOPLE THINK THEY ARE?

The legacy media in Canada, the United States and much of Europe are in lockstep with Trudeau’s misinformation campaign against the protestors which is revealing of a global agenda. In the US, especially, where the MSM is mired in the warring bi-nomic language of MAGAstan vs. WOKEistan, very little light is getting through the murk. In this worldview, you’re either a true Covidian double-mask-wearing vaccine/boosting fanatic or you’re a racist ignorant dangerous (and don’t forget selfish) science-denier. But for those who know that this is actually not reality, it is as clear as the ever-lengthening nose on Mr. Trudeau’s face, that we are being lied to on a really astonishing scale. ‘Do we tolerate these people?’ he asked referring to the protestors, but perhaps the more pressing question is how long will the people tolerate such intolerant leadership?

Not for long, it seems. We are seeing stirrings of political discontent even within Trudeau’s own party. Liberal MP Joel Lightbound (now that’s a name I can get behind) had this to say:

I saw an interview with what seemed to be a very kind grandmother who demonstrated for her grandkids. She looked and sounded nothing like a white supremacist.

Mr. Lightbound (okay I DO like saying that) makes mention of others in the party who are fed up with the divisive politics and who think the government should take a more positive approach. Now isn’t that refreshing, sane and compassionate?

These times are really pushing us all to learn, to come to our own conclusions based on the evidence before our ears and eyes and based on our own critical thinking because if these events teach us anything it’s that we can no longer trust the sources of information that we used to rely on for the truth, or at least SOME truth. And this is not just Canada. This is a global movement. You see, the Canadian protestors do not represent a ‘fringe’ – they represent a global tide that is coming in fast and is going to swallow up the fanatical, the unkind, and out of touch.

But the lies are backfiring. In fact, THE MORE THEY LIE THE MORE WE SEE THE TRUTH. We can see a lot of people who look and sound fed up with two years of mandates producing very questionable results, trying to stay warm, playing impromptu ice hockey games, with lots of camaraderie, singing and dancing – and plenty of colourful woolen hats and more Canadian flags than you can throw a moose at. (They’ve also been called ‘traitors’ which again doesn’t work because its obvious to anyone – whether you agree with them or not — that these people LOVE their country).

This movement also is very revealing of what millions of people are feeling around the world now, that they have no political representation anymore. The terms ‘left’ and ‘right’ have become  more or less meaningless as political descriptors, and are perhaps only useful to describe which hand you use to write with or directions to the post office. Political homelessness is becoming the new normal. And this could be a really good thing because it might signal the possibility of real and meaningful change.

This movement is removing the masks to reveal a mean-spirited authoritarian elitist agenda that has permeated the political class and has lost its reason and its humanity – having long ago abandoned the interests of ordinary working people it makes not bones about despising them; a political class, in this instance, that has no problem distorting the facts to ensure a continuous barrage of character assassinations, while studiously avoiding the reality of the breadth and diversity of the movement that is, by every meaningful measure, peaceful, reasonable and humane.

The truckers have already won. Why? Because the more that the government and media lies to us, the clearer we see the Truth – heading towards us all, like a convoy of gleaming silver semis down the highway of history.

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The girl in the wellington boots

Here I am again. Walking the park where the River Thouet spreads its banks like a slow morning stretch and the trees are poised with the still hidden Spring. It’s a Sunday, so there are more people around than usual. Everyone who passes is dressed in the garb of whatever has acted as their excuse for getting out in the cobweb brooming air among the hopeful notes of blackbirds, There are the runners with their curiously clean trainers and colourful headbands. The fishermen with complicated boxes of gear. The cyclists with their wasp body helmets and skintight spandex. Even the walkers need a pair of ski poles to ensure no one mistakes them for someone just out enjoying the day. Or a dog. It’s okay to be seen walking alone with a dog. But there must be more to it than a walk. At the very least you should be measuring something, a pedometer strapped to your wrist. Headbands are good. Even if you’re not running, you look as if you might have been or might break into one at any moment. And this is deemed important, I have discovered, to signal another purpose unconnected to your wildness.

I have none of those things. No headband, no ski-poles, no pedometer. Not even a dog. Don’t get me wrong, I love dogs. But I’m playing a game lately of pretending the birds are not afraid of me and watching them get all surprised and twittery when they mistake my mud-clogged boot for a log. A dog would be unlikely to play along. I’m dressed in an anorak, jeans and wellington boots. Most who pass by manage a little “hello”, except the runners hooked up to headphones, who always look straight ahead, conserving all energy, even eyeball movements. They always look the least happy. By others I am regarded with curious bewilderment. Why would a middle-aged woman be out walking alone in the park? Perhaps she’s depressed. Had a fight with her husband. Maybe she’s lost something. Her dog, perhaps. No headband, no pedometer. And Wellingtons! Who runs in Wellingtons!?

‘Wellies’ as we always called them were somewhat emblematic of my early life. There are several photos of me and my sisters (far more adventurous than I) dressed precariously out of season in thin short cotton flower print dresses, clambering up oaks, grinning down at the camera with missing teeth, skinny knees scratched and ruddy freckled cheeks. Or skipping down heather stuffed dales, blue anoraks unzipped and flapping in the wind – all in wellies. It was England, after all. We must have been cold, but I never remember that part.

I have nothing going on this Sunday morning, except an interior sense of calm. I’m listening to the robins, trying to memorize their songlist, keeping one eye out for the white herons that swoop in to pierce a bream right under the fishermen’s noses. I’m here to greet that tall elegant cedar that trails her branches on the ground like a fresh bride, to pause on the bridge and slip into momentary vertigo from staring into the waters beneath.

And then I see her. Leaning on the bridge, watching the river. Still as a heron. I’ve never seen anyone else stop on the bridge before. Closer, and I notice she’s also in jeans and wellies. Nice and muddy. Long dark hair, flowing over an anorak hood. No headband. No ski poles. No dog. We swap glances. Just long enough to exchange key intel.

I move on through my circuit down to the second bridge. Reminded – again – that I am not as alone as it sometimes appears. I think this is what this blog is. A little signal of fellow company. The blinking bottom of a fellow firefly. Yes, there are others like you. Who still see with child eyes. Who don’t need a reason to enjoy the simple and the wild. Who are not afraid to be free.

I saw her the following Sunday too. This time we exchanged words. I think I said something like, “Are you sure it’s the water that’s moving?” Instead of ignoring me or smiling patiently, she answered, “Well, it’s hard to be sure.” My kind of girl. She came for tea the following week. We are now good friends. We meet in the Venn diagram of childhood space. We talk of ghosts and dreams; recount conversations with cats and goats; exchange tips on psychic weaponry; and paint the dawning of new worlds with the colours in-between our words. Mostly, we sit at ease with one another.

It was only when I stopped trying to fit in, that I found there had always been a space for me. When we stop madly trying to adapt to a mad and maladapted world, only then can we settle into our skin. We recognize and meet our true friends when we have become true to ourselves. When we give up and let go, and allow our innate ‘oddness’ to re-claim its sanity. Because we were never actually the odd ones. The world was always a construction of replicated artifice. And now we know it.

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Episode 9 – Cracks

CLICK IMAGE or here TO PLAY

What should we make of the emerging cracks in the narrative? Some late evening thoughts from a dining room table on the European continent with a special appearance by Lenny, my really annoying cat. 

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Singing from the same memo

Looks like we have a nice ol’ sing a long going here. I’d like to see them all line dancing. Or perhaps the goose-step?

Canada apparently hasn’t got the memo yet, Biden probably got it but forgot what it said. He’s also understandably busy trying to hold the Union together. Germany, Austria, Greece and Italy still ploughing ahead with plans for forced jabs, fines and throwing hate and general schadenfreude on the unvaccinated. New Zealand quietly jumped the pack last November. Everyone’s still pissed at Jacinda for being the class pet. They say it’s hard to beat a Hawke’s Bay Braeburn.

In Australia, they’re too busy trying to get their tennis game tickets back and Northern Territories governor Michael Gunner is holding things up trying to negotiate a clause with Scott Morrison whereby he can first personally take out some unvaccinated people with his own personalized light saber. Spain said they’ll do it tomorrow. Thailand wasn’t invited to the memo party but complied anyway just to be polite. China turning into a medical tyranny version of The Handmaid’s Tale. Nothing terribly dramatic going on in India. Africa doing fine, even SA. Russia ramping up controls while eyeing up the Ukraine. Israel, now on the 4th shot, is too busy sticking needles in arms to read memos. Belgium too busy dressing up the stormtroopers for Saturday’s massive demonstration. Central and South America defo NOT in the club continuing to crack down as Omicron surges, but let’s keep a close eye….

Maybe everyone was like, “Okay, we’ll go a couple of days after the Danish story and then you guys go. If we go all at once, someone might find it suspicious.” Nods all round. (p.s. Yes, they think we’re that stupid).

The rest either aren’t in the club or will catch up soon.

The word underlined on the memo, I’m guessing, was EASES as in ‘Boris Johnson eases himself into a warm bath knowing he followed the memo to the ‘t’ and would be duly rewarded with a slice of Klaus Schwab’s homemade strudel’.

DENMARK

Denmark eases coronavirus restrictions

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/denmark-eases-coronavirus-restrictions-cases-hit-new-record-2022-01-17/

FINLAND

Finland to begin easing covid-19 restrictions

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/finland-begin-easing-covid-19-restrictions-prime-minister-says-2022-01-18/

FRANCE

France to unveil timetable for easing of covid restrictions

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/france-unveil-timetable-easing-covid-restrictions-2022-01-20/

IRELAND

Ireland expected to relax restrictions on covid-19 close contacts

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/ireland-expected-relax-restrictions-covid-19-close-contacts-2022-01-11/

THE NETHERLANDS

New Dutch government expected to ease month-long covid-19 lockdown

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/new-dutch-government-expected-ease-month-long-covid-19-lockdown-2022-01-14/

PORTUGAL

Portugal eases covid-19 rules

https://www.reuters.com/business/healthcare-pharmaceuticals/portugal-eases-covid-19-rules-infections-soar-hospitalisations-still-low-2022-01-06/

SWEDEN

Sweden scraps demands for negative covid test to enter country

https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/sweden-scraps-demand-negative-covid-test-enter-country-2022-01-18/

THAILAND

Thailand to lower covid-19 alert and ease curbs

https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/thailand-lower-covid-19-alert-ease-curbs-infections-slow-2022-01-18/

UNITED KINGDOM

Betting omicron has peaked British PM Johnson set to lift covid rules

https://www.reuters.com/world/uk/betting-omicron-has-peaked-british-pm-johnson-set-lift-covid-rules-2022-01-19/

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Breathe, the air is not too rare


Painting by Nicholas Roerich

I walked an odyssey to there
The mountains crisp sun crystal glare
High grass so sweet around my feet
The curious birds, the fox, the hare.

I came across an enormous sign
6000 metres from this line
My lungs they froze and fear arose
The air fell thin, I had no time.

I began to plan a quick descent
My courage gone, my heart was spent
I weaved and tripped and tumble skipped
My smile erased and spine all bent.

Yet before I’d stepped too far from here
A wagtail fly-glanced my right ear
I stopped dead still, and listened ’til
Its message shone all bright and clear.

Before the sign I had no care
Truth and love had laid me bare
There’s only one direction home.
Breathe, the air is not too rare.






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The immeasurable smile



It was the Winter solstice – the day with the shortest amount of light in the year. I was walking to my local supermarket. Masks are obligatory inside, but the latest mandates about mask-wearing included outside spaces in an ill-defined way. Intentionally so, it seemed. I found myself the only one not wearing one as I made my way through the parking lot. It was likely that many people had not got around to removing their mask, with all the mini-chores and gestures required to complete their shopping and load the car. But many others had probably just got into the habit of wearing them. It was also likely that many were so addled by the constant shifting of the goalposts by the government that they had become more cautionary than they needed to be. Not knowing exactly where the line was drawn, they remained well behind it. Just in case. I had listened to several dissidents in my work in human rights tell me how the authorities in authoritarian states were forever moving the line. They did it on purpose, so that the people never knew exactly where the line was, and in fear of accidentally crossing it and getting penalized, would act as if the line was closer than it really was. This is self-censorship, a well documented phenomenon of a traumatized society.

I felt a small personal duty to not step too far behind the line, in fact to move as close to it as possible and look it in the eye. I had watched from the beginning how the masks had changed us, in ways that for many were imperceptible until their interactions with their fellow human beings had become so mutated that they were practically unrecognizable. The masks had for a long time been less about public health and more about symbolism. They were no longer about a virus. They had become ritualistic symbols, public indicators of a ‘good citizen’. And this mattered more than any scientific evidence or objective truths about whether they offered any meaningful protection or not.

These innocuous items, so cheap you buy them in packs of twenty and never care if you lose one because there are always plenty more to stuff into landfills and choke up the oceans, have taken a heavy toll on us that we all can feel but rarely share. With three quarters of our faces obscured we can no longer communicate properly. We can no longer co-regulate in the way we used to, on a bus, crossing a road, in a line at the supermarket. The masks have not only hidden our smiles, they have rendered them impotent. The result is that we are smiling less. Smiles are born to be perceived, to be shared. And more – to be felt. A smile says, you exist to me, you matter. We are the same. A smile does not just communicate an acknowledgement of the other’s validity, a smile is also a receptor. Because when we smile, miraculous changes occur in our nervous systems. There is a deep neuroscience to all this that involves the longest cranial nerve, the Vagus; the flagship nerve of the parasympathetic nervous system. Unsurprisingly, the Vagus Nerve is activated by social cues of safety such as gentle eye contact (not staring) and yes, from smiling and perceiving smiles. In muffling our smiles, masks are not neutral items. They are essentially anti-human, powered by the crushing drudgery of the machine-mind. They do more than obscure our faces. They obscure our humanity.

The knock-on effect of this eclipse was disastrous. But it was disastrous in a way that few had the capacity, energy or proclivity to imagine at the time. And, after all, it was ‘just’ a mask. Yet the changes were startling. People who had before always said hello and good evening stayed silent, passing each other furtively with downcast eyes. In the Before Time, eye contact was the least we would do – a second was all it took, to establish that yes I see you and you see me. It was now so rare that people seemed startled by the gesture. The smile eclipse made it so that even the ones who had not given up could not offer a shot of Bon Courage! to their fellows, and this combined with the constant tirade of fear-mongering made even the gentlest pupil to pupil contact seem like a threat. You could see this clearly, eyeballs popping out over the washed out blue fabric, rattling like pinballs. Fear is the most transmissible variant of them all.

We had forgotten who we are. Lost touch with the ancestral parts of ourselves. We were on a conveyor belt towards the machine life, a life most had never chosen. Hundreds of thousands of years of smiles. How many? Spanning histories, geography, cultures, races. A smile is disarmament. How many conflicts has a smile prevented or diffused? A smile is an invitation. How many friendships and romances has a smile inspired? Can you draw a line from a smile to a newborn child? From a smile to an adventure? A smile is light. How many have felt seen in the darkness because of a smile? A smile is faith. How many acts of confidence and trust have been seeded with a smile? The smile is part of our social DNA and we are measurably less human for its deprivation.

Smiling was now an act of resistance. A ‘no’ to the machine. A ‘yes’ to nature. A simple elevation of the lips of the encountered other could help to calm, perhaps for just a moment, a fretful and mistrusting mind. Even though it is invisible beneath the mask, many of us continue to send the signals anyway. Beneath the mask, our smiles operate like secret agents. We squeeze it out out through our eyes – this ancient code. Just in case anyone is still looking.

There were some days, I admit that I didn’t. Couldn’t. When it felt pointless. When I too fell into the shadow of the eclipse. Those days I hid myself like everyone else. But something in me kept refusing to give in. The horn of the ancient code howling in the very cells of blood. A smile is an essential part of our social fabric. And I couldn’t let this little piece of mass-produced slave-fingered labour fabric rip it further to shreds. In this world, even a smile can be an act of Revolt.

My smile buster was lurking in my left jean pocket. Like everyone else, I had a routine. Mine was to pull it out unceremoniously at the last possible moment at the boundary of the revolving glass doors.

It was with all of this swirling through my mind that I passed a young family stocking their car with Christmas. The couple were having a bit of a tiff while the daughter, about eight years old looked on patiently. Sitting in the shopping trolley was a little boy of about three. He had a fat full moon face and curls of sandy hair around his plump cheeks. We caught each other’s eye and something extraordinary happened. He smiled.

I don’t know who started it. Had I smiled at him first? It seemed simultaneous. All I knew was that it was marvelous. His face lit up like a beacon of wonder. A smile! At me! Hooray! Yipee! I’m pretty sure my face was just the same. We were the only two around not masked up, and this somehow the light that shone between us all the more bright. As if all the hidden smiles that had had nowhere to go, no way to express themselves, had suddenly found a way through and like love-seeking missiles had all collided in this simple moment between two strangers and three generations.

My heart moved in my chest. An actual physical shift, sure as an earth tremor. And waves of warmth flowed through the area around my heart. It was both emitting and receiving this warmth at the same time. The usual subject/object distinction had dissolved. The moment couldn’t have lasted more than three seconds but I could write a whole movie script about it. When I think about that incident, it is as if it lasted for hours. It was one of the purest moments I have known. I could call it ‘love’ but that seems lazy. It was like the solution to a puzzle frowned over for centuries; two stars exchanging gases in the vastness of space; a balm for a hundred kinds of pain. I can break it down and look at it from multiple points of view, this Rubik Cube beauty. Every one of them lovely, every one of them filled with hope and meaning. Every one of them precious, fragile and heroic. That smile was his and mine and all the world’s at once.

For the rest of the day, when I thought of this boy’s smile, my heart lit up like a glowworm. I can feel it now as I write about it. For me that boy’s smile was a light in the darkness and I believe mine was the same for him.

And it was immeasurable.

In these times when our experience is being weighed solely in graphs, statistics and numbers. When mathematicians are the new overlords. When our view upon the world is being reduced to the grueling slog of endless binaries that atomize us further from the heart of things. In these times, it is the incalculable values that will keep us from losing touch with our humanity. A smile is immeasurable. And I firmly believe that it is the immeasurables that will save us.

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How to talk to your (un)vaccinated friends and family

Yikes! I have to get together with my family/friends and we DISAGREE! Here’s a few guidelines (some from bitter experience) that might help if triggering and emotional subjects are raised at family gettogethers.

1. Treat people as the complex beings they are, not just as a set of opinions.
2. Don’t assume you know other people’s motivations, thoughts and feelings. Don’t assume malice or ignorance.
3. Allow people the right to express their fears, even if they seem unfounded to you.
4. Listen, even if it seems like nonsense.
5. Be careful with your words. Slow down your speech especially if things get emotive.
6. Let go of the idea that you’re going to convince anyone of anything – don’t try to win.
7. Stay curious. Ask questions – like Why do you think that? Can you elaborate? What about…? Where did you hear/learn that? Do you think it’s possible that….?
8. Reflect what you think you understand back to the person to their satisfaction. It’s possible your got it wrong.
9. See it as a learning exercise
10. Set some boundaries – agree to avoid name calling or personal abuse.
11. Don’t make it personal, don’t make it about someone’s character.
12. Don’t get bogged down in details.
13. Know when to stop and know when not to start!
14. Try smiling when you listen and when you speak

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The ‘bad’ rat



“We just need to hold out a bit longer,” they said, “Just follow the rules, just believe without asking questions, and we’ll all get back to the world we used to know. Together” they said, “We can do it together.” They gathered around that old world like doctors in the ER. “We’re starting compressions. Ready for defib.” But I have stopped pounding on that unresponsive heart. I know a corpse when I see one. Even one that’s painted and dressed up with a hand up its back making its mouth move and make sounds, almost like words.

“We just need to hold out a bit longer,” they said, “Just follow the rules, just believe without asking questions, and we’ll all get back to the world we used to know. Together” they said, “We can do it together.” They gathered around that old world like doctors in the ER. “We’re starting compressions. Ready for defib.” But I have stopped pounding on that unresponsive heart. I know a corpse when I see one. Even one that’s painted and dressed up with a hand up its back making its mouth move and make sounds, almost like words.

Grief. That’s what it felt like. Still does, but it gets easier.

When I look back, I see the bridge – way off in the distance now – the one that used to separate the before world from this…. not a new world, not even close, a kind of….wasteland, no-man’s-land. There are no signposts here, and it’s dark as confusion you have to grope your way forward. It’s filled with a low buzzing hum that makes it hard to think straight. There’s a fog bank where the horizon should be, people stumble past me like they’re in a daze. Some of them bump into me. They’re easily startled, jumping at their own shadows. I’m not sure they can see me. Perhaps I’m a ghost.

I look back at the burning bridge that’s now collapsing into a river turned red from the fires and it’s like a knife blade in my heart.

I try to see ahead, but I can only make out a few steps in front. It’s chaos at first. I don’t know what to do here. I see some other people I recognize, but we’re all dislocated as if we’re talking to each through reinforced glass. Everything feels unstable, even the ground under my feet all all my senses are all upside down.

Gradually, I begin to see and hear more clearly. I adapt to the hum and the shrieking winds, the thin layer of blindness over everything, and the enfolding shrouds of emptiness. But the things I see sometimes make me wish I was blind or deaf.

I see with a growing horror how people have changed, mutated. They speak in slogans and platitudes. They seem afraid and dangerous at the same time. They stop saying hello, then they stop smiling. And then they don’t even look at me anymore. Eyes peeking over the edge, into the void, angry, terrified or frozen.

Only the children seem still alive. They can make eye contact with me, so I must still exist. It’s the only true life left. I want to protect it. But they’re being dragged around by the unseeing. I feel nauseas. I’m haunted by every dystopian film I’ve ever seen. Damn why did I watch so many? I tell myself to snap out of it, I consider that I might be wrong, I consider, very seriously, that I might be insane. I try to pretend that everything is normal, but it makes me feel sick to my bones. Even my marrow is in mourning.

A familiar face emerges from the haze. She talks as if nothing has changed, about her garden, something about floor tiles. I can see the bridge burning behind her head. I want to grab her by the collar and shake her and scream, “Wake up! Can’t you see what’s happened?” But instead, I say, “That’s nice.” “What’s new with you?” she says. I decide not to reply that I’m grieving for the end of the world and tell her, “Nothing much.” She seems unsatisfied. I add hurriedly, “I’m thinking about getting new floor tiles.” She nods approvingly.

I grieve in double-time – for the very space to think and say things that I truly feel. The space for others to do the same. Sometimes I try. But I get that look.  â€œJust one more sacrifice and we’ll be free again. Don’t be selfish, play your part in the experiment. It’s the only way back.”
And then their whiskers quiver in a threatening way.
“I hope you’re not a bad rat.”

I can almost hear their thickened blood gurgling.

Sometimes I can’t help myself, and I blurt out.
“But can’t you see the bridge is on fire?”
“Ahhh,” they say, but they’ve promised us a new bridge. Didn’t you hear? Follow us, we’ll show you the way.”

We reach a crossroads. One direction is lit like a shopping mall. It moves on some kind of conveyor belt. There’s all manner of things to buy and spectacles to watch along the route. Most are moving this way. They’re escorted by faceless entities that scan everyone as they pass through like products. I see some of the people pushing others off the conveyor belt into wide steel gutters either side that get washed out every hour and disappear somewhere underground. I wonder where those people go.

The other way stretches into a vast unknown but there is another light there. It’s familiar but I can’t put my finger on it. And then, I laugh because I realize it’s the sunrise. I instinctively turn towards it. There are very few who have gone this way, but they’re smiling and helping one another, and they’re walking with the power of their own legs, their own bodies.

Someone grabs me from behind.
“You’re going the wrong way!”
I recognize him as one of my neighbours. His eyes are blazing with fear. Be afraid with us, they burn into the air around them. I want to tell him that I am afraid, really afraid, but that our fears are very different.

 â€œThey say, the new world might even be better than the old,” he says as he takes is place on the conveyor belt and removes his cap to be scanned. Just be a good rat and then you’ll see.”

“But who is they. Who is running the experiment?”

I look in the direction he’s going and I can see a dark opening at the ned, like a mouth with lips sucked of all colour. It extinguishes the light in each one that passes through it. Some are smiling as they go through, but it’s not a real smile. Just a hole in the face. “I can’t go down there,” I protest. And neither should you. This can’t lead to a better world. Come this way instead.” My neighbour peers suspiciously into the vastness behind me and shakes his head. “Together,” I say, “We can go their together.”

But I’ve exhausted his attention, and the conveyor belt has taken him out of earshot anyway. I watch mesmerized until his light goes out.

I continue on alone into the vast unknown. I spend my days sometimes wrapped in nostalgia, old memories resurfacing like scenes from dusty rolls of films from the Golden Age of cinema. I watch them laughing and crying like a crazy person, revisiting the departed, making my peace with it all. How fortunate I’ve been. How grateful I am.

And then, one day. It’s over. I wake up. My chest is free of the past. I meet more bad rats. We break bread together. We share our stories. We share our grief. And it gets easier. I still see the burning bridge behind every talking head, but I’ve learned not to dwell on it. I have found a way forward now, one step at a time, and my sights are set on that far off sunrise – with a few bad and beautiful rats by my side.

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