Today my wife and I (as the saying goes) discussed the future. We considered how her job might pan out and the stress – and risks – of commuting from Cullingworth to Manchester every day. My future came up – as did the subject of politics. We have only ourselves to look to. Our son is away an university studying what I like to call a “proper degree” – chemical engineering – with the prospect of a good career. Other than the cat and the fact we like the place, nothing ties us to Cullingworth.
There’s one other thing, of course. I am a local Councillor and the rules say that to continue in such a role not only do you have to be elected but you have to reside somewhere within spitting distance of the place you represent! Which of course brings us to the matter of quitting. Were we to move away – somewhere rather closer to Manchester, I guess – I would have to quit. To walk away from being a Councillor.
And I’ve always found quitting a difficult thing to do. Don’t take this as some kind of heroic statement – it isn’t meant that way. What I mean is that, most of the time, I don’t follow the advice to “quit while you’re ahead”. And despite all the crap, I’m definitely ahead. I can look at things in Bradford – the Impressions Gallery, a rescued Manningham Mills, the refurbished John Street Market, a new Keighley College are just a few – where I have had a significant part to play.
But is there a time to say; “enough’s enough”? To pack up your tools, put your pack on your back and walk off into the proverbial sunset. Perhaps arriving elsewhere, refreshed, renewed, rested – ready to face a new challenge, new things to do? Or maybe just to sit on the porch, jug of moonshine on the wicker table, and watch the parades go by – watch others kick, shout, agitate, campaign and scrabble. And maybe chuck in the occasional wise word!
I don’t know really – a little bit of me wants to quit tomorrow. To give up on the wasted life that is a political career. To spend time with family and friends. To watch bemused as self-seeking politicos scramble over each other to reach…to reach precisely what? Power? Preferment? Cash? Status? A gong? And in doing this to bully, do down, undermine and destroy others. Is that really the way is should be? For sure it’s the way it is.
Like people who give up blogging – is feeling no longer obliged a blessed relief? Or do they hanker still to dust off the old keyboard and rant away? For me politics was always a platform - a means to an end. And that end was to have people hear what I say, to have a chance, albeit small, to change one or two things for the better. The jobs and positions we get elected or appointed to must be about doing something or they are about nothing. Yet I look at others and see…well I see shallow people, people interested only in themselves, people who care not one jot for others and who have no sense of idea. I see the raising up of the bully and the triumph of the personal attack. There seems precious little thinking, consideration or ideal in the current General Election campaign. And that is sad - maybe I just never noticed before?
So maybe I shall quit. Maybe not. And if not, it will be because if I do quit the bastards will have won.
There’s one other thing, of course. I am a local Councillor and the rules say that to continue in such a role not only do you have to be elected but you have to reside somewhere within spitting distance of the place you represent! Which of course brings us to the matter of quitting. Were we to move away – somewhere rather closer to Manchester, I guess – I would have to quit. To walk away from being a Councillor.
And I’ve always found quitting a difficult thing to do. Don’t take this as some kind of heroic statement – it isn’t meant that way. What I mean is that, most of the time, I don’t follow the advice to “quit while you’re ahead”. And despite all the crap, I’m definitely ahead. I can look at things in Bradford – the Impressions Gallery, a rescued Manningham Mills, the refurbished John Street Market, a new Keighley College are just a few – where I have had a significant part to play.
But is there a time to say; “enough’s enough”? To pack up your tools, put your pack on your back and walk off into the proverbial sunset. Perhaps arriving elsewhere, refreshed, renewed, rested – ready to face a new challenge, new things to do? Or maybe just to sit on the porch, jug of moonshine on the wicker table, and watch the parades go by – watch others kick, shout, agitate, campaign and scrabble. And maybe chuck in the occasional wise word!
I don’t know really – a little bit of me wants to quit tomorrow. To give up on the wasted life that is a political career. To spend time with family and friends. To watch bemused as self-seeking politicos scramble over each other to reach…to reach precisely what? Power? Preferment? Cash? Status? A gong? And in doing this to bully, do down, undermine and destroy others. Is that really the way is should be? For sure it’s the way it is.
Like people who give up blogging – is feeling no longer obliged a blessed relief? Or do they hanker still to dust off the old keyboard and rant away? For me politics was always a platform - a means to an end. And that end was to have people hear what I say, to have a chance, albeit small, to change one or two things for the better. The jobs and positions we get elected or appointed to must be about doing something or they are about nothing. Yet I look at others and see…well I see shallow people, people interested only in themselves, people who care not one jot for others and who have no sense of idea. I see the raising up of the bully and the triumph of the personal attack. There seems precious little thinking, consideration or ideal in the current General Election campaign. And that is sad - maybe I just never noticed before?
So maybe I shall quit. Maybe not. And if not, it will be because if I do quit the bastards will have won.
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3 comments:
Move to one of the Saddleworth villages? Uppermill, Delph, Dobcross? Beautiful countryside, good motorway access to Manchester and M1, M62, M6 - and, of course, only a mile from Yorkshire. There are some lovely houses around there, full of character. When the itch to move arrives it never quite goes away until it's scratched, as it were.
It's a relief, now that you ask. :)
Er, Pam... Uppermill, Delph and Dobcross are in Yorkshire as far as I'm concerned, being a Yorkshireman who recognises the historical county boundaries rather than those knocked up by Ted Heath's biro in the early '70s!
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