So we get a general election in the UK at last. While this is an enormous relief, I’m bracing myself for an exhausting six weeks of slogans and shenanigans. Today’s been a tough one for various reasons. Not least because I have a weeping sore on my face that was sinister skin cells until it got blasted at close range with liquid nitrogen as a lunchtime treat, and because I’m preoccupied about the grieving loved ones of a lost cousin. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll have some energy back.
I came across this picture taken just seven years ago this week from the monorail on the Riyadh university campus where I lived and worked. It’s near the airport. An hour or two earlier I’d watched from my apartment window as Donald Trump’s jet and myriad others – including multiple, completely unmarked, white 737s that gave me the creeps – landed nearby. There was a bit of a sandstorm and I joked about all the cheeto dust everywhere. But it was no joke. Who knows how much evil was planned on that trip. The evil done since is incalculable. That the man is still walking free and able to run again for the highest office in the US is beyond my comprehension.
In the morning I hope to wake somewhat refreshed, and thinking about Wendell’s words. About us and we not me and thee. We have a long road back to what we’d built, albeit imperfectly, over centuries, on both sides of the Atlantic. But it’s not a Keep Calm and Carry On situation. We’re going to need to be warier, fiercer, and more active about demanding change than that in this weird, warped world. Let’s roll.