You’d have thought that the political landscape couldn’t get more worrying or more bizarre, but in the last week it’s felt that this is the moment when our mouths are frozen open in a silent scream of noooooooo before the true scope of the horror is unleashed in tornado of biblical proportions.
Matthew Parris, the political commentator and former MP, just spoke on Channel 4 news about Brexit, saying if people voted that pigs might fly, and the politicians can’t get the pigs to fly, the politicians are in an impossible place.
In London we have cameras on every corner. It doesn’t take much imagination to understand what that info would mean to a malign administration intent on a Farage inspired future. people watch The Hand Maid’s Tale and are gripped, but still see it as fiction, yet when I read the novel in 1989 what scared me was how plausible the events described are.Even before the Internet, when I was watching and speaking out about the gradual erosion of our human rights under Margaret Thatcher, I was aware that if a more extreme bunch came into power my membership of Amnesty International, my signature on various petitions, could mean the end of me. All the more easy now if events come to their logical conclusion. We seem curiously unable to wake people up to the dangers of Trump, of Brexit, of people in India losing their citizenship.
But we can’t exist on a diet of gloom and pessimism, so here are some pictures from my little sojourn at das Boot last week. Some are of MasterB, who has not had the happiest day. He was under anaesthetic, having his teeth x-rayed, one removed, one had the tip cut off. A line of fur has been shaved from his neck, it’s not a great look. But here he is at das Boot. Most of the pictures took were when I was trying to tempt MasterB out for an evening stroll. I wasn’t entirely successful.
Not that he wasn’t interested in what was going on.
And he seemed to appreciate the break from the Smoke.
This is my favourite.
The marina is surrounded by farmland, and some wild flowers flourish too.
I was tempted to salute my trusty mop each morning, seen here drying after yet another go at the boat’s exterior.
The evenings are still long and it doesn’t get dark until late. I love the way as the sun slowly sets it pools the landscape and everything in it with golden light.