On Protest

I'm not sure you'll remember my post about possibly becoming more politically-minded. Well, I did mean what I said, and as such I've been devoting no small amount of time to my political education. It hasn't been easy - I'm still trying to suppress the rage that seems to form as soon as I open a newspaper for long enough to enable the formation of an intelligent, considered and balanced opinion of current affairs. This intelligence, careful consideration and balance went right out of the window on the day of the student protests. The more I read, the more I saw; the more I became a monster. Twitter and news websites combined forces to work me into a righteous anger I've seldom felt before. And so, after work, I trotted down to Trafalgar Square for a look.

When I arrived there were very few people about. A few tourists were taking photos. A group of old ladies wearing sashes bearing the name of a children's charity were taking their positions for an evening of carol singing. It was all...lovely. I thought I'd missed the show, and was about to head back to the station when I saw it, in the distance. A huge crowd moving its way slowly up Whitehall. The chants grew louder. The writing on the placards grew clearer. The hoard of Britain's 'Feedom Fighters' grew closer and closer.

Then, all of a sudden, they were everywhere. Traffic cones flew through the air into the fountains, metal barriers crashed to the floor, the carol singers fled. A silent line of riot police stood unmoving on the steps of the National Gallery. And then a horrible thing happened. They started to pull the lights from the Christmas Tree. I looked on, AGHAST. I could hardly watch - but luckily the lights held their own. They are evidently very well secured. So the masked youths (how old does that make me sound?) tried a different tactic; they started a fire, and threw burning objects into the Christmas tree's branches. At this point I was beside myself and my Christmas Spirit lay crushed, on the floor, like a broken fairy light. In a daze, I turned my back and made my way home. I am so very far from hardcore.

However, apart from the attempted destruction of the Christmas tree (which survived mostly unharmed, by the way!) I'm all for the student protests - I back them, completely. I think. But it has to be one of the oddest moments of my life. The next day, any column inches the papers hadn't devoted to Charles & Camilla, told of the dangerous anarchist groups that managed to infiltrate the students' peaceful protest. I'm sure that's true to an extent - but I think part of the reason it spiralled so spectacularly out-of-control is that for the first time in ages, it's the young who are angry. Most of the protesters I saw were so bloody young. I applaud their engagement, but with all those hormones flying around and so few responsible adults, it was only a matter of time before things got messy. It's probably a sign of my age that my main reaction to what I saw was 'WHERE ARE YOUR PARENTS?!'

But, in a way, that's the point - isn't it? Who should they look up to? How else can they really make themselves heard? Who can they trust to keep their best interests at heart? The politicians they voted for lied to them in a way that's far more obvious than is usually acceptable. Graduates and people already in employment turn away, glad that they were lucky enough to sail the sea of Higher Education in calmer, happier climes. Many this new legislation will affect are still not old enough to vote - silent victims of a government they didn't vote for. It's no wonder they lashed out - it's no wonder they feel abandoned, frustrated and angry.

And part of me thinks it's just the beginning. As high street shops are forced to close their doors on the busiest Saturday of the year by people disgusted by legal tax evasion, I can't help but think there's something different in the air. A winter of discontent it may be - but the past couple haven't exactly been joyous. It's almost as if somebody has woken a monster, it's yawning and grumbling and stretching for the first time after a long hibernation. British people are, perhaps, learning from their continental cousins. Or perhaps they are just rediscovering a forgotten art that fell by the wayside in the boom years. Where's the stiff upper lip? Where's 'Keep Calm and Carry On'? I think maybe they've been left behind, for now. Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Time will tell, I suppose. In the meantime, though, it's refreshing to see someone standing up for themselves.

On Political Apathy

A Political Pile-up

Firstly, I promise I will never write about politics ever again - it's not something I fully understand but humour me, just this once...

I'm going to admit something. Something I'm ashamed of. I've never voted, despite being eligible for nearly ten years. Elections - general, local and European - have passed by without me batting an eyelid.

I think this is partly because I've never taken the time to read about politics, or to really think about it for that matter, and assumed that no vote is better than a misinformed one. Had I familiarised myself with the parties and their arguments, I may have been able to motivate myself to vote. In truth, I suppose it was laziness.

My laziness was caused, in part, by a belief that one single vote can't really make a difference. When the press and media are throwing their weight behind the various candidates, flinging sleaze and scandal at one another like a giant political food fight, who's going to hear me over that? That's who the political parties want on side - I'm just a drop in the ocean compared to that.

I have also read (another) very interesting article today which mentions a group of politically engaged women, actively and successfully campaigning against the slave trade in the 1830s, who had little interest in acquiring the vote for themselves. "They took it for granted that politics was a game played by prosperous men for their own interests". I cannot stress how relevant I think this is today. I think this is the principal cause of my political apathy. I've considered politicians a class unto themselves - they've recently demonstrated how ridiculously out of touch they are with the rest of the population, and how fantastically good they are looking after themselves. In my opinion, it's not surprising that so many people feel completely detached from politics, as insular and behind-closed-doors as the British system is. It's like walking past a party you're not invited to - you can see people having fun, but you can't join in.

However, this isn't a rant about the system - this time round I actually feel slightly optimistic. I do plan to vote this year, and I do sense things changing. Perhaps I'm being naive. Perhaps this is what most people feel when they turn 18 and vote for the first time, but for the first time in my life I find myself interested in politics. It's taken a recession, the expenses scandal and a cloud of volcanic ash but the political animal inside me has finally woken up. I don't believe I'll make a difference, but I'm going to give it a shot - at least then I'll have a right to moan, even if it doesn't go my way.

On Eyjafjallajokull

Image taken 17th April 2010 at Putney Bridge

And so it continues. The invisible cloud of ash from Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajokull is still hovering menancingly over the British Isles and most of northern Europe. Along with the upcoming general election, this is what more or less dominates UK news at the moment.

A colleague received an email from a supplier in the far east on Friday, urging her to 'pay extra attention when driving through the ash.' Of course we explained that it wasn't quite Dante's Peak in King's Cross, but I can see why she'd think it was, the amount we've gone on about it [myself included]. Perhaps this is due to our lack of volcanoes and fault lines, coupled with the obvious fact that there's only so often that drizzle can be newsworthy, that we've seized this opportunity to be dramatic. The vast majority of Eyjafjallajokull's column inches are dedicated to the thousands of stranded travellers dotted across the globe - something that for them is obviously incredibly inconvenient, and in some cases maybe even financially crippling - but the Ash Cloud of Doom has not stopped there.

Hundreds of people in Iceland were evacuated from their homes. Airlines may be forced to make people redundant should they be grounded much longer. The lack of air travel has meant flower exporters in Kenya are losing obscene amounts of money. This is what really got me. This is what I would never have considered; the fact that a volcano way up in northern Europe can effect the business dealings of someone in Kenya is...well...it's a bit mental.

It's crazy how the world exists day-to-day on such tight deadlines - how a few days without aeroplanes can have such a huge ripple effect. Another example: According to this ever so interesting article, in 1783 another Icelandic volcano erupted. The clouds of ash and dust were so thick that crops failed throughout northern Europe. This poor harvest was one of the catalysts of the French revolution! Crazy shit. That volcano changed the world. All of this is so weird if you think about it. All of it. The whole business has made the world seem so much smaller to me. I know that if I wanted to go on holiday tomorrow it would take me a bloody long time, but it's the exposure of the delicate supply chains and the speed at which things unravel as soon as one link is broken that makes everything seem less far away. It's like dominoes on a global scale. I'm probably making no sense; if anything I should feel more isolated, but I don't think I've ever felt more connected to the rest of the world.

On Apocalypse, When?

At 6:30 this morning my alarm went off. At 06:40 it did it again. And 06:50. In fact, this continued at ten minute intervals until 8:00, at which point I'm normally well on my way to work. Not today however, with the snow once again plunging the UK into chaos I thought I'd take advantage and sneak a lie-in, which I'd then blame on appalling public transport when I got in late. How wrong I was - my train and tube were bang on time, which rendered my excuse somewhat transparent, but at least I had a bit more shuteye than usual. So at 8:00 I drag myself out of bed, and at 08:48 I'm on the train. I bagged a seat next to a woman reading the Sun and, although I hate it when people do this to me I couldn't help myself, I read the headline over her shoulder.

Now, I am not a lover of the tabloid press. I don't have a huge problem with it - it meets a demand - but I don't read it. But this article took the biscuit and, I'll be honest, scared the living shit out of me and ruined my journey:

THE OFFENDING ARTICLE

The headline read: THE DEATH STAR. It was an article on the discovery that a nearby star named T Pyxidis, apparently, is on the verge of explosion. Once the bugger blows, we'll all be toast. As subtlely as possible, I manage to read the whole article over the poor commuter's shoulder, barely containing gasps of fear. My heart raced. I looked around, wondering why mass hysteria hadn't broken out. The Mayans were right - maybe 2012 is going to be our last. A quote from a scientist helpfully point out that the star could explode soon but could also not was hardly reassuring, especially when followed with "Let's hope there's still time for England's very own stars to put in a stella (sic) performance at this summer's World Cup in South Africa", which would suggest Armageddon is right around the corner.

My shaking hands reached for my trusty I-Phone (jog on Google, you'll never convert me) and I frantically searched the Guardian application for news. Nothing on the front page, or in the list of most read articles. Nothing in Science. Or Science - Space. Nothing. HOW CAN THEY MISS THIS? THIS IS HUGE?

The train pulled into Fenchurch Street and I made my way to the tube. I bumped into Hambo who accompanied me as far as her stop, at which point a threw aside the mask of calm I'd acquired and gave myself over to panic again. I got into work and immediately turned to Google the Omniscient for answers. "Tell me Google, tell me what's going on!" And, true to form, Google put my trouble mind at rest.

Universetoday.com sounded like a good one to start with. I bet they know what they're talking about. Right, give it to me straight. "There remains some doubt as to whether T Pyxidis will go supernova at all." Some doubt. Ok, I feel a bit better, but not much. It's still a bit vague for my liking.

Next up, Scientificamerican.com. Who knows more about space than the Americans, except maybe for the Russians, and Martians. And Sigourney Weaver. ANYWAY, I found what I'd be looking for:

"It sounds scary stuff. And the astronomers' news release suggest it will happen "soon". But I contacted the lead researcher, Dr Ed Sion, and he told me: "At the accretion rate we derived, the white dwarf in T Pyxidis will reach the Chandrasekhar Limit in ten million years. I hope this alleviates any worry by readers."

THANK YOU DR ED SION! I double checked with a few more brainy sounding websites, and my fears were put to bed. It may be a million years, or ten million years - but it's not going to stop us winning the World Cup (we won't need any extraterrestrial help to lose) or happen any time soon..

My initial relief gave way to a surge of rage. TEN MILLION YEARS. So how is this newsworthy? Study it, write it down for future generations, keep an eye on the bloody thing - but why scare the crap out of people for no reason? It's not even a slow news week, is it? Even if it is, I'm sure there's something a little more recent or approaching in the nearer future that could be reported?

It was, by this time, 11:00 and I'd achieved sod all. 'Twas high time to do some work, and put my worries behind me.

Then I noticed another article...this one right here...but didn't they all die in Deep Impact? Here we go again...