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Revels and Rebels XIII

Dear Santa, I’m sat by the Christmas tree. The fairy lights twinkle, the baubles sparkle, and the clip-on-birds look really confused. The white dove is looking at me wondering where peace went, and the robin, having given up on Christmas, is taking a nose dive towards the floor. I understand the birds’ confusion. 2020 is the year where the world turned upside down and inside out. Bound at home, unable to hug friends and visit family, attempting disconnected living in a connected world. Which way is the North Star – who knows? We’re all a bit like Odysseus down here, stuck between a rock and a hard place. On one side you have the rock of reality eroded and twisted by politicians and media. The other side, the six headed monster of big Pharma trading health for profit and barking down contrary ideas to protect financial growth. One thing is for sure, Capitalism is not interested in paying the ransom for Freedom. You’ll be sad to learn that ‘Ho, ho, ho’ went out of the window mont...
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Revels and Rebels XVII

  Dear Santa, For Christmas this year, my wish is a simple one. Please send a copy of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland to the technocrats. My hope is that the story’s magical fantastical encourages them to realise that in their rabbit hole of big pharma, big food, big everything, they are nothing more than the Queen of Hearts painting the white roses red. Santa, when you ride in the sky tonight, take a moment to look around the technocrat’s rabbit hole. You’ll see fields and fields of life-making soil covered up with solar panels. I know, where are the Christmas Trees of the future going to grow? And if that wasn’t change enough, some of your favourite words, like truth and happiness, have been given new meanings. It’s probably best that you stop off at a local independent bookshop on your way and pick up a dictionary to double check those definitions. I really hope that in all this topsy-turvy you haven’t been identified as misinformation and added to the cancellation list. “S...
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Revels and Rebels XIV

Dear Santa, It's Epiphany. Twelfth Night. You're about to hang up your Christmas sack for the festive season and here I am writing to you with my last-minute request. I know, I'm as irritating as a Christmas Pudding that refuses to light no matter how much warm brandy you pour on it.  Soggy Christmas Pudding aside, there is a reason why this letter is late. I've been ruminating over what to wish for. And the thing is this - I still don't know what to wish for. My current plan, or hope, is that in writing to you I might write myself into my wish. The thing is this, since the pandemic began, I'm having trouble finding a way to live in the world. Working out what I must suffer, what I can change. How to navigate sorrow and joy. And how to live with the conflicts within whilst the noise of division and marginalisation rage all around. Sometimes, they become one of the same. Sounds confusing, right? And fuelling this confusion is the general level of fear we have to ...
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