The last three weeks have been a struggle. The events in the Middle East have been horrific in their scale and scope. These are events of global significance, and if we didn’t know it then, we certainly do now as prices go up, mortgages are withdrawn, and an uncertainty about ‘things’ starts to take hold. I have skin in the game; my brother is a serving RSM with the ADF Special Forces who was deployed to the Gulf on other business when the US and Israel started things in earnest. He’s fine so far, thanks for asking.
As this unfolds and the ripples reach the wider world, I’m getting a gnawing muscle memory that I don’t like at all. Covid. At the start of 2020, before I was prompted by the crisis to write the first of these articles, I spent hours watching the news and reading the press. This thing, far away, was going to have an impact, and by that March, we were of course in it, and we’re still reeling from the effects of it socially, politically, and economically. And this crisis feels the same, something far away, inevitably and inexorably coming towards us.
Of course, it is fundamentally different; this is caused by a toxic combination of megalomania, regional belligerence, and xenophobia (amongst other things), but the uncertainty generated and the real-world consequences feel the same. Thailand is closing schools and going to a four-day week. India is considering the same. Indonesia and the Philippines are introducing power-saving measures that will affect whole populations. And again, I found myself watching news feeds and consuming information to try to get a handle on what I should be doing to minimise the impact on our lives.
I remember 1973 and power cuts. The nights were long and dark, and candles in short supply. As a child, it was exciting-ish. So now I’m lying awake at night wondering what happens to data centres during a power cut. Is the data lost? What happens to my bank account now that there are no ledgers with the scratchy writing in ink? Mad, I know, but such is the sense of helplessness in the face of global events that you do go slightly bonkers.
So, after filling the car up and checking the solar panels are clean and working, stocking the cupboards with food staples, and making sure we’ve got lots of dog food, I’ve decided I can do no more than reduce my intake of news. I have decided to limit myself to half an hour a day and a newspaper at weekends. We all are hapless bystanders, standing in the shallows, waiting for the waves that we know will get bigger. Let’s hope the tide goes out before they get too high.
What is my news intake, you ask? It’s the podcast The News Agents. An informed conversation between three excellent journalists who use the correct language to describe things when it is appropriate, as demonstrated last week when Trump was described as seeming to be “fucking deranged” – can’t argue with that!
This weekend sees one of the occasional Sounds from Beyond the Shed live events, this time featuring Pete Bruntnell and My Girl The River, so it seems appropriate to have some of them. The radio show features new stuff from Maisy Owen, Odd Marshall, Danny George Wilson, Alela Diane and much more.
