Augury

Thursday, December 12 2019

UK General Election

I woke at five and found myself selfish, cowardly, full of fear. I had wanted simplicity and had found it. It was no comfort. I am old, that’s inarguable. I am entering the final shortish period of my life when I shall depend more and more on the medical profession. Those stalwarts have served me well. But I can’t see this continuing.

It’s likely a proven liar will become UK’s prime minister. He has said our health services are not for sale. But he has said many things. In the wings stands another influential figure who has said that greater sales access to our health services will be a condition in any future trade negotiations. Bargains seem unlikely.

In the dark bedroom my uncertain feet seek my slippers. Perhaps I won’t need the medical profession, or, only incidentally. Perhaps my needs will be served by those with lesser skills, helping to wipe spilled food from my grubby shirt, zip up my fly, help me with my pills. Except there may not be enough of them to perform these tasks.

My children and my grandchildren may experience difficulties but I probably won’t care about them. I may not have the capacity for sympathy. A more horrible thought: perhaps I’ll have that capacity but won’t be able to express it.

In my selfishness I wanted the world to continue as it is. A late-life enthusiasm for music had me revelling in the sources of such music. But who cares about music when they’re out of work and must visit a food bank? If someone promises jobs and full bellies - even if they fib - who gives a toss about Dowland?

The selfish are rewarded in kind. Hence the fear.