I presume from the recent baffled silence that the Anglo-Saxon excursion wore a bit thin for some, though, oddly, my viewing figures do seem to have gone up -- probably desperate students looking for a quick essay fix. I wonder if any of my half-baked factoids and ironies will escape into the wild and even make it into the world's knowledge base? Hopefully not -- please do your research properly, guys, and stop scraping information out of blogs!
Anyway, normal service has been resumed, though be warned that more swords'n'sorcery fakery is in the pipeline.
I am adjusting to the idea of a ruling Conservative / Lib Dem coalition, and also to the idea of being governed by people (actually, almost entirely men) who are rather younger than me. This may take a while. Regardless of the scale of the ensuing, world-historical disappointment (and, for some, betrayal) that was New Labour, I will never forget the exhilaration of 2nd May 1997. I had to drive to a photographic workshop at Duckspool on that sunny day, and the smile never left my face.
The bemusement of the last week, I am sure, will also be memorable, but it doesn't hold any of the promise of change for the better that 1997 did. A measure of the changes since -- in the world, and in me -- is that now I find Michael Portillo a fairly sympathetic fellow, whereas then I, too, exulted in his downfall and humiliation. How many Tories are thirsting for revenge in their turn and how far the Lib Dems will be able to displace or restrain them, will probably be the story of the next few years.
That, and massive, massive cuts in public service spending, carried out with the moral authority endowed by the scale of the goverment's borrowing, and with higher education standing first in line for a spanking. After all, nobody likes a smart-arse...