A short while back, eBay belatedly sent me an email to tell me that they would be taking £7.99 in fees - their percentage cut of the £80 I got when selling those earbuds one month previously. Now their creature PayPal has told me it's gone.
I'd forgotten that this would be due. It feels like the proverbial sting in the tail!
Of course, it's all there in eBay's T&Cs. There's nothing to complain about. Well, one might object to how much they want, but in principle it's fair enough for them to charge something for enabling one to sell something online, getting national exposure, clear-cut rules of engagement that both seller and buyer must adhere to, and the benefit of their well-established reputation as (more-or-less, at least in conjunction with PayPal) a trusted global financial player.
Even so...
This is how it has actually come out for me.
7th August 2019: I purchase the RHA TrueConnect bluetooth earbuds from John Lewis for £150.
29th September 2019: After some deliberation, I place the earbuds on eBay at a starting price of £25.
6th October 2019: The closing best bid in the eBay auction is £80.
6th October 2019: An immediate fee of £2.62 is deducted from the buyer's payment, held by PayPal.
6th October 2019: PayPal say that eBay have put a hold on the balance of £77.38.
7th October 2019: I post the earbuds (carefully packaged) to the buyer, using Royal Mail Next Day Special Delivery, at a cost of £7.40.
13th October 2019: Tired of waiting for eBay's hold to be lifted, I contact them and they agree to release the £77.38.
14th October 2019: I transfer the £77.38 from PayPal into my bank account.
15th November 2019: Notice given, eBay takes a further fee of £7.99.
So the £80 I got from the buyer has by degrees been whittled down to only £61.99. That's only 77% - three-quarters - of what I sold my earbuds for. And I had to wait a bit to have my money.
Two things here. One: I could have saved £5 or so by not opting for Next Day postage. But it seemed good policy. I was an infrequent user of eBay, with no recent history, and paying for Next Day postage would be a strong indication that I was a serious and reliable seller. Two: if I had been a frequent user of eBay, with a good history and a strong rating, I would have got my money at once and not have to wait for it.
Well, the episode is over and I can weigh it up. Considering the effort involved, and the big bite taken out of the selling price, was it worth the hassle?
I suppose I have to say yes, it was. After all, I am £62 richer, and the earbuds have gone to a better home. And without eBay, how else could I hope to attract a multitude of potential buyers from all over the country? In the old days, it would be a local newspaper ad and hoping for the best. Online is a whole lot better than that.
Ebay is not the only show in town. Apparently, if you have fashion items to sell, then specialised sites like Depop are a very good option. So, for example, if I ever wanted to sell my glitzy black Prada handbag, which cost me £910 in March 2009, and still looks great, then Depop might just be the ticket. Not that I'd ever want to sell that bag: there's an important bit of my personal history bound up in it. It's the most outrageous purchase I ever made - a luxury item I would never buy now - but it was bought for a purpose, to suit a stage in my life, and I know I'd regret parting with it.
Particularly if I had to pay a thumping fee for turning it into cash.
Sunday, 17 November 2019
Tuesday, 12 November 2019
In prison again
Yes, for a short while last month I was back inside HMP The Verne on the Isle of Portland. My incorrigible recidivistic tendencies got the better of me - I indulged myself and paid the price!
But surely I'm not actually a jailbird?
No, I'm not! But it really was my second visit to The Verne prison. The first was described in my post Portland - and nearly clapped in irons! on 17th May 2015. This time the outcome was benign.
I was on a day trip eastwards from Lyme Regis, and I'd decided that I would sample some prison fare for lunch. Inside the prison is a café that the public can use, called the Jailhouse Café. Subject to the presence of supervisors, it is staffed by trusted prisoners who are learning catering skills as part of their personal rehabilitation process. So the chef - or sous-chef anyway - and the waiters will mostly be actual prisoners. I first heard about the place on the radio a few years ago - I think it was on You and Yours, BBC Radio 4's midday consumer programme - and had promised myself that one day I would give it a go.
Well now I have. And I'd say that it's well worth visiting. It's 'different'. And it sits on the highest point of Portland, with a stunning view over Portland Harbour.
I'd got over the awkward experience I had on my first trip to The Verne. Even so, the entrance gateway to the old fortress - reached by a zig-zag climb up a steep hillside - was as intimidating as the last time.
As you can see, it's controlled by traffic lights. Once through, you drive upwards towards the real entrance to the prison - the secure one, staffed by warders with attitude. This time nobody came out to tell me that I'd contravened prison regulations. I drove on unmolested to a public car park overshadowed by abandoned stone buildings in poor repair. I wondered why they hadn't been knocked down. There were signs of modernity too, but overall the scene wasn't exactly welcoming. The car park was clearly intended for visitors, but it had an odd feel - probably because it was, after all, inside the prison grounds. Perhaps one was being watched by security cameras. Perhaps a squad of specially-trained anti-riot officers were hidden somewhere, ready to pounce if one did something suspicious.
Undaunted, I decided to carry on, and see what the Jailhouse Café was like. It all looked a bit grey and institutional on the outside, as if this was where the prison officers got their no-frills canteen lunch.
But surely I'm not actually a jailbird?
No, I'm not! But it really was my second visit to The Verne prison. The first was described in my post Portland - and nearly clapped in irons! on 17th May 2015. This time the outcome was benign.
I was on a day trip eastwards from Lyme Regis, and I'd decided that I would sample some prison fare for lunch. Inside the prison is a café that the public can use, called the Jailhouse Café. Subject to the presence of supervisors, it is staffed by trusted prisoners who are learning catering skills as part of their personal rehabilitation process. So the chef - or sous-chef anyway - and the waiters will mostly be actual prisoners. I first heard about the place on the radio a few years ago - I think it was on You and Yours, BBC Radio 4's midday consumer programme - and had promised myself that one day I would give it a go.
Well now I have. And I'd say that it's well worth visiting. It's 'different'. And it sits on the highest point of Portland, with a stunning view over Portland Harbour.
I'd got over the awkward experience I had on my first trip to The Verne. Even so, the entrance gateway to the old fortress - reached by a zig-zag climb up a steep hillside - was as intimidating as the last time.
As you can see, it's controlled by traffic lights. Once through, you drive upwards towards the real entrance to the prison - the secure one, staffed by warders with attitude. This time nobody came out to tell me that I'd contravened prison regulations. I drove on unmolested to a public car park overshadowed by abandoned stone buildings in poor repair. I wondered why they hadn't been knocked down. There were signs of modernity too, but overall the scene wasn't exactly welcoming. The car park was clearly intended for visitors, but it had an odd feel - probably because it was, after all, inside the prison grounds. Perhaps one was being watched by security cameras. Perhaps a squad of specially-trained anti-riot officers were hidden somewhere, ready to pounce if one did something suspicious.
Undaunted, I decided to carry on, and see what the Jailhouse Café was like. It all looked a bit grey and institutional on the outside, as if this was where the prison officers got their no-frills canteen lunch.
You can see where they got the logo from! Compare that sign with my first photo.
The actual entrance was round the corner on the hidden side of the building, and seemed much more inviting.
Inside was a dog-friendly welcome, and a mini-exhibition that told you all about the Café (and its counterpart at Guys Marsh near Shaftesbury) and what the charity behind it was trying to achieve.
This notice struck a cautionary note.
Presumably they mean that when there is trouble among the prisoners - as there must occasionally be, even in a Category C prison - they are locked in their cells 24/7 and can't do their usual stint in the Café. And obviously, if they have all absconded, the same applies.
Well, what about the Café? Turning the corner, a large, bright eating area opened out, painted white, with colourful things on the walls, and a display of enticing gifts for sale on one wall. The tables and chairs might have been at home in the average prison canteen, but overall it was very pleasant. One side was all windows. This looked out onto a rear lawn, which I discovered later had that superb view of Portland Harbour.
The routine was that you found a table, studied the menu, then placed your order. A pleasant lady named Andrea explained this to me, and came over to find out what I wanted, which, being hungry, was one of their cooked breakfasts, served up till noon. Unfortunately it was by then just past noon, but my disappointment made her ask the chef if I could have a special made-just-for-me breakfast. The answer was yes, so they are certainly obliging. It may have helped that there weren't too many customers just then - though the place soon filled up. Clearly the Café was quite popular, despite its convoluted approach by road, and its prison surroundings. And so far as I could see, most of the customers looked like tourists, here like me out of curiosity, and not people visiting sons and husbands detained at Her Majesty's pleasure.
A quiet, middle-aged man brought me a plate amply covered with well-cooked items, and I tucked in.
Well, there was nothing extra-special about the ingredients, but my late breakfast was tasty and satisfying, and the tea very good. I'd come back for more on another occasion.
I wondered about the chap who had served me. Was he a prisoner? Very probably. But Andrea herself, taking orders and handling customer payments, must be a civilian employee. Sat on a nearby table were two young men. They were drinking coffee and talking quietly. There was something about them - their slightly furtive manner perhaps, their watchful eyes maybe - that made me think they too were prisoners. Hmm. I'd felt good vibes from the middle-aged man, but not from these two wide boys. I couldn't see them living honest lives on release.
Meal over, I had a look at the merchandise on display. It was an attractive collection at reasonable prices. I chose three jute bags in bright colours as gifts for my girl friends once home again.
Settling up at the till, I told Andrea that I had enjoyed the meal, and indeed the whole experience, and would doubtless come again when next on Portland. And I meant it. Then I wandered out to the rear lawn, where a loud noise was drawing a small crowd of onlookers. The noise came from two helicopters taking turns at practice-manoeuvres over a ship anchored out in the Harbour. Odd-looking helicopters they were: shaped like a conventional plane, but with a swivelling rotor at each wing tip.
I understand now that these were V-22 Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft, chiefly used by the Americans. In the lower picture, one of them is hovering over the ship. You can see how much the sea is churned up by the fierce downdraught - I wouldn't like to be directly under one!
As I drove away, I saw one or two prison officers coming up from the main part of the prison. Were they after a meal - or had those two young men been absent for too long? It must be very trying to be subject to oppressive regulations, never free to do exactly as you please. Liberty is not to be taken for granted. And not just in a prison context.
Monday, 11 November 2019
I'm going to claim my free Bus Pass
It's uncommon for me to use public transport, and if I have to I prefer to go by train. Ever since my State Pension began in 2014, I've chosen a free Senior Railcard each year, rather than a free Bus Pass. My local District Council has offered that choice.
No longer. They have sent me a letter explaining that, because they need to make economies, they intend to withdraw the free Senior Railcard. The free Bus Pass remains available.
Damn. I do actually use that railcard, often when I want to ride into a city where parking is difficult and expensive. I used it recently, for example, to ride into the centre of Exeter, from Topsham. And back in April, if I hadn't changed my plans, I would have taken the train from Huntly or Insch into Aberdeen. More locally, I use it now and then to go into Brighton.
Well, if the Mid Sussex DC won't fund it any more, I'll just have to bite the bullet and pay the normal fee for a twelve-month Senior Railcard, which is £30. That won't break the bank, but it's an unwelcome new expense.
And I'll finally swallow my pride and apply for an Older Persons Bus Pass, and join the merry throng of white-haired old biddies and codgers who ride the buses for something to do. They needn't expect me to drop off at the bingo hall with them.
I suppose I could get a project going, to ride (for instance) every Brighton & Hove bus route from one end to the other - but do it scientifically, to take in every stop. Like people who try to visit every London Underground station. I might as well get something from it, some kind of slow-burning amusement.
Personally, I think rigor mortis will set in after an hour. Buses are so slow. It'll be boring. And there could be a hundred ways in which the behaviour or demeanour of the other passengers will appal me.
There is of course an initial problem. I have to walk a mile to catch a bus that can take me into Brighton in the first place. Why would I do that, when Fiona awaits on my drive, champing at the bit? A big, powerful car is the clear and obvious mode of transport for a country girl. I'm hardly going to forsake my personal chariot for anything else, save a fast train.
So getting a Bus Pass will be a symbolic act only. I will have something that my pensionable age entitles me to. But I'm unlikely to use it. And I won't be claiming solidarity with older geriatrics.
No longer. They have sent me a letter explaining that, because they need to make economies, they intend to withdraw the free Senior Railcard. The free Bus Pass remains available.
Damn. I do actually use that railcard, often when I want to ride into a city where parking is difficult and expensive. I used it recently, for example, to ride into the centre of Exeter, from Topsham. And back in April, if I hadn't changed my plans, I would have taken the train from Huntly or Insch into Aberdeen. More locally, I use it now and then to go into Brighton.
Well, if the Mid Sussex DC won't fund it any more, I'll just have to bite the bullet and pay the normal fee for a twelve-month Senior Railcard, which is £30. That won't break the bank, but it's an unwelcome new expense.
And I'll finally swallow my pride and apply for an Older Persons Bus Pass, and join the merry throng of white-haired old biddies and codgers who ride the buses for something to do. They needn't expect me to drop off at the bingo hall with them.
I suppose I could get a project going, to ride (for instance) every Brighton & Hove bus route from one end to the other - but do it scientifically, to take in every stop. Like people who try to visit every London Underground station. I might as well get something from it, some kind of slow-burning amusement.
Personally, I think rigor mortis will set in after an hour. Buses are so slow. It'll be boring. And there could be a hundred ways in which the behaviour or demeanour of the other passengers will appal me.
There is of course an initial problem. I have to walk a mile to catch a bus that can take me into Brighton in the first place. Why would I do that, when Fiona awaits on my drive, champing at the bit? A big, powerful car is the clear and obvious mode of transport for a country girl. I'm hardly going to forsake my personal chariot for anything else, save a fast train.
So getting a Bus Pass will be a symbolic act only. I will have something that my pensionable age entitles me to. But I'm unlikely to use it. And I won't be claiming solidarity with older geriatrics.
Another PPI claim bites the dust
At one point earlier this year I had three PPI claims in hand: two of my own, and one as executrix for my Dad. I abandoned Dad's quite quickly, because it was clear I could get nowhere with the bank (Santander, in succession to Girobank) without more documentary evidence than I had.
That left my own two PPI claims, one to RBS (for NatWest) and one to Santander (for Girobank). Both were about a protection policy forced on me when getting a mortgage. After several months, I pushed both claims, still unresolved, into the Financial Ombudsman's hands. That was in July.
Now, in the last couple of days, the FO has been in touch about the NatWest claim. It's not good news. Basically I fall foul of a time-limit technicality - not complaining soon enough after first feeling aggrieved - and even if there were exceptional circumstances applying which would let the FO ignore that hurdle, there isn't enough documentary evidence to make a judgement one way or the other. Assertions and unsupported arguments don't count; and they don't give anyone the benefit of the doubt by default.
I have until 18th November - a week from now - to produce new evidence or make fresh representations. But you know what? I think this is the moment when I free myself from this unproductive, dispiriting process and get on with my life. So I'm going to file that claim away and forget I ever made it. The FO's email says I can bow out by merely not responding further. That's what I'll do.
My claim to Santander (for Girobank) remains in contention. But as there is no important difference between this claim and the NatWest one, the FO's view should be the same. In which case I must now expect an email from the FO about the Santander claim, explaining matters in much the same words, and with the same conclusion - that I am tripped up by a technicality, and by lack of evidence. And I shall let that one go too.
Perhaps I should have decided at the very start, back in January, that unless the banks' mis-selling was recent, blatant and well-documented, I wouldn't be able to press my case effectively and secure compensation. Historic misdeeds - as with anything that happened years ago - are notoriously difficult to get redress for. My claims related to the 1980s and 1990s, some thirty years ago.
So all the hours spent on writing letters and emails were a big waste of time. I can't get those hours back. And despite all the effort put in, there is going to be no worthwhile result. No windfall is coming my way. Although I never relied on having a decent payback, the possibility of one was always a nice comforting thought when forced to spend lots of money on the car or the caravan. Well, it's not to be.
Let's be cheerful. I'm no worse off. And I have extra self-respect for trying. And for doing it by myself - thank goodness I scorned using those awful claims management companies. They made it sound like picking up money in the street. As if the banks were not going to fight tooth and nail...
Well, a lesson learned. Next time I will think long and hard before setting anything like this in motion.
That left my own two PPI claims, one to RBS (for NatWest) and one to Santander (for Girobank). Both were about a protection policy forced on me when getting a mortgage. After several months, I pushed both claims, still unresolved, into the Financial Ombudsman's hands. That was in July.
Now, in the last couple of days, the FO has been in touch about the NatWest claim. It's not good news. Basically I fall foul of a time-limit technicality - not complaining soon enough after first feeling aggrieved - and even if there were exceptional circumstances applying which would let the FO ignore that hurdle, there isn't enough documentary evidence to make a judgement one way or the other. Assertions and unsupported arguments don't count; and they don't give anyone the benefit of the doubt by default.
I have until 18th November - a week from now - to produce new evidence or make fresh representations. But you know what? I think this is the moment when I free myself from this unproductive, dispiriting process and get on with my life. So I'm going to file that claim away and forget I ever made it. The FO's email says I can bow out by merely not responding further. That's what I'll do.
My claim to Santander (for Girobank) remains in contention. But as there is no important difference between this claim and the NatWest one, the FO's view should be the same. In which case I must now expect an email from the FO about the Santander claim, explaining matters in much the same words, and with the same conclusion - that I am tripped up by a technicality, and by lack of evidence. And I shall let that one go too.
Perhaps I should have decided at the very start, back in January, that unless the banks' mis-selling was recent, blatant and well-documented, I wouldn't be able to press my case effectively and secure compensation. Historic misdeeds - as with anything that happened years ago - are notoriously difficult to get redress for. My claims related to the 1980s and 1990s, some thirty years ago.
So all the hours spent on writing letters and emails were a big waste of time. I can't get those hours back. And despite all the effort put in, there is going to be no worthwhile result. No windfall is coming my way. Although I never relied on having a decent payback, the possibility of one was always a nice comforting thought when forced to spend lots of money on the car or the caravan. Well, it's not to be.
Let's be cheerful. I'm no worse off. And I have extra self-respect for trying. And for doing it by myself - thank goodness I scorned using those awful claims management companies. They made it sound like picking up money in the street. As if the banks were not going to fight tooth and nail...
Well, a lesson learned. Next time I will think long and hard before setting anything like this in motion.
Nobody has rung my doorbell yet
Week two of the Election Campaign, and not a sign of any electioneering in my part of the world. My constituency is Arundel and South Downs, a solidly Conservative constituency. The incumbent in recent years has been Nick Herbert, a staunch supporter of the government. I think he is now standing down, but presumably the new Conservative candidate will be equally loyal. And unless he or she is hopelessly unsuitable, I will be giving them my vote.
I am a natural Conservative voter. My father was also a natural Conservative voter, and now, in my later life, I am happy to cast my ballot as he would. I think you must vote not for the specific promises made at each election, nor for any inducements dangled, but for the basic ethos of a party, and how well they are proven to master the very tricky business of responsible and effective government. The Conservative approach sits best with me. It isn't a perfect fit - I am most definitely not a capitalist! Profits do not trump all else in my world. I want (and expect) Conservatism with a Heart - or at least Conservatism with Common Sense, Foresight and Good Judgement. I'm also an optimist.
I lived to rue the one occasion I voted Labour. It was to support Tony Blair in 1997. New Labour looked like a badly-needed new broom after way too much Conservative sleaze. But New Labour squandered their big chance to make a fresh start. They hesitated, did nothing worthwhile, and in retrospect seem incompetent, unwise, and blind to impending disasters.
Some people blame Labour for our involvement in the Iraq war. They have a point. Me, I remember that the 2008 financial crisis - which we are still suffering from - happened on their watch. It led to a general loss of confidence and the ruination of the UK property market. That drop in property values cost me personally £200,000, representing the difference between what I put in to buy the Cottage, and what I eventually recovered when it was sold four years later in a depressed market.
That's one heavy reason in itself why I don't trust Labour's ability to sense coming cold winds, and their ways with money generally. I won't make the same error again, especially as Old Labour is now clearly flexing its muscles. I'm all in favour of fairness, kindness, compassion and equal opportunities, but I don't do dogmatic socialism, however softly expressed.
On odd occasions - certainly in all Local Council elections - I have voted LibDem, but for this General Election their passionate anti-Brexit stance must rule them out. Which is a pity; but on this occasion I really must ignore them entirely.
I have to say, though, that the LibDems are usually pretty assiduous in knocking on doors to introduce their candidate. They are the only party so far who have told me (with a leaflet - presumably they did knock while I was out) who their candidate is, and exactly what she stands for. Having a name and a face is vital. The new Conservative candidate needs to take note! As for Labour, they have done no more than drop a flyer through my front door to 'explain' their position, and what they will do, but without naming their candidate. Perhaps they don't have one yet. Useless.
The Brexit party seems to be invisible locally - so far. But a candidate is probably waiting in the wings, ready to reveal themselves. I have no doubt at all that Mr Farage has backers who will put up the money needed to field candidates in every seat in the country. So there should be a Brexit party candidate for me to vote for on 12th December, if after all I don't like the Conservative candidate.
But there are four things I don't like about the Brexit party.
One: what are their policies apart from getting us 'out of Europe'? They are fixated on one thing, and I have no confidence that they can do anything else well.
Two: Setting Mr Farage aside, who else in that party has any stature or charisma? It seems like a one-man band.
Three: I don't like Mr Farage's palsy-walsy connection with Mr Trump. Surely that's being too close to a maverick (and impeachable) US President? What favours might have to be granted to that awful man?
Four: More fundamentally, I want to see the UK independent of the rest of Europe in a legal and cultural sense, pursuing its own policies, and generally being quite distinct. Brexit should ensure that. But I don't want a belligerent break, which Mr Farage's party seems to look forward to. I most certainly don't want us to become Fortress Britannia, a closed, isolated territory behind an iron curtain. Nor do I want the old post-war scenario fulfilled, of becoming the newest state of the US - a perversion of that Special Relationship. Completely turning away from Europe surely means having Uncle Sam's arm around your shoulders. That might suit Mr Farage, but not me.
I want a cordial and cooperative relationship with Europe, with Europe as our best ally. Not too close; Them and Us, certainly; but in a spirit of bon accord, and vive la difference. How else will climate change be best met in our part of the planet? You have to get on well with your neighbours.
Hmm! Still nobody on my doorstep! You'd think that with the result anything but a forgone conclusion, every party would be out to spread their message to the electorate as a matter of urgency. Perhaps they know somehow that I am not a floating voter, and that my mind is made up, as it was for the Brexit Referendum back in 2016. Perhaps they think everyone uses Facebook, Whatsapp, Instagram and Twitter, and they intend to bombard the country with persuasive messages. Well they won't reach me, as I have none of the above social media apps on my phone. Lucky me, I'm thinking.
If the Conservative, Labour, Libdem and Brexit party machines do all send their party leaders to my front door, with a camera crew handy, l'd best have some custard pies ready. I expect all of them to take the slapstick with genial good humour, giving the camera a great sound bite, but I suspect that only one leader will manage it.
Breaking news
Oho! Nige has announced through gritted teeth that the Brexit party won't contest seats that the Conservatives won in 2017, shrinking his task force to only three hundred. That alters the picture quite a bit. I can see how this development might lead to an overwhelming pro-Brexit faction in the House of Commons. I also see that the Conservatives may be hard-pressed to have a good working majority. They may have to pander to the Brexit party get things other than Brexit done. I wonder what price Mr Farage will extract? (The DUP have already shown the way on how to get leverage, of course)
What will now happen with Labour and the LibDems? Will they now lose badly-needed seats to the Brexit party? It all becomes incalculable, and therefore very interesting. I will definitely be staying up all night on the 12th December to find out what happens. (I got my poll card today)
I am a natural Conservative voter. My father was also a natural Conservative voter, and now, in my later life, I am happy to cast my ballot as he would. I think you must vote not for the specific promises made at each election, nor for any inducements dangled, but for the basic ethos of a party, and how well they are proven to master the very tricky business of responsible and effective government. The Conservative approach sits best with me. It isn't a perfect fit - I am most definitely not a capitalist! Profits do not trump all else in my world. I want (and expect) Conservatism with a Heart - or at least Conservatism with Common Sense, Foresight and Good Judgement. I'm also an optimist.
I lived to rue the one occasion I voted Labour. It was to support Tony Blair in 1997. New Labour looked like a badly-needed new broom after way too much Conservative sleaze. But New Labour squandered their big chance to make a fresh start. They hesitated, did nothing worthwhile, and in retrospect seem incompetent, unwise, and blind to impending disasters.
Some people blame Labour for our involvement in the Iraq war. They have a point. Me, I remember that the 2008 financial crisis - which we are still suffering from - happened on their watch. It led to a general loss of confidence and the ruination of the UK property market. That drop in property values cost me personally £200,000, representing the difference between what I put in to buy the Cottage, and what I eventually recovered when it was sold four years later in a depressed market.
That's one heavy reason in itself why I don't trust Labour's ability to sense coming cold winds, and their ways with money generally. I won't make the same error again, especially as Old Labour is now clearly flexing its muscles. I'm all in favour of fairness, kindness, compassion and equal opportunities, but I don't do dogmatic socialism, however softly expressed.
On odd occasions - certainly in all Local Council elections - I have voted LibDem, but for this General Election their passionate anti-Brexit stance must rule them out. Which is a pity; but on this occasion I really must ignore them entirely.
I have to say, though, that the LibDems are usually pretty assiduous in knocking on doors to introduce their candidate. They are the only party so far who have told me (with a leaflet - presumably they did knock while I was out) who their candidate is, and exactly what she stands for. Having a name and a face is vital. The new Conservative candidate needs to take note! As for Labour, they have done no more than drop a flyer through my front door to 'explain' their position, and what they will do, but without naming their candidate. Perhaps they don't have one yet. Useless.
The Brexit party seems to be invisible locally - so far. But a candidate is probably waiting in the wings, ready to reveal themselves. I have no doubt at all that Mr Farage has backers who will put up the money needed to field candidates in every seat in the country. So there should be a Brexit party candidate for me to vote for on 12th December, if after all I don't like the Conservative candidate.
But there are four things I don't like about the Brexit party.
One: what are their policies apart from getting us 'out of Europe'? They are fixated on one thing, and I have no confidence that they can do anything else well.
Two: Setting Mr Farage aside, who else in that party has any stature or charisma? It seems like a one-man band.
Three: I don't like Mr Farage's palsy-walsy connection with Mr Trump. Surely that's being too close to a maverick (and impeachable) US President? What favours might have to be granted to that awful man?
Four: More fundamentally, I want to see the UK independent of the rest of Europe in a legal and cultural sense, pursuing its own policies, and generally being quite distinct. Brexit should ensure that. But I don't want a belligerent break, which Mr Farage's party seems to look forward to. I most certainly don't want us to become Fortress Britannia, a closed, isolated territory behind an iron curtain. Nor do I want the old post-war scenario fulfilled, of becoming the newest state of the US - a perversion of that Special Relationship. Completely turning away from Europe surely means having Uncle Sam's arm around your shoulders. That might suit Mr Farage, but not me.
I want a cordial and cooperative relationship with Europe, with Europe as our best ally. Not too close; Them and Us, certainly; but in a spirit of bon accord, and vive la difference. How else will climate change be best met in our part of the planet? You have to get on well with your neighbours.
Hmm! Still nobody on my doorstep! You'd think that with the result anything but a forgone conclusion, every party would be out to spread their message to the electorate as a matter of urgency. Perhaps they know somehow that I am not a floating voter, and that my mind is made up, as it was for the Brexit Referendum back in 2016. Perhaps they think everyone uses Facebook, Whatsapp, Instagram and Twitter, and they intend to bombard the country with persuasive messages. Well they won't reach me, as I have none of the above social media apps on my phone. Lucky me, I'm thinking.
If the Conservative, Labour, Libdem and Brexit party machines do all send their party leaders to my front door, with a camera crew handy, l'd best have some custard pies ready. I expect all of them to take the slapstick with genial good humour, giving the camera a great sound bite, but I suspect that only one leader will manage it.
Breaking news
Oho! Nige has announced through gritted teeth that the Brexit party won't contest seats that the Conservatives won in 2017, shrinking his task force to only three hundred. That alters the picture quite a bit. I can see how this development might lead to an overwhelming pro-Brexit faction in the House of Commons. I also see that the Conservatives may be hard-pressed to have a good working majority. They may have to pander to the Brexit party get things other than Brexit done. I wonder what price Mr Farage will extract? (The DUP have already shown the way on how to get leverage, of course)
What will now happen with Labour and the LibDems? Will they now lose badly-needed seats to the Brexit party? It all becomes incalculable, and therefore very interesting. I will definitely be staying up all night on the 12th December to find out what happens. (I got my poll card today)
Saturday, 9 November 2019
Next year: North by North West
Well, that's another year's caravanning over. Nowadays I expect to be away for a quarter of the year, and in 2019 I have had 88 nights away, which means 89 days actually away from home. That's pretty well a quarter of 365.
I think it's very important to get away a lot and see different parts of the country. The caravan makes it possible to do this at a cost that I can afford. One day I will give up caravanning, or be forced to, but I hope that day is a long way off.
I cover a lot of ground every year, but every two years I do a really long-distance caravan tour, generally taking me to Scotland, which is of course a long way from the south coast of England. 2017 was my last 'long-distance' year, and this is where I took the caravan (or went on day trips from wherever I was pitched):
Two years on, in 2019, I went to Scotland again but ventured much further north than in 2017:
These maps are made up of 10 km squares: if I towed or drove into a square while on holiday, then I've coloured it red. The yellow squares are where I pitched the caravan on my various holidays. The green square is where my home is in Sussex.
As you can see, in 2019 I went not only as far north as it's possible to go on the mainland of Scotland, I went as far east as you can go in England, and as far west as you can go in Wales. Altogether I towed the caravan 3,409 miles, and, with the car unhitched and the caravan left on site, covered another 4,631 miles in day trips. Making my total holiday mileage 8,040. Which will turn out to be a bit more than half of my annual mileage of 15,000-odd.
The cost of all this? My 88 nights away cost me £1,335 in site fees (about £15 per night) and the 8,040 miles of driving cost me £1,787 in fuel. £3,122 for 88 nights away works out at £35 per night. (I don't count the cost of food cooked in the caravan, meals out, admission charges at tourist places, or presents bought, as I spend the same on these things as I would do at home; nor do I offset the savings on home electricity, gas and water while away)
I suppose £3,122 spent on holidaying might seem a large amount to some, but I think it's money very well spent. And it enables me to see distant family and friends much oftener than I would otherwise be able to do. I would flinch at the cost of touring the North (let alone Scotland) if I had to stay at hotels, even budget ones.
My caravanning is all on the mainland of Great Britain, and I don't go abroad. One day I might. I haven't quite abandoned the idea of a North European Tour as far as Sweden that I talked about some years back, but going so far by myself is a daunting prospect, and the cost is probably too much. But I might manage Ireland at some point. Last September I was very wistful as I spoke to people at Fishguard Harbour in Pembrokeshire, who were taking the boat to Rosslare. I've never been to the Emerald Isle. I was tempted to join them, just to see.
One thing you may notice about both holiday maps above is that when going north I mostly keep to the east side of the country, and in particular avoid the north-west of England. That will change in 2020. I'm planning a Grand Northern Tour that goes first to Aberystwyth in mid-Wales (to see my cousin Margaret), but then to Cheshire, Lancashire, Cumbria (the unvisited south-west corner of the Lake District), Yorkshire, and then either Derbyshire (for the Peak District) or Lincolnshire (for the Wolds). That's a lot of miles to cover, and means at least three weeks away. Bring it on.
I think it's very important to get away a lot and see different parts of the country. The caravan makes it possible to do this at a cost that I can afford. One day I will give up caravanning, or be forced to, but I hope that day is a long way off.
I cover a lot of ground every year, but every two years I do a really long-distance caravan tour, generally taking me to Scotland, which is of course a long way from the south coast of England. 2017 was my last 'long-distance' year, and this is where I took the caravan (or went on day trips from wherever I was pitched):
Two years on, in 2019, I went to Scotland again but ventured much further north than in 2017:
These maps are made up of 10 km squares: if I towed or drove into a square while on holiday, then I've coloured it red. The yellow squares are where I pitched the caravan on my various holidays. The green square is where my home is in Sussex.
As you can see, in 2019 I went not only as far north as it's possible to go on the mainland of Scotland, I went as far east as you can go in England, and as far west as you can go in Wales. Altogether I towed the caravan 3,409 miles, and, with the car unhitched and the caravan left on site, covered another 4,631 miles in day trips. Making my total holiday mileage 8,040. Which will turn out to be a bit more than half of my annual mileage of 15,000-odd.
The cost of all this? My 88 nights away cost me £1,335 in site fees (about £15 per night) and the 8,040 miles of driving cost me £1,787 in fuel. £3,122 for 88 nights away works out at £35 per night. (I don't count the cost of food cooked in the caravan, meals out, admission charges at tourist places, or presents bought, as I spend the same on these things as I would do at home; nor do I offset the savings on home electricity, gas and water while away)
I suppose £3,122 spent on holidaying might seem a large amount to some, but I think it's money very well spent. And it enables me to see distant family and friends much oftener than I would otherwise be able to do. I would flinch at the cost of touring the North (let alone Scotland) if I had to stay at hotels, even budget ones.
My caravanning is all on the mainland of Great Britain, and I don't go abroad. One day I might. I haven't quite abandoned the idea of a North European Tour as far as Sweden that I talked about some years back, but going so far by myself is a daunting prospect, and the cost is probably too much. But I might manage Ireland at some point. Last September I was very wistful as I spoke to people at Fishguard Harbour in Pembrokeshire, who were taking the boat to Rosslare. I've never been to the Emerald Isle. I was tempted to join them, just to see.
One thing you may notice about both holiday maps above is that when going north I mostly keep to the east side of the country, and in particular avoid the north-west of England. That will change in 2020. I'm planning a Grand Northern Tour that goes first to Aberystwyth in mid-Wales (to see my cousin Margaret), but then to Cheshire, Lancashire, Cumbria (the unvisited south-west corner of the Lake District), Yorkshire, and then either Derbyshire (for the Peak District) or Lincolnshire (for the Wolds). That's a lot of miles to cover, and means at least three weeks away. Bring it on.
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