Part One – A Clear Majority

At three o’clock in the morning, an official envelope was placed on the desk by the Chief Civil Servant, Sir Comfey, with an imperceptibly trembling hand.

‘The referendum result, Prime Minister,’ he announced in a calmly hysterical voice. This uncharacteristic ‘chink in armour’ produced a shudder of expectation around the room.

The gaze of the assembled ministers and staff was fixed on a magnificent ‘Victory Within Europe’ cake. It posed ostentatiously and nervously at one end of the Prime Ministers desk, surrounded by a galaxy of plates and silver cutlery. One of it’s candle’s, leant perilously to one side, as if presaging a cosmic domino effect.

The Prime Minister lifted the envelope with the tip of his precious ‘A Present from Malta’ letter opener. It reminded him of ex prime minister Churchill and how he saved small islands from disaster.

‘Should I be worried, Comfy? Is it…I mean…is it the result I am expecting?’ His eyebrows appeared to cross and float upward to his retreating hairline, like barage baloons in a Blitzed sky.

‘I think you should open it and see, Prime Minister…’ Comfy replied knowing that M16 had been all over it’s contents previous to the official sealing. A nervously calm hand slid the shaking blade into the corner of the envelope and slit it’s stomach; gutting the contents from which he read,

Votes for the UK to remain in Europe; 25,749,321

Votes for the UK to leave Europe; 25,749,322

The Prime Minister supported his forehead with his hand as he re-read the appalling news. His mind was skimming through a list of ‘implications and consequences’ in the way that only senior managers and the mentally ill can. Key amongst these was the realisation that this result would mean he will have to make an embarrassing resignation speech. All his life he has hated public humiliation and now, by one vote, he will have to grovel before the nation as a full-on loser.

But hold on reader, this Prime Minister’s political instinct (code named ‘pride in my country’) was smelling a rabbit hole to scuttle down. Read on.

‘Are you sure this is correct? It is, er, awfully close?’

‘NEOLVS – the new electoral on line voting system –  is faultless sir, which is why, if I may be permitted to remind you, you yourself championed it over the…(finger poised on lower lip ) what was that rather apt phrase you used, ‘prehistoric paper system open to too many convenient errors?‘

‘Yes, yes, you don’t have to remind me. It had to be my fault…it usually is…’

A nervous silence fell upon the room amongst the assembled special advisers, politicians and civil servants as they sensed the dark shadow moving across the country.

True statesmanship is often summoned by small gestures and the forthcoming moment of decision was signalled by the Prime Ministers left and then right eye brows coming back down to their more usual positions and the hand being removed from the forehead.

‘And am I correct in recalling, Sir Comfy, that this computer system allows us to find out who voted what…under extreme circumstances in which there is a threat to national security of course?’

‘Correct Prime Minister,’ (forever one step ahead), ‘and am I thinking that there may be such a threat contained in that envelope?’

‘Absolutely, Sir Comfy, the whole of the United Kingdom is poised to float off into the Gulf Stream!’

An imperceptible titter circled as a Mexican wave around the room.

‘I want to know…I need to know now, who was the very last person to vote at 21:59:59 hours on 23^rd June 2016. Who made this ill informed casting vote? Do you understand?’

The gusto with which the Prime Minister now was taking command, indicated to Sir Comfy that he was resolutely in pursuit of not making the resignation speech that he himself had taken such pains to sculpt to perfection, several weeks ago.

‘Such a pity,’ thought Sir Comfy, ‘such a fine blend of mock self sacrifice and unrestrained patriotism.’ But events were taking an un/expected turn.

‘Yes, Prime Minister,’ and clicked his fingers behind him as a non-verbal instruction to an aide, to return with this information within the next ten minutes or be on cat feeding duty for the next six months.

As the aide slipped out of the room, on cue, the No.10 cat, (renamed Cleggpuss in memory of a recent akward political partnership ) slipped in. The two black glossy doors shut in partnership.

After precisely nine minutes and ten seconds the aide returned clasping a nugget of computer paper which he conspicuously flattened out on the Prime Minister’s desk.

The PM skewered it with a cold sweaty finger and read;

Alice Mercury, 38, Clifton Terrace, Knightsbridge, London. Date of birth…

He squinted at Alice’s birthday, then grimaced with exasperation.

‘My God man, she had only just turned sixteen the previous day! If this blob of DNA had hung around in the womb a day or two longer, the United Kingdom would not be tilted on the edge of the precipice into which we are now about to precipitate.’

‘Need I remind you with total respect Sir, that you saw this as a’ …he cleared his throat with a high cough… ‘that vulgar phrase – a vote winner – namely reducing the minimum voting age from eighteen to sixteen Prime Minister…’

‘Yes, yes, but I remember you telling me quite plainly in that ‘know everything’ way of yours that all young people wanted to remain in Europe. Now one of them has wittingly or unwittingly, screwed the whole country!’

‘It appears so, Prime Minister. Under the rules of a referendum, as I am sure you know, a majority is a majority.’

‘Yes, but one nose ring infected school girl, effectively taking decisions of national interest! It, it goes against all common sense! And no Comfry! By that irratating ‘ironic’ look of yours I am not referring to myself, I am referring to this Alice creature!’ and he screwed up the offending piece of paper on which her name resided and tossed it angrily it at a strident Clegg Puss, missing by a whisker.

Sir Comfy had passively managed many important decisions in his blame evading career. Now he rose to the occasion with a deft sweep of his arm, ordering everyone, to leave the room. Clegg Puss was swept up in the arms of one of the junior secretaries and the doors slammed shut on the aborted victory celebration. Sir Comfy broke the sudden silence with even higher pitched cough.

‘Perhaps, I might suggest a remedial course of action Prime Minister. It may not work but then again…’

‘Go on…’

‘Well, if Miss Mercury could be approached discretely of course and persuaded to change her mind?’

‘Change her mind? What is the point of that? You yourself have said that the decision is final!’

‘I am thinking of a second referendum, Prime Minister, on the grounds that…oh…shall we say, the official server was hacked by the North Koreans or Russians, making the result of the first referendum unsound.’ Sir Comfy made a hardly perceptible but deeply significant bow as he beamed at the Prime Minister with this small – yet lethal, stroke of genius.

‘Sir, Comfy. Have I ever said,’ and a smile broke across the face of the Prime Minister, ‘that your mind should be preserved for all eternity in vintage Don Perignon?’

‘On one or two occasions, sir,’ bowing obsequiously and pitching a balding pate at the PM’s broad grin.

‘Well on this occasion you are approaching an ‘Order of the Garter’ or something higher. Is there an honour higher – in terms of intimate underwear?

His mind was veering off track and was quickly re-focused.

Now, I want this done straight away anyway. Get her out of bed if necessary. Persuade the changeling that leaving Europe is a very bad idea…you know all the impenetrable arguments. She has to be persuaded to be positive about ‘Britain’s leading role in Europe in the twenty first century…all that stuff. By what ever means, short of water boarding…or perhaps?

Sir Comfy interrupted the prime minister’s illegal thoughts.

‘May I suggest that we generously sponsor her journeying across the Channel and exploring Europe at the tax payers expense…’

‘Yes, yes, brilliant, send her over there to see what marvellous roads and railways they have from being members of the EU – hospitals brimming with doctors and nurses, border forces that actually keep out immigrants, mutual economic co-operation and trade, the Euro fighter, the Eurofighter song contest – Sir Cliff Richard, Euro football! It’s a fine and happy place Europe and clearly living in England has given her a understanding of only the worst aspects of European membership. Broken roads, haemorraging hospitals…’

Sir Comfy gave that imperceptible look that warned of a hole being dug and took a reverent pace backwards, walked out of the PM’s office and pulled the doors behind him.

‘Thank you Clive. Thank you.’

The PM leaned back in his creaky leather swivel chair and perched his shoes in the centre of his desk, linking both hands behind his head in the ‘thinking’ position.

This repulsive Victory Cake may still be voraciously consumed and I will continue in public office with my party and the whole country behind me.

If you have ever been to Morocco, you will have seen abandoned plastic taken to a new level of street art. The roads, once lined with cherry and almond blossom, now carry volumous remants of someone’s shopping, sometime ago, somewhere. Ironically the day I first travelled in Morocco, I was told by my guide (who sounded disappointed) that there is normally more plastic by the roadside. That day it had been cleared away because the King of Morocco was scheduled to pass by – evidenced by smartly dressed policemen at every roundabout.

As you drive down many some country roads in England you will see weird black shapes draped in the trees. These are amiably referred to by local folk as witches knickers, presumably on account of the low flying stunts some perform.

Plastic, in it’s most pernicious form – bags, is due to take over the world. It’s already doing a pretty good job in the seas and has appeared as a meal to many a hungry sea mammal and fish. Now, we are told that as we eat the fish, we are consuming micro plastic. There is a place in one Ocean where currents bring together a country sized raft made of plastic bags; a new shipping hazard and a clear sign that we are out of control as custodians of planet earth.

Kenya is leading the rest of the world, having just announced a complete ban on plastic bags. According to the BBC News website, anyone found selling, making or carrying a plastic bag could be fined 38,000 dollars or face four years in prison. Presumably this means that the purchase of a box of twenty Kenyan tea bags wrapped in plastic sachets will land you in prison for eighty years. Good luck with enforcing that law as the 24 million plastic bags used each month in Kenya are going to fill the prisons, not many being able to pay the 3,040,00 dollar fine for the box of tea bags.

So what is the alternative? Many will remember market stall holders popping apples and pears into brown paper bags, several decades ago. But we are told, also on the BBC News, that a paper bag uses three times more carbon in it’s manufacturer and transportation. I have to query the inclusion of transportation in this statistic as any bag needs to be transported; unless the argument is that paper bags are heavier, in which case don’t transport them in a lorry that goes one way and comes back empty as most do in the UK!

The conversion of wood into paper using as little carbon as possible is clearly something that needs to be researched now! Traditional Japanese paper making techniques use nothing more than large tubs, trays, a local river and a pair of hands. Surely this process can be unscaled and factories run on carbon neutral energy sources. The problem is viewed as how we do things now, rather than taking in the bigger picture and fixing the it with new tools.

I have just finished clearing out the boot of my car, hundreds of minute shreds of plastic from a ‘bag for life’ that tore down one side. Provided they are capable of lasting several decades in normal use, this has to be a good solution to the problem in theory, if not in practice. Such a bag we are told, must be used four times to compensate for the extra resources put into it. A good solution if it can survive five trips to the shops!

I don’t know where biodegradable plastic features in the debate, as it is rarely considered. I expect it is going to be more expensive, but its use would be one strategy to give due respect for nature. In countries where supermarkets charge for the use of a plastic carrier bag, the extra cost is administered as a sort of ‘fine’ to deter use and encourage re-use. The effect, although welcome, is never going to solve the problem. The money charged could be made to pay for a biodegradable bag, but I have never heard of this in practice.

I have a fun discussion with some friends over dinner the other night, about a supermarket that requires customers to weigh their own fruit and vegetables, place each type in an oversized plastic bag, weigh it and attach a price label. The system is absurdly heavy in it’s use of bags protecting fruit and vegetables which very often have already a protecting layer provided by nature. I began to think creatively about fruit and veggie boxes, designed to be brought to and from supermarkets by customers. The green townies have their fruit and veg’ delivered in reused cardboard boxes, so why can’t it work in supermarkets too. A box could be designed to have compartments suitable for particularly soft items, with moulded shapes and maybe lids. The compartment could be modular and replaceable for seasonal variations. However it might be done, there is a design brief there for an industrial designer with imagination. The public and supermarkets clearly have a demand for it.

The King has No Clothes is a well known story where the subject no one speaks about is the King’s nudity, because he is King. Perhaps it is about time that Kings are made to wake up to the massive problem of waste disposal, rather than everyone carrying on as if everything is normal.

America is a country with twice the number of gun owners than anywhere else in the world. This prevalence has been proven to be directly linked to the number of mass shootings. And yet, no administration has found the abolition of guns a vote winner. What do Americans want?

Many gun owners, when asked, say they carry a gun for self defence. In my view this is like saying they have a movie facility on their camera because they want to make block busting feature films. Storage, familiarisation, maintenance, firearm safety, traumamantic wound treatment, target practice, and scenario simulation is not something obtained from a gun store.

Why do police forces in America allocate time and resources to officers in the use of guns, whilst citizens do not?

What problem does citizen gun ownership solve? For the founding fathers who had seen revolution and tyranny in Europe, they wanted to know that a citizen militia could overthrow a malevolent government. That is understandable although raises the question what is the difference between a righteous citizen militia and a rebellious section of society seeking to challenge government by the use of force. Were the confederate soldiers ‘rebels’ or a righteous militia?

Why is the second amendment ambiguous? It declares the right for militias to be formed and then adds that the people can bear arms. Are these the same? Did they mean ‘people’ as in a militia made up from the ranks of the ‘people’? Whatever was intended, today the result is that anybody has the right to carry a weapon whether they are part of the National Guard, or not.

So Americans defend the right to amateurism at it’s most extreme, and are surprised when it all goes wrong mass shootings occur? Or parents mistakenly shoot their teenage sons and daughters returning late at night through the bedroom window.

Fighting is not natural to most people. Children include fighting in their learning, but after a certain age most abandon violence as a way to settle disputes. Self defence is usually only necessary when a random event takes place over which the victim has no control. For instance returning to a parked car late at night you are approached by a group of men in hoodies who demand your wallet and threaten violence. Even in this situation, violent self defence is not necessary. You just hand over your wallet. Self defence relates to one’s body, not property or territory, or even someone else’s body…except in the case of a parent and child or adult physically or mentally vulnerable person.

Many teenagers in the United Kingdom carry knives for ‘self defence’. They have watched the films where the Karate Kid or John Wayne magically over come an enemy. How about that showgirl who throws a knife and pins the sheriffs hat to the door. Great isn’t it? But real life is not as simple. Buying a knife is simple but knowing how to use it to defend oneself, is not. Ask a professional knife fighter and if you are still keen, sign up for a two year course and health insurance.

Even when you learn to fight with no weapon, the best advise I was ever given was run. That advice was given me by a European Karate Champion who was teaching street fighting.

So America, again I ask the question what problem are you trying to solve with gun ownership? If you want to feel safe in the streets there are a hundred ways of achieving this before you reach ‘carrying a gun’. If you don’t want a fool for a president, don’t vote for one. Walking into Washington as part of an ‘America for Americans’ armed militia  you will all be shot because the police and military train to do that, you don’t.

In reality America has created a public health problem as a result of gun ownership. Mass shootings are measured by dead bodies, but don’t forget the wounded. And as in all violent acts, there is a ripple effect of fear and confusion through the families and communities in which these acts take place. The health of American citizens is being seriously ravaged by gun ownership, and if a constitution ever needed amendment, now is the time.