At the Hustings

I’m reblogging this account of the hustings from “I Can’t Believe it!”

Last night I was  at the Tatton hustings in Cheshire, which became lively and noisy when ex-Cabinet minister Esther McVey was booed and heckled. She was depressingly monochrome and only really came into her own (drawing on her experience as a TV presenter) at the end when she did her summing up. It was like she was back “on script”, giving a performance. Hadn’t the Tories issued candidates with a crib sheet of what to say? It sounded like she’d learned it off by heart; she didn’t convince me that she was speaking from the heart.

The other candidates, however, felt and were a lot more genuine, with Labour’s James Weinberg standing out as a beacon of hope for the future, where change is desperately needed in our riven country.

Environmental issues and climate change are infinitely more important than Brexit, yet I suspect that the silent block of Tory old schoolers will vote for McVey and Boris the Blamer. Significantly, it was only McVey who blamed other parties in this debate and sought to bring them into disrepute. The other candidates occasionally referred to other parties, but did not to blame or dwell discussing or disrepecting them.

My hope (and vote) is for our once “safe seat” for “shoo in” candidates (previously George Osborne & now McVey) becomes a lot less safe and gives way to new wave of refreshing change.

I can't believe it!

We’re into the last week of the UK General Election, so we went to the local hustings, in Alderley Edge. As background, Tatton is a Conservative safe seat currently held with a huge majority (58% of voters, Labour second) by ex-minister Esther McVey.

The hustings were held in a church and chaired by the vicar. Candidates answered questions put by selected members of the audience.

Esther McVey largely stuck to the party line – get Brexit done, with little detail on anything else. She was bemused as to why there were more food banks today than 10 years ago, and why politics is now so divisive. It seems it was all caused by Labour’s creating the financial crash of 2008 and leaving the country in a mess. Nothing to do with the banks and Tory policy in the intervening years, then. Derisive laughter met her attempts to explain why police…

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Whatever happened to Lobby Lud?

On holiday, 1950s. Lobby Lud in the trirly hat? From my personal archives.t?

On holiday, 1950s. Lobby Lud in the trilby hat? From my personal archives.

This question arose as husband is currently giving a touch of fresh paint to the area between our kitchen door, which leads to the utility room and also has a door  giving access to the garage. I call it the lobby. He calls it an alcove. Daughter calls it a porch.

Using the word “lobby” had us both remembering a certain character called Lobby Lud, who was around in the late 1950s/early 1960s when we were taken on seaside holidays with our respective parents – me to Clacton-on-Sea, him to Blackpool and Scarborough.

As I remember, Lobby Lud was a mystery man who roamed around the resort, probably wearing a trilby hat and carrying a certain newspaper. People were encouraged to look out for him, and if they recognised him from his picture in the newspaper, to approach him and say “You are Lobby Lud and I claim my £5”.

The whole thing was a ruse to get people on holiday to buy a daily newspaper. As I recall, it was probably either The Daily Mail, or The News Chronicle who ran this event, and it was done to boost newspaper sales. People often didn’t bother to buy a paper whilst on holiday so this was a way to encourage them to do so, with the potential £5 as the prize. £5 was quite a lot of money in the 1950s.

The whole thing had a quaint, slightly quirky ring to it, but I don’t think my dad ever saw Lobby Lud when we were out and about – or if he did, he tried to get me, but an innocent young child at the time, to go and challege Lobby and ask for the £5. I would never have dared to do this, but I was always on the lookout for a man in a trilby hat, carrying a newspaper when we were walking around in the central promenade area near the pier.

Oh, those were days of innocent holiday family fun alright. In Clacton, as well as Lobby Lud, there was a concert party on the pier twice daily and live entertainment and shows to go to. Today’s holiday makers are more likely to go to a multi-screen cinema with a bar, and read the news on their smart phones or tablets. And more often than not it’s only the older generation who have a folded, well-thumbed tabloid tucked under one arm.

Trust, truth and communication

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Photo by fauxels on Pexels.com

It’s hard to trust much of what we see, hear, read or are presented with via the media as  the UK staggers wearily towards the forthcoming general election.

Truth and trust is a rarity. We have a prime minister, supported by members of the cabinet, who appear to be highly capable of making things up as they go along, claiming they are facts. Well they may be, but the chances are they’ve been massaged and manipulated to serve the purpose of getting the message across. I’ll be generous and say that some of them may be wrong because they’ve been incorrectly remembered or briefed, but that’s as far as my generosity is likely to go.

In most instances in this run up to the general election, it seems to be the output of the  prime minister which comes across as lacking in the trust department. He appears to be uncomfortably incapable of speaking with conviction or truth.

Time and again as he goes about electioneering, people around the country and the journalists who follow him, are asking questions which he deflects by ignoring them, changing the subject and blaming the mess we are in on other people and other political parties.

Mulling this stuff over in the wee small hours, I was reminded of some of the psychosynthesis/self-awareness training I have been  involved in delivering. We asked participants to do an exercise based on psychologist Virginia Satir’s Methods of Communication.

Taking on each of these roles in turn, so as to experience them, and with a thumbnail situation to role play within, they are

The Blamer, who shifts the onus as far away from his/herself by throwing blame on others

The Placator, who tries to please & doesn’t want to upset things

The Distractor, who changes the subject as fast as possible

The Computor, who is logical and factual but is also totally unemotional as he or she doles out the dry facts

The Leveller however is where it’s at. Levelling is about being honest, truthful, coming from what is known as your centre in psychoynthesis terms. Even if you’ve never heard of “the (your!) centre” before, you will have a sense of  what it means.

It means to be solid, honest, secure,  true and “right on” in what you’re saying and doing, to be authentic…..if you’re coming from this place, and are levelling (like speaking your own truth and admitting you don’t always know the answers to things), people will respect you and believe you. You will be credible because of your vulnerability and authenticity. These are some of the qualities that a good leader will express.

So now, what I’m doing every time a politician speaks in this dreary, dreadful, divisive Brexit-ridden election, is remembering to apply some of Virginia Satir’s wisdom to their style of commuication, and form my own opinion.

Street musician, Aachen

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This accomplished accordionist was playing in the square by Aachen’s large and impressive cathedral.  I was on dog duty, looking after our pooch while my other half was inside the cathedral (no dogs allowed).

It was a pleasure to sit in the square for a while and listen to him playing, and I dropped some coins into his hat when I eventually moved on to wander around this central area of Aachen, in Germany.

It’s a lively, attractive city, with cobbled streets in the medieval old town and market area. There are many small squares, several slightly quirky fountains, and of course, the magnificent cathedral built by Charlemagne. The interior reflects his wealth, power and influence, but there are plenty of architectural and historical riches to be found on the streets in the surrounding area too.

Definitely somewhere to return to!

Memorable meals

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Coffee and cake in Vienna is always likely to be on the tourist “things to do list” when visiting the city. So it was with me. We went to Cafe Landtmann, all dark wood, silver cutlery, crisp white tablecloths and waiters in white gloves.

The cafe was frequented in the last century by Freud, and has probably had several other famous visitors across the threshold since it was opened in 1873. It had a genteel  hushed atmosphere, and it was comfortable and rather posh in a traditional way.

I have to be honest and say that the cakes weren’t as good or delicious or exceptional as I’d expected or anticipated. Although they looked mouthwatering they were actually a bit disappointing. I guess the coffee must have been ok but again, not memorable; it was beautifully served.  All in all it is the experience, surroundings, decor and location that I remember more than anything else.

Which leads me to ponder on which of our senses we engage with if we say a meal or dining experience is memorable? For me in Cafe Landtmann it wasn’t the food or drink (taste) but the old-fashioned tasteful decor (sight).

A truly memorable meal which involved all five senses for me  was the first bowl of onion soup I ever had in the Paris flea market over 50 years ago, in a rough and ready, warm and steamy cafe full of Parisiens. There were long tables with benches where people sat alongside each other. It was noisy (hearing) and it was unavoidable not to rub shoulders with other diners (touch).

Of course, not all memorable meals are good ones. My other half shudders at the thought of the weekly family meal of liver – the look, taste, smell and texture have stayed with him since childhood. I don’t like marmalade and was once forced into a battle of wills with my mum over some marmalade sandwiches I was given. I never liked the stuff before this incident and now find the taste and smell of marmalade disgusting.

Apologies to marmalade lovers; I do like the colour.