Putting Our Nationality Behind Us

 Mike Bodnar contemplates the bumpy road ahead for drivers after leaving the EU...

The now-compulsory UK sticker

One of the consequences of leaving the European Union is that drivers of British cars, when they journey overseas, must now display a specific sticker on their rear identifying their country of residence. Not on their bums obviously, on the rear of their vehicles. Come on now, behave.

Prior to joining the EU in 1972, such stickers were common, and declared the vehicle to be from Great Britain, with the initials GB, black on a white oval background. Upon becoming part of Europe however, these stickers were no longer necessary, since registration plates were changed to include a small ‘GB’ featuring the lovely EU yellow stars. In style and presentation they matched all the other EU number plates, and signified a unity, a togetherness.

But now that Britain has left, divorced, withdrawn and retrenched, we are once again faced with having to declare our nationality on our rears, except now the stickers have been changed from ‘GB’ to ‘UK.’ And we aren’t allowed to use the attractive yellow stars or the EU’s blue background.

Apparently we only learned of this through the United Nations, which issued a memo. But it wasn’t a decree from the Eurocrats – it came from Westminster. A Department for Transport spokesperson told the BBC: ‘Changing the national identifier from GB to UK symbolises our unity as a nation and is part of a wider move towards using the UK signifier across government. We notified the UN of our intention to make these changes in July, and have been working with the sector to implement the change.’

Searching for a United Kingdom

So we are no longer Great Britain apparently, but that much has been obvious for quite some time. There’s little that’s great about a country as torn by racism, crime, homophobia, homelessness, political incompetence, and a mishandling of a pandemic that’s been, well, plagued by ill health from the start, as we are.

Tellingly, the requirement for us to now declare ourselves as being from the UK underlines that we are not part of the Europe Club any more; instead we are on our own, against Europe, independent, maybe even adrift. But – and here I finally arrive at my point - united we are definitely not.

We have the north-south divide in England, Scotland seeks independence, there’s an almost equal split between those Brits who wanted to leave Europe and those who wanted to remain in the EU, an increasing political chasm between the Tories, Labour and any of the other parties, and a general unease about how we should manage ourselves and our international reputation from here on. And I haven’t even mentioned the rich and the increasingly poor. There is little sign of unity.

However, the prospect of bumper stickers declaring us to be from the Disunited Kingdom are slim, since DK is already taken (by Denmark). NSGB would be appropriate, since we’re not-so-Great Britain now, but presents problems to those who design and print the stickers themselves. Instead of being a neat oval, the NSGB sticker would have to be more of a sausage shape. Not a German sausage note - a good old Cumbrian sausage. Or maybe a black pudding. NSUK also invites a wealth of derision. NSUK on this, etc.

Disunited Kingdom might work as DUK, but would open the way for references to dead ducks, duck for cover, and so on. So no, we’ll have no derision here thank you.

Anyway, United Kingdom? I think not. We haven’t had a kingdom since George VI, and although there’s a candidate pacing up and down in the wings as we speak (and has been for decades), we are a Queendom, and have been since 1952. One, at least, is not amused.

But mentioning the Royal Family brings up another thorn in our side, since we are increasingly divided over the relevance of the monarchy. The republican movement might well be rubbing their hands in anticipation of radical change, but the vehicle sticker designers will be holding their heads in their hands in fear of having to squeeze REPUBGB into a standard oval. We’re not talking a sausage shape here; we’re talking a whole salami. But then that’s Italian and would never do, no, no, no.

Maybe we just need to honestly declare ourselves a Free United Kingdom in Disarray.

 

 

 

 

 

Personalised Postcodes are now a Thing

Home owners now have the opportunity to personalise their postcodes, but at a cost; vanity doesn't come free.

Royal Mail has announced that from today it will take applications for personalised alphanumeric postcodes for an initial fee of £500 and an annual 'maintenance fee' of £200.

'We are delighted to announce this opportunity for people who own their own homes to choose a personalised postcode,' a Royal Mail spokeswoman said. 

'The postcodes could reflect a hobby or interest, a vocation, or some unique feature of their home or where they live,' she added. All applications would be vetted to ensure they don't breach standards of acceptability.

In an advance invitation to a select few privileged customers, Royal Mail has already approved the following vanity postcodes:

GR8 W8R - taken by a hospitality college

FI5 H1N - chosen by a keen angler

AV1 80R - bagged by a commercial airline pilot

K9S 4ME - selected by the owner of a dog kennels business

Existing postcodes can be dispensed with once the new one is approved. It does not need to begin with local postal area initials either, but will be unique to the single address of the applicant. The vanity postcodes will be able to be on-sold should the property change hands.

'As long as the postcode letters and numerals do not spell anything offensive or are likely to cause upset - and have not already been taken by someone else - we will approve them,' Royal Mail said. This rules out such personalised postcodes as B1G N0B, 4NI C8R, etc. 

But can you buy a vanity postcode as a gift for someone else? Yes, confirmed Royal Mail. So I'm going to, and soon - assuming it passes the decency test - you'll be able to write to:

Theresa May, 

10 Downing Street, 

London BO1 10X. 

Can't see how that would offend anyone.

- Press Association, 01 April, 2019

The People vs Westminster

Yesterday I attended Parliament.

Not to protest against Brexit, or lobby my MP (whoever it is), but to take part in an 'assessment day'. 

I have, you see, applied for a role at the Palace of Westminster as a part-time Visitor Engagement Assistant, and part of the asessment day required those of us attending (the chosen ones) to deliver a presentation.

Pleasingly we were allowed to choose virtually any topic, though with some relevance to Westminster and democracy, obviously.

I chose to put the Palace of Westminster and what it stands for 'on trial', playing both the roles of Prosecution and Defence, and I share my script with you here. Seems a shame to restrict it only to the green leather hush of Committee Room Nine.

Whether the verdict is that Westminster is outdated and needs replacing or is a shining example of contemporary democracy - well, I'll let you be the judge.

All rise...

For the prosecution:

Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will hear in the next few minutes about an outdated, outmoded, ancient and creaky system of democracy that is falling apart at the seams. About a system which must at all costs be replaced.

Tracing its history back over 800 or-so years, we find that Parliament’s foundations are based not on goodwill, a heartfelt need to listen to the people, or a consensus of opinion, but in fact are built on war. On aggression and defence.

When Edward I called a parliament in 1295 it was for the purpose of taking counsel from his appointed lords on how to raise more money to continue fighting the Scots and the French, not to mention suppressing insurgency across the border in Wales.

There was no healthcare, no transport subsidies, no policies reflecting social needs - nor were any of these considered important. Commoners were commoners.

And yet a parliamentary system grew up around this, but became the domain of the wealthy and privileged. Some would argue it still is. Five hundred years ago one needed to be able to demonstrate that one’s land was worth at least 40 shillings in order to have a say in governance. Until the early 20^th Century women were not even allowed to have a say at all, and even today are vastly outnumbered by men. Of the 650 parliamentary seats only around 200 are occupied by women.

For centuries the sovereign played the lead role in governance, but today Her Majesty reigns – although as my learned friend will surely tell you, does not rule over parliament – as head of State. A mere figurehead.

One need look no further than the Westminster cloakrooms for evidence of how antiquated this building and all within it have become. There you will find ribbons from which Members may hang their swords (if they could sneak them through security). And in the House itself, two red lines divide the government from the Opposition; lines which it is said are measured by the length of two swords, to keep our governors from drawing and using their weapons.

Heavens, just outside the chamber there is a snuff box from which Members may ‘take a hit’, since smoking is no longer permitted. And if that’s not antiquated enough, there are only 427 seats available for a total of 650 Members of Parliament, so in order to secure a seat on those busiest of days members must fill out a 'prayer card', and be in attendance for prayers before any debating begins.

My time is limited, so it is with regret that I cannot inform you fully of the rodent problem, the crumbling gothic structure in which we stand and the enormous cost of its refurbishment. But as an analogy the Palace of Westminster is perfect: like the system it houses, it is slowly but surely falling apart. 

This isn’t Westminster. This is Wasteminster.

For the Defence:

I thank my learned friend for his observations, which, as you will see do not stand up to scrutiny, and which conveniently yet erroneously paint a picture of a deteriorating democracy.

Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, let us not be fooled into thinking that a building, even one as magnificent as this, can represent the full power, or the full significance of the Westminster System of democracy. It is not the bricks and mortar that hold our society together; it is the decisions, the debates and ultimately the laws that are passed within the building that save us from the descent into anarchy and chaos.

As you’ve heard, Edward I realised he needed to gain popularity with the commoners if he was to impose taxes for raising funds for the defence of the realm. But in doing so, what eventuated was the chance for the people’s voice to be heard by authority.

The common people had grievances, over land, boundaries, the expectations demanded of them, and for the first time the monarch had to listen to them. For the first time those that ruled had to embrace the concept of quid pro quo: I want  something from you, I need to give something to you. We have never looked back.

Yes it was kings who ruled and reigned for many years, but from Edward’s time on the

Making their voices heard

concept of a Commons survived and grew. Not always perfectly, not always equally, but eventually the 40-shillings rule was dropped, and having a say, making your voice heard, became the right of commoners. 

So community representation goes back hundreds of years, with knights taking county and borough grievances to the king. Later  this developed into a more formalised system of representation when voting was introduced, and thanks to the voices and sacrifices of the suffragettes, women too were able to vote. It is a testament to democracy that their voices were allowed to be heard, and were listened to.

It is true also that her Majesty reigns over but does not rule parliament. And yet each week she meets privately with the prime minister to discuss affairs of state, to take the pulse of the nation, and – who knows – maybe to advise and counsel the head of government with wisdom and insight. She has  after all outlasted twelve prime ministers to date, and maybe even thirteen by the end of the year.

('Objection! Your Honour, pure conjecture!' 'Overruled. Please continue...')

Thank you m'lud. Oh yes we have ribbons for hanging swords, lines on the carpet to keep our members from tearing each other’s throats out, and snuff for the taking. These are quaint, old-fashioned, and yet such things are a magnet for tourists. It is just these quirks and conventions that our American cousins, our European cousins, and in fact those from all over the world find fascinating and absorbing. In this age of Instagram, Parliament has never been so visible, so desirable. 

This Palace has endured many hardships. At least twice it has caught fire. It survived a terrorist plot involving gunpowder - though it could be thanks to its damp crumbling cellars that the explosives might never have gone off – and during the Second World War the Luftwaffe bombed it. It is still here. It endures. And more importantly what it represents endures: freedom. That includes for example  the freedom of the press to question every aspect of parliament without fear, without threat of incarceration, or worse. 

You are here today safe and sound because of Westminster. Not the building itself, but what it represents: around 800 years of democracy. Eight hundred years of caring for the commoners, for caring for the United Kingdom’s place in the world. Eight hundred years of progress, and a system that has been adopted around the world in one form or another.

Ladies and gentlemen, I put it to you that you came here today thanks to laws governing transport, health and safety, equality, and above all laws that entitle each and every one of you to have a say in the running of this country. Laws that were drawn up, debated, and agreed here in this building.

This is not Wasteminster, this is Bestminster.

 

A Grand Design Space Renovation Argument

There’s an argument going on at our place. Not out loud; it’s not like the neighbour’s screaming at us for having trimmed a wee bit too much of her japonica which was hanging over on our side. No, this argument is much quieter, in fact silent, but no less a major heavyweight bout.

Mortgage-on-Thames

Having recently bought in Sunbury-on-Thames – or ‘Mortgage-on-Thames’ as we now call it – we have once again (of necessity) become property renovators. Liz and I have done this at least twice before, so we’re no strangers when it comes to peeling off old wallpaper, jemmying away rotten timbers, or in fact ripping down whole walls. Sometimes we do it just for fun, so you might want to be a bit cautious before inviting us round to your place; if we arrive with a bottle of Chardonnay and a crowbar you know you’re in trouble.

It will come as no surprise therefore to learn that over the years we have become avid followers of Kevin McCloud, George Clarke, Sarah Beeny et al, as we have watched them observe, guide, fret, advise and sometimes scoff at people’s various restoration, facelift, or complete demolition-and-rebuild projects on TV.

We’ve become immune to the drama; cue Kevin, walking towards camera, away from mud-clogged building site with stranded digger in the background: ‘The thing is, will their budget cope with this winter of discontent? Can Bob and Sally survive not only the stresses of the ever-delayed project, but the challenge of living with each other in a tent at the bottom of their soggy garden while their building project becomes more and more stuck in a sea of mud, ennui and overdue credit card payments?’ 

Probably, but we have another four commercial breaks and similar pieces-of-rhetoric-to-camera until we find out.

Sarah Beeny is positively funereal in her pre-break summaries, her voice lowering to that of a minister presiding over the eulogies and final words before the coffin is committed, probably to a muddy hole in the ground due to the worst winter since ever. The editor even adds a blue-grey tinge to the images of the property pre-reno work, along with sad violin music FX, just so we get the message that this project was death personified until SB came along.

That’s okay, there’s a lot we like about the programmes too, not least of which is having a wager on whether the wife in each Grand Designs episode will get pregnant during the building project (she does, always), and whether the same will happen between George’s first and final visits to his Amazing Spaces properties (she usually does too). We have a side-bet on whether the presenters are to blame. Sarah Beeny seems to be pregnant herself in every episode of her property programmes, but since neither Kevin nor George feature we can hardly hold them accountable.

No, what irks us the most is how Kevin endlessly talks about how the grand design in question needs to maintain ‘a dialogue’ with the landscape in which it sits, and how ‘the narrative’ of the house and grounds needs to be well-planned. The ceiling needs to ‘engage’ with the walls, while the roof should ‘embrace’ the distant horizon.

The garden incommunicado

Well I can tell you now that our property is having a blazing row, not just with the landscape but within itself. For example, the garden is definitely not speaking to the house. There is no dialogue between them, unless it’s the house saying, ‘You bastard! Look at you! Overgrown, unkempt, the scruffiest in the neighbourhood. What about me?!’

Actually the house is no better (as the garden will quickly tell you); the walls have turned their faded yellow stucco backs on the local landscape, most likely because they’re too embarrassed to engage in any discourse. It would be short-lived anyway. ‘Yellow? Dirty old yellowy stucco? You cannot be serious!’ says the landscape.

Nothing to see here, move along...

Inside, the décor has reached a stony silence with contemporary norms, the bright pink walls of the lounge and dark green of the dining room having nothing to say to today’s paint charts, especially magnolia, Britain’s biggest selling interior hue.

The roof tiles, spaced like rotting teeth in a sugar-loving octogenarian who has never visited a dentist in his life, do maintain a Theresa May-like conversation with everything below, a sort-of Brexit attitude of, ‘We’re definitely leaving, bit by bit, but we still expect to have protection from water ingress, and we’d like some guarantee of ongoing commitment to friendly upkeep of relationships, if not actual tiles’. Strong and stable, that’s what the roof wants to be.

The shed in tendrilly engagement

The garden path hates the lawn, the sage bush and adjacent rose have fallen out, while the only engagement to be seen is where the ivy has got the garden shed well and truly in its tendrilly clutches, and even that’s an unwelcome Weinstein moment. The shed is likely to fail its audition and be blacklisted. (What, too soon?) (Yep – Ed. #ShedsMatterToo)

At the river’s edge there’s a tree stump making a bid to escape across the water, while the nearby flagpole is saying nothing, there being a lack of vexillologists in the family at present.

All-in-all it’s an enormous spat, and Kevin would have his scripting skills cut out to find any meaningful dialogue anywhere on the property.

So it’s been interesting this week meeting with a couple of architects as we talk through our ideas for Mortgage-on-Thames, and we now keenly await their responses. Given the obvious conflict, we see them as quasi property marriage guidance counsellors, whose job it is to make sure that meaningful dialogue takes place between the house and Sunbury, the building and the garden, and the property in general with the neighbourhood.

Liz and I did briefly discuss inviting Kevin or George round to cover our renovation project for their TV programmes, but then dismissed the idea. I mean, we have a new mortgage; we certainly can’t afford another child.


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