June 22nd – All my words come back to me, in shades of mediocrity.

We watched the match last night. It was one of those England matches to which everyone here has become accustomed over the decades; where our national team comes on to the pitch feted as the best we’ve ever had, and leaves it to boos; in everything but net worth, something less than the sum of their parts, bereft of energy, inspiration, and seemingly desire. I have always thought that our manager, Gareth Southgate, so long lauded by our media now, was palpably unfit for the job. I have held this view since, day 1, match 1. His main attribute seems to be deference. His teams, harmonious and respectful behind the scenes, apparently, and courteous, ‘umble, and polite to a fault in front of the cameras, seem to take the same attitude onto the pitch. They score, then say to the opposition, ‘Sorry about that, would you care to have a go?’ They went 1-0 up by accident against Italy in the final of the last tournament, having received a bye, and beaten a Covid-decimated Faroe Islands on the route to the final (or something like that), and then, instead of seeing a weakened prey, and going for the jugular, as every horribly successful manager in the history of the game would have had them do, they decided that they must respect the great footballing nation of Italy, invited them back into the game, and contrived to lose, like the decent blokes they were. 

Perhaps Southgate had browbeaten his side into this state of polite reverence, but I suspect not. I see in him, a person like me, browbeaten himself, by a father who would truck no dissent. I wonder if, like mine, his, never knowingly contradicted at home, always took the side of third parties against his family; always bestowing on them the accolade of meaning well, and being probably right for reasons that we did not quite appreciate, and never were ourselves? I wonder if, as a consequence, Gareth Southgate learnt that he should always subjugate his own views and preferences to those who spoke louder; always gave in to a bully with a more passionately stated case? I wonder if Gareth, like me, learnt at a young age, to suppress any instinct you might have to protect your own interests against aggressive tormentors, and instead you reached out to them, to understand what you could have possibly done to make them so angry with you?

That is the appeal of writing I suppose; to express views that could never be spoken. Some of our pieces have gained a little traction; and so far, it’s been those that have erred to the outspoken side – yet, despite that, I’d find it to articulate the same points in public. Still, at this late stage, I cannot discern between reticence and worthlessness. It’s just as well, perhaps, that the best of what we’ve created so far, has been nicked by Press Daddy – he gets the byline, and the fee. But the time is close when we are going to have to establish our own connection to this work. Our relationship with him means that he also gets to choose which he puts his name to, and which he leaves for us. The article here is one of ours – the polemic is a little too strong for him, and it may harm relationships he seeks to preserve.

One of ours, with his name on it, has been adopted as the article of the early summer, coming as it did, just before the General Election was announced, and by luck or by judgment, setting the key tone of zeitgeist. It was the one where we declared Thatcher’s economic revolution as less of the miracle it has always been said to be, but rather, an ill-conceived hollowing out of the state. Our point being that it may well have worked had the nation gone on a magic carpet to everlasting prosperity thereafter, but was always prone to implosion once a 2008-style Financial Crisis came along; and certainly not capable of surviving, if on the back of that, a decade of state controlled austerity were to be imposed, depleting public services beyond their breaking point; to which only disaster could ensue if a global pandemic were then to be suffered; and would ultimately be revealed to be a callous and inappropriate way to manage a nation’s finances should all that be followed by a surge in inflation and energy prices, to take the price of recovery beyond the pockets of the lowly working people who always fund every recovery.

We have been on to him though. His best seller, is ours, and he needs not to be allowed to forget. To be fair to him, he pays his way, and we pick up little sums here and there from Western Union outlets; we get our phones paid for, and he places the articles with our bylines for us. The time is coming though, when he’s going to have to make good on it all. We’re nearly home, and we’ve got plans.

Friend John is more inclined to confront a foe than me, and he’s been trying to teach me how, as his quid pro quo for the English lessons I’ve been giving him along the way. But it doesn’t come naturally; it once didn’t for him, he has learned it as a mechanism for survival. Think of it this way – you’ve been tyrannized into being the reticent, deferential inadequate you are today; maybe the real, horrible, person you were before all that began is waiting to be released.

That’s an encouraging thought. I cling on to that, and try to conjure up images of our disposal of Chew-chew; Friend’s unspoken silencing of Scrubber’s Haircut; and my own attempt to slice the ears off Big Eggo, as we bed down in the village hall, back in the old town.