Dearest heart of hearts, and a father's son. No one could ask for a more supportive release from this chapter we are all finishing. Such great men and I'm glad to share the air with you!
There isn’t grief but there is rage. That for a brief moment in British history we, the people, were shown the promised land, a land of milk and honey. I grew up getting milk in the morning at school and a hot lunch.
Education was free, if I was unwell or ill there was no fear, I went to the doctor and was fixed up.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was a utopia compared to my father’s upbringing and the generations before him. There was the radical notion that I could be who or what I wanted to be, that I was the master of my own destination but of course that was a lie because it’s hard to “ teach an old dog new tricks”.
But it still looked promising for the next generation….. and this is what guts me, this is what makes me an angry, bitter old man shaking his hands at the clouds.
I saw the promised land, I tasted the milk and honey but it was snatched away from me and those like me by Margaret fucking Thatcher, May she rot in hell forever. The figurehead for the idea that the individual mattered more than the collective.
Enough, it just makes me so angry
Your father fought the fight. His generation knew the hunger. The next generation took those sacrifices for granted and lost it. We didn’t realise that there were those who hated to see us prosper, reach our potential, so to speak. We can only look in envy at the Scandinavian countries who took that ideal of community comes first and continued with it.
This is what we could be, what we can be if we keep the spirit of your father alive.
Dearest heart of hearts, and a father's son. No one could ask for a more supportive release from this chapter we are all finishing. Such great men and I'm glad to share the air with you!
There isn’t grief but there is rage. That for a brief moment in British history we, the people, were shown the promised land, a land of milk and honey. I grew up getting milk in the morning at school and a hot lunch.
Education was free, if I was unwell or ill there was no fear, I went to the doctor and was fixed up.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was a utopia compared to my father’s upbringing and the generations before him. There was the radical notion that I could be who or what I wanted to be, that I was the master of my own destination but of course that was a lie because it’s hard to “ teach an old dog new tricks”.
But it still looked promising for the next generation….. and this is what guts me, this is what makes me an angry, bitter old man shaking his hands at the clouds.
I saw the promised land, I tasted the milk and honey but it was snatched away from me and those like me by Margaret fucking Thatcher, May she rot in hell forever. The figurehead for the idea that the individual mattered more than the collective.
Enough, it just makes me so angry
Your father fought the fight. His generation knew the hunger. The next generation took those sacrifices for granted and lost it. We didn’t realise that there were those who hated to see us prosper, reach our potential, so to speak. We can only look in envy at the Scandinavian countries who took that ideal of community comes first and continued with it.
This is what we could be, what we can be if we keep the spirit of your father alive.
The content is excellent and I will follow but I can't afford another subscription