I don't wear a poppy...

In fact, I've never worn a poppy. I've occasionally put money in the Royal British Legion collection boxes, but I've not, in my adult life at least, actually pinned one on and walked round with it. I've just never felt comfortable doing so, despite my conventional background and the general sense of it being 'the done thing'. Why?

Two reasons I guess, each related to the two main reasons people would cite for wearing poppies.  The main one of course is remembrance - it's right to recall and acknowledge the lives given by service personnel over the last century and a bit, and in the various conflicts. I understand that, and am sympathetic to it, and if the wearing of the poppy were a purely grassroots-inspired movement, I might feel differently. But it's not - politicians, royalty, newsreaders and the like all ostentatiously wear their poppies; it's become an establishment thing, clearly. The very same establishment that has been pretty cavalier over the years with the lives of the people they now want us to remember.

I don't care that WW2 and, more controversially perhaps, the Falklands were wars that needed to be fought to either defend ourselves from or deter aggressors; there are many other examples, WW1 obviously being the largest and most egregious, where the establishment, viz. the government and the military command, demonstrably didn't give a sh*t about the lives of the people it was sending into battle. The tactics, the slaughter, the gratuitousness were indefensible. Iraq and Afghanistan weren't much better. So it feels a bit rich for the political class and the military class to now exhort us to remember each year. Wearing a poppy feels like, to me, endorsing their crass, callous decisions over the years.  The lads (and lately lasses) were expendable, but let's take a couple of minutes a year to pretend their loss had some meaning, shall we?

I could even partly forgive their hypocrisy were it not for the second purpose of the poppy: fundraising. It's always seemed astonishing to me that ex-service people should have to rely on charity - yes, CHARITY - for support both during and after their time in the military. If you volunteer to serve your country, then any lifelong needs you have from any harm that's incurred during that service should, at the very least, be paid for by the state. The fact that they're not underlines to me my earlier point - the establishment doesn't really care about the sailors, soldiers and airmen & women; it just pretends to. Fur coat and no knickers is the basis of their attitude to service personnel - we'll weep over your coffin in full public view, but we won't fund the things you need to have a decent life once your service ends. Again, wearing a poppy feels like I'm endorsing that attitude, the status quo, and I won't do it.

I've felt like this for years without being able to articulate it, but the last 18 months have brought home to me just how little politicians and governments really care about their populaces, both now (especially now), but actually for as long as there's been representative administrations. I'm not saying there aren't some decent people in the political classes, but the prevailing approach is one of doing and saying anything to reach and keep power, whether that be cynically expending the lives of the predominantly working class that staff the armed forces, and/or then equally cynically being seen to mourn their loss. Frankly, it makes me sick.

So not wearing a poppy doesn't mean, in my mind, that I don't care about those who've perished; it means quite the opposite - I don't want to perpetuate how things are done now. The war dead, and the ones who survived, deserved so much better for the most part. 

  

Still not having the vaccine...

Back in April-ish 2007 I attended a conference for senior managers in HBOS.  One of the presentations during the day proudly announced that the bank borrowed £280bn on the overnight and short-term money markets to fund its mortgage lending.  As chance had it I was sitting next to a dealer from the organisation's Treasury function.  I said to him that seemed an extraordinarily large amount to have to re-finance every day, and didn't it create some vulnerability were markets to ever not be accommodating?  "Oh no", he replied, a bit condescendingly, "it's all fine, we never have a problem".  I was semi-convinced, and did nothing further about it.

So when HBOS collapsed a few months later because, er, its short term lending facilities had been withdrawn as a result of what was known as the credit crunch, I was, to put it mildly, frustrated.  I'd taken the previous 5-6 years of bonuses in the form of share options. Had I acted on my gut, and cashed them in, as I would have been able to, I'd have avoided a loss that just tipped into six figures when the HBOS share price crashed.

If this been an isolated example, I might have put it down to bad luck.  But when I left Lloyds, which took over HBOS, I became a management consultant, and am approaching 10 years in the job.  On now countless occasions I've encountered situations or circumstances that seemed intuitively wrong or amiss, I've been met with official explanations and/or reassurances, and yet after digging and analysis my initial reaction has proved to be right.  And usually the more senior the source of the reassurance, the more likely there is to be a problem.

And this is what explains my stance with the vaccine - the conditions are the same.  On the one hand there's a set of facts that cause me to raise my eyebrow:

1. The vaccine is being pushed hard, not just for those who are vulnerable to Covid, i.e. the older, the fatter and the sicker, but to all healthy people (seemingly including children it seems, which is utter insanity), at enormous cost, for an illness with a 99.9%+ survival rate, depending on your exact demographic
2. There are cheap and easy ways of avoiding the worst effects of Covid (vitamin D, zinc supplements, lose weight) and treating it if you do get it (ivermectin, hydroxychoroquine) that not only haven't been pushed by governments and their medical advisers, but in the latter case have been actively discredited, not by proving they don't work, but by undermining and attacking the reputation of those who suggest them
3. Medical trials for the vaccines don't end till 2023, and their development lifecycle means we can't by definition yet know their long term effects
4. Pharma companies have been granted immunity from prosecution for any damage or death arising from the use of the vaccines they've manufactured

A combination of the above creates big doubt in my mind.  Note that I'm not making any judgement about the efficacy of the vaccines themselves; it just seems odd to me that they're being promoted so vigorously.  It encourages me to think there's more to this than meets the eye.

Worse, there now seems a concerted effort from not just government, but the media in its choice of language ("anti-vaxxers", "refuseniks") to demonise people who've chosen not to have the vaccine. This week particularly has seen a wave of broadcasters and writers - Shelagh Fogerty, Iain Dale, Sarah Vine among them - to brand people like me as 'selfish', and somehow responsible for potentially delaying the lifting of all Covid restrictions.  (It'll be interesting to see if the government adopts the same approach. "Look what you made me do" - the language of domestic abusers, control freaks, gaslighters, and coercion psychopaths the world over).  This is the equivalent of that condescending "oh no, it's all fine" I heard at the HBOS conference all those years ago, with the attendant implication that I'm too stupid to understand what's really going on.  Well, I'll make my own mind up thanks....

...and my mind has made an assessment of the risks.  I'm a very fit (in comparison to the average), slim 54 year old who mixes with relatively few people and lives in a low population density area.  In the unlikely event I get Covid, it's unlikely to be any worse that the pneumonia I had in 2019 and the (proper) flu I had in 2018.  

One last argument to knock down - that I risk creating what economists call "externalities" if I don't have the jab, in other words that I create a cost for society.  I've even seen people suggesting that the unvaccinated should either not receive or have to pay for hospital treatment in the event they're admitted with Covid.  I wonder if those people would argue the same if I fell off my bike and needed A&E treatment?  After all, I quite easily avoid the risk by not going for a bike ride.  So who gets to judge?  All sorts of injuries and ailments are treated by the NHS that are caused by recklessness or stupidity, so even if you put vaccine-avoidance in the same bracket, that's not an argument to treat it differently to, say, patching up a Saturday night drunk who's tripped over his kebab.

But back to the main premise - the whole set of circumstances surrounding the vaccine seem iffy to me (the arguments that it's a trojan horse for implementing population behavioural controls are looking increasingly convincing).  And I'm not going to be pressured, bribed, coerced, persuaded or insulted into having the damn thing until that changes.  I'm not holding my breath.

Red Lines (Don't Don't Do It)

Do you remember this time last year when Derbyshire Police flew one of their drones over moorland to catch people who were out walking 'illegally' during that particular lockdown?  Despite being a generally law-abiding goodie-goodie over the years I was outraged.  My better half couldn't understand why, deploying the "well if they haven't done anything wrong, they haven't got anything to worry about" argument.  "Ah yes", I replied, "but how will you feel when you're caught - by drone - walking the dog in the countryside 'illegally' off-lead?"  She scoffed then.  She doesn't scoff now.  Anything feels possible, in our Brave New World.

So on the offchance that anybody who reads this blog hasn't done their own research, or at the very least not swallowed the distortions, omissions and partial truths fed to us every day by the BBC and rest of the mainstream media, it's time to ask yourselves two important questions:

1. Should you have any of the 'vaccines' that are available?  (Noting that it may be too late for some), and:
2. Even if you do, should you participate in a 'vaccine certification' (vaccine passport) programme?

The answer to question 1 is, I think, 'it depends'.  If I were over 70, or over 50 with a serious medical condition, I'd overlook the facts that these are experimental medicines, that they edit my DNA, that their manufacturers have been exempted from any kind of liability by governments, and that the Astra Zeneca vax increases the risk of fatal blood clots in those with a pre-disposition to them, and take one of them.  The potential benefit is probably greater than the risk.

I, however, am a fit and healthy 54 year old.  My assessment, even before I consider the question of the government's wider intentions, is that the risks outweigh the benefits for me, so I haven't had the vaccine. If you're under 50, with no serious medical conditions, I beg you not to take it.  The number of people in your position who've died from Covid is vanishingly small.  If you're under 18, it's microscopic to the point of being virtually zero.  That the vaccination of children is even being considered is astonishing to me, but frankly, a giveaway - it confirms there's much more to this than meets the eye.

Which brings us on to vaccine passports, the second question above.  They're made to sound so innocent and benevolent - "go to a concert where you know others are safe, and they know you're safe!"  And I'm disappointed, but not surprised after the last months of incessant propaganda, that so many of my friends are going along with this; that they're happy to be granted or denied entry to events and venues on the basis of a centrally-held and administered system that records their health status.  Because here's the rub - what might start as your health status could easily be extended to other things - are your taxes up-to-date? Have you opted out of automatic organ donation?  Have you had a minor criminal conviction?  And these things would all be presented as a terribly reasonable minor extension of the current scheme.  You may scoff now, much as my wife did last year about my point on drones.  You may paint me as a tinfoil hat-wearer.  I don't care, in fact it's nearly a badge of honour.

But just think about it - our right to freedom of assembly would become subject to governmental approval.  The current policing bill attempts to undermine that right head-on; this could be a less direct, but equally effective way of exerting control.  It's the basis for a fundamental change in how we live, and by fundamental, I mean the most significant change since the signing of the Magna Carta.  Maybe you think governments are doing this for the most benign of reasons, for all our benefits; if you do, I may have a bridge to sell you.  So going back to my questions - even if you choose to have the vaccine, I beg you not to participate in any vaccine passport scheme.  If you do, you'll be contributing to the biggest self-imposed risk to our freedoms for centuries (I'm exempting the risk from wars and invaders).

So don't, don't do it.  I'm prepared to lose my livelihood on this principle, as it's possible that the kind of major corporates for whom I act as a consultant will insist on vaccine passports to enter their premises.  It's much easier for me to do that now at 54 than it would have been when I was 34 of course.  But even if a few of us can hold out for a few months, it increases our chances of beating this horrible change.

I hereby declare....

Despite the fact I think they're mad and counter-productive for the most part, the restrictions on our freedoms over the last 12 months actually haven't been too bad for me.  I've worked from home, so much less travel and staying in London, and I haven't had to worry about home schooling and the like.  The most serious negatives have been not seeing my youngest at Christmas (or in fact at all for over a year now, despite her only being a two hour train ride away), having to cancel a cycling trip in France, not being able to travel to our house in France, and not being able to go to the pub. Actually, when I write them out like that, those things do seem cumulatively quite serious.  The point, however, is that the effects on me have been mild compared to other people - I haven't lost my livelihood, life or marbles.

Nevertheless, I have intermittent Bad Days.  On those days I'm grumpy, miserable and depressed.  They happen once every two to three weeks, and I've been trying to understand why.  At first I thought it was boredom with the same-old, same-old routine ("what shall we watch on Netflix tonight? where will we walk this weekend?"), but it's more than that.  I realise that as one of those people who derive lots of pleasure from planning things and anticipating the forthcoming experience, it's the lack of plans and dates in the diary that periodically turns me into an objectionable git. Ok, more of an objectionable git.

And then, the night before last, I had a dream....I had two that I can recall actually, but we'll brush over the first.  Anyway, in that dream, I was walking from Land's End to John O'Groats.  I woke with a start - that's it! That's what I'll do! It ticks so many boxes:

• it's a big challenge
• it'll take a lot of planning
• it'll involve buying new kit (always fun)
• I'll get to see parts of the country I've not seen before

Now, I have done a cycling version of LEJoG - I and great mate Mendip Rouleur rode it in 2009, and it remains one of the most enjoyable 10 day periods of my life. Walking the thing is a different prospect entirely of course - it'll take 60 or more days rather than 10, it'll be proportionately more expensive, it'll probably hurt more, navigation will be harder, and the potential for boredom will be greater.

And those are the reasons I decided to write a blog about the idea. It would be all too easy to slip back into the comfort of remote working and regular deliveries, reflect on the challenges of walking LEJoG, and think "nah, can't be bothered".  By saying here that I'm going to do it, I'll look a bit silly and/or pathetic if I don't. So this is something amounting to a public declaration.  The fact I'm writing it at 7am is a good sign, frankly - it means I'm quite excited at the prospect.

Now I need to go away and answer some big questions:

• When do I want to do it?  A mid-April start looks favourite
• Which direction do I want to do it?  Was thinking north to south as a change from 2009, but there are strong reasons to keep with south to north, particularly as the route itself will have significant variances from first time round
• Which exact route do I take?  So many options!
• Where will I stay and will I book accommodation in advance? I really don't know.

...and many more besides.  So, very early days, and who knows, we could still be suffering from Covid nonsense this time next year. But I think I have to go for it, especially now I've said I'm going to...

Money, that's all I want...

I will shortly start work on an assignment for a large clearing bank.  It's probably the biggest challenge of my career - without wanting to be a hyperbolic, it's a question of the organisation's survival over the next four to five years.  We're charged with finding billions in cost savings.  The days when banks, or any other large firm, could just issue edicts telling all its teams to shave 5% off their cost base have long gone.  The easy pickings aren't there any more, so we'll be looking at the fundamentals on which the firm is based and organised.  The small team I'm part of will do its best of course over the next three months, but I'm pessimistic for the future of our client - long term low interest rates, loan defaults caused by Covid, zealous regulators, new fintech entrants in things like payments, and public expectations around service levels and free banking are not a happy cocktail.  And just on that latter point - the public's view around banking in general and branch services in particular is fantastically out of kilter with the economics of running a bank.

So what?  Well, there's another thing I haven't mentioned, and that's the whole principle of fiat money, by which I mean government-issued currency that is not backed by a physical commodity, such as gold or silver, but rather by the government that issued it.  The point of this blog is to make a prediction, and it's this: confidence in the world's system of fiat money is going to take a massive hit over the next few years, with equally massive implications for banks, how to pay for things, how we store our wealth, and the possibly the control the state has over us.

Several things are going to combine to undermine the confidence in money. I don't know the precise combination, but it'll probably involve some or all of the following:

• The massive rise in governmental debt around the world as a result of Covid in itself will spook markets.  Hard to say when, and it'll probably start in one country, but there'll be contagion
• A likely policy response will be to allow inflation to drift upwards - I'm predicting governments like the UK's will be OK with it going to 5-6% for a prolonged period
• Interest rates and productivity improvements will both remain low, meaning that both people who rely on cash and low risk investments in their retirement, and salaried/wage earning people with few capital assets, will find themselves notably poorer in real terms
• Interest rates could even turn negative in some places; and this will be coupled will bank closures to prevent bank runs
• Wealth taxes - some governments will find it politically irresistible to snaffle 1% of the capital value of your pension or ISA (over say £100k or local currency equivalent) on the basis that "those with the broadest shoulders can take a larger load" 
• The eurozone will break up, with the larger, more powerful countries (of which there'll be few) retaining the €, and the bulk of the smaller ones scrabbling around for a replacement.  We all know it's going to happen, unless political union overcomes national resistances, which is of course what the EU wants to happen. But I don't think they'll prevail
• Physical cash will be less prevalent and less accepted.  Some countries might even simply withdraw whole denominations, as India did in 2016.

So if my prediction around the confidence in fiat money systems is right, what are the possible complications?

• Banks will suffer.  They may lose their place at the heart of most developed countries economies and financial systems.  Their shares will be worth very little, as they will effectively all be arms of the state - see next point
• The possible advent of Central Bank Digital Currencies.  This has the potential to be horrific - central banks (or their agents) issuing and administering their own form of money.  Sounds harmless when you put it like that, but the reality is the state could have total control over the value of your wealth and what you spend it on.  It pretty much happens in China already, and the crazy people at the WEF (World Economic Forum - they of the "haven't cities been great as a result of lockdown" tweet at the weekend) would love it to happen.  We absolutely must resist
• People will look for traditional stores of value....like gold, silver and other commodities...
• ...and not so traditional ones.  Wine, art, classic cars have all seen large increases in value since 2008-9 when quantitative easing was introduced, and it's hard to see the trend reversing.  If my money is going to decrease in value in real terms, why not put in things I can enjoy now?
• However, crypto-currencies might come into their own.  Many people have heard of Bitcoin, but there are many others out there.  Blockchain technology generally is, in my view, a bit like the internet in the early 1990s - everyone can see it's got massive potential, but we just don't quite know yet how it's going to manifest itself.  It might be a bubble, a gold rush - but it's not one i'm planning on missing out on
• The return of barter and exchange - I'm not saying this will sweep the world economy (there was a reason money came into existence of course, namely as a method of exchange when you didn't want my dozen eggs in return for your leg of lamb), but the internet makes finding people to do local swaps and exchanges much easier than 20 years ago -"I'll do your accounts for 10 free yoga classes", or whatever
• Back to banking - the biggest brands will become the biggest payment vehicles.  Facebook Pay is already here, and it's just the start. Banks' old payment platforms won't be able to compete with the huge investment the tech giants can make.

One last thing.  If you've not got money to invest right now, but are at least earning a decent salary, what should you do?  Buy a house and get a mortgage as soon as possible is the first thing. Capital values may go down, though not by much, but so will the real value of your debt - see my point on inflation above - as long as you lock in to a fixed rate deal in the 2-3% range.  Buy some gold, even just a little bit, and keep it safe; there's a reason it's been a store of value as long as it has (namely the combination of its attractiveness and limited supply; did you know all the gold ever mined could be contained in a cube with its sides each the length of a tennis court?). Never move to a CBDC.  Pay cash when you can so that the authorities can't point to its dwindling use as a means to get rid of it.  And get wise to the possibilities of crypto-currencies.

There we are. A bit of a dry subject possibly to a lot of people, but one with the potential to change a key part of how we've lived our lives for centuries.  In the meantime, I'll embark on what quite possibly will be an ultimately futile exercise of trying to preserve a UK bank for a few years longer.

Little adventures

A much-loved pet of ours died this week. Kandy, or KKK as she was known (any resemblance to similarly-named groups that look down and persecute what they consider to be inferior creatures is purely intentional), had been with us for 15 years, since we made a mercy dash to Oldham where she'd been found, cold and skeletal, presumed abandoned, by friends in a supermarket car park.  She was scared of her own shadow for weeks after, hiding constantly behind furniture, but gradually, after hours of coaxing and conversation from Mrs K, she emerged to become quite a character.  I won't bore you too much about her, save to say her most remarkable characteristic was to not need gradually introducing to a new environment; we could take her anywhere - holiday, friends - let her out the back door, knowing that she'd be back in half an hour or so, in contrast to many cats, who'd simply disappear for a few days.

This trait was particularly handy when it came to the lifestyle we've lived for the last 10 years - splitting our time between the UK and Brittany in France.  She'd go into semi-hibernation in the winter.  By contrast, when she was grumblingly let out of her basket when we arrived in France for the summer, she'd transform. She'd live outside much of the time, stalking and hunting anything in our acre of garden. In recent years she'd go further - it wasn't uncommon to see her in an adjacent field, wandering round dairy cattle.  She loved her summers out there, you could just tell. Coming and going as she pleased, killing when she fancied, a mate (Hodin the dog) that she'd send out first thing in the morning to chase off our feline rivals, she was in her element.

I mention all this why?  Well, apart from the fact that we're sad she couldn't have had at least one more of those summers in France, though frankly it's looking doubtful we're going to get out there, she lived for her mini-adventures. Those times when she'd disappear out of the door at 10.30pm and not return till the early hours. Or spend the day stock still in the long grass at the end of the garden waiting for prey to pass. And in that, it seems, she was like the rest of us; we might need routine and banality, but life becomes pretty unbearable without the ability to plan and have our little adventures. For some people those might be nothing more exciting than following their football team to an away fixture.  Others have mini-breaks, or longer holidays in more exotic locations; some get wasted at music festivals and others climb up or plunge down mountains on ropes, bikes or skis.  Whatever - most of us have something, from which we get pleasure both in the planning and the experience. Actually, I suspect it's more than pleasure, it's part of our 'hierarchy of needs'.  These things keep us sane, give us something to look forward to, to talk about, and to bond with friends over.

And right now, we've lost all that. Most of it anyway. The room for manoeuvre to plan mini-adventures is pretty limited at the moment, and is set to stay that way for a while.  And that, in my humble opinion, is a completely disproportionate reaction to the scale of the Covid problem.

I know I'm not going to change any minds with what I'm about to write. If you think lockdowns, school closures, mandatory mask wearing, and fining people for driving their car six miles to go for a walk at their nearest beach are sensible measures to take in the face of Covid-19, then you're going to disagree with every sentence that follows.

I don't think they're sensible measures. I think they're disproportionate, irrational, punitive, discriminatory, profligate, divisive, destructive and frankly, catastrophic. I can't believe that a government I voted for has introduced them. The only saving grace is that the other lot would have been even worse bedwetters, and that our MP is one of a very small number who are actually resisting the madness.

However, what's even more disturbing to me than the introduction of these unprecedented restrictions on our freedom is the degree of public support they seem to enjoy.  What has become of us? What's happened to our resilience, our desire to make our own choices around risk and reward, to be masters of our own destiny, that so many of us seem to be going along with the current ludicrous state of affairs?

I know it's no different in many other countries. In others, however, it is - there are stirrings of rebellion, not that you'd ever know from the mainstream media, across Europe and beyond. Maybe their furlough schemes aren't as generous. (Furlough - ensuring future generations have to repay the massive debt we chalked up because we couldn't manage a virus that has a 99% survival rate). It does give me hope, however, that maybe the minority - for we do seem to be the minority - can make themselves heard at some point.  Perhaps the minority will become the majority when all the olds are vaccinated and people still can't go to the pub or on holiday.

Maybe they'll realise at that point that life is for living, for taking calculated but informed chances, and certainly not for hiding away for months on end from something that is essentially harmless to the vast majority of the young (under 60s) and healthy.  They'll want their little adventures back, the things that made KKK's life a great one for a cat; the things that we'll remember fondly and reminisce about in our dotage.  We can hope.

Au revoir, not à bientôt

I wrote this blog at East Midlands airport back in October while en route to France.  I didn't publish it at the time, as I thought I might be over-reacting. Another couple of months hasn't changed things however...in fact it's just solidified how I feel about things...

"I’m writing this waiting for my flight to Dinard-Pleurtuit-Saint-Malo. Over the last 10 years I’ve frequently travelled out to our house in Brittany at this time of year, sometimes for bike riding, more recently to mow the lawn one last time and generally prepare the place for the ravages of winter. Even if I’m just going out to do the domestics I normally feel a frisson of excitement once I’m at the airport. This year, not so much.

There’s a whole variety of reasons for that. Some are to do with the house itself - the burden of maintaining a large garden increasingly outweighs its pleasures. Covid, inevitably, plays a part too; aside from the temporary inconvenience of having to wear a mask for an extended period for the first time (though I’m partly getting round that by making this bottle of Coke last an unfeasibly long time), I’ll actually be spending quite a lot of the next week doing the day job - management consulting from anywhere is now possible in a way it just wasn’t this time last year - so it won’t feel like I’m on holiday. It will, in fact, feel like a normal week, but just one where I’m working at an inferior desk with inferior WiFi. 

But the point of this isn’t too moan about the first world problem of being well-rewarded for doing an interesting job from my second best house. It’s more to do with the changes Brexit will, finally, bring at the end of this year. As I write, Boris has advised M. Barnier that there’s only any point him going to London next week if he has something new to offer. That looks unlikely, given that the point of the EU’s negotiating strategy has always been to try to punish the U.K., pour encourager les autres. So a No Deal Brexit is looking likely, unless I’m being very naive and the whole thing is being stage-managed so that a last minute agreement can be presented as a triumph for both sides, depending on which side of the Channel you reside. [Update 21/12 - can't believe the last sentence remains valid at this point....] 

So the realities of a Britain outside the EU will bite, and the 4 1/2 years of wondering will end. It’ll mean quite a lot of change for us, all of it unwelcome. Getting our cat and dog into and out of France will become, without going into all the detail of what it means to be an ‘Unlisted’ country for pet travel purposes, hasslesome and expensive (to the tune of several hundred pounds a year in additional vet’s bills). [Actually the UK has been awarded "Part 2 status", not as bad as Unlisted, but not as good as Part 1, for which there is no good reason for it not to apply; another 'punishment']. We’ll be limited to spending 90 days out of any 180 in France, unless we apply for a visa - more hassle, knowing French bureaucracy, and probably another 90€ or so for my wife, who typically spends April to September across there.  We’ve always taken out travel/health insurance rather than rely on the EHIC, but were we to ever need treatment, no doubt that dreaded bureaucracy would rear its ugly head again.

All this comes, of course, on top of what you knowingly sign up to when you buy a property abroad - the local taxes and utility bills, the usual travel costs and maintenance jobs. Those things have felt manageable for the last 10 years, and while the new costs probably don’t add a huge percentage to the current bills, for me they contribute to a crossing of the rubicon.

I’ll come back to the role of Brexit in that, and how I feel about it, as a Leave voter and staunch supporter over the last 5 years. But France as a country plays a role too. When we bought out there in 2010, it felt like something of a nirvana; close, but with a whiff of the exotic, a lower cost of living, and in the rural parts at least relatively free of crime and social problems. The glorious countryside is unchanged of course, but the other things on my list aren’t, unfortunately. Part of that may be down to my greater familiarity with the place, but other parts are demonstrably different, as anyone who’s paid for a week’s grocery shopping can attest.  Living there, whether it’s the relatively new 80km/h A road speed limit, or the more visible rural poverty, just feels a little bit worse.  

So France has changed, and not for the better. Add my reduced enthusiasm for gardening, the continuing uncertainties of Covid, and Brexit-created difficulties, and I’m not ashamed to say I want out. The place is for sale. I feel slightly guilty about that; unlike my wife, who’s learned to speak good French and has a number of friends out there, I’ve never really integrated. Sure I smile a lot and ‘bonjour’ all the locals, but that only goes so far. So I have no ties other than to the results of all the work we’ve done to make it a nice place to be, but those feel like they're loosening quite quickly.

Back to Brexit. As I’ve described, its effects probably aren’t a dealbreaker in their own right, but they're the final nail in the coffin of my love for our Breton chez nous. I can feel the schadenfreude of some readers from here - “you voted for Brexit, you’ve defended it, you’ve even been selected as a candidate for Brexit Party, so own it”. Fair point. But je ne regrette rien.

To start with, there’s more to it than the pedantic observation that had I voted differently in 2016 it wouldn’t have made any difference to the result. But then, the approach of the EU to the UK since 2016 has confirmed my suspicions; what matters most to the EU, beyond everything else including the wealth and wellbeing of its citizens (as million of Greeks would agree), is the EU; the project itself. Nothing must get in its way, and any deviations from the plotted course must be punished mercilessly. 

I'm not interested in re-running Brexit arguments however; those about trade and whether we’ll be better or worse off particularly bore me, partly because they assume a set of conditions that almost certainly won’t apply forever or even for very long - we and our trading partners will adapt. Some doors will close, others will open. The arguments over the balance are academic; I don’t care about them.  And Covid's effects will dwarf them in any event.

I guess the acid test is whether I’d have voted differently in 2016 if I’d known that we were going to end up with what looks likely now. It’s hard to assess honestly and rationally of course. On balance, I think not. I might have paused to consider for longer, and I’d certainly prefer to avoid No Deal from a personal point of view, but the underlying fundamentals aren’t any different. And at the end of it all, if I was still in love with France and our little part of it, the post-Brexit hassles would be barely registering." 

21/12 update: I feel the same. It may take us some time to sell our houses of course, and part of me hopes that in any case it won't be until after the Tour de France passes our door at the end of June, assuming of course we're allowed into the country by then. But my clear ambition is to have cut our ties with the place by the end of 2021.  I feel sad, but philosophical about that. We've had some lovely times and a number of superb summers out there, so I certainly don't regret our buying decisions. But if this year has shown anything, it's that life can change quickly and unpredictably, and what matters in terms of our health and contentment is how we choose to react to it. Easier for some than others of course, but that's for another day...

All that remains to say is.....Happy Christmas, wherever you'll be and whatever you're doing.