Modern Life Needs A Survival Guide

Every so often, the Great British public are invited en masse to cast their vote. The voter walks in to a polling station, goes to a booth and puts their cross next to the person they wish to vote for.

More often than not, the person they’re voting for isn’t really who they would like to vote for, but rather they’re the person they dislike the least. Or the candidate happens to wear the colour of rosette of the party that hold some of the same values as they themselves do.

It’s party politics in this country and there’s not a lot anyone can do about it.

Now, take The Plashing Vole. Mr Vole has encapsulated what I want to say quite nicely in this post:

“One day, just once, I'd like to vote for someone I trust and respect ideologically, rather than for the least worst option. I gave the previous council candidate a chance: he knocked on the door and I asked him if he was a socialist: he refused to answer, which I thought was shameful for a Labour candidate.”

As you can probably guess, Mr Vole and I are poles apart when it comes to our political leanings but I read his blog and occasionally I find myself nodding my head. Is this because I’m quite suggestible? I hope not but it’s quite possible.

I may sometimes cringe at his naked anger towards they of the blue rosette, but to be fair, it’s no different to my past spleen ventings that were directed at the one-eyed snot gobbler and the grinning war criminal liar man.

No, I find myself agreeing with Mr Vole because some of the things that he’s railing against are just pure wrong. Take our positions on our local Tory MP for example.

The country is broken. So much so that I honestly don’t think it really matters who’s holding the reins of this runaway stage as they’ve not been connected to the horse for a long time.

The Tories will make cuts and line their own pockets.

Labour will spend money like a drunken sailor on shore leave and also line their own pockets.

Those that pay taxes, will continue to do so. Those that don’t, will continue not to.

I simply cannot get angry about it any more. It’s not that I’ve been beaten into submission by it all, I’ve just come to a few realisations about life and my little place in it.

I’ve been angry for as long as I can remember and it’s brought me nothing but trouble, debt and a string of broken friendships. I’m in my mid-thirties now and it’s high time I sorted myself out, so over the last few months that’s exactly what I’ve been doing.

I haven’t taken the Siouxsie La Do option, as tempting as it is, but I have tried to find some inner peace. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go all hippy on you.

There are around 60 million people in this country.

Sixty million people.

60,000,000 people.

I am but one man. A damned handsome and gifted man to be sure, but a solitary voice all the same. What exactly can I expect to change in this country, in my community, in my workplace? If I’m going to employ the same methods that get so many laughs on this here blog, then I’m going to achieve nothing except maybe to ostracise my peers, aggravate my stomach ulcer and possibly wind up in jail.

That isn’t a life, or at least it’s not a life worth living. Over the last couple of months, I’ve made a conscious effort to avoid or just outright ignore the things that make my blood boil.

I don’t listen to the radio or watch the news. I listen to podcasts when driving and have resigned myself to the fact that every car journey is going to take as long as it’s going to take. There’s just no point in getting all het up.

It’s also quite astonishing how much I can get done when I’m not butting heads with everyone I disagree with too! So much so that I can even get my point across *AND* get things done my way when I’m not stamping my foot like a spoiled toddler.

Whether I like it or not, and I think we’re clear on the fact that I don’t like it, the country is in a god-awful state. The debate on the AV was boiled down to vote for your favourite celebrity, people have open conversations praising TV programmes such as Britain’s Got Talent, The X Factor and The Only Way Is Essex without fear of being punched in the face, Road Tax is called Vehicle Excise Duty and I’m not allowed to hit other people’s kids for annoying me in Morrisons.

What? I said I was trying to calm down, I didn’t say that I was being very successful.