All aboard the Mattapan Trolley!

Those of you who know me modestly well will know that I am an aficionado of public transport, or transit as I guess I should call it when across the pond. I am particularly fond of old trams and, having discovered that Boston’s MBTA (Massachusetts Bay Transportation Authority) still runs a few, I decided to go take a look whilst I still had the chance to do so.

The Boston subway system is a bit of a hybrid. The Blue, Orange and Red Lines are familiar in that they look like “proper” underground trains. The Green Line runs underground in downtown Boston but is really a light rail system which uses trams as rolling stock. But, partway down the Red Line at Ashmont, the regular trains stop and are replaced by seventy year-old PCC streetcars to serve the 2.6 mile stretch onwards to Mattapan.

There’s talk of upgrading the line, and thus replacing the streetcars with something more practical and modern (people have no sense of romance…), so I thought that I’d better take a ride whilst I still can.

New Year’s Day was cold, with a stiff breeze making the positively balmy minus four degrees feel more like minus seven but, thanks to Ros, I was properly equipped with a heavy coat, woollen scarf, gloves and fleece-lined beanie hat to cover my head and ears. And, taking advantage of the MBTA commuter rail New Year day ticket (just $10 for as many rides on the extensive suburban rail system as you can bear), I set off from West Natick for Boston’s South Station and the onward Red Line south.

I couldn’t tell you anything about Ashmont, as it was merely an interchange point, and, having found where the Mattapan Line picks up, it wasn’t long before an orange streetcar honed into view and I hopped aboard.

They aren’t exactly designed for comfort, with hard, plastic seats, but you’re never going to be on board for long, so I guess that it doesn’t really matter that much.

This one was car #3238, which has undergone a rebuild, but still has the feel of something older even than I am.

At Mattapan, I took advantage of the opportunity to take a few pictures before heading the local branch of that New England fixture, Dunkin’ Donuts, for a doughnut and a hot coffee.

And I can tell you, I needed the latter…

Adventures with Elsa (other princesses are available)

One of the unexpected side effects of being a grandparent of a five-year-old girl is exposure to the full array of Disney princesses. And yes, I know that Elsa is a queen, not a princess, but you know what I mean, right?

Our granddaughter is seldom happier than when she has a flowing dress to wear or, at least, she has been up until now. There is an emerging “threat” to this comfortable state of affairs.

For she has discovered KPop Demon Hunters, this summer’s unexpected hit. They don’t really fit with the “princess vibe” and it offers a challenge to a culturally challenged grandfather such as myself.

I’d familiarised myself with Frozen, and can do “Let It Go” jokes with the best of them. Moana was easy enough, as who can’t empathise with a giant crab with a magpie-like attraction to everything shiny? And it’s interesting how Disney has produced a series of films with strong female characters over recent years.

A Korean film about a girl band fighting demons masquerading as a boy band is a bit more of a stretch when your musical tastes tend to feature the gamut of late sixteenth/early seventeenth century madrigals (confusingly, the name of the family in Encanto). The tunes seem catchy enough though, and whilst the material might feel a bit more young teenager appropriate, our granddaughter has memorised the lyrics well enough to sing along on car journeys.

Rumi, Mira and Zoey are the members of HUNTR/X (pronounce the / as an “I”), who sing hit songs and secretly fight demons (I admit, the title is a bit of a giveaway). They are, naturally, strong personalities in control of their own careers - their male manager is more comic relief than Svengali.

Please don’t ask me about the plot - I’ve so far managed to avoid watching more than excerpts - but the news that a second film is being planned with much merchandise due to hit high streets soon indicates that the concept has been wildly successful. So, if you haven’t encountered KPop Demon Hunters yet, rest assured you probably will…

There are mixed feelings about this bargain…

When I gave up on The Times a few years ago, I reinvested those freed-up funds into some proper journalism - the Economist and the Washington Post. Quentin Letts had been the trigger for me, but it was probably inevitable - newspaper of record, indeed - although I did think that I was probably getting the better of the deal.

And, despite all of the gloom, I still value my subscriptions. At least, I did until Jeff Bezos decided to place his mark on the Washington Post. Now, regardless of what your preferences in terms of coverage, what most thinking people want is something which reports events and comments upon them as it sees fit. I don’t have to agree with the views expressed, and if they’re well articulated and reflect the facts, I’m content to consider them with a relatively open mind. The important thing is that the reporting and the commentary are distinct from one another.

My disappointment with the Washington Post led me to cancel my annual subscription during the autumn. The immediate response was to offer me a $50 discount on a renewal - a not shabby 42% or thereabouts. I wasn’t tempted, although I wasn’t particularly attracted by the obvious replacement, the New York Times.

And so, on Christmas Eve, my subscription ran out. But a further offer was forthcoming, to renew for a derisory $20 for the first year, and €70 per year thereafter. Now, that’s a lot of money, and $20 is good value for the puzzles alone. And so, I bit.

That does suggest that my principles are a little “fuzzier” than I might like to admit, but it also suggest that the Washington Post either:

• is losing significant numbers of readers, or;
• is willing to lose money to retain its reach, or;
• both

This does not fill one with optimism.

Nonetheless, they’ve persuaded me to stay for at least another year, which reminds me, I’ve got today’s word puzzles to do…

2026 — a year of transition…

So, the fireworks have gone off, and a new year has begun. I gave up making public announcements of resolutions made a long time ago - why broadcast your failures? - and this year is no exception. But I can be fairly sure that some things will happen in the coming year.

First, it’s my firm intention to bring my reign of terror leadership of Creeting St Peter Parish Council to a close in May. Now, I acknowledge that I’ve been trying to do this for a while though, and there may be some resistance - either I’m making the job look harder than it actually is, or my colleagues are perhaps too comfortable as things are - but given that 2027 is a year of transition anyway, it’s probably best that someone who might be around in the next cycle takes the role on.

Second, my rather unexpected time on the national stage of the first tier of local government will come to an end in September. I had never dreamt that being the Chair of a very small Parish Council might have wider repercussions, but with my approaching ineligibility as a parish councillor (yes, it all comes to an end in May 2027), I will feel obliged to pass on my NALC National Assembly seat and thus my place on its Smaller Councils Committee.

I will depart knowing that I’ve made a difference. The financial reporting to National Assembly is hugely improved, and my questioning of reports was part of the process of change. When I’m on form, I’m good at scrutiny, and the outgoing Vice Chair Finance, Peter Davey, was keen to respond. He was gracious enough to give me some credit, although the hard work was done by Peter and the professional team.

I also lobbied for the micro council sector. 40% of parish and town councils have an annual budget of £10,000 or less, and the debate at NALC always seemed to rather overlook the fact that our part of the sector is much more about representation and community than providing services. The recently created Micro Councils Network offers a forum for councillors to discuss the issues that affect us - difficulties with Clerk recruitment, administrative challenges, etc - and to seek advice or best practice. Simplified guidance appropriate to our sector is being produced, something that will be welcomed by many.

But all good things must come to an end. I’m the sort of liberal who believes that power should be shared and passed on, so I’m relaxed about that.

Other than that, much is uncertain. Travel plans are still emerging, as is my professional role. Mind you, I am in the slightly bemusing position of being able to retire, or partially retire, at a time of my choosing, which adds to the palette of possibilities. I do think that I ought to give some thought to a post-work world at some point though.

But, whatever else happens, it will happen with Ros, which is nice…

A dawning realisation that I don’t really fit, but that’s fine

Occasionally, someone revisits the idea that the Liberal Democrats consist of a number of tribes, and writes (usually quite thoughtfully) about how the interaction between the various groups impacts the way that the Party operates. And, as a long-term member whose history includes a variety of roles at every level of the voluntary party, I naturally read them with a degree of informed interest.

This year, the version that caught my attention was from James Baillie. James is a relative newcomer (admittedly, dinosaurs are relative newcomers compared to me these days) but his background as a historian offers a interesting perspective and his use of data opens up sources of evidence that underpin his logic. He identifies six groups;

• Orange Bookers
• Social Conservatives
• HQ Loyalists
• Moderates & Parochialists
• Social Liberals
• Radical Liberals

which feels about right, at least to this observer, although I might have used slightly different language.

And that’s kind of where my problem lies. I don’t sit easily with any of these groups and, in truth, nobody has ever come up with a grouping which I might recognise myself as sitting within.

It is, if you like, the blessing, and the curse, of being a bureaucrat in a political organisation and, despite my occasional attempts to “be something else”, that is my default role - my liberalism is best expressed by maintaining the societal and constitutional guardrails that protect a liberal society and allow others to shape that society. You might reasonably argue that this is an inherently conservative view of the world, and it probably is, but my motivation is to defend freedom by operating the systems that protect individuals from the overmighty state/party hierarchy (delete as appropriate). Rules matter, if you like.

And, in an environment where being part of a group matters more, as various groups within the Party organise and promote slates of candidates for its internal elections, I do feel, just a little bit, that I am something of an anachronism in not having an obviously political agenda or a desire for advancement.

That wasn’t why I didn’t run for election this year. I’m not a policy wonk, which rules out Federal Policy Committee, and I’ve not really got an obvious skillset which makes Federal Conference Committee a serious option. My professional life rules out the Federal Board (and realistically I’m not going to win anyway). I’ve been a member of Federal Council (and what a mistake that was) and Federal International Relations Committee, but feel that, for the time being, I’ve served long enough.

And you know, that's fine. Let someone else have a go and, if the time is right, I can find something that suits me and the Party at some point in the future...

A short history of correspondence with my family…

When I was (much) younger, messages to my family were sent on something that looked like this, an aerogramme. They were designed to be lightweight (to keep the delivery cost down) and easy to use - you folded over the gummed, protruding edges to seal it closed. But, with telephone calls expensive, and even middle class Indian homes not always connected to the telephone, they were how you kept the family in touch with what you were doing.

Of course, the advent of the internet meant that aerogrammes were increasingly irrelevant, and it appears that the Royal Mail gave them up in 2012. I admit that I hadn’t noticed.

In truth, I am at best an erratic correspondent, even with e-mail and social media. I mark family birthdays when they are noted by others on the family WhatsApp groups - there’s one for the Valladares’s and another for the cousins and second cousins - and I’ll occasionally exchange messages for significant events, but it’s a bit haphazard.

Ros encourages me, but she knows that it’s a bit of an uphill battle and I sense that her expectations are low that I will actually deal with the matter in good time. This year is a bit different though.

Inspired by the family gathering earlier this month, and aided by Ros’s prescience in purchasing a goodly supply of charity Christmas cards, I have handwritten seventeen cards and matching envelopes, ready to be posted to Canada, India, New Zealand and the United States, one for every cousin and second cousin (and their families) on my father’s side, plus the surviving members of my father’s generation - and there aren’t many of them left, sadly.

It may seem a little sentimental, and maybe it is, but seeing so many of my family up close and personal did bring back some memories. And nothing says that they matter as much as a handwritten card with a brief but heartfelt message. I now also have a full set of addresses for the first time in a long time, which means that I have no excuse not to repeat the process next year.

I will say this though, it’s not a cheap thing to do at £3.40 per card, and you can quite see why people increasingly revert to e-mail these days.

I’m not expecting anything like a full set in reply. After all, most people don’t have Ros to organise them, and life is hectic and complex. But I will have a warm sense of satisfaction that I have reminded my family that I care about them enough to wish them a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, wherever they may be.

A pleasant dinner, interrupted by someone being murdered…

I’m always open to the idea of a good meal, and when Ros suggested dinner at the Suffolk Food Hall, I warmly welcomed the notion. There was the small detail that the dinner was part of a murder mystery evening, but that didn’t put me off particularly.

And so, last night, we set off into the dark of a typical late-November evening towards the south bank of the Orwell, just below the bridge which carries the A24 towards Felixstowe.

Whilst we were early, we were far from alone and, before long, were encouraged to find our dedicated table in anticipation of the puzzle to come. As more of our fellow guests arrived, a small clutch of people in 1920s outfits began to mingle amongst us, setting the scene for what would follow, an investigation into the death of Sir Edwin Chelmsford, the High Commissioner to India.

I had ordered the pork as my main course, and began to suspect that I could expect more pork by way of ham acting but, let’s be honest, you’re not expecting Olivier at these things, are you?

In fairness though, the co-ordination of the meal with the sleuthing was very well done, and an excellent three-course meal was successfully combined with the task of attempting to identify the killer and their motive. Combined with an enthusiastic troupe of actors playing the dramatis personae, it all made for a thoroughly enjoyable evening, even if I entirely failed to spot the key clue and thus drew an incorrect conclusion as to the identity of our murderer.

Before we knew it, three hours had passed, and it was time to return to the darkness and make our way home. All in all, not a bad way to spend an evening…