On being reminded that, perhaps, one should count one's blessings more often...

I read Jennie Rigg's blog post today with a sense of disquiet. Not, as one might think, with a sense of disbelief, or disgust, or disappointment, but disquiet. It does bother me somewhat when people I like are disturbed to the point when they take actions which, in my mind, are injurious to themselves and/or others, or are made unhappy by the actions of others or even sheer randomness. Sometimes I note from their Twitter feeds, or from third parties, that life is dealing out lemons today.

I find myself thinking, "there, but for the grace of God, go I", but seldom do I take the next step of reflecting upon that. So, by way of making amends, perhaps I should tempt fate by doing just that.

I am, in many ways, extraordinary in my ordinariness. I had an uneventful childhood, raised by two people who cared for me, in a community where I felt safe, and schooled by people who took sufficient interest in me as an individual to want to encourage me to explore the possibilities open to me.

I never experienced poverty or suffering in the way that, as it turned out, so many other people have done, never had people tell me that I couldn't do things, never been treated as a persecuted minority, never felt that I have to justify my existence. Clearly, being a mixed-race, middle-class male comes with certain advantages. And to the extent that I am in a minority, it is one that goes almost entirely unnoticed, even if it is something that I am inordinately proud of.

I have had opportunities denied to many, and even taken some of them, and when bad things have happened, I have been blessed by friends and family who generously given their love and time to support me. And I am married to someone who I love and, I think, loves me back.

In short, the fates have been generous thus far, a view reinforced by the dilemmas faced by my friends and associates on a day by day basis. I can only admire the grace and good humour with which they face them.

And so I say to Jennie, and to so many others, I am proud and honoured to be your friend, and I take strength and solace from your bravery and honesty.

And, in turn, I give thanks for the good fortune that I have had over nearly half a century, and promise not to take it for granted quite so much in future...

Sivuqaq: a love story

I admit that I have a fondness for animals, although not always the obvious ones. Sea otters, giraffe and orangutans are fairly obvious, I guess, but iguana, rhinos and aardvarks aren't. But I have discovered a new favourite.

Walruses are not exactly cute. They don't have the range of clever tricks that, say seals have. They aren't graceful on land, or dramatic in the water, but they have character. And, as someone who likes to describe himself as more walrus than gazelle, I find myself fascinated by them.

And so it was with some delight that I came across a documentary about walruses on BBC2 on Saturday night. Sivuqaq (he's the handsome devil on the right-hand side of the picture) is the hero of our story, with a range of delightful and charming habits, but with one flaw. Movie star, character actor - he was the walrus in 50 First Dates - but so far, not successful as a father. And, if I couldn't be what I am now, I suspect that I'd be quite happy being him.

Sadly, it's only on BBC i-player for another ten days, until 31 October, so I strongly recommend that you take some time to have a look.

You won't regret it...

Hello! Amaranth Edition: the sun shone and the bride looked radiant

It was such a wonderful day in Suffolk yesterday, with bright sunshine over Otley Hall, the sound of lute music accompanied by the call of peacocks and some of Mark and Ros's dearest friends and family there to witness their marriage. Naturally, I was there to represent the family. After all, we've been watching over Mark for some time now.

Mark was first to arrive in his sage green and cream striped frock coat, greeting guests, walking the grounds and keeping a stray chicken out of the Great Hall itself. By 2.50, Ros had arrived, flowers most tastefully arranged in her hair, wearing a cream brocade dress coat and carrying her bouquet in cream and white.

The Superintendent Registrar, having carried out the required checks, then presided over a moving and joyful ceremony as the happy couple exchanged vows and rings, with readings from Ros's friend, Bronagh, and Mark's father.

Champagne and canapes were taken in the lovely garden, with its H-shaped pond, moat and thoughtfully designed wilderness area, whilst the children present chased the surprisingly patient chickens and enjoyed the opportunity for play. Meanwhile, group photographs were taken, followed by some pictures of the bride and groom using the house as a backdrop.

Later, the bride, groom and their guests enjoyed a three-course meal highlighting locally-sourced pork and shellfish washed down with some excellent wines before the evening culminated in speeches by the acting-father of the bride, the groom and the best man (the groom's younger brother, Kirk), with Master of Cermonies duties performed by the dashing, and kilted, John Barrett. The cake was then cut before the bride and groom retired to the Salthouse Harbour hotel prior to their honeymoon in southern India.

It was a simply wonderful day, and the best wishes of the people of Amaranth go with them in the years to come...

Bureaucrat in love: now the story can be told...

Regular readers will have noted that Radio Bureaucrat has been an infrequent broadcaster of late, and the occasional cryptic reference will not have done anything to help explain it. So it is about time that I explained.

Put simply, I fell in love. I fell absolutely, completely and utterly head over heels in love when I least expected it, with someone I could not have possibly envisaged beforehand. Our relationship was kindled gradually, if falteringly, partly due to my rather gauche inability to read signs that aren't actually tattooed on my forehead, before blossoming into an all-encompassing passion that quite swept me off of my feet.

"Who is this magical soul?", I hear you ask. So without further ado, let me introduce my new fiancee, Ros Scott. A lightning romance has been followed by an equally lightning proposal (it would have been sooner but for my usual hesitancy in such matters), and plans are reaching the drawing board for a wedding some time next year (yes, I know, you normally think about all of those things first but I was only focused on forever...).

Ros has managed to free the bureaucrat from the box, and I love her for it. She is warm, tender, thoughtful and so many other things that words cannot properly convey, and has made me feel alive for the first time for a very long time indeed.

The side effect was that I became functionally useless for a few weeks, and for those of you who have been expecting me to do something (and you know who you are), I apologise but hope that you'll understand (you will, I know). On the plus side, I've now become incredibly focused in an incredibly vital way, having had my proposal accepted, and things are beginning to happen in an amazingly ordered and disciplined way.

So, for my friends, family and colleagues, welcome to the future. I'm in love, and I want the world to know it. Many of you have been part of the process that has allowed me to find happiness, and I am grateful to you all for your friendship, your support and your tolerance through a difficult phase in my life.

And now I ought to return to the blissful existence that is being in love...

The dark romanticism of bureaucracy

It was always my ambition in life to be the dark, brooding romantic type and, although it often surprises people, I achieved it in a way that I might never have expected.

Romanticism and bureaucracy are not words that are immediately associated by many and yet, I have become a slightly unstable combination of the two. Tonight, I am crouched in front of the keyboard in a room lit only by the flickering light of a candle, catching up on my Regional paperwork to the strains of Johann Sebastian Bach's Fantasy and Fugue in G minor (BWV542 for the Bach scholars amongst you).

Bureaucracy has become my passion, and occasionally an all-encompassing one, which coupled with an old-fashioned sense of honour and a broad streak of Catholic guilt, occasionally leads me to do things that I might regret (last year's resignation drama was one of them...).

On the other hand, being a bureaucrat in politics give you a leeway that few others get. There is little competition for such roles and, as long as things get done, even the most eccentric are left alone to get on with things (heaven forbid that a campaigner should get involved with administrative stuff - doesn't win any votes, does it?).

So perhaps it is time to let loose the latin in me (where did you think the name came from?) and fight beneath the blood-soaked banners of good administration, old-fashioned courtesies and free trade liberalism. I always fancied the uniform of an early nineteenth-century Austrian cavalry officer (although the balls, music and diplomatic intrigue would probably have been even more fun) and, even if I can't have one, it might be fun to behave as though I was wearing one.

To sleep, perchance to dream, and tomorrow, let there be passion!