#timetotalk - a reminder of our responsibilities

I have followed today's discussion of mental health issues on Liberal Democrat Voice with mixed emotions. Partly because I have been pretty fortunate in many ways to have made it to nearly fifty without having experienced serious depression or any other mental health issue, but partly because I know that there are those close to me who have been less fortunate.

And, when you hear the stories of those who have battled their demons, or who live each day with their symptoms, it is a reminder that life is not always as simple as one might hope.

It is also a reminder that, in a genuine community, all of us have a responsibility to look out for those who need our help, be it by personally finding time to lend practical help, or by campaigning for, and resourcing proper support.

I am another step closer to my inevitable demise...

Or not, as the case may be, because my life span is elastic, rather than fixed. After all, if I live healthily, eat properly and get enough exercise, I could live for another, well, who know, number of years beyond what might otherwise be the case. But I digress.

Yes, it's my birthday, which makes me... well, actually, it doesn't matter that much, as I increasingly feel disconnected from my chronological age and am puzzled by my emotional age - still somewhat less than the actual figure. Ah, I've digressed again...

Anyway, what to do on a birthday in mid-November? I wasn't certain, to be honest, so rather left it to the day itself to reach a conclusion. Spontaneity, that's the thing. And so, on waking up this morning, I looked out of the window at the blue sky and thought, seaside, that'll be nice. Not just any seaside of course, proper bourgeois seaside, as supplied by Southwold or, as I lovingly refer to it, Notting Hill-sur-Mer.

It is, I admit, charming, with a pier with good coffee, shops with interesting things in them and a quirky, Heath Robinson-esque clock which puts on a display on the hour and half-hour. And, as it turned out, we weren't the only ones who had drawn the conclusion that, on a sunny day, Southwold is a good place to be.

Having explored the pier, we took a stroll along the seafront, with its vast array of brightly coloured beach huts, towards Sizewell B which stands in the mist some six miles or so south of town, before wandering into town in search of lunch. Any suggestion that this might be a supposedly typical English seaside resort might be scotched by our lunch, venison and beef hotpot, with potato dumplings and freshly baked bread for Ros, Blythburgh belly pork with savoy cabbage and garlic mash for me. It is, as I say, a bit middle-class.

Southwold is also home to the Sole Bay Brewery, home of Adnams, and their 'Cellar and Kitchen' store has all sorts of good things - award-winning gin, cordials, kitchen stuff and vast amounts of beer. We stocked up on gifts and headed back to the seafront for more exercise, stopping only to buy me a hat (I did rather need one).

Back at the pier, we purchased a doorstop in the form of a polkadot pig and a moneybox in the form of a beach hut - it even has a seagull on it - before heading for home.

All in all, a nice day out, and a splendid way to spend a birthday...

Aaaaarrrggghhh!... another intimation of failing human

I am, I must admit, in some discomfort today, although that has rather been the case for the past week or so. At least I now know why, having been diagnosed yesterday as having contracted shingles. Fortunately, it is a relatively case thus far, concentrated around my abdomen, and manifesting itself as a rather nasty rash and some decidedly uncomfortable muscular and nerve-related pain.

I can get out and about, in moderation, and have spent parts of the weekend delivering leaflets in two of our local target divisions. Indeed, given the rather improved weather, it would be a pity not to get out and enjoy the sunshine.

I'm also adjusting to my new reading glasses, which is rather more complex than one might think. Remembering to carry them around, deciding when to wear them and when not to, working out where to perch them when I do wear them, all of this is new and slightly strange.

But I am getting there, and the glasses do make a noticeable difference. And, of course, people are going to have to get used to seeing me wearing them.

Every cloud does have a silver lining though, and I have been practising peering over them in a vaguely disapproving manner, a skill which could prove useful in time...

I hadn't entirely seen that coming...

I have, it must be admitted, been denying the onward march of time for a while now. And, of course, being human, and made out of skin, bones, and stuff, bits of me are likely to wear out at various points. At least, that's the theory. It's the practice that I have attempted to deny. But, at 48, I have managed to avoid the need to carry around very much stuff with me, and having retained my eyesight intact all of that time, spectacles are something that hasn't gotten in the way.

Most people's eyesight tends to fade a bit as they enter their forties, yet until now, I had been very fortunate. But recently, my close range vision had been becoming a mite fuzzy. Not horribly so, but enough that I could notice it.

Of course, being male, and rather stubborn, I would normally choose to ignore the problem and hope for it to go away, but I really didn't feel that I could on this occasion. I have a lot of study to do, and there is nothing to be gained by making it any more difficult than I need to.

And so, on Saturday morning, I had an appointment with a local optician who shall remain nameless (unless sponsorship is a possibility), where a very polite young man explained that my distance vision was still exceptionally good (he may have been being kind, but I don't think so) but my short-range vision was past its prime. Reading glasses were prescribed accordingly.

Again, being male, I have very little design sense (you've seen my collection of vivid shirts, so you know that I'm not being modest), so Ros was retrieved from her tea and newspaper, and choices were made. After some experimentation, two different frames were selected, and my new accessories will be ready for collection next week.

All I have to do now is;

1. Remember that I have them, and;
2. Try not to lose them.

I have picked frames that allow me to peer over them at people in a disapproving manner, which is something that I've always had a yen to do, so it's not all bad, is it...

When you're a political spouse, you give up your anonymity...

Richard Timney is learning this the hard way at the moment, and perhaps he needs a reminder as to the identity of his wife.

Traditionally, political wives have lived a comparatively low-profile existence, required to look decorous on occasion, pose with hubby, children and labrador in front of picture perfect period house, and do good deeds in the constituency. Dull, worthy, true, but that's the way it is, particularly if you're a career woman in her own right. At least there was a template though...

The increasing interest in the private lives of our politicians has changed that though, and the simultaneous emergence of the political husband has created a whole new field of interest for journalists. What's the husband up to? What influence does he have on his wife? Not fair, I know, and casually sexist, it's true, but as my junior school teacher so rightly told me, life isn't fair.

So you have to be careful. The Press are not averse to going through your rubbish, quizzing your best friends or following you. They will, if they can get away with it, bug your phone or hack your e-mail if your spouse is important enough.

Now you know Richard. You've paid a high price for not knowing sooner, but hopefully you and Jacqui will patch things up. Piece of advice though, if you're going to watch porn movies, put them on your personal credit card next time...

Apologia (bureaucrat + emotion = malfunction)

It is often unwise to blog in a moment of self-indulgence, even more so when you're tired, weary and a mite low. So it is at least a mercy that my quirky sense of catholic guilt is engaged...

In fairness to Tom Brake, he doesn't even know that he's been invited to take up the mover's speech, so I really shouldn't criticise him for a predicted lack of understanding. Whoever briefs him on this point is sure to give him all of the necessary information.

I shouldn't really criticise the Regional Executive either. I invited them to make a decision and they did so. I could have argued my corner but didn't, a valuable lesson for all of you wallflowers out there. We are talking about politicians, remember, they like winning. Me, I like winning too but hate being seen to be pushy about it (alright, go figure...). That's why I'm a faceless bureaucrat.

And most important of all, this should be about more than just self. The whole idea of encouraging the Party to think about diversity issues and then do something about it is that we demonstrate our seriousness about making ourselves reflect the communities we aim to represent.

And on that note, it's time to get ready for Harrogate.

Apparently, it's alright to be disappointed

Never let it be said that politicians, be they elected or otherwise, are without ego. And I'm no exception...

Having worked quite hard to get my motion on diversity, I nobly invited the Regional Executive to decide who should move the motion and summate the debate. Mistake number 1. The view was that the motion should be moved by a middle-aged white MP, the decision taken being to ask Tom Brake, the MP for Carshalton and Wallington. He's younger than I am... not exactly a balm for morale. With Navnit Dholakia lined up to summate (and I'm pleased to note that he has accepted), I miss my moment in the spotlight unless I put a speaker's card in and get called. Frankly, it sucks... big time.

I understand the politics of it all, the logic being that you need to get support from those who stand to lose most from the proposed reforms, and support it in principle. On the other hand, the idea of handing large chunks of the credit to someone who has had no involvement and offered no support, and probably won't even know who wrote the motion in the first place (or why), is hardly an encouragement towards altruism.

It is, of course, my fault. I freely offered up the decision to my colleagues, thinking that, as I had used the Regional Party as the vehicle to get the motion to Federal Conference, I should allow the Regional Executive the opportunity to decide on strategy - and they do know what they're talking about. However, I foolishly thought that my role to date might gain me some consideration. Mistake number 2...

Ah well, I'm just going to have to accept that the warm glow of satisfaction that comes from doing the right thing must suffice. Really, it's enough to make you cynical... If you're in Harrogate, do turn up and vote this through, it matters.

Does anyone have an aspirin?

It's Wednesday afternoon, and I feel like death...

"And why is that?", I hear you ask. Perhaps the hangover induced by drinking too much and not getting back to my lovely safe, dark (key word, that one) hotel room until 4.30 in the morning is the clue. It all started with the seemingly harmless sentence, "You're coming back to Santacruz with us, Mark.". No explanation as to why, but then, with my family, you learn not to ask too many questions.

In Santacruz, I am informed that I'm off for a night out with Sean (my cousin, who's getting married tomorrow), the rest of the cousins, as well as friends and family. Needless to say, given that most of them are ten years younger than me, there was drinking and clubbing involved, although eight hours of it was a little more than my delicate constitution can handle. It was a lot of fun though, even if I'm paying for it now...

A little contemplation on this Christmas morning

It is said that Christmas is a chance to count your blessings, sheltered as most of us are in the bosom of our families. And yet, it is only when things go awry that most of us realise just how lucky we are.

2005 has not, on the face of it, been a stellar year for this particular faceless bureaucrat. My divorce came through two days before the General Election, although it would have had more impact had it not taken me more than six weeks to find out. On the other hand, I have been fortunate enough to have family and friends who have indulged me and put up with my occasional mood swings and eccentricities.

There have been triumphs too. I have tried my best to fulfil a clutch of political roles and those who I have worked with appear to think that I have some credibility, which comes as a pleasant surprise. Their support and understanding has been another of the year's highlights.

I even jumped off a bridge (with a bungy cord attached, I hasten to add) and began to rediscover the true Mark - not such a bad person to know, I flatter myself to believe - someone who had been in self-imposed exile for ten years.

And so I realise how lucky I am. Given the unpleasant and/or unfortunate things that have happened to others this year, as well as those who are without the supporting scaffolding of friends, families and workmates, life could be so much worse. The realisation of such good fortune inspires me to continue working for a better, more inclusive, more open society, which is surely what liberalism is all about.

And so I will aim to work as hard, or harder, than I did this year, and continue to count my blessings, even when life proves to be more than unusually trying. The fortunate amongst us owe it to those less fortunate, don't we?

Shoot first, ask questions later?

I may have done something very stupid, gentle reader, and all in the cause of honour and integrity... so here is a cautionary tale for anyone who feels that politics should be the preserve of those who believe in such things.

In a burst of enthusiasm after the election of the new Executive Committee, I issued an agenda for our next meeting which included elections of the remaining Officers and of the standing committees, based as much on my (occasionally flawed) memory as any reading of the Constitution, and called for nominations.

One of my fellow Officers responded overnight, indicating his disquiet at my breach of the Regional Constitution and noting that these positions should not be elected until the first meeting in 2006 (I paraphrase slightly...). I opened my e-mail at 9 the next morning and read his comments with alarm.

Pausing only to pour a metaphorical glass of single malt and light a metaphorical cigar, I drafted an e-mail to the Chair, tendering my resignation...

Having read Brian's e-mail, and researched the events of November 2004, I must accept that he is quite right.

Under the circumstances, it seems clear that my position is unexpectedly untenable and, given the way I do politics, it is appropriate that I accordingly tender my resignation as Secretary, effective forthwith.

I then retired to polish my metaphorical pearl-handled revolver and load it before returning to send the e-mail (the metaphorical equivalent of putting the gun to my temple and pulling the trigger - I like this metaphor, it has a real sense of theatre about it). And all this by 9.30...

The remainder of Thursday was spent, quite frankly, in a bit of a daze but I had begun to reconcile myself to the whole experience by the evening, only to get a telephone call from a member of the Regional Executive whose opinion I value highly, advising that someone else had resigned from another part of the Party for reasons rather more heroic (i.e. unnecessary) than mine. I explained to her why I might not be the best person to talk him round but agreed to call him and try to persuade him to change his mind. The two of us have a number of similar issues and I hope that I was in some way persuasive.

To cut a long story short, I came home from English Council this evening with the thought of confirming my error so that, at next weekend's Executive Committee, I could explain my reasoning if required to do so. And that's where this story takes a rather quirky turn... I read the Regional Constitution, which states that both the remaining Officers and the standing committees should be elected at the first meeting of the Regional Executive after the Annual General Meeting.

So, I have now resigned on the grounds that I have committed a breach of the Regional Constitution, even though I actually haven't. Unfortunately, it is my view that a gentleman, having tendered his resignation, cannot then withdraw it, as this would make a mockery of the principle of honourable conduct in public life. As a faceless bureaucrat, if you don't live up to your principles, you bring little else to the party and so I am impaled on the horns of my own ethical code. Has anyone got one of those Swiss Army knives with the gadget for extracting sharp, pointy things from self-inflicted wounds?...