Down The Mineshaft

Every evening I tell myself I will watch TV or read a book. Every evening I end up on the web, searching for any crumbs of political hope.

I will admit, I'm out of my comfort zone trying to write about politics - I've no real history of it, and who wants to invite a fierce trolling? 

But the older I get, the more I see that the wee wife-y (or old man) in the supermarket who says, 'I'm not really political' is wrong. We are all political by action or inaction. So we might as well stand by our views as bury them.

Readers, I have never in my whole life felt more on the losing side of politics. Daily I am aghast by the world's march to the right in Tory 'UK' and Trump's America.

I don't know what I am going to do on June 9th if we have another Tory 'death' sentence - for that is what it feels like to me, politically.

Nicola has a mandate for a second Indy Ref and Theresa says no. Not now, you pesky kids! Never mind that the majority of Scots are appalled at being dragged out of Europe against our will.

I even feel deserted by the BBC. Nowhere are the news reports capturing my deep political frustrations, or those of thousands of other Scots.  

I read Bella Caledonia  and The National and George Monbiot at the Guardian  and Lesley Riddoch but these feel like the margins. The mainstream has changed so much, it can make me feel physically drained and utterly despondent. 

Meanwhile, I've been reading The Secret Seven stories to the kids. I feel like I'm trapped down an old mine shaft with Scamper the Dog. We are powerlessly waiting on a goodie to come by with a rope. I keep looking round, bewildered, thinking - there must be some escape from this darkness. There just must. 

Vote Monkey and be Scottish, European and Funky