These days, I never bother to watch all the fireworks, the false joy, the uninhibited imbibing of lots and lots of booze as the minutes click down to New Years Day. From the Petronas Towers, after the Harbour Bridge, through the truly-offensive celebrations in PyongYang and money-is-no-object splash around the Burj-al-Jumeirah, the fireworks flashed and cracked in a celebration. A celebration of what; exactly? The end of one year, the beginning of another? The passing of one second, as opposed to the one before or next?
I, along with most, wish family members a Happy New Year, whilst at least hoping that things, emergencies, family and health issues, are kept on an even keel. Again, along with most, I hope that we muddle along, in the manner in which the British quietly excel, at making the best of what we are allowed by our masters. I will continue to make a thorough nuisance of myself at the full County Council meetings, asking questions and holding to account the Labour majority which rules in County Durham almost by hereditary fiat.
There is, however, one happening, one remembrance which is, in my own estimation, worthy of a small pause for contemplation; this being the day, some seventy-five years ago when the British Government gave formal sanctuary to some ten thousand Jewish children who became the Kindertransport. The British Government had literally no idea of the fate which would befall their parents, along with the other 6 million-odd victims of Nazi Germany, but something, something strange occurred to move an Administration and a Government which was quietly partly anti-semitic itself. Letters of concern such as this (second icon on the left) may have helped, but no-one really knows what moved a Government, through its bureaucracy, to announce a not-very-welcoming messsage to those ten thousand that they could come over, as long as they were no burden on the taxpayer.