wordsmith.social/jonbeckett

I’ve noticed a gradual shift across media and the internet recently that has troubled me greatly – a growing lack of intolerance and acceptance of people’s differences. A great many people seem to be triggered by any view that either differs from their own, or that they feel is an attack on their circumstances or choices in any way, shape or form.

The world is becoming increasingly polarised.

We are all different – physically, culturally, educationally, spiritually, politically. Our differences make us interesting – we should embrace them. If we were all the same the world would be a very boring place.

Influencers have become an unlikely axis around which countless keyboard wars have erupted -promoting any vaguely marketable attributes in a race to the bottom of a market for eyeballs, hearts, and minds.

It doesn’t help that so many either caught up in conflict or despairing of the cards they feel they have been dealt contort any argument to either divert, or to re-frame blame and attach it to anything or anybody but themselves.

A small amount of ownership, responsibility, and humility might just change the world.

Prodded more by the necessity of alternative earning avenues than the pursuit of creativity, I returned to the Medium well this morning and expanded on the words I wrote yesterday about the encounter with a group of teenagers littering the green outside our house.

I wanted to rip “Generation Z” and their parents a new one. I began writing with high minded ideals, objectives, and soap-box worthy points to make. While writing nearly all vestiges of bravery evaporated, leaving behind a fragile empathy of sorts.

While I might have controversial opinions from time to time, the fear of causing a scene generally prevents me from articulating them.

There are two draft pieces of writing waiting in the gun barrel – “The End of Woke”, exploring the baseless foundations of the somewhat fashionable online woke brigade, and “The Religion Paradox” – poking a stick at people of faith that cherry-pick elements of their chosen religion to espouse and preach.

I’m not sure if or when I might have the courage to click the publish button, or how much each piece might become watered down as I write it. I invariably end up playing devil’s advocate – fence-sitting – trying to see stories from both sides. Of course, fence-sitting invites attacks from both sides.

Anyway.

It’s a bank holiday in the UK today. A day off work. After two weeks of vacation/staycation, I return in the morning – or rather I pull the work laptop from my bag and sit here to begin an endless round of meetings.

I’m caught between spending my final evening off doing something worthy or noodling around on the internet. We all know how this ends, don’t we?

I’m sitting in the junk room at home, which has a window over-looking the green outside our house. There was a group of teenagers gathered around the nearest bench earlier. Just as I was thinking “isn’t it nice to see young people having some sort of life again”, one of their number threw an empty drink can over his shoulder into the grass. Moments later another can joined it, then another.

I thought about confronting them while they were there, but gave them the benefit of the doubt – hoping they would take the rubbish when they left. My hopes were somewhat optimistic. A friend that lives nearby confronted another group earlier in the summer, and faced several days of online abuse in the aftermath.

Why are so many young people devoid of civic responsibility? What causes it? I have thoughts, but I’m not quite willing to share them – many will see them as a direct attack on either their own behaviour, or the parenting of their children – and those conversations never go well.

Postscript – unprompted, my teenage daughter and her friend just marched out with rubbish bags, pretty angrily, and picked up all the rubbish lest they be tarred by the same brush.

I think it’s fair to say I’ve had something of a chequered history with Tumblr. I’ve been here since the beginning of the platform, and have been both my own champion, and worst enemy – contributing slices of daily life, or vanishing for months or years.

Throughout the various incarnations of my “tumblog” I’ve forged friendships, occasionally crossed lines, agreed with many, disagreed with just as many more, and learned much about myself and others. I continue to be absorbed by the chaotic melting pot of stories, thoughts, ideas, and creativity that Tumblr has almost always supported so enthusiastically.

The cornerstone of my continued participation has centred around the words a good friend shared in the thick of the “me too” reckoning that brought a wrecking ball to the community so many thought they knew;

“Own your own shit”

The propensity for so many to share deeply personal or divisive thoughts, opinions and conjecture is a testament to the Tumblr platform, and it’s power to encourage the acceptance of differences, freedom of expression, and spirited debate.

I have made mistakes along the way. I’m human.

I’ve found myself contributing to subjects I had no business expressing opinions about; fence sitting among those living with the very real effects of prejudice and intolerance. I learned the hard way about picking battles.

An old friend messaged me privately – “don’t die on this hill”.

These days I tend to watch from a distance, and just share my story. A quiet voice on the periphery. I sometimes wonder how those I once knew here are doing – if they are still out there somewhere, tilting at windmills.

Saturday is slowly unfurling in front of me, aided by two cups of coffee and a slice of marmite on toast. I’m sitting in “the junk room” accompanied by the radio. Most weekday mornings I listen to Magic Radio, and at the weekend, Absolute Radio. I’m a creature of habit.

Last night I discovered a wonderful mobile app called “Radio Garden” that lets you find radio stations all over the world, and stream them almost instantaneously. I excitedly told our eldest daughter about it while she tried to brush her teeth before bed; playing various Tokyo stations while standing in the bathroom (she’s something of an otaku).

U2 are busy telling me “It’s alright” via the boombox in the corner of the junk room right now. I remember “Mysterious Ways” being released. One of my friends had a huge U2 poster on his bedroom wall. It’s odd how music is tied to memory, isn’t it.

I’m trying to remember what I had on my bedroom walls during my teenage years. I seem to remember a 12” picture disk of Madonna’s Rain, and a couple of huge Marilyn Monroe prints. One of them was taken in the New York subway when she was an up-and-coming actress in the mid-1950s. I’ve often wondered if the place the photo was taken still exists.

It’s been a strange sort of day so far. The last day of my holiday, which has transmogrified from a vacation to a staycation – knocking around the house for the last few days. Yesterday and today have been mostly about washing clothes, washing dishes, washing more clothes, washing more dishes, hoovering, changing bedding, cutting the lawn, and… there must be something else, but I’m coming up blank at the moment.

I found myself in a tough spot when we got back from the coast – the lawnmower refused to cough and splutter it’s way into life. Given that my knowledge of engines is almost non-existent, but my knowledge of Google is pretty good, I found the instruction book for the mower, visited Amazon, and bought a spark plug.

This morning – after replacing the spark plug on the engine, and giving the started rope a hopeful yank, the engine spluttered itself into life. It didn’t sound particularly well, but it sounded well enough to commence battle with the rapidly overgrowing garden.

I should perhaps mention at this point that our garden is about 150ft long, and wedge shaped – it’s as wide at the back as it is long. That’s a LOT of grass to get overgrown.

Our little black cat is livid with me. I have removed his jungle. His chances of ripping mice, pigeons and sparrows to bits has been reduced significantly.

I feel sorry for our washing machine. Since our return it’s been running non-stop. It would have had an easier run of it if my younger daughters had any concept of “tidy”. After numerous threats, they tidied their bedrooms up yesterday – and generated about eight loads of washing in the process (I’m not exaggerating).

Do you anthropomorphise things? I do it all the time in my head. I have a teddy bear the kids bought me years ago that sits in the study – usually on top of a box of printer paper. I always make sure he’s sitting comfortably, and nothing is leaning on him. It’s not just plausible anthropomorphism either – it’s stupid things, like pens and pencils – wondering if they miss each other when separated from the group. Yes, I know. I’m mad.

I’ll shut up now before somebody organises a nice shirt where the arms tie together at the back.

p.s. I’m listening to a random 70s rock playlist on Spotify turned up to 11 to drown out some little girl next door that keeps screaming while playing with her siblings. Paul McCartney is singing “Maybe I’m Amazed”. Good song.

After getting up this morning, I got in the shower and discovered what happens when you go away for a week and your eldest daughter “looks after” the house.

It took me an HOUR to clean the shower. How does black mould grow so fast? How many bottles of stuff does a teenage girl need in the shower? How much effort does it take to pick up empty bottles?

Aaaarrrggghhh…

It’s worth noting, if you didn’t already know me, that I live in a house with four women. Two are still teenagers, one is twenty, and the other puts up with me.

We also have two cats, who are obviously in charge.

We left the coast a little before 10am, and arrived home a little before 4pm. Allowing for an hour in a rest area at lunchtime, about 5 hours on the road.

Along the way we listened to the radio, with my daughters insisting on singing along to their favourite songs. I’ve never quite understood the compulsion to ruin a good song on the radio with your own voice, so anybody else listening can’t hear it any more.

Anyway.

We are home. The house is still standing. Our eldest daughter (who stayed behind) didn’t wreck the place. We never imagined she would, but it was nice to see that she had tried her best to keep things going.

Immediately after arriving home and unpacking the bags I walked into town to get some groceries. After returning I tried to make a coffee three times, and ended up throwing away all of the milk in the house. Another trip to the shop saw me return with milk and a bottle of wine. We didn’t make the coffee in the end.

On the final day of our visit with my parents on the coast, the sun arrived. After looking out of the kitchen window at breakfast time with my youngest daughter, she plaintively wondered what we might be doing today.

“I suppose you want to go to the beach?”

She smiled.

We had warned the children that we might not make it to any beaches, given the pandemic causing havoc around the country – but decided “what the hell”, and left on foot mid-morning for the small bay a couple of miles below my parents house.

We were lucky. Throughout the better part of the day we had a small patch of the beach to ourselves, socially distant from those around us, and enjoyed all the trappings of a visit to the beach – complete with sand everywhere, the smell of seaweed, and going for a swim in the ocean.

Yes, I went for a swim in the ocean. Twice. I blame my daughter. I swear she has ice water in her veins. My bits and pieces still haven't forgiven me for diving head-long into the surf in a moment of utter madness. I burst from the water a few yards further on swearing profusely – entertaining a fellow swimmer enormously.

Later in the day, after filling up on Cornish pasties, cloudy lemonade, and an hour reading a good book (Snow Crash), the inevitable happened. The tide turned, and began to compress the families on the beach towards each other.

An hour or so previously a pretty Mum with her little boy had set up camp alongside us on the beach – I noticed her bright yellow bikini as she made her way down to the water for her five minutes of madness before doing much the same as me – settling down with a book, and the sunshine for some peace and quiet while her little boy became the sand-castle king of the south coast.

Suddenly an enormous family arrived from around us – or an enormous collection of families – it was hard to tell. They set up between ourselves and the yellow bikini lady. Within minutes it became impossible to read – the peace and quiet gone, and my attention stolen by their shouted face-to-face conversations. After putting my book down and rubbing my face I glanced sideways, and met the gaze of yellow bikini lady. She shot me a sideways grin, rolled her eyes, shook her head, and rolled away from the family from hell.

We began packing our things minutes later.

This evening my parents ordered takeaway food from a Chinese restaurant in a nearby village. We have not eaten chinese food for YEARS (due to two of our daughters being gluten-free), and it was GLORIOUS. Who knew you could miss seaweed, spring rolls, and Singapore noodles quite so much ?

We are now slumped at various places around the house, nursing our food comas, and wondering about packing the bags for the journey in the morning. One more sleep, then five hours in the car ahead. Lots of memories made though. Happy memories filled with rain filled walks, swimming in the sea, coast walks, hot chocolate, ice creams, and all manner of silly stories told by grandparents – just the way they should be.

I woke at 7am with cascading alarms from my phone, had a shower, brushed my teeth and wandered into my parents kitchen to make a coffee. The kids arrived in the kitchen an hour later – rummaging through the cupboards for breakfast.

Today is a quiet day. A day not climbing up and down hills, coast paths, and dodging holiday makers cars in overgrown lanes.

Time to catch up with friends, read a book, watch a movie or two, and slow down.