Once I was a clever boy learning the arts of Oxford... is a quotation from the verses written by Bishop Richard Fleming (c.1385-1431) for his tomb in Lincoln Cathedral. Fleming, the founder of Lincoln College in Oxford, is the subject of my research for a D. Phil., and, like me, a son of the West Riding.

I have remarked in the past that I have a deeply meaningful on-going relationship with a dead fifteenth century bishop...
It was Fleming who, in effect, enabled me to come to Oxford and to learn its arts, and for that I am immensely grateful.


Friday, 9 June 2017

The morning after the night before


Today I suppose we are suffering a National collective political hangover.

I took myself off to bed and lsitened to  the results being declared on the radio. Once the pattern, or rather, patterns started to emerge it became quite predicable.

I rapidly realised that I was not that surprised at what has happened. The one thing that gsave genuine pleasur was the resurgance of the pro-Union vote in Scotland and the sense that maybe - maybe - a corner has been turned there.

Otherwise I felt this was the verdict of the electorate on an unnecessary election, one that witnessd areturn to the two-party dominance we have tended to be used to, but without giving a clear result. Frankly it is a mess - Mrs May has only herself to blame for the biggest electoral miscalculation inliving memory, and Labour has got itself into the conundrum of gaining seats but with a leader whom many clearly perceive as unelectable. The Conservatives have their best result in terms of the popular vote for over twenty years, yet lack a Parliamentary majority. The Liberals continue to pay the price for supporting the Conservative-led Coalition from 2010. The distrust of established political parties and politicians by electorates across the western world has claimed more scalps, yet the politicians appear unable to address that dissatisfaction. Those who do, like Mr Corbyn clearly has to some extent during the campaign, nonetheless have that dangerous popularist appeal that bodes ill.

In the words of Oliver Hardy "Another fine mess you've got us into."







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