Still Furious

When I woke up the morning after that vote and saw the result, I was despondent, I was angry, but I genuinely believed I would get over it. I thought time would be a healer, that the country would coalesce around a reasonable Brexit compromise, and we would all move on.

It hasn’t happened. Three years on, and I’m still furious.

Furious at the needless waste of money and effort that is being expended to try and protect us from the impact of this decision.

Furious at the lack of action to solve other serious problems while Westminster obsesses over the minutiae of Brexit.

Furious at the loss of opportunity to live and work freely in 26 other countries.

Furious that millions of young people, who didn’t get to vote because they were under 18 at the time, will have to live for the rest of their lives with a decision that was out of their hands.

Furious that a politician was murdered.

Furious at the liars and cheaters in the campaign who got away with it.

Furious at the media who failed to give the arguments any proper scrutiny.

Furious at the politicians who are too cowardly to stand up and ask for a rethink.

Furious that my patriotism and belief in democracy has been called into question because I want to stop a damaging Brexit.

Furious that bigotry and xenophobia is now being treated as a legitimate political position.

Check back in with me in three years. Maybe by then I’ll be over it. But I doubt it.

Brex-iety

I spent the weekend in Hamburg with some friends, enjoying all the sights and sounds that Germany’s second city has to offer. If you follow me on Twitter or Instagram, you’ll have got a flavour of my trip. I will try and get a longer blog post up at the weekend detailing the shenanigans.

In the meantime, I wanted to mention one thing. A change in my mood, for reasons that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. When I got home, it hit me: for the 72 hours I was away, I didn’t hear anything about Brexit.

Maybe Brexit was being discussed on all of Germany’s news channels, but if it was, I didn’t see it. I was busy exploring the city so I wasn’t on Twitter as much as usual. And I was much happier.

I’ve always prided myself on keeping up with the issues, but when everything is just so grim, it’s wonderful to get away for a few days. I got back home at lunchtime on Monday. By that evening, all my anxieties and worries had returned.

And, whatever happens, the source of stress is going to go on for years. If the deal fails, we may leave without a deal, with severe long-term consequences that we will all experience. If May’s deal goes through, we have many years of wrangling about our future trading relationship which will dominate the agenda. There’s a tiny chance of a second referendum, which will probably be even more rancorous and unpleasant than the first. We will have a new Tory leader, probably a much more right-wing one (and given how right-wing May has been, that is a scary prospect). Frankly, I’m not sure I can cope.

Someone please write something in the comments to cheer me up.

TwitTen

10 years ago, I joined Twitter. Like most of my bad decisions, it happened around midnight.

2009 seems to be the moment where Twitter (launched in 2006) reached the tipping point, and stopped being a service for geeks and started becoming truly mainstream (not that I’m claiming to be anything other than a geek). It was in February of that year that Stephen Fry live-tweeted from a stuck lift, bringing much media attention to the fledgling service. Annoyingly, when I got stuck in a lift last year, I had no phone signal so couldn’t tweet anything.

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Future Shocked

Back in February, my younger sister gave birth to her first child. Lucy is the fifth grandchild for my parents, but the first girl, and I suspect she is getting extra special treatment as a result.

Already, at the age of ten months, she is full of insatiable curiosity about the world around her. We visited the Palm House in Sefton Park a few weeks ago, and she was captivated by the colours and smells of the exotic plants, looking around the Victorian structure with wide-eyed wonder.

She has known only love and affection since the moment she took her first breath, and she repays that love to everyone she meets. She is an absolute joy to be around – full of happy noises and laughter, rarely crying unless she is sick or tired, always greeting people with a smile when they walk into the room.

Of course, we are all looking forward to sharing in her first Christmas, as she experiences the magic of the festive season for the first time.

And yet, as I gaze at that innocent face, I feel a tinge of sadness, knowing that the future she is facing is far from rosy.

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The long, good, Friday

Picture of Degree Ceremonies booklet and ticket

Back in November/December I wrote about my experiences of the Open University after I received my final degree classification (First Class Honours, not that I’m bragging).

It seems only appropriate to bring you part three in the trilogy, by blogging about my graduation ceremony.

(As an aside, I notice there have only been three blog posts in the five months between those and this one. Gah, sorry everyone. I will try to blog more frequently in future.)

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Tweety Seventeen

As the end of 2017 approaches, my general feeling has been that the year has been unbearably shit. The news has been dominated by terrorism, tragedy, and the feeling that the worst people in the world are currently running things.

In need of some light relief, I dug through my Twitter archive from the past year, and unearthed a collection of the good things that happened to me. So, as an antidote to all the awfulness that seemed to be everywhere this year, here is my year in Tweets.

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The University Challenge

I’ve just booked my place at a degree ceremony and arranged the hire of my robes. I’m at the end of my Open University study journey, so here is a summary of it, condensed into one (still too long) post.

The first year of study was gentle enough. Module TU100, “My digital life” was an introductory course, intended to cover a broad range of topics including rudimentary programming, ubiquitous computing and the internet. The highlight was the SenseBoard, a little device containing various sensors (motion, temperature, light) which could be connected to your computer and programmed using Sense, a programming environment “based on” (i.e. the same as) Scratch.

TU100 was intended to get complete beginners “up to speed” so many more experienced computer geeks, like myself, found it quite easy. Indeed, after slacking off midway through the course, I got way behind and had to do one of the assignments without having read any of the previous chapters of course material. I somehow managed to score 99%. Ahem.

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Hope in University

Before reading the rest of this post, you need to play this jingle to set the mood:

Back in the summer of 2011, I was feeling miserable. I was stuck in a dead-end job with no real prospects. Turns out, you need qualifications for a decent career, and for various complicated reasons, I had left school with only GCSEs to my name.

People kept telling me I was “good with computers”. To be honest, I knew this already; my teenage years had been spent cooped up in my bedroom, knocking one out (a BASIC program) night after night.

But how to translate my hobbyist know-how into a piece of paper that I could show to employers? A look back at my tweets from the time shows what I was thinking of:-

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Enjoy the little things

It’s fair to say the last few months have been a bit tough for me. I thought the end of Open University work would remove my main source of stress, but issues at work, worries over the clusterfuck that is Brexit, and various other issues have conspired to make me decidedly unhappy.

Yesterday I went for a long walk, all the way from my house in Aigburth into Liverpool city centre, a distance of about 7.5 km. I used to do this all the time before I got buried under the pressure of studying, so it was good to get back onto the riverside for the 90 minute stroll along Otterspool Promenade. Despite being October, the sun was shining and it was warm enough to not wear a coat. I breathed deeply, inhaling the fresh air.

My walk ended at the Albert Dock, where I stopped for a rest and a coffee. Rather than feeling tired, I actually felt invigorated. Walking through the dock complex, my ears detected a real mix of languages and accents: American, Polish, German, an Arabic dialect, as well as pure Scouse. All these people, visitors and locals alike, had one thing in common: they were enjoying all that the City of Liverpool has to offer. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride.

View of waterfront buildings including the Museum of Liverpool and Albert Dock

For one afternoon, life’s problems took a back seat and I was able to focus on the enjoyment I was feeling in that moment. I got home later that afternoon feeling more cheerful than I had felt in a long time. The phrase “you need to get out more” has never been more accurate.

Flat Out

Photo of Henry Kelly hosting Going For Gold

As Henry Kelly might say, if I were a contestant on Going for Gold in 1990: “Robert, you’re playing catch-up.” So, what has been going on in the 20 months or so since I last blogged?

Back in August 2015, I had taken the plunge and rented a flat. Finally, a place to call my own, except it’s not really my own, it belongs to a landlord who didn’t allow any redecorating or hanging pictures on the wall.

I’ll be honest, I was scared. The life experiences of my first 32 years on Earth had conditioned me to believe that I couldn’t cope with being an adult, and all the boring things adults have to do for themselves: pay council tax, read electricity meters, cook, clean, maintain basic personal hygiene standards. It was a big adjustment, and it took some time for things to settle down.

OK… now what do I do?

A post shared by Robert Hampton (@hampo) on

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