Stripes and stars

It was the weekend after the riots. We met our son for dinner. He’s an economist, trading energy in the City. It was Saturday evening. It was going to be a life changing weekend, but more of this later. All I’ll say now is that the contrast between this and the next evening was dramatic.

Working as I do with charities struggling to transition from comfortable contract income to social enterprise I can lose sight of the bigger picture. Meeting Tom and discussing the world economy helps me regain my perspective. I love him as my son, and respect him as one with a firm grasp of why the world has stopped ticking.

Our pavement table in Islington was passed every few minutes by patrolling police. Some wore fire extinguishers on their belt. Others drove past, sirens screaming, in convoys of mini-buses that reminded me of the miners’ strikes that coincided with Tom’s birth.

To me, the London riots were symptomatic of how the people are coping with what I call the ‘Big Reality’. We’re at the end of 50 years of affluence and material wealth. It’s all about how we handle the return to darning socks, regarding a car as a luxury and wearing jumpers in winter rather than turn up the heating.

The USA has decided to increase borrowing to further fund an unsustainable lifestyle. Tom predicts an eventual crash. I predict a closure of international borders and self sufficiency. Tom tells me that’s not possible as the US is too reliant on imports of steel, oil and more. We talked about the similarity between today’s economy and that which preceded both of the last century’s major wars.

Will we see starbursts of shellfire, or stars before the eyes as we’re mugged by a growing marauding underclass? It’s a worry.

Then on Sunday evening I had an encounter with stripes that put my life and the world economy firmly in perspective. I’ve never liked wasps, in fact all of my life I’ve been rather afraid of them. I got stung for the first time earlier this summer and realised that whilst painful, it was no big deal. I put the phobia behind me and celebrated my new found maturity.

So a second wasp sting, this time sitting on the sofa watching a DVD was annoying, but not a big deal. That was, for around 15 minutes. I started to feel rather strange and decided to walk across the room. Halfway I collapsed and rather lost all sense of time or place. My anxious wife dialled 999 and within five minutes I saw a green uniformed paramedic standing over me. I had no pulse and was, he told me later, minutes from death.

Luckily a dose of adrenaline, a steroid drip and three hours under observation in A&E was enough to get me back on my feet, albeit unsteadily. Nine hours later I was on a flight to Madeira, back in one piece, an emergency syringe of adrenaline in my bag, ready for the holiday I’d hours earlier expected to miss.

So where does this leave me now, two days later, sitting in the sun overlooking Funchal Harbour, laptop on and cold beer in hand. I’ll tell you. I’ve realised that I cannot change world politics and stand little chance of preventing riots. What I can do is help a few people make sense of where they find themselves. As a writer, I can challenge people’s self perception. As a consultant, I can do that with organisations too. But that’s the size of it.

However heated the debate becomes, the only way people are going to come to terms with our changing fortunes is one by one. Politicians can make more rules, throw rioters’ mothers out of their homes and promise the earth. In reality, it’s down to each of us to savour the moment and enjoy what we have. One day, every one of us will die. Few know how and none know when. Enjoy what you have.