This is the end

So sang Adele at the beginning of Skyfall, the theme to the Bond movie of the same name. But I’m going to up the culture stakes, leave Scotland and hop over to Paris with:

“It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done”.

I’m aware that it isn’t proportionate to compare my current predicament with that of Sydney Carton in Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. For one thing,  Carton's cities are London and Paris. Mine are Littlecote and Weare. Nevertheless, I’m running with Dickens alongside Adele, for no other reason than, as I’ve said before, it’s my blo-og and I’ll write what I want to.

Not for much longer.

Carton’s immortal words are in fact a vision, as he awaits the guillotine, of a better life for his family.  He sacrifices his own life by impersonating the intended victim and engineering the latter’s escape. Me? I’m sacrificing my blog in favour of a PhD which, for me, would be a far, far better thing than I have ever done, admittedly not on a par with Carton.

After years (decades?) of prevarication, excuses and lack of self-belief, I saw longer term holes in my diary, my clock ticking, my frustration levels increasing and I had multiple revelations, or were they epiphanies. Before I could change my mind, again, I emailed an eminent Prof, who had said on a couple of occasions that I should consider a PhD, to announce my readiness to commit. She was very supportive and upbeat, and I had an Aw-Shucks moment. We zoomed, in more ways than one, through some initial ideas, supervisors I might work with, literature I might read, administration difficulties that we might work around. Then, the Law of Unintended Consequences struck: “You’ll have to give up your blog,” she said.

Slow on the uptake, which is not a good thing for a PhD student, I assured her it didn’t occupy too much of my time (I thought that was obvious given the plethora of misplaced commas and lack of concision) and I would indeed blog less often and prioritise my studies. After all, I’ve already decided that the long-mooted move to Weare (Somerset) probably won’t now go ahead, at least for another six years until the PhD is in the bag, and some other commitments I anticipate giving up or scaling back.

“No. I mean you need a neutral social media profile,” she continued. “You have to be seen as unbiased by everyone. You need to stop blogging and to archive the material so that no one can find it.”

Oh.

Oh. Oh!

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

“Feel the Earth move, and then
Hear my heart burst again”, sang Adele.

The Prof is absolutely right, of course. This has nothing to do with stifling free speech, and everything to do with protecting the integrity of my research. But still …

I managed to keep smiling and talk non-gibberish through the rest of the zoom, clung to my stoicism for a phone call later that afternoon about airport expansion, exchanged pleasantries with the fish man when he pulled into the courtyard to supply me with halibut, smoked mackerel and soused herrings, managed (I hope) not to let the issue dominate my Tuesday evening drinks with my neighbour and, rebel that I am, posted another blog before I went to bed. (Blogging after Tuesday evening drinks? That’s dangerous!)

I felt better as soon as I clicked ‘publish’. And that’s the rub – I need to blog. It’s how I let off steam, explore issues, cope with my emotions and re-set them; it’s where I push boundaries, court controversy, test my own beliefs, play devil’s advocate, stick the boot in, fly the flag for freedom of thought and expression – even if rude and offensive … To coin a 21st-century mantra, blogging is good for my mental health. It might be bad for the mental health of those I offend but, given that they hold views I find offensive, it’s sauce-goose-gander territory. And it’s called democracy, People. One of the take-away messages from an academic conference I attended in Edinburgh last month was that democracy needs dialogue, disagreement, dissonance. An echo chamber is not good. Sometimes disagreement crosses a red line (more like gets mired in a pink smudge) and offence is taken. Better offence than oppression.

Someone suggested I could stick to blogging non-controversial stuff. What's the point? That’s like toast without Marmite, tonic without gin, me without mascara.

Someone else said I could blog privately. That wouldn’t work either. Blogging is also good for my ego, because other people, a good number actually, are delighted to see that their values, ideals and concerns that they’ve grown up with, have guided them and that are part of their identity are alive and kicking. They’re not minority extreme views as the BBC, Guardian and LinkedIn would have everyone believe. New readers, some of them old friends, are finding my blog all the time, and I’d hate to deprive others in the future (Jeez that sounds arrogant … What the heck).

Other readers are not so in tune, and their comments have ranged from smiley finger-wagging to downright anger, but all feedback is precious. The fact that people care enough to comment is humbling. Every raised eyebrow or harsh word has seen me scurry back to the blog to re-examine what I’ve written. Mostly I decide I’m comfortable with them, although there was this one blog I tweaked after some feedback. However, I confidently retained the thrust of it – that on occasion it’s healthy and constructive to question something, even if that something is bleedin’ obvious and you agree with it. Heck – I even questioned Brexit recently, until the hallucinogens wore off then I atoned for my sins with three Hail Maggies.

My left logical brain is telling me that only a comparative handful of people might benefit a tiny bit from my blog, whereas many more could benefit to a greater extent from the results of my PhD (or it might gather dust for evermore). My right sentimental brain, on the other hand, is telling me that every blog contains a piece of me, so to give up on it would be to lose pieces of myself, and perhaps lose or stultify contact with some of my blog followers.

I'll need to find a substitute to help me release my emotional pressure cooker. Answers on a post card. I know it’s just a daft blog and my dilemma is no more than a First World Problem, but it has also helped me rekindle some old friendships, cement existing ones, and make new ones. That has to be just as good an outcome!

I could sign off with another apt line from Skyfall: “Swept away, I'm stolen”.

I’ve chosen instead to end at the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities, which I think perfectly encapsulates my blog – for advocates and adversaries alike: 

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair."