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Notes from a cliff-edge

Back in the UK/Ussr

8/24/2025

 
411 words: 3-minute read

Maybe my mistake was watching an episode of Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror the day before departure to the UK from Spain, but as our spanking new train slid past the sleek glass-fronted apartments that line the track between Stansted and London Liverpool Street, I kept expecting something sinister to happen.
 
It was all just too good to be true.
 
And the (infuriating) ‘See it, Say it, Sorted’ incantation that’s been running on London trains for what seems like forever didn’t help, hinting as it does at the dark Black Mirror underbelly that the government would like us to think lurks just beneath the civilised and civilising veneer of British society.
 
But what are we being asked to look out for? What are we being asked to report? What will be ‘sorted’? And how?
 
The answer came the day before our arrival in the UK.
 
On that day - 9th August - over 500 people were arrested in London for carrying placards displaying the words ‘I oppose genocide. I support Palestine Action’.  The Labour government proscribed Palestine Action in July under the Terrorism Act, making membership of or support for it a criminal offence, punishable by up to 14 years in prison. The arrests were the most made by the Metropolitan Police in a single day in the last 10 years.
 
The average age of those arrested was 54, and the most arrests - 147 of them - were of people aged between 60 and 69.
 
So now I know what needs to be seen, said and sorted in the UK in 2025.
 
Tens of thousands of Palestinians, mostly women and children, are being murdered by the Israeli army, the UN has declared a famine in Gaza while Israelis BBQ just over the border, Keir Starmer and David Lammy wring their hands over the ‘intolerable’ situation in Gaza having glad-handed Netanyahu and his cronies for the past two years.
 
Given all this, you’d be forgiven for thinking that ‘see it, say it, sorted’ must be aimed at keeping a look-out for those in the UK complicit in the Gaza genocide.
 
But no. In Starmer’s Mad Hatter UK it’s those who protest the genocide who need to be ‘sorted’.
Picture
​People like this old lady.

​I
f you live in the UK today, save yourself a Netflix subscription. Black Mirror is coming to a street near you.

culture wars - in the swimming pool

8/3/2025

 
It’s well known that there are cultural variations as far as allowing each other the appropriate amount of personal space is concerned.
 
I’ve spent most of my life in a ‘low-contact culture’ (the UK) where people supposedly feel uncomfortable if their personal space is invaded. As it happens I’m not much bothered by people coming close to me: I’m quite happy with proximity, and kisses and hugs are absolutely fine by me.
 
Since I now live in Spain this is a good thing because I’m apparently now in a ‘high-contact culture’ where ‘physical contact is common, and maintaining close proximity is a sign of friendliness and openness.’
 
But there’s another side to the personal space story - the way in which space is unwittingly occupied by the people around you. And this can be really annoying!
 
Here’s a rather beautiful and sensitive account of the way it works, from a young Irish man who has spent 18 months in Spain grappling with the issue of space occupation.
 
Every single non-Spanish person to whom I’ve shown this video instantly recognises the bewilderment: how on earth don’t they know they’re right in the middle of the pavement?! And most Spanish people clock it too …
 
(It’s also worth saying that once you’ve asked ‘¿puedo pasar?’ [can I get by?] the reaction is instantaneous - ‘Of course! No problem!’)
 
At the root of all this is a basic unawareness that bodies occupy space - and there’s nowhere I’ve found this more aggravating than in the swimming pool, doing lengths.
 
In the UK if you get to the end of a length and it’s obvious to the person in front of you that you’re quicker than them, they generally wave you through.
 
In Spain, you can spend an entire length nibbling the heels of the person ahead of you, reach the end of the length, and then see them stare you in the eyes before setting off once again at their habitual, regular and absolutely infuriating snail’s pace. It’s clear that the thought that they might let you through simply doesn’t cross their mind.
 
So what to do? If you can’t beat them, join them? Plonk myself in the superfast lane and hold everyone up?
 
I’m honestly not sure I could. Too much cultural baggage of my own for that. So at most it’s going to be a timid ‘¿puedo pasar?’ in the slow lane.
 
And even that may be beyond me. More likely I’ll be ploughing up and down the lengths, with the sound of clashing cultures ringing in my ears.

    Andrew Dobson

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