I am composing this prose from the idyllic setting of the island of Jura.
The sun is shining and a gentle breeze ruffles the leaves on the trees. Boats bob in the bay and a few souls are strolling to church as others set off for he more arduous challenge of climbing the Paps. The midges have not yet arrived and thus life is good.
This wee piece of paradise is only a short hop from the mainland, but it is a million miles from the hustle and bustle of our towns and cities. It is a community bound together by geography and interdependency.
Here, as is the case across these jewels off the west coast of Scotland, things get done. But they get done at their own pace. So much so that no word seems to have the same sense of urgency as manana.
It is the perfect place for reflection, if not on the meaning of life, then at least on the meaning of elections.
Because even here, politics matters. But it seems to matter on a much more practical, everyday level and be much less divisive. It is far more about the bread and butter of everyday life than the big arguments of geopolitics. When there is only one stretch of tarmac, the road to Islay matters more than the road to Independence.
Politics is done differently too. Perhaps because the people are interdependent and bound by common endeavour, differences are discussed and accepted rather than opponents being denigrated and abused. “Ach, your talking rubbish, man. Let me buy you a drink…”
How different from much of the increasingly nasty vitriol espoused elsewhere and which spews out of social media. Where people hide behind false identities and where calling somebody a Nationalist or a Tory is not a term of veracity but is meant as a term of abuse. Where you have to be in constant attack mode and always portray yourself as either the victor or a victim. Where everything is black and white. Me good. They bad. Where it is not a case of winning an argument with sound reason, but one of crushing all dissenting voices.
It can all be a bit depressing. So maybe all candidates and political activists should be made to spend a few days living life the Jura way. Then maybe, just maybe, we could have a gentler, kinder politics. We could be civic and joyous. And stronger and more stable too.
There was a suggestion last week that cannabis use should be decriminalised, and cannabis sales regulated and legalised. It would, the LibDem proponents argue, ensure that the drug on sale was safer and that an estimated £1billion of tax revenues could be generated each year.
They say that a legal and regulated market would break the grip of the dug cartels and that checks on potency would reduce the significant physical and mental health impact that cannabis has.
I understand the arguments they make. But I am not convinced. Legalising a drug is an official sanction that it is ok to use it. That is at odds with the admitted health problems it causes. If giving it legal status generates tax income, why stop at cannabis? Why not other hard drugs?
But more than that, cannabis is a gateway drug to other, even more harmful substances. Many people only get to harder drugs from a cannabis habit. Making it available on the high street will only lead to more people going in search of bigger highs elsewhere.
I know some will counter that other harmful drugs are legal already, namely alcohol and tobacco. But we are as a society trying to reduce their use. Putting cannabis on the same legal footing as a bottle of wine or 20 cigs will only increase its use. And introduce more people to the harmful habit.
Talking of Jura, part of the joy is getting here. You travel both in hope and expectation.
Hope that the weather will be kind, the roads clear and the ferries running. Expectation that if they are not, it will all work out anyway.
It took seven hours door-to-door from Edinburgh but it was worth every second. Even the full Scottish breakfast onboard the Hebridean Isles was top notch fare.
I am here with my son, Calum, and my wannabe in-laws. This time next year I will be tying the knot and this trip is a pre-nuptial recce with my fiance and her family to check out the Jura Hotel, the holiday cottages, the local gin still and make plans. The hotel is the gem of Jura. Good food. A warm welcome. And caring owners who take time for their guests.
The joy of Jura is the idyllic setting and the relaxed and friendly attitude of the islanders. If you’ve not been before, you should come. If you’ve been before, come back. But not this time next year. I’ve got it all booked up.
