My meanderings take me to towns and cities the length and breadth of our United Kingdom.
Over the last few years I have noticed that they all have several things in common. It concerns the state of their streets. Put bluntly, the streets are in a sorry state.
Now I know they say that it is a jungle out there. But does our urban jungle need so many weeds growing between the paving stones? Does every pavement have to be mottled with the dirty grey stains of discarded chewing gum?
Do the paving stones have to be so uneven, cracked and unkempt, and does litter have to block the drains and fast food wrappers festoon our high streets?
Mind you, it would help enormously if our litter bins were emptied instead of being left in a permanent state of overflowing stench. Then at least there would be somewhere to put the trash.
And then there is dog mess – for which you can’t blame the dogs. But you can blame the owners. And we should.
I remember how, back in the early days of the Scottish Parliament, a Tory MSP introduced a Member’s Bill to crack down on pooch poop and empower our councils to tackle the offensive offenders.
He was met with derision for making dog fouling a priority.
But his postbag and that of other politicians around the country showed it was a hot topic. And thus he succeeded. Local authorities were empowered. New signs went up and more bins provided.
Scoop that Poop became the norm. Our parks and pavements could once again be perambulated without the walker having to gaze permanently at the ground to ensure each footstep would be squish-free.
But it seems that the new laws are increasingly ignored. And this accumulating mess, along with the weeds and gum and litter, are reducing our streets to an eyesore.
So who is to blame?
Yes, our councils need to up their game. But mostly it is up to us. We are the droppers of the litter. The chewers of the gum. The owners of the dogs.
Once upon a time people took pride in their local environment. They cleared the pavements of snow and ice outside their homes. They took responsibility for their wee bit of the community. We relied on each other. We took to task those who shirked their civic duty.
Is it too much to hope for a return to those days? Probably it is. Nowadays we think it is up to others to do everything for us. For which we will eternally have to accept that we will be let down. And our streets will remain in a state.
NHS ills
Talking about accepting blame and standing up to be counted, I watched with angst, again, First Minister’s Questions in the Scottish Parliament last week.
What stood out was the tired and tiresome answers trotted out to questions about our NHS and the fact that an independent study showed it had failed to reach seven out of eight key tests.
The stock reply to this and any such critique of our public services always seems to fall into one of two camps: stop talking Scotland/doctors/nurses/teachers down (delete as appropriate) or “yes, but”. The “but” being: at least we are doing better than England. I’m sorry. But being better than England should not be the yardstick we use. We should aspire to more.
What happens if we fall behind our southern cousins? “Don’t worry. We’re doing better than North Korea”?
Time to raise our game. To do and be the best we can. Our NHS and our schools are not participating in some fantasy league. We don’t talk Scotland up by talking England down.
Time out
I write this en route, by ferry, to one part of our kingdom thankfully and largely unspoilt by the hands and waste of humanity. To Jura, via Islay, two jewels in Scotland’s crown.
Jura: an island of magnificent beauty. Of towering grey paps and rutting ruddy stags; of finest malt whisky and aromatic gin; of good food and fine company. Of peace and solitude.
A perfect place to take stock amid the turmoil of today’s world. To enjoy a more gentle pace of life. Where five-day test cricket would seem far too rushed a pursuit.
The very act of travelling there is part of the joy. On a calm and sunny day like today, with only the merest breeze ruffling the sea and sunbeams glinting off the water and the hills of Jura growing bigger by the minute on the western horizon, the two-hour boat trip is sheer magic.
And so, for the next week, I will slow down. Calm down. Leave the trials and tribulations of Westminster and Holyrood behind. And take time to appreciate the simple pleasures of being with friends in a beautiful place.
And if you are reading this, then the wi-fi works too.
