David Cameron is no man

Few could have been unmoved by the death of Ivan Cameron and the dignified way in which David and Samantha Cameron dealt with the difficult circumstances.

As a new dad of six months, I have a lovely, healthy daughter who has been remarkably well behaved since she was born. I was told of the horror stories of sleepless nights and soiled nappies but I have to say that we have managed well, so far, thanks largely to a very supportive family.

Our daughter is healthy and developing normally as expected. We thank God each day that we don’t have to deal with the complex needs and demands of Ivan that the Cameron’s had to deal with since his birth. However, if faced with such a situation, I am sure we would do our best. After all, children are a gift and as parents, we love them to bits no matter what they look like and what their needs are.

The difference with the Cameron’s and most of us is that whilst we would probably do as much, we don’t have the pressures of David Cameron. Few could ever imagine the stresses and strains that David has to go through on a daily basis with possibly the toughest job in the country.

For the first time this week, I was kept up for much of the night by Aminah who was in severe pain and I realised how difficult it could have been had this happened on a regular basis. After a few hours, she settled down. It can’t possibly compare to the needs of a child requiring round the clock attention and care. As I tried desperately to comfort her, I thought about all the parents with children with special needs and about Ivan. It helped me to appreciate just how lucky we were. I couldn’t begin to imagine the sacrifices of David and Samantha and all the other people who have to manage their life around the needs of their special children.

As David said, in time, he will learn to live with the fond memories Ivan brought to their lives during the short time with them. David Cameron will emerge as a stronger leader from these very sad times. It couldn’t have been easy to mourn and grieve with the worlds media intruding in your very private feelings but he did remarkably. He showed tremendous courage and steely resolve in public.

In times like these different people react and respond differently. David said and did just enough in public as he slipped away from the media glare for his private time with the family. He re-emerged again for public duty and got back to the task in hand with remarkable focus. It can’t be easy and he must still be hurting but he had to manage the expectations his job brings with it and that means putting your private feelings aside and thinking about the needs of the country sooner than most of us would about our own routines. That makes his a very special person. Not quite superman but close.

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Bangladesh: So much is wrong with it...

I met Arif during my short visit to Bangladesh recently. Arif is 9.

That’s all I knew of him such was the nature of our meeting. For my first visit to Bangladesh for quite some time and I expected to see some change, change in the landscape and in the people. I certainly found plenty to mull over on my return.Bangladesh, my place of birth and the only place I knew for the first 10 years of my life. It’s a beautiful country. So much is wrong with it and yet there is so much to treasure. It’s a country of many contradictions. Whether amongst people, places, outlook and attitude, nowhere else on earth is there such a sharp divide and nowhere else are the extremes in such stark contrast.

As I look out of my penthouse suite in the 5 star hotel on the outskirts of Dhaka, I look out onto one of the main highways that link the old city with the new. Across the road, a huge waste tip has built up, most likely, unplanned but now occupied. Around it are makeshift homes and a bazaar. The bazaar is a bizarre mix of hawkers and semi-permanent stalls, all plying their trade round the clock. Above it is a faded sign that reads, ‘Welcome to your dream’, the last remaining evidence of what was to be a housing estate that never quite happened.

In the coolness of my air-conditioned room, I looked out onto this melee. Its one o’clock in the afternoon and the sun at its fiercest. Add to it the dust and fumes, the bizarre bazaar looked like the jaws of hell. I was warned not to venture out and especially not in this heat but I couldn’t resist. I caught sight of a little boy, baking in the sun, sat with his legs crossed just in the edge of the train track and behind a vegetable seller. It didn’t seem like he had anything to sell. I couldn’t see enough. I was curious and it drove me out of the hotel.The heat was unbearable and you feel it instantly. The dirt filled air is as thick as it is harsh. My face and exposed arms took the brunt of it the moment I stepped outside the hotel. I negotiated my way round the cars and rickshaws and on to the over bridge towards my destination. I looked back at the hotel in all its splendour, sparkling neon lights that flickered even at daylight.

Down in the markets its all go. My attention was momentarily disrupted by the sound on an on coming freight train. Suddenly mayhem! All the hawkers and hoards of people just walked aimlessly. I looked around and saw the gates on the railway crossing slowly stagger down. The train passed as vendors looked on, peering between the slow moving carriages to make sure their goods were still there. As soon as the last carriage passed and the gates drew upwards, the crowds spilled on the tracks. You would never know a train had passed here less than 30 seconds earlier. The hustle and bustle of the busy market was a claustrophobics nightmare. The dust blinded you, the noise deafened you and the forceful nature of some of the people frightened you. No one it seemed cared, no one was bothered, except me. Mindful of drawing attention to myself, I walked, through the middle of the two rows of sellers, pausing every so often and attracting the odd comment. I soon found out they were not directed at me or to anyone in particular. People just said things. Things that were relevant to the goods they sold. One guy selling socks just muttered the words (in Bengali) ‘socks’, great socks! Warm socks! Where else would you find a socks seller in 40 degrees of heat? Welcome to Bangladesh!

As I dodged my way through the human traffic, I was mindful of barging into people stepping sideways like a polite Sunday driver. I soon found that my progress through the market would take considerably longer if I don’t pick up the local custom. If you get barged, just carry on, you don’t stop to look. If you want a particular stall or seller, you look in that direction and head for it. That is how you make headway here. So I did.I stood in front of Arif. I was his age when I left Bangladesh. A timid little boy, fair he may have been once upon a time but the sun has seen to that. His tiny frame, veins and bones sharp and visible. Hands on his head he sat, as if to fend off the sun, looking attentively at his goods, day dreaming. My feet were inches from his flattened cardboard he has spread out in front of him. From where he was sat, he saw nothing but my shoes. He didn’t have the courage to look up for fear the sun might blind him. He didn’t feel obstructed by my presence, just assumed I stood there in order to get a view of something else. After all, what would I want from his ‘stall’?Arif had neatly laid out his goods all carefully lined, parallel and perfect. I scanned it quickly. Three hair brushes, 6 combs, several hair clips, bands, novelty combs and a toothbrush. His grey shirt was once white. You can tell by the fold marks in the sleeves. His trousers had seen many better days but even at knee length, they are far from finished serving him. My feet moved sideways and back to allow others to pass by and then I knelt down and drew Arif’s attention.‘Sir would you like a comb?’ he asked, half-heartedly, only momentarily looking at me before reorganising his brushes.

He muttered a little more under his breath. With one hand covering his forehead, he looked up again. ‘Sir would you like a comb? I looked at his face, tiny and scorched. His eyes were big and the whites sparkled against his dark face. He has mousy hair and dry chapped lips. He screwed his face to fend off the sun and to look at me properly and when he did, he sat straight, attentive and inquisitive. My presence was both confusing and fascinating him in equal measure. He looked at my shoes and my jeans and then my face, trying not to be too blatant. He had sincerity in his face. He seemed likable. So I said ‘how much for the comb?’ he couldn’t move quickly enough. ‘Sir this one is 5 Taka and this one 10 Taka’, he said pointing at each. He sensed that a sale was imminent. I picked it up, to take a closer look. He stared at me, wondering what I could possibly be examining in something so simple. Still he was patient.

‘What is it like to comb your hair with? I said.

A rye smile emerged from the corner of his lips as if to say what do you mean!‘Try it’, he said with eagerness. I declined the offer. ‘Its ok’, he insisted, ‘your hair doesn’t have dirt like mine’. I put the comb back and paused to pick up a brush. His smile disappeared as he suspected my interest in his comb could be over. It returned again as I picked up a brush. Only this time it wasn’t a smile, more of a mischievous grin. ‘That’s for ladies’, he warned me. I looked at him and we both laughed. ‘I knew that’, I said. He didn’t want to question me, partly for fear and partly because he would potentially count himself out of a sale.He seemed at ease with me, so I asked his name. ‘Arif’, he said. ‘How old are you Arif? ‘I think about 9’ he said. His head swayed side to side as if to confirm it. As I was about to quiz him further, an elderly man lost his balance from stepping on what looked like a piece of rock, sending a kickful of dust in our direction. You are never quite sure what you are stepping on in a place like that; it could be glass, rock, razor anything. I immediately stood up and Arif grabbed his cardboard and goods. The old man composed himself and wondered off aimlessly, attracting the odd glimpse from passers by.As the dust settled, Arif laid his card back before him and proceeded to clean up some of the dust off his precious items. He had a resigned look in his face as if fate had dealt yet another blow to tarnish his meagre possessions. Now he has a whole lot of dirty combs and brushes and his hair bands have attracted much of the dust. Emptiness surrounded his face as he looked aimlessly round him for something to wipe them with. He took them one by one and tried his sleeve. It wasn’t long enough and did little to remove the dust. I watched him as he attentively went about his cleaning. I was beginning to make him nervous, probably even irritating him. He looked up at me in despair and then his smile broke out again in seeing my handkerchief. He couldn’t believe it. It was so clean and white. He wouldn’t dare. He didn’t even look in my direction as I offered him the handkerchief, just nodded his head and declined. He blew into the combs and blew harder still but little changed. I moved the agony on a little by bending down again and picking up his hair bands. ‘How much?‘Three Taka’, he said with a slight irritation in his voice. He paid little or no attention to me this time. He had suspected me to be nothing more than a passing inquisitor who had no intention of buying anything.

‘How much for all your items?He looked up blankly and his expression condemned me to madness with one glance.‘What? He asked.‘How much for everything?Perplexed, he looked at me like people do when they have nothing to lose and everything to gain. He composed himself, took a long look at his goods, a deep breath and did some arithmetic’s in his head.‘Fifty Taka’, he murmured under his breath.‘Fifty Taka? I’ll take them all’.Things were begging to sound very confusing for him in the early afternoon sun.

‘So let me get things clear here. You want to buy everything in my stall? He twitched his eyes and rubbed his nose.‘Yes, everything. I will pay you 50 Taka for everything if that is OK with you?If ever you saw a little boy smile. So much excitement yet he forced himself to contain it all within him. He looked like he couldn’t wait to tell someone the story about the time a ‘madman’ came to his stall and bought everything. I knew what he was thinking. His face told the story of his dreams.Arif carefully gathered the goods and then neatly folded the sides of his cardboard to create a box.‘It will be easy to carry’, he said. I agreed.He held the box towards me and I met him halfway. As it rested under my arm, I took out a crisp 50 taka note. He took it gladly and folded it neatly several times before placing it in his pocket.‘Well I have nothing else to sell and if you stand here too long you will go black like me’, he joked.

The conversation needed to continue. ‘I have some stock you might be interested in’, I said. He looked at me, confused and probably wondering the ‘madman’ is at it again.‘I have some stock which I am looking to give away. I can’t carry it back to my hotel because it’s too heavy’. To clarify, I pointed at his cardboard box. He knew I wasn’t telling the truth and he suspected there was more to my proposal. He was beginning to get a measure of my madness. I was beginning to seriously worry him now and he looked left and right and possibly for a moment thought about doing a runner but his curiosity held him back. I handed him the box and told him that I would like him to have it.

‘I cant, it’s not mine anymore and I don’t really want to buy it back from you because I really need the money’, he said in a pleading manner.‘It’s ok, I don’t want any money’, I said.Arif looked at me as if to say that he didn’t want my handout and then he did. ‘Sir, I am not interested in taking your goods. I want to earn my living’. I felt slightly embarrassed and rather taken back by the response.Here was a 9 year old boy, probably born in abject poverty and a breadwinner for more than himself, yet he was determined to earn his keep. Arif’s response both shocked and worried me in equal measure. It would not have been out of place for him to just take the goods and move on. People his age are aplenty in Bangladesh and all living on the edge of life and death. For many, the break of dawn signals the beginning of another uncertain day in which finding something to line their empty stomachs dominates these tiny minds. A night under the skies in the streets of Dhaka is a living reality for many kids like Arif and yet here he was refusing to take something I had offered him as gift. Right or wrong, I had imagined Arif’s life and how it may have panned out up till now. I imagined Arif would have a fair few siblings. Born to parents uncertain of their present let alone the future with a small patch of the Dhaka slums that they call home.As presumptuous as I am sounding, this scenario would not be far removed from the reality facing many thousands in Bangladesh yet Arif’s attitude pleasantly surprised me and worried me all the same. With that honest attitude, he would struggle to survive the tortures of street life. Surely fate would not treat such an innocent soul or deprive him of a days honest earnings, would it? Truth is it does and it will continue to do so to many thousands each day. I am a mere traveller who has taken a passing interest in the life of a street child.’Sir, sir, I will take the goods back from you for a Taka, that way you will have sold it to me fair and square’. Arif interrupted me from my thoughts and his proposal almost threw me. Where did you learn to do business like that!

As soon as he gave me the soiled 1 Taka note, Arif was off. He had disappeared into the crowed and I was too hot and bothered to look.I decided to walk back to the hotel and take stock of what had just happened.

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Plane stupid!

The “booby prize” of the week must go to the geographically challenged Samantha Lazzaris who managed to board a plane bound for Puerto Rico rather than Costa Rica due to the travel agent typing in the wrong airport code on her ticket.

Even is that was the case, this woman, we are told was traveling around the world by herself, failed to realise she was in the wrong country after the taxi driver told her. After the taxi driver told her? Did she not bother to check her documents? How about the check-in and boarding and the numerous calls that are made to passengers for their flight? What about when she was in the plane itself? Surely the pilot will have mentioned where his plane was heading. All this makes you wonder whether this woman should have her passport taken away for breathtaking stupidity, rather than being given compensation by the travel agents and an “undisclosed amount” for the inconvenience. The inconvenience?

Who says stupidity doesn’t pay?

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Bankers breathtaking arrogance

The debacle surrounding the bank’s bonus structures is causing as much concern as it is providing comedy material.

Stephen Hester, the chief executive of the bailed-out bank RBS, says that bonuses are necessary to “keep the best people”. Are these the same people who were the architects of this crisis in the first place? What would happen if they were told that they could not get their bonuses? If they did threaten to walk, where would they go? It’s not as if this crisis was confined to Britain and these bankers would be headhunted elsewhere if their services were not secured on these shores. My heart bleeds for them all as they struggle on their meager million pound salaries whilst the rest of us have to live in the real world. If Executives were so desperate to reward failure, then they should do so out of their own salaries and then we would see just how keen they are to keep hold of “top talent”. These people developed risky strategies with our money with the sole aim of rewarding only financial growth and their inflated ego’s with millions of pounds. They have behaved irresponsibly, luring society down the path of greed where we have forgotten the value of everything except money.

The banker’s appearance at the Treasury Select Committee to confess their crimes was like watching a show trial. The people asking the questions were themselves responsible for the mess we are in. Many within the Select Committee will have voted for giving the banks a free reign to do as it pleased in the first place. Let’s have some of the politicians in the dock starting with “Greedy” Brown for crimes against the cash-strapped. Talk about pot calling the kettle black!

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Just grit and bear it!

There have been countless stories of people falling over and hurting themselves during the recent snow that affected much of the nation.

Heavy snow falls brought the country to a standstill with severe disruptions on roads, rail and everyday life. The Government and local authorities came under heavy criticised for being ill prepared particularly when it came to gritting the roads. I agree that we should and could have been better prepared given that we have plenty of warning. However, the severity of the snow fall did catch everyone by surprise and whilst I endured a great deal of grief to get to and back from work, I quite enjoyed the snow. It was a pleasant surprise to have this much snow for a long term.
I want to go back to the point about local authorities not being properly equipped to deal with the “crisis” as many called it. Even if we did had all the grit that we needed, we would not avoid the “accidents, slips, trips and falls”, (recognise the words? Where there’s blame…Yes I thought you did!) on driveways and footpaths or do we expect the authorities to grit every inch of ground on which snow fell?
I take issue with the assertion that someone must be to blame for the accidents and falls people had. Why is it that someone needs to take the blame for your accident? It’s inevitable that people will fall over when it is icy. No amount of gritting and precaution will completely eliminate risk for everyone. As a society, we have gone too far in allocating blame and believing the TV ads reminding us ‘where there’s blame, there’s a claim’. A sense of perspective is in order.

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An open letter to the Prime Minister

Dear Mr Brown

This letter is intended for the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Mr Brown, if this letter has been received by you as intended, please skip to paragraph 3.

If you are not the PM, consider yourself very fortunate to have a job in these difficult times and please do the honourable thing and hand this letter to the PM for whom it is intended, assuming he is not too busy saving the world, leaving you to get through what must be fast becoming a heavy post bag

Prime Minister, I’ would like to say at the outset that I am an extremely angry man but I have had to compose myself when writing this letter. Do you ever get angry? I hope you will excuse occasions in this letter when my tone may sound harsh. Rest assured it couldn’t go far enough to express my real feelings at the state of our once proud nation.

I feel a little embarrassed for us both, having to bring up the issues below for I, like many others, expected to see meaningful change after 12 years of your leadership. I suspect deep down, you too are a little disappointed by the way things have turned out. No? But you must be? Not even the tiniest bit?

Anyway, yesterday was Monday, a day widely reported by the weatherman as potentially hazardous. As it turned out, it was a great deal more than that. I came home early from work for fear of not being able to get back at all. It was far from easy though. A combination of train, taxi and a brisk walk in shoes that were meant to be waterproof but weren’t. I guess you can’t have it all your own way! Now how many times have you said that in the past couples of years?

Allow me to tell you a little about my journey to work on Monday and you will get an idea of the state of my mind and possibly a snapshot of the lives of millions of others in our nation today.

Times are hard so I figured getting to work early and getting an extra few hours in would help, after all, the forecast for the week ahead wasn’t good. Snow, arctic conditions and widespread disruptions were predicted. So why were we so ill-equipped? How do the Scandinavians cope Prime Minister? A bit of snow and the country comes to a standstill. Mind you, most of us are almost at a standstill anyway so yesterday was just compounding the problem further.

I work in Birmingham and regularly travel from Northampton. I used the car in the past but a combination of high maintenance costs, over zealous speed camera’s not to mention the never ending roadwork’s that regularly brought rush hour traffic to a standstill, forced me to seek alternative ways to travel. I opted for the trains. Not the best service in the world, far from it, but I have a better chance of making it to work-in theory. Apart from paying extortionate prices for a season ticket, we have to endure the journey on an old train with low seats and resembling a can of sardines in rush hour – very crammed indeed. I can’t work out why London Midland (the train operator) continues to use old trains they inherited from Silver Link trains in the rush hour and use the newer trains off-peak. Can you? How many of you travel in your Jag?

At least once every week, I am forced to make alternative arrangements to get to work. Monday was no different. Now you would have thought that the weather was to blame for the trains not running wouldn’t you? Well you would be wrong. Like all previous occasions, the reason for our delay, which inevitably turns into cancellation, is not the snow or leaves on track, no; it is the lack of available train crews. How on earth do we get to a situation where the company schedules in trains yet fails to find a crew to man them? Feels a little like the country at the moment-we know someone is supposed to be in charge but no one knows who. Any ideas?

This is the state of our train service today. I did finally make it work on Monday but left work at 2 in the afternoon as news was coming through that a snow storm was about to hit the Midlands. Chaos ensued as hundreds made for the trains, busses and cars to plan their escape routes. After a 3-hour wait, made worse by the dishonesty of the train companies whereby they keep you hanging on in the hope that the “delayed” train may show up when in fact there is little chance of it doing so. Why cant the just be straight Prime Minister? Why is it so difficult to tell the truth?

Having taken a Virgin service into Rugby, I was a little closer to home. Things were dire at Rugby. As the snow came down, cancellation notices were appearing everywhere but only after cruel teasing of passengers an hour at a time. Tired, hungry and wanting to get home at any cost, a few of us shared a cab back home costing us in excess of £50.00.

A friend called round an hour later to tell me that he couldn’t pay me money he took from me to plug an ever deepening hole in his business finances. That was not the sort of message I wanted after the journey I endured. Things were tight and every day wasted unproductively, means less money in the kitty for ever increasing expenses and budget pressures each month.

However, if I thought things were bad for me, he was in dire straights. He started a small restaurant two years ago. He was doing well and now he is not. Business is down and he is struggling to cope. The banks have closed the door on him and increasingly friends too. I can’t see him lasting much longer. He will go down and take my loan with him. Your big announcements to help small businesses have had little effect. Have you any other announcements to make? Things are not changing on the ground Mr Brown and we are losing faith fast. Help!

These are desperate times and I know plenty who are desperately looking for a way out. My mother gave me a letter to read this morning. Her mortgage has just gone up by a whopping £108.00. She is nearly 60 years old and doesn’t work. I have to help her meet her costs in addition to mine. It’s not looking good! How can the interest rate be at it’s lowest yet she is paying 10%?

I have a 6-month old daughter and I rarely spend enough time with her. My wife is considering going back to work as we could really do with the extra income. We are torn because we want our daughter to spend quality time with us in her early years. Instead, we are having to find expensive child care arrangements because we have no other option but to work. Before our daughter is 1, we will have become “absent” parents. It’s not a future we are particularly looking forward to. I wish I could take work from home like you that way I could see my family at the same time.

You will have heard these comments echoed by hundreds and thousands up and down the country. I don’t blame you alone for all of these situations I and others find ourselves in. I blame your Government as a whole which has led us down a dark alley promising the light at the end of the tunnel.

I don’t just blame your Government alone. I blame the financial sector and their irresponsible ways, partly helped by your relaxing of the regulations. As a result, I worry about my meagre savings and check on them obsessively to make sure its still there. With interest rates at their lowest since records begun, I see little hope for my savings. It was meant to be my security for a rainy day. I wish you thought a little more about the rainy day the country now finds itself in.

I speak to friends and family members each and every day and I feel extremely fortunate and guilty in equal measure. All around me, people are hapless, hopeless and cannot see a way out. Families are breaking up and people are spending every God given hour slaving away in order to make ends meet. The downside is that it’s happening at the expense of the family. Even if we come through this crisis, I fear for the community and the way people relate to each other. The wildcat strikes against foreign workers could easily turn into a white British worker versus non-white British worker all too quickly. “British jobs for British workers” will come back to haunt you I suspect. I have a habit of putting my foot in it from time to time. I bet you feel like a right prat don’t you?

The postman showed up to my surprise. I didn’t expect him to brave the snow to deliver mail, I wished he kept. Bills, bills and more bills. Gas man couldn’t get in so they sent an estimated bill. It’s enormous. It hasn’t got to the “heating or eating” dilemma yet but nonetheless we are feeling the heat! The electricity bill is due next week and because I won’t pay on time, I can expect to be charged more. As far as cut backs, go, we have made our fair share but that’s not enough in times like these. Why haven’t gas/electricity bills gone down? No one is listening to you Prime Minister. The wife doesn’t listen to a lot of what I say either but I suspect your problems are a little more than the grief the wife gives me for not washing up.

The bank’s, won’t help, the utility companies couldn’t care less and mounting tax and travel costs mean, middle income families like mine are living on the brink. Too proud to go on the dole and first t be considered for redundancy we are at your mercy. I suspect any more stealth taxes will push us over the edge. I know you are fighting battles on all fronts not least your political life but these are exceptional times and the country needs very honest answers to straight forward questions. You have to rise above the politics or go to the polls. I don’t envy your position.

You will have done well to get this far. I have to be honest I don’t expect you to read it all. It’s enough to depress anyone and you have enough on your plate as it is. So what will you do?
I suspect nothing. My letter will only confirm what you know and can see each and every day. This country is going down the pan to top it all and you have to deal with Lords sleaze.

I am one of thousands who feel helpless and angry. I have spent the best part of an hour writing this and I am not quite sure why. I have tried to be polite and measured in my evaluation of where I think we are going belly-up as a nation. I am not sure whether I care what you think anymore. I have gone beyond the point when I care much about what you do say as well. I have lost faith and I take what you say with a pinch of salt. Talking of salt, I pinched some this week from the sandwich shop. I eat soup for lunch now. Most soups have no salt at all and I find it difficult to digest. How do you eat your soup?

I thought about numerous people to write to but I chose you. I feel we have a lot in common right now. I daren’t turn the fire on for fear of the bill. Sky TV is off and it’s down to the few freeview channels. I am looking at a towering in-tray and yet I am pretending all is well and tomorrow is another day. Told you we have a lot in common.

The wife is back and just asked me what I am doing. “Writing a letter to the PM”, I said. “Yes, you do that and while you are at it, tell him that his times up and talking of times-up, its time you went to bed, you have work to go to”.

And with that, I am off. You take it easy. We wouldn’t want you to give yourself a coronary. Then I will have to show my sympathy and I am the kind of person who forgives and forgets too easily and I don’t think I can do that for you right now. I feel very strongly about a lot of things and I hold you responsible.

Take care and regards to the wife.




Yousuf

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