Back to Lime Craig

Ben Lomond from Braeval

The first blue sky in February prompted me to make my first attempt on Lime Craig for nine months to test my new hip. I made it, although it took 45 minutes, about 15 minutes longer than it used to take on cold winter days. The shock was the devastation caused by felling operations; the planting had been carried out in the 1930s, and I suppose I have been lucky to enjoy the protection of the trees during wet and windy days for the past 38 years, during which  I have made the best part of a thousand ascents.

The well-graded trails have been churned by tree harvester machines and lumber lorries that have created an undulating mud surface for the logscape. I met a couple teaching their one-year-old to walk on my ascent, and a lady with a four-year-old greyhound on my descent. They gave me a chance to chat and rest. I am now aching, but happy and celebrated with my first beer of the year.

Logscape

Pine Relief

Balquidder Munros

Ben Vane and Ben Ledi

 

River Ribble

Preston Docks

Another trip to Preston to visit my sister and a chance to explore old haunts alongside the River Ribble. I was amazed at how much of the town I had visited whilst still at Primary school. We started our walk at Broadgate, next to Penwortham Holme, where my school had entered me in the Lancashire Primary School Sprint Race. My Dad had taken the afternoon off work to watch. Despite the Elliman's Muscle Rub for horses and dogs that he had bought me, in my Woolworth's goloshes, I was no match for the boys in spikes. I made the final but only managed to come fifth. Broadgate had benefited from some serious flood protection construction with sturdy concrete walling topped by thick glass to prevent the Ribble from bursting its banks onto the low-lying houses of Broadgate. 

We entered the recently upgraded Miller Park under the main railway bridge. I had spent hours here on Saturday afternoons and school holidays as a 10 and 11-year-old watching the abundance of steam locomotives whilst playing football on the footpaths below the magnificent offices of Lancashire County Council. They have now been emptied and vandalised after being sold for redevelopment as a hotel several years ago. The location adjacent to the railway station and splendid Miller and Avenham Parks, and proximity to Winckley Square, could not be better, but developers are notoriously fickle when it comes to delivering projects.

We walked along the banks of the river to the new Tramway Bridge, which provides a direct footpath/cycleway from Bamber Bridge to the City Centre. We wandered through Avenham Park, where we had visited every Easter Monday for the pace egg racing down the slopes. In those days, before the commercialisation of Easter by the chocolate companies, easter eggs were boiled eggs that had been painted. Avenham Park is a natural amphitheatre and hosts events at the Preston Guild every 20 years, as well as outdoor concerts. 

Preston's City Centre is built at the top of the scarp slope above the parks. It takes you into Winckley Square, a green space in the midst of Georgian buildings that host professional offices, numerous restaurants, the majority of Preston's blue plaques and an asylum centre. We reached Fishergate, the main shopping street that has been made pedestrian-friendly and traffic-calmed, allowing only one-way movement of buses and taxis. It worked well, and even on a dull Tuesday morning, there was a good footfall, interrupted only by the ubiquitous scourge of city centres, the Uber e-bikes that are ridden with little respect for pedestrians. We retreated to the 1950s for a coffee in Bruccianis, which has hardly changed since I was taken there as a toddler by my mother every Friday morning to meet my gran and a hot milk and toasted teacake.

I had walked 4 kilometres by the time we returned to the car; my third-longest new hip walk. On the way back, we took a diversion to see the old Preston Dock, which had been the largest single dock basin in Europe before it closed in 1979. It was where cotton, bananas and wood had been imported. I had often visited it with my parents or with Uncle Jim, who was a lorry driver and would get access to the dockside. It was a busy port with twenty or so cargo ships docked, but the Ribble estuary could not take the larger ships, so it is now a massive marina, largely unused. My nephew has a flat in the residential development that overlooks the dock on the southside, whilst business units on the north and east sides. Jaunt over, the next step was for only the second time in seven months to find an EV charger that was available and worked; range anxiety was real.

Avenham Park and River Ribble

New Tramway Bridge

Winckley Square

Fishergate

Brucciannis

County Buildings

 

Epstein's Entitled and Exploited Brits

Going

Going

Gone

Whilst we await the Epstein Files to unveil Trump's unredacted past, the latest batch has certainly nailed some worthy British scoundrels. Peter Mandelson, an ex-Lord, and Andrew, formerly known as Prince are both known knowns. In the past, I have had the misfortune to cross the paths of both of them, not directly but through their intermediaries. They both shared a sense of entitlement that semaphored their innate greed for wealth and ambitions for the highest office. 

Peter Mandelson had  been appointed the Director of Communications for the Labour Party in 1985. Along with a senior councillor, I had made a presentation of  Strathclyde's new Pre-Five policy at a large conference at the  School of Advanced Urban Studies (SAUS) at Bristol University. It had gone down well, and I was accosted afterwards by one of Mandelson's colleagues and asked if I could make the presentation to Mandelson in London. The next morning,  I caught a train to London on my return to Glasgow. Mandelson's stooge followed me onto the train, sat next to me and said that Mandelson would like me to go to see him. It would mean interrupting my journey back to Glasgow, but I had three young children, and I wanted to see them before bedtime. I suggested that if Mandelson wanted to come to Glasgow, we would be happy to brief him. It struck me at the time that Mandy was someone who took without giving, unlike Barry Manilow's Mandy, who gave without taking.

I watched his career oscillate, soaring and diving as he garnered friends in high places and exploited their friendship to satisfy and inflate his ego, wealth and influence. I cheered every time his reputation plummeted as he was caught breaking the rules and the bonds of friendship. His strong connection with the financial sector was evident when he championed the Private Finance Initiatives for schools, hospitals and the London Underground. His lack of concern for the underprivileged went under the radar; the $75,000 he received from Epstein in 2003, but has no recollection of, was two and a half times the UK average annual wage at the time. Mere loose change as his net worth climbed to £10m.

We now know from the Epstein Files that he attempted to safeguard his financial friends during the banking crisis. He managed to dupe Gordon Brown, but Alistair Darling was less willing to respond to Mandelson's lobbying and taxed the bankers' bonuses. After 2010, when he set up a corporate lobbying company and published his third man memoirs, he was criticised by the Labour Leadership contenders Ed Miliband, David Milliband and Andy Burnham. They got it right, unlike Starmer, who was easy prey for Mandelson, the whisperer to aspiring leaders.

Andrew Mountbatten Windsor was the wild child of the royal family and an unreliable business envoy who befriended a gaggle of unreliable contacts from rogue nations long before he was grounded by Emily Maitlis in his disastrous 2019 interview. His love of golf, uniforms and wealthy donors to maintain his lavish lifestyle, was exploited during his time as the trade and business envoy after leaving the Royal Navy in 2001. 

This involved making contact with UK companies. We were occasionally asked to arrange visits with local companies by his private secretary. Most companies were pleased to welcome Royal visits and would go to great trouble to make preparations that were costly in time and money for the visits. On at least two occasions, he pulled out of these visits, citing other engagements. When we discovered that one of these was to spend the day golfing at St Andrews, using the flights that had been booked for his visits, it told us all we needed to know about his commitment to his role as business envoy. Discussing this with other colleagues, including senior police officers involved in royal duties, confirmed that this was typical behaviour. He was widely regarded as the rotten apple of the royal family. and generated a deep resentment from most people who had any dealings with him. 

Add the incredibly pathetic emails from his former wife, Sarah Ferguson, who was begging for money from Epstein and together the former royals and the former politician have become the celebrity British victims of the Epstein Files. Meanwhile, Trump escapes scrutiny again, partly due to extensive redaction and partly by the hesitancy of the American fourth estate to challenge the peace-loving oligarch.

Labour isn't Working

Eighteen months ago, the UK dismissed the four failed Tory Governments led by 5 Prime Ministers that had overseen no growth, a massive decline in public services, austerity, a disastrous Brexit, and the worst response to Covid in Europe. The loss of world influence and respect, and spiralling immigration, simply added to the reasons to fumigate the lethal legacies of Johnson and Truss. The 2019 intake of Tory MPs had culminated in 24 being suspended or resigning amid corruption charges or failures to observe ministerial codes of practice. 

Keir Starmer was the beneficiary, gaining a massive 174 majority of MPs from only 33.7% of the vote. It was a tepid victory for a Prime Minister who was seen more as a steady hand than an inspiring leader. The subsequent collapse in support of the Labour Party to 20% has stemmed from poor financial management by the Chancellor, too many U-turns and a dictatorial centralising tendency by Number 10. Like many, I thought that Keir Starmer would provide some stability and begin to rebuild the UK's economy and public services. With his legal background, he would also bring justice to all those who had been let down by the previous governments, from the infected blood scandal, Hillborough disaster, the Post Office Horizon scandal and the Grenfell Tower fire, as well as restoring our relationship with Europe. 

He has made progress in foreign affairs, but has abandoned many Labour policies, reduced International Aid and made little progress on the cost of living and community care. Projects like the Heathrow expansion and the Oxford to Cambridge rail corridor suggest that there is still a London-centric bias in political decisions, whilst investment in rail modernisation in the north has been further delayed.

It's a Labour of Love to get any London government to support Manchester, even the train fares are designed to add friction to the relationship. There is only a curmudgeonly recognition by Starmer and his acolytes of Andy Burnham’s achievements in Greater Manchester.  Keir Starmer has plummeted down the popularity charts, aided by the rapacious right-wing press, social media and his own inability to inspire the electorate. His premiership is on a shoogly nail, and the prospect of the effervescent Andy Burnham returning to Parliament could not be entertained.

The vacancy created by Andrew Gwynn, the MP for Gorton and Denton, resigning, should have created the opportunity for the local constituency Labour Party to select who they thought would have the best chance of retaining a seat. It had a majority of 13,000, but is under serious threat from Nigel Farage and his plague of failed Tory MPs. Not so, the Labour Party showed once again that it is a centralising body. Its National Executive, including Keir Starmer, voted to prevent the Mayor of Greater Manchester from standing on the dubious grounds that it would cost too much to have an election for the Greater Manchester Mayor.  Since when has the cost of elections been a reason to ditch local democracy? Starmer's eyes narrowed as he tried to explain the reasons for the decision. He fooled no one; this was a blatant attack on a possible future rival.

The mendacity within the Labour Party had reached breaking point; London had stamped on Manchester's right to choose. Later in the day, there was some nemesis as Keir Starmer's beloved Arsenal were put to the sword by Manchester United. It was the first time I had cheered Manchester United since they won the European Cup in 1968. Starmer has rolled his last dice.

Walk Alone

 

Source of the River Forth

After 4 or 5 weeks of being housebound as I recovered from becoming bionic with a new hip, I have begun to take my legs for walks in familiar haunts. The occasional shopping trip started the comeback once I was able to ditch the crutches, and then I attended some exercise classes in the nearby community-run leisure centre. It was time for a walk on the wild side, so into the Trossachs forests, where I had run over 18.000 miles whilst wearing out my original hip. I did a couple of kilometres frolicking about on a dank winter's afternoon, taking photos of places I had run past on thousands of occasions. Walking alone seemed just right.

Loch Ard

Exit of Loch Ard

A couple of days later, I had met Gregor and Emily for a Sunday Lunch on an equally dull, drizzly day and decided to take a stroll around Flanders Moss on the way home. The chill wind and harsh, boggy, washed-out landscape had a bleak beauty. I ambled around with hands deep in the pockets of the insulated jacket and the hood up. This was reminiscent of hundreds of mountain walks, but with no gradient. That is what I am looking forward to next.

Flanders Moss Viewing Tower

Under the Boardwalk, having some fun

Carbon Capture

Flanders Moss below Thornhill

Trump's Dystopian Days - Series 2

Telling Journalists on Air Force One that he doesn't care about their safety

At this time of the year, the dark, damp days prompt a search for a TV series to binge-watch. You can relax in an armchair and sneak past Blue Monday. It started with The West Wing; in another year, the 62 episodes of Breaking Bad kept us going until February. We had Trump's first presidency - Series 1, the episodic ramblings of a real estate vendor, which culminated in the attack on the Capitol. We watched that episode live on a Saturday evening; it was compulsive viewing and far more violent and worrying than the pared-down Panorama version. 

In recent years, Ted Lasso. Slow Horses and This City is Ours have been the go-to series for January binge-watching. They are well-scripted and entertaining, but lack the random uncertainty and threat to global security that Trump's Dystopian Days - Series 2 provides. A pity that Hannah Waddingham, Gary Oldman or Sean Bean weren't in the cast of White House wannabes; they would have taken out Trump and his sycophantic numpties.

2026 has given us another series of The Traitors, but it is too contrived. It only partly captures the misguided vigour, braggardly behaviour and fleeting self-beliefs of President Trump's second coming. The series 2 episodes are released almost daily, aimed at creating as much chaos and conflict in the world as possible. Deflecting the media from issues he wants banished, like his relationship with Jeffrey Epstein, his failure to secure a peace deal for Ukraine, the genocides in Gaza, the cost of living crisis in America, the stagnant economy and the cuts in government programs. It has resulted in a growing disenchantment with his second term in office, with the most recent opinion polls finding that two-thirds of the electorate believe he has raised the cost of living and gone too far with weaponising the Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agency in many cities.

On the world stage, his rogue interventions have caused chaos on tariffs, so-called peacekeeping initiatives and interference in foreign governments in the Middle East, South America, Europe and most recently in Greenland. Not that these interventions are either considered or likely to be sustained, they are here today, gone tomorrow threats or, at best, flimsy statements on Truth Social, his social media platform. Truth Social must be the most bigly oxymoron ever.  Empathy, like truth, was never one of Trump’s strong suits. As he said to the journalists on Air Force One on his return from his UK state visit in September, "Fly safely, you know why I say that? Because I'm on the flight, otherwise I wouldn't care." There was far more moral integrity in Breaking Bad than Dystopian Days - Series 2 has ever given us, and at least Skyler tried to keep Walter White respectable, something Melania knows is impossible with the Donald.

Hopefully, his second reign of dystopian democracy will fizzle out as the mid-term elections approach. His popularity is waning, his ever more crazed interventions are the musings of an adult mutant kleptomaniac. The problem for world leaders and institutions, American cities, the Federal Reserve, universities, journalists, and Wall Street is how to play Trump.  His popularity is waning, his health is wobbling, and his timescale for action will be finished after the mid-term elections. Is it better to ignore his threats or face him off? Either way, it is more than probable that his utterings may come to nothing. 

By next year, he may be gone, and there will be a multitude of TV and Streaming Platforms commissioning new series on the idiosyncrasies of President Trump. The real question will be how much damage he has done to world peace, international aid and institutions like the United Nations and NATO and whether his America First policy has finally ended the American Dream. He currently rates as the second worst President ever. His dreams of Mount Rushmore and a Nobel Peace Prize are also a figment of a warped imagination. The entry of the word 'Trumpism' in the Urban Dictionary should be worth waiting for. Five years ago, I called him a Cockwomble , it would be a good synonym for Trumpism.

The Nobel Peace Prize Medal gifted by Mario Coriba Machado

The Year that Got Away

I was looking forward to 2025. I had been fairly active in 2024. Gregor had got married, and I had watched him win a dozen races as he prepared to run the Tokyo and then the Berlin Marathons and also get selected to run for Scotland in an international event. I visited London on several occasions, and had a trip to Euro Disney and Paris with Eva and family. I had visited my brother and sister, and they had visited me on a couple of occasions. I had established regular lunch engagements with two sets of former work colleagues. I had written several papers and been involved in recorded video conversations for the Mercat Group and had been invited to give evidence at a Scottish Parliament Committee. 

I had kept up my regular morning exercise routine of climbing local hills and made good progress towards climbing a second round of Wainwright hills in the Lake District. I climbed more Munros and other hills in Scotland than at any time since 2018. Some of these were alone, some with trips with John and Keith, and I helped Anna climb some of the more remote Munros as she neared her completion. I even managed to keep the house and garden in reasonable shape, including building an entrance wall to the drive in local stone with a profile that was a facsimile of Laithach, my favourite Munro.

My plans for 2025 were evolving. I hoped to complete the Wainwrights, and having reached a 100 Munros on what I had promised would not be a sixth round of Munros, I began to think it might just be worth giving it a shot. John had 12 Munros to go to compleat his fourth round, and they included favourite areas Fisherfield and Glen Affric. Anna had 8 to go, including Glen Affric and Mullardoch, and Keith was charging on towards a sixth round and had suggested that we make a visit to Skye, where I still had 8 Munros to climb. Together with a couple of trips north - South Cluanie and the Fannaichs and finishing the more local Munros south of Fort William, I could get to 150 Munros by the end of 2025, the tipping point for what was not supposed to be another round.  I had also been hankering for a trip to Istanbul for several years and intended to buy a Gravel Bike to compensate for the fact that I was no longer running very regularly because of what turned out to be a failing hip.

I had a good January, when I was exercising most days, even when it was frozen during the first week. Things turned for the worse in February. I had what I thought was a cold at the start of the month and struggled when I went to the Lakes with Keith and John. We climbed 8 Wainwrights, but I was struggling to keep up; my breathing was difficult. The next week I spent in London, but could hardly raise the energy to go out and shivered in the cold, damp conditions, and all my muscles were aching. Returning home, I felt no better, and the GP thought I had a viral infection; he prescribed antibiotics for the first time since long before Covid. I had also started coughing blood in the morning, and he arranged blood tests for me to take with the nurse at the surgery. Unusually, because of how I was feeling, I had no plans for March, so immediately after my morning blood tests, I went to the travel agent and booked my long-promised trip to Istanbul. The timing was perfect, and I was there 3 days later in a spell of sunny weather before the crowds arrived.

It was a good trip, although it required walking 25,000 steps a day to take in all the mosques, ferries and settlements strung along the Bosphorus. I was following my standard approach on all holidays and trying to maximise activities on every day. On returning, I was referred to a respiratory consultant, who, after various scans and tests, concluded that I had inflammation of the lungs and prescribed steroids. If anything, my muscle problems were amplified, and my GP decided that I should ease off the steroids. I had to apologise to John for not being able to go to Glen Affric or Fisherfield during March and April during spells of remarkable weather. 

I decided to do some projects in the garden, like resetting the patio and chopping down some dead trees, but I seldom had the energy or the inclination to make much progress. I bought a robot lawnmower to reduce the need to spend 6 hours a week cutting the lawns, and got a local farmer to cut down th dead willow trees alongside the burn. I had slowed down and broken my lifelong obsession with being a doer, reluctant to bring in people to do jobs that I could tackle. I had virtually given up any attempt to walk/run up my local micro hills and even made my last attempt at Lime Craig. Shopping trips were my only source of exercise other than when the family came up in May, and I managed a cycle ride in Gravelfoyle. 

My respiratory consultant had become a friend after he discovered that I had run marathons and adventure races, and we had similar times for the marathon. He was keen to get me sorted and back on the hills. Alas, because a National Treatment Centre extension to Forth Valley Hospital, which would host an extra scanner and operating theatre for hips and knees, had fallen eighteen months behind. schedule, he had to send me to the Jubilee Hospital in Clydebank for my scans. This added another three months of waiting.  There had been an impasse between Forth Valley Hospital, NHS Scotland and the contractor over who pays for the additional costs resulting from a badly specified contract. In the meantime, patient flow at the hospital is as bad as ever, and as the year ends, I am still waiting for an appointment.

By June, my GP had concluded that my muscle problems were focused on a dodgy hip that meant I could no longer put on my left sock. I was sent for an X-ray, and it was found that the cartilage in my left hip was worn away. I was referred to the orthopaedics department; the consultant had no hesitation in putting me on the list for a new hip. I was given the impression that it would be 9 months or so, but I could go on the cancellation list, and that might save some time. Walking more than a mile was becoming difficult, probably made worse by climbing hills in the Lake District and Corfu in July, when my mantra had become 'mind over matter'when it came to exercise.

The deterioration was accelerating by August as I began to limp and cut out most activities. I was not going out, confined to the house apart from a visit to the theatre and a couple of lunchtime sessions with former colleagues. It gave me time to write a report on revitalising local democracy that got published by Enlighten, Scotland's think tank, and I was interviewed by Radio Scotland. By October, I was frustrated and phoned to get an estimate of my hip operation. I was 160th on the consultant's list, and it would probably be a year away. 

I spoke to my GP, who advised me to go private if I could afford it, as my muscle tone would further diminish over a year, and that could represent a significant proportion of my remaining active life. I asked if he could advise any names, and he gave me a couple whom he knew. I phoned King's Park Hospital the next day, got an appointment 3 days later, and was scheduled for an operation 6 weeks later. I could recuperate over Christmas and hopefully get going in the Spring. The consultant I had chosen had checked my records when I visited him, and he had discovered that I had an X-ray in 2019 for a lower back problem and that it showed my hip would have justified a replacement at that time had the X-ray been properly diagnosed.  It may explain why I have found running difficult in recent years.

Family and friends were pleased with my decision, although I felt I was cheating on the NHS, which I had barely used in my working life. Was I being selfish, and why did the Forth Valley Hospital seem incapable of operating efficiently or reducing waiting times? Aileen had suffered the same incompetence when she was admitted to hospital, and it took 5 weeks before she had a scan that revealed Type 4 cancer. 

In preparation for the operation, I converted a downstairs room into a recovery ward. You only spend 24 hours after the operation in the hospital before you are released. I asked John, my brother-in-law and retired GP and his wife, Bridget, if they would ferry me to the hospital and back and look after me for the first few days. The operation seemed to go well; the professionalism of the consultant surgeon and anaesthetist was exceptional, as was the care and attention to detail of the two Nepalese nurses. I was made to stand and put weight on my leg within 5 hours of the operation and had to walk a hundred metres on crutches and climb some steps the next morning before I was released. 

Arriving home, I was tired for the first few days; the painkillers helped, but sleeping on my back was a trial. I had several visitors, but my sleep-deprived brain fog did not let me enjoy their company. The swelling on my left buttock gave me an asymmetric bottom that made visiting the toilet a bit of a trial. Bridget stayed for 6 days, and then John stayed another week, when, to both our surprises, he discovered his latent culinary skills. Christmas brought my daughter and family for a week, and I was again dependent on others to prepare meals and do all the Christmassy things. I was off the crutches and walking up the stairs by the time they left, and taking a daily walk around the garden, even in the frosty conditions, although I was taking a walking pole to negotiate the path down to the burn. 

So  2025 is almost over, let it go.

24 hours after the operation

Budget Shenanigans

The Chancellor, Rachel Reeves's November budget, has been mired in controversy.  She had made the mistake in the previous year of being unwilling to streamline and simplify our clunky and not very progressive tax regime, which enabled tax evasion and lucrative business for tax accountants. Her pledge before the election to not increase income tax, national insurance, and VAT was naive and will probably turn out to be a harbinger of her downfall. These represent 75% of the total tax intake of the country, and by refusing to increase, or just as importantly, reform any of them, she had effectively made it impossible to deliver on some of the improvements to public services. The benefits for children and support for fuel payments for the elderly and disabled were perceived as givens by the new Labour Government. 

The consequence was that there had to be several U-turns made in order to deal with cost-of-living issues. Keir Starmer, the Prime Minister, had backed her in all of these changes. The popularity of both Keir Starmer and Rachel Reeves, already low, had plummeted to the lowest ever. They were intertwined as the architects of what was now perceived as a failing Labour government. The Conservatives had made no impression following the last election; they had been effectively dismissed by the electorate as having failed over 14 years and having no right to be forgiven any time soon. The consequence has been that the Reform Party under Nigel Farage has become the most popular party, gaining 30% of the vote in numerous opinion polls. Farage, despite widespread corruption and resignations within his party and shocking rumours about his racism and bullying of his peers at school, was nevertheless being bigged up by the media as the next Prime Minister.

In her first budget, Rachel Reeves had followed her instincts and the advice on the tax changes that were needed. She seemed to be a prisoner of the Treasury, which was reluctant to address some of the fundamental issues about the taxation system within the UK. This was not likely to change despite powerful arguments from the IFS and Resolution Foundation for a more root-and-branch recalibration of the tax system. 

When Torrsten Bell, the former director of the Resolution Foundation, became a minister within the government with responsibility for pensions and an advisor to the chancellor, I had some hope that Reeves would adopt a more progressive and holistic approach to taxation. Bell had detailed knowledge of the benefit system and had clear ideas for a fundamental re-shaping of the UK taxation system. It would take the form of moving towards an integration of income tax, national insurance and capital gains tax with a simplification of VAT. Together, they would reduce the scope for tax evasion and significantly minimise the bureaucracy for businesses. These radical changes, along with proposals for tackling the housing crisis, were set out in his book, Great Britain. How We Get Our Future Back.

It was a surprise when, in the early autumn, Rachel Reeves gave several speeches which suggested that she may be thinking of abandoning her pledge not to raise taxes and to combine income tax with national insurance as a means of safeguarding working people. It would draw in additional funding from those not paying national insurance: the retired and those living on their assets under the present system. These proposals were widely debated, but following considerable opposition from the Labour Party and an OBR-estimated increase in the tax take, they were eventually dropped in her budget on the 26th of November. Instead, we had what has been called a smorgasbord of smaller tax increases for gambling, large houses, and various other devices that brought in sufficient funding to increase the headroom and to tackle some of the pledges that the Labour Party had made in the manifesto. It played to the Labour MPs and to the bond markets, who had been anxious for Reeves to keep to the treasury rules and increase the headroom.

Her performance at the budget was about as good as it would get; her turgid presentations are not particularly inspiring. She was proficient but unlikely to win many accolades. She was absolutely crucified by the response from Kemi Badenoch, leader of the conservative opposition, who made very few comments on the technicalities of the budget but focused instead on a personal assassination of the chancellor. It was carried out with a brutal and cruel flourish that confirmed that Badenoch is totally unsuitable to be in any position of power.

The response from the markets was generally positive, and any worries about the bond markets dipping were unfounded; even the pound rallied.  There was also widespread support from many of the groups, who had been upset by the first budget, which had done little to support children in poverty and disabled people. There were also some new measures, such as introducing a mileage rate for electric cars, reducing the cost of energy, and providing income for families with over two children, which were well-received.

The next morning, we had the usual criticism from the right-wing press reflecting some of the heinous comments that have been made by Kemi Badenoch. There was also a bullying interview with the Chancellor by Nick Robinson on the BBC Today programme. He went out of his way to be extremely harsh on the chancellor. She kept her cool during this exchange, and later in the programme, David Blunkett gave a balanced justification of the budget, acknowledging that it could have been more radical, but providing the sort of gravitas that is sadly missing in much of the political debate today.

The presumption by the media in its avalanche of articles, podcasts and programmes is that Starmer and Reeves are on their last warning. I am not sure. I do not believe that Reeves has either the grasp or the imagination to provide the radical reshaping of taxation that is needed. Starmer has given her a lot of trust and support, but has shown in the past that he can be decisive when he sees the writing on the wall. With Darren Jones as Chief Secretary to the PM and Torsten Bell in the Treasury team, he is getting alternative advice and may well decide to jettison Reeves to safeguard his own position, which has been bolstered by his relationship on the world stage and with EU leaders in particular.

Revitalising Local Democracy: A Manifesto Challenge

I don't usually post papers I have written on this blog, but the Mercat Group of former Council Chief Executives recently published an article on the Enlighten, Scotland's Independent Think Tank

The paper was widely circulated and appeared on the front page of the Times and in most of the Scottish Press, as well as featuring on the BBC Good Morning Scotland programme and STV. The press release appears below, followed by the article.

Revitalising Local Democracy in Scotland – The Mercat Group

The independent, non-party think tank Enlighten has published a paper written by Keith Yates, former Chief Executive of Stirling Council, and a number of other former local authority chief executives, which calls for “a new democratic settlement” devolving power from the Scottish Government to local authorities.

The former chief executives are part of the Mercat Group, an informal, non-political network of former Chief Executives of Scottish Councils, which offers considered, evidence-based insights to stimulate debate and promote the revitalisation of local democracy.

In a new paper – Revitalising Local Democracy in Scotland – written by the Mercat Group and published by Enlighten, Keith Yates and his fellow former chief executives highlight that:

• Since the high-water mark of local democracy after the Wheatley reforms of 1975, there has been a hollowing out of local democracy. This followed the creation of unitary authorities in 1996, and then the opening of the Scottish Parliament in 1999, resulting in the centralisation of services, with over 100 quangos responsible for the delivery and inspection of public services.
• Place management has become increasingly complex. The pace of change and growth has slowed due to austerity and the cluttered landscape of new bodies and agencies whose priorities often clash with those of elected councils.
• Scotland has become one of the most centralised democracies, with councils and communities becoming less involved in shaping their futures as more decisions are taken centrally. 
• The Scottish Parliament is perceived by many as too tribal and failing to evolve through collaboration and constructive dialogue

The Mercat Group is now calling for a ‘New Democratic Settlement’ after the 2026 Scottish Parliament election, aimed at devolving public services to the authorities closest to the citizen, and at embedding local government in a written constitution for Scotland.

Keith Yates said:

“There is a broad consensus that local democracy in Scotland is much diminished from the crucial part it played in the development of the nation in the 19th and 20th centuries. Most of the life-changing innovations for people and places were designed and built by our municipalities, and Scotland flourished not from government initiatives but from the wellspring of local practical experience.

“Centralisation has brought with it diminished trust. In 1999, trust in the Scottish Parliament stood at 81%; this had dropped to 47% in the 2023 Scottish Social Attitude Survey. The latest Scottish Household Survey found that trust in local councils had declined to 53%. It is surely time for Scotland to think again.

“We are suggesting a dozen issues that the Scottish Parliament might address to accelerate growth, improve public services and increase citizen participation.”

The Mercat Group’s suggestions include:

• Completing the devolution settlement by embedding local government in a written constitution
• Reinvigorating local communities by triggering the latent energy and commitment of communities, and
• Asking whether Scotland has become too Edicentric since the siting of the Scottish Parliament in Edinburgh. It has accelerated its development as the political, financial, cultural, transport and media hub of Scotland. Edinburgh dominance may have restricted growth elsewhere: “the A9 isn’t the only project on hold as Edinburgh blossoms”

Chris Deerin, Director of Enlighten, said:

“Scottish local government is not in a healthy state. Powers have been centralised to Holyrood, budgets are inadequate, and opinion polls show that trust in local democracy is in decline.

“Scottish local government is not in a healthy state. Powers have been centralised to Holyrood, budgets are inadequate, and opinion polls show that trust in local democracy is in decline.

“The suggestions in this paper, from former chief executives who understand this deeply, should be carefully considered by the political parties as they prepare their manifestos. This cannot be yet another missed opportunity for meaningful reform.”

A Walk on the Tame Side

Time to go back

6 November 2025

Apart from a couple of visits to the supermarket and a walk from the church to the cemetery at a recent funeral, I have not walked anywhere for three weeks. On my last visit to Glasgow 5 weeks ago, I was hobbling along shouting "Wait for me" like Dustin Hoffman in Midnight Cowboy, as I walked with friends from the bus station to the theatre. 

It was November and raining, the skies were a darker shade of grey; I needed to escape from the house. Hills were out of the question, so I drove to the nearest forest and walked on what I remembered as a relatively flat trail. I was soon climbing a small rise that I had never noticed before, and the narrow path that crossed two gurgling burns had some steep bits. I checked my watch, I had walked a kilometre, time to turn round and limp back. Job done, the exercise was thankfully over; only five weeks before the new hip arrives.

Not Going Out

The PEAK

McLaren Leisure Centre

It's been a strange year. In 2024, I had climbed about 60 mountains in Scotland and the Lake District. Only slightly less than my average of the last thirty-five years. And it included some of the best days on the hills, including a glorious winter's day on Buchaille Etive Beag in December, it could yet be my last ever Munro. I had also climbed my two local micro hills, Lime Craig and Ben Gullipen, over a hundred times as pre-breakfast exercise, as I had done every year since Covid confined us to our homes in 2020. 

I was looking forward to 2025 with plans to climb 40 or so Munros, helping friends complete Munro rounds and to finish my second round of Wainwrights in the Lake District. After a good start in January, climbing Lime Craig three times in 24 hours, things changed in February during a three-day trip to the Lakes. I was struggling as we climbed 8 smaller Wainwrights. A viral infection grounded me, my leg muscles ached, and I was panting on ascents. I was referred to the hospital, where I was found to have inflammation of the lungs. I had been looking forward to trips to Fisherfield and Glen Affric, two favourite areas, but had to give my apologies to John for not managing to accompany him as he reached the end of a fourth round.  I was struggling to get up the micro hills and haven't managed any since May. 

I climbed a couple of smaller  Wainwrights during a week in the Lake District in July and forced myself up Mount Pantokrator in Corfu during a family holiday. I have always climbed the highest mountain on any island I visited. The breathing was easy, but a sore hip meant I was limping badly. On return, I was sent for an X-ray, which showed that I had worn away the cartilage around my hip joint. The surgeon discovered that this had been apparent since 2019, when I had a previous X-ray just before Covid.  I had not been notified of the problem, as with many medical diagnosis during this period, the health service was dysfunctional. It had given me an extra five years of hillwalking and explained why I had found it difficult to run on the roads. Nowadays, I am not even going out.

In August, the respiratory consultant referred me to an exercise class at the PEAK Sports Centre, and since October, I have attended an exercise class at the McLaren Sports Centre. I had never used gyms apart from the annual week in Langdale, when I would use the treadmill on wet days, or when working in Shetland, where I would occasionally attend a spin class in the winter months. Exercise had always been an outdoor activity: running, hillwalking, cycling, mountain marathons, climbing, skiing or in younger days playing lots of football and cricket or occasional games of rugby and hockey. And I walked whenever possible in towns, cities and the countryside, never using the car unless necessary.

I had been dismissive of gyms; you were stuck inside, with repetitive exercises, no scenery, and they were too organised and costly. I have been pleasantly surprised. Partly the discipline of performing 15 or so exercises for an hour, with the chance to set targets and improve week on week, even whilst my hip was getting worse, at least my other muscles were getting flexed. Less so any cardio exercises; I doubt my pulse has exceeded 110 since April, when I last ran the longer 5-kilometre descent of Ben Gullipen.

I have never used either the McLaren Centre or the PEAK before, despite being responsible for guiding both of them through the council. In the case of the McLaren Centre, this involved bringing two capital programmes together, one for a school swimming pool from the region and one for a community sports centre from the district, neither of which had funding, and combining them into a Sports Centre adjacent to the school in the capital programme of the new council. In the case of the PEAK, I supported a very determined sports manager to go for a comprehensive sports centre to replace the failing swimming pool and helped persuade councillors that this would be a vital facility for the well-being of the public. I was now part of the public and very grateful for the facilities. Apart from anything else, they got me out of the house and gave me a chance to meet others with far more severe conditions than I had. 

It was the social aspect that kept me going. When one of the council cleaning staff greeted me with"What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be fit", I felt I had been inducted into the third age. I bumped into the former world over-50, 1500 metres champion, who I used to run with; he is now over 80 and two or three others who told me that they had worked for me, I recognised the faces. Three ladies now regale me with how to cope with a new hip; two of them have had both hips replaced. The instructor tells me to slow down during the exercises. The centre is busy, school children in the gym and outdoor pitches, young mums and third agers in the pool, the car park is full, and there are electric chargers. This place really works. It gave me a flicker of hope at a time of troubles across the world, and a sense of despair about poor services and the cost of living in the UK.

Sir Bradley Wiggins, Radio Star

I have listened to the Today Programme since the days of Jack de Manio in the late 1960s, but have become less loyal over the past year since the loss of Mishal Husain, preferring to listen to podcasts than to the rantings of politicians arm wrestling with Nick Robinson, Amol Rajan, or, god help us, Emma Barnett. The bright spark is the recently arrived Anna Foster, who brings empathy, a broad knowledge and achieves an intimacy with her guests who respond with an openness that can make the radio sparkle. 

Today, she interviewed Sir Bradley Wiggins, and he revealed the trauma of his youth, the highs and lows of cycling and Olympic medals, and his addictions with eloquence, good humour, and self-reflection. Her questions and demeanour relaxed him, and the genie came out of the bottle. Brilliant radio, you even sensed that Bradley had shed the traumas of his past and found a new tempo that he was comfortable with.