Mr Middle England recently watched a television advert for a life insurance company.
To say he viewed it with a mixture of amusement and bemusement would be an understatement.
For those who haven’t seen it: a young couple are moving into their first home.
Happiness abounds as they unpack boxes, laugh, and exchange those syrupy, advert-style loving looks.
Up to this point, one might think, “Ah, isn’t this lovely?”
Then comes the twist.
The woman turns to her partner and says something like:
“Before we go any further, I’d feel happier if you arranged life insurance straight away — just to make sure I’m alright if anything happens to you.”
Without hesitation — the fool — he picks up the phone and arranges the policy.
They both smile, life goes on, and the advert ends.
Now, being somewhat cynical — alright, world-weary cynical — Mr ME couldn’t help but wonder.
If Mrs ME had said something like that to him when they moved into their first home (they weren’t married then), he might well have thought: what’s she got planned?
Especially since he remembered she was very keen on having a patio built at the back of the house.
So yes, the importance of life insurance cannot be understated.
But the timing, as portrayed in the advert, struck Mr and Mrs ME as darkly amusing.
When I first wrote about Donald Trump in October 2016, I did so with a sense of foreboding — a deep unease that the people of the United States might actually elect him as President.
At the time, I described him as a liar, a misogynist, a sexual predator, and a racist.
Many dismissed those words as exaggerated, partisan, or unfair.
History has since proven they were not.
The American people did elect him.
Not once, but almost again in 2020.
And now, in 2025, he once again stands at the centre of American politics — not as a sideshow, but as the main act in a country that still cannot decide whether it wants to be shocked or entertained.
Back in 2016, I wrote that Trump was not an aberration but a product of America itself — the inevitable outcome of decades of cultural bravado and political complacency.
Eight years later, that observation feels truer than ever.
His rise was never just about one man.
It was about what a significant portion of America wanted to see reflected back at them: brashness, wealth, resentment, and the unrelenting self-belief that the United States is “the greatest country on earth.”
But the world has changed.
America’s moral leadership has eroded, not only because of Trump but because of what he revealed — a fragile democracy built on myth and performance.
The global admiration once instinctively granted to the United States has been replaced by suspicion, cynicism, and, increasingly, indifference.
The reasons are clear:
Trump’s attempt to overturn the 2020 election and his undeniable role in the January 6th attack on the Capitol.
The deepening tribalism that now defines American politics, where compromise is weakness and loyalty to a cause outweighs truth.
The growing mistrust among America’s allies, who now hedge their bets, no longer convinced that the U.S. is a stable or reliable partner.
The “land of the free” has become a land divided against itself.
In 2016, I feared America would turn inward — that its people, weary of global responsibilities, would embrace isolationism and nationalism while the rest of the world quietly moved on.
That fear has been realised.
Trade wars have replaced trade agreements.
Treaties have been abandoned.
Leadership on climate change has faltered.
The United States, once a symbol of innovation and optimism, now feels defensive, paranoid, and economically unstable.
And yet, America cannot escape the world.
Its influence lingers through its technology giants, its currency, and its military presence.
But even those pillars are crumbling.
Tech dominance has shifted toward Asia.
The dollar’s supremacy is being challenged.
And the U.S. military — though still formidable — finds itself overstretched and morally adrift.
America is no longer admired.
It is tolerated.
No longer feared, but increasingly ridiculed.
I once wrote that Americans hide their insecurity behind bravado — that their obsession with greatness is really an admission of fear.
That insecurity now defines their politics.
Conspiracy theories, culture wars, vindictive partisanship, and the refusal to accept electoral outcomes are all symptoms of a nation unsure of its identity.
The American Dream — once about opportunity and hope — has become a brutal contest of money and power.
And Donald Trump, with his ostentatious wealth (or at least the appearance of it), his endless legal troubles, and his relentless self-promotion, is not an outlier.
He is the embodiment of that dream — transactional, performative, and ruthlessly self-interested.
From outside the United States, the view is no longer one of awe or envy.
It is, increasingly, a mixture of sadness and pity.
Pity for a nation that once symbolised democracy, now treating it as disposable.
Pity for a people so divided that they would risk their republic rather than compromise.
And yes — still laughter, not with Americans, but at them.
To much of the world, Trump is not the disease; he is the symptom.
He is the visible manifestation of America’s deeper malaise — its obsession with celebrity, its disdain for nuance, its craving for drama over substance.
The tragedy is not that Trump exists.
The tragedy is that so many Americans still believe he represents their best chance of being “great again.”
Trump’s presidency — and the years of chaos it inspired — have left scars that may never fully heal.
Truth has become negotiable.
Elections are no longer trusted.
Politics has turned into theatre — loud, angry, and hollow.
The aura of American democracy, already fading by 2016, now teeters on the edge of extinction.
The United States, for all its power and history, is now seen less as a model to follow and more as a cautionary tale.
In 2016, I warned that Donald Trump was the embodiment of the American Dream — the living, breathing symbol of a nation obsessed with wealth, fame, and dominance.
In 2025, I can only add this: he is also the mirror America holds up to itself.
Whether Americans like the reflection or not, it is their creation.
And all in all, Donald Trump remains exactly what the United States deserves — a leader born of its own myths, sustained by its own insecurities, and destined to haunt its politics for years to come.
The other morning I encountered something that genuinely made me stop mid-sip of my tea and say, out loud, “What the Wednesday, Thursday, Friday…?”
It was a croissant.
But not just any croissant.
Oh no.
This croissant had a declaration.
A warning.
A moral mission, printed in bold, self-congratulatory type:
“PLANT-BASED CROISSANT.”
Now, I’m no croissant purist.
Life is short, arteries are shorter — I’ll eat whatever tastes good.
But this wasn’t about flavour.
This was about messaging.
About performance.
About someone, somewhere, deciding that a pastry needed a political identity.
Because apparently, even breakfast is woke now.
What Makes a Croissant “Plant-Based”?
I turned over the packaging, half-expecting to find an essay on carbon footprints, animal liberation, and a quote from Greta Thunberg.
Instead, the ingredients were remarkably unremarkable: flour, sunflower oil, oat milk, and a hint of smugness.
And I thought: Why are we signalling so hard about food these days?
Why is a croissant shouting at me about its lifestyle choices?
It’s not just croissants.
It’s everything.
From coffee cups to washing-up liquid, there’s a tsunami of slogans saying,
“Look how ethically superior we are! Look how inclusive, sustainable, and planet-loving our products are! Please validate us!”
But you have to wonder: are they really trying to save the planet… or just riding the latest marketing bandwagon until it’s profitable to jump to the next?
Let’s be real.
There’s a certain kind of business that shouts,
“We care about the planet!” while casually importing blueberries from halfway across the globe via diesel-powered freighters.
They’ll tell you their packaging is made from 100% recycled self-righteousness, yet their supply chains run through countries with human rights records so appalling, Dracula would win Humanitarian of the Year by comparison.
One week, it’s rainbow flags and plant-based pastries.
The next, it’s trading deals with regimes who think diversity means having two kinds of prison cells.
So, which is it?
Are these companies morally committed, or just morally convenient?
And Then There’s the Politicians…
Which brings me, naturally, to politics.
Because this whole episode got me thinking perhaps the croissant isn’t the problem.
Perhaps it’s a metaphor. A flaky, buttery metaphor for our public life.
We are governed now by plant-based politicians.
Leaders carefully cultivated in echo chambers, fed on buzzwords and strategy memos, and processed until all real flavour has been removed — just enough ideology to give the illusion of substance, but not so much as to cause indigestion among donors.
They’re cholesterol-free, morally gluten-free, and contain zero actual commitment.
But boy, do they look great in the packaging.
Warning Labels for the Rest of Us
Maybe we need to take a leaf from the croissant’s playbook and start slapping labels on our leaders.
Imagine the transparency:
• “Ethically sourced but manufactured in a lobbying facility that also handles nuts.”
• “May contain trace amounts of sincerity.”
• “This product was tested on the working class. Results inconclusive.”
• “Free from responsibility. Contains artificial empathy.”
Because if businesses can greenwash, pinkwash, and oat milk-wash their way into our wallets, and politicians can PR-spin their way into office, maybe it’s time we started demanding a bit more actual substance — or at least honesty about the lack of it.
Final Thought
I’m not against plant-based diets. I’m not even against plant-based croissants, if they taste decent and don’t fall apart like a political policy promise.
What I am against is the mass production of synthetic sincerity — whether in food, in business, or in government.
It’s time to start checking the labels.
Not just for what’s in the product — but for what might be missing.
And remember just because it’s plant-based, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.
Especially when, as we are now seeing in the UK, it’s running for office.
Some months ago, a distinguished Teignbridge District Councillor — a man of such vast intellect, boundless confidence, and self-proclaimed professional eminence — made the rather astonishing declaration that, over the course of his illustrious and unparalleled career, he had personally conducted over 100,000 interviews.
Now, I’m not a Human Resources specialist, nor do I hold a framed certificate in corporate exaggeration, but I have been involved in a fair number of interviews for senior positions.
And in my modest experience, a one-hour interview generally requires at least another hour of preparation — reading, note-taking, and occasionally pretending to be impressed.
So, let’s engage in a little arithmetic. If each of these supposedly 100,000 interviews consumed a mere two hours in total, our superhuman councillor has spent at least 200,000 hours in the noble pursuit of interrogating others.
At a conservative estimate of a 37-hour working week (allowing him, of course, a civilised hour for lunch each day and three weeks’ holiday to recuperate from all that interviewing), this titan of industry would have been at it for approximately 5,405 weeks — or, to put it more dramatically, 110 years of continuous, unbroken interview duty.
Even if we are charitable enough to halve the time, it still comes to 55 years. Which means, unless he began his career before he was born, the good councillor must now be somewhere between 75 and 130 years old.
Now, I’m a mere 76 myself and have managed to squeeze a fair bit into those years — marriage, children, grandchildren, three careers, a reasonable education, and a few adventures besides.
The hero of our tale has, I understand, done much the same.
Quite how he found the spare century or so to conduct this Herculean number of interviews, heaven alone knows — assuming, of course, heaven has kept the timesheets.
Unless, perhaps, he is a reincarnated Doctor Who, equipped with a TARDIS and the remarkable ability to occupy two — or possibly three — dimensions simultaneously.
A quality that, given his self-perception, may well be entirely plausible in his own mind.
I’ve no doubt that should he read this; he will conjure up a smooth, plausible, and wholly implausible explanation to justify his claim.
And I suspect that every councillor within earshot will instantly recognise the self-styled oracle to whom this refers.
There are, of course, many reasons to scrutinise the individual in question and to question the veracity, consistency, and sheer theatricality of his statements in the Council Chamber.
But, as my old colleagues down the coal mine used to say with their usual economy of words and precision of thought — it might simply be that:-
It’s always telling when someone posts a seemingly innocent question about “illegal immigrants” — often with the pretence of holding the moral and legal high ground.
We’re seeing this repeatedly from Reform UK councillors and politicians, armed with half-truths, distortions, and social media soundbites.
But the reality is very different. When it comes to asylum, international law, and basic human rights, there are no “illegal asylum seekers.” The term itself is a contradiction — both legally and morally.
So, what is the truth?
The Right to Seek Asylum Is a Fundamental Human Right
Article 14 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights (UDHR) — adopted by the United Nations General Assembly on 10 December 1948, with the United Kingdom among the original signatories — states:
“Everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.” — UDHR, Article 14 (UN source)
This is an absolute right in its intent.
It recognises that people fleeing persecution — whether political, religious, racial, or otherwise — must be able to find safety beyond their borders.
The right to seek asylum does not depend on how a person arrives, whether they hold travel documents, or if they have prior authorisation.
In the simplest terms: you cannot be “illegal” for seeking asylum.
This right was reaffirmed in the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees, signed in Geneva on 28 July 1951.
The United Kingdom ratified the Convention on 11 March 1954, and later the 1967 Protocol on 4 September 1968, which removed the original geographical and time limitations restricting it to post-war Europe. (UNHCR source)
The Convention remains the cornerstone of international refugee protection and defines who qualifies as a refugee:
“A refugee is a person who, owing to well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country.”
Crucially — and something Reform UK conveniently overlook — Article 31 of the Convention explicitly recognises that refugees may need to enter a country irregularly:
“The Contracting States shall not impose penalties, on account of their illegal entry or presence, on refugees who, coming directly from a territory where their life or freedom was threatened, enter or are present in their territory without authorisation…”
This clause exists precisely because the framers of the Convention understood that those fleeing persecution often cannot wait for passports, visas, or official permission — often the very documents their governments refuse to issue.
There Is No Legal Way to Seek Asylum from Outside the UK
Under current UK immigration law, it is not possible to apply for asylum from abroad.
The Home Office makes this absolutely clear: individuals must be physically present in the UK to claim asylum. (UK Government – Claim Asylum)
This means that people fleeing war, oppression, or persecution — whether from Afghanistan, Sudan, Syria, or elsewhere — have no safe or legal route designated specifically for seeking asylum.
They cannot book a flight or apply at a UK embassy overseas.
Their only legal right to claim asylum begins once they are here.
This is why many are forced to take irregular and dangerous routes — crossing the Channel, hiding in lorries, or taking perilous journeys.
It is not because they are “breaking the law,” but because the law gives them no other way to exercise their fundamental human right to seek safety.
This is crystal clear — which makes it all the more concerning that Reform UK politicians know full well what the law says, yet continue to weaponise migration for political gain.
The phrase “illegal immigrant” has no standing in international law. It’s a political slogan, not a legal term.
Refugees and asylum seekers are protected under both international and domestic law.
Their legal status is only determined after their asylum claim is assessed.
Until that point, they are simply exercising their rights under Article 14 of the UDHR and Article 31 of the 1951 Refugee Convention.
Even if a claim is ultimately refused, they were never “illegal” for seeking asylum.
To describe them as such is to criminalise the act of seeking safety — something the UK and all Convention signatories explicitly pledged not to do.
When the UK ratified the Refugee Convention in 1954, it accepted both a legal obligation and a moral duty: to protect those fleeing persecution and to treat them with dignity and fairness.
Britain has a proud history of offering sanctuary —
to those fleeing Nazi persecution in the 1930s,
to Ugandan Asians expelled by Idi Amin in the 1970s, and
to refugees from the Balkans and Syria in more recent decades.
That tradition is now being deliberately undermined by rhetoric that misrepresents international law and vilifies people seeking the same safety and liberty we ourselves would demand in their place.
Language shapes understanding.
When Reform UK, some Conservative politicians, and segments of the mainstream media label people as “illegal,” they distort reality, divide communities, and foster hostility toward the vulnerable.
Is there any wonder that we have seen an increase in reported hate crimes in the UK.
Recognising that asylum seekers are not illegal — and never have been — is the first step toward restoring a humane, lawful, and principled approach to migration and refuge.
As citizens of a country that helped draft the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, we should expect our leaders to uphold, not erode, those values.
If you truly want to understand the issue — seek out the facts for yourself.
Don’t blindly follow those who spread fear and discord for self-serving political gain.
Celebrating the Contribution of Overseas Born and Asylum-Seeking Residents
At the Teignbridge District Council meeting on Thursday, 23 October 2025, I will be proposing a motion to recognise the huge contribution and impact that overseas-born and asylum-seeking residents make to our district — in the NHS and care services, our schools, hospitality and tourism, and the Armed Forces.
This is an opportunity for a serious and respectful debate, not an emotional or divisive one.
It’s about facts, fairness, and community — acknowledging that Teignbridge’s greatest strength lies in the compassion, creativity, and hard work of everyone who calls it home.
We’ve always been a welcoming district, and our communities are richer for it.
Every resident — wherever they were born — deserves dignity, respect, and opportunity.
You can read the full motion in the Full Council Agenda papers on the Teignbridge District Council website.
This is an important issue that deserves open, thoughtful discussion.
You can also attend the Full Council meeting in person on 23 October or follow the debate live online via the Teignbridge District Council webcast.
Let’s have a conversation based on understanding and shared values — not division.
Immigration has always — and perhaps will always — provide an easy target for politicians all too willing to stoke fear in their pursuit of power.
The story is not new.
It has been repeated across decades and continents, and yet the pattern remains depressingly familiar: when politicians need a distraction from their own failings, they turn the spotlight onto those least able to defend themselves — immigrants.
We saw it in 2016 when Donald Trump built his entire presidential campaign on a foundation of anti-immigrant rhetoric — slogans and soundbites carefully designed to simplify complex social and economic challenges into a crude message: blame the outsider.
By 2020, the damage was plain to see — not just in the United States, but in how other nations were emboldened to follow the same path.
The United Kingdom was no exception.
Brexit was won, in part, through the deliberate amplification of fears about “open borders” and the free movement of people within Europe.
The narrative was simple: foreigners were taking jobs, suppressing wages, and straining public services.
It ignored the facts, but facts have never been the weapon of choice for populists or xenophobes.
It was a prime example of selective outrage by unscrupulous and dishonest politicians.
The difference between the UK and US approaches has always been one of style rather than substance.
In America, immigration crackdowns were often selective, conveniently aligning with political or business interests.
In Britain, suspicion has been cast more widely and indiscriminately.
Families who have lived here for decades find themselves at risk of deportation.
Students with their whole lives ahead of them are being denied the right to finish their education — all in the name of “taking back control.”
Nearly a decade later, the same tropes have re-emerged under new political banners.
Protests in Britain, often led by ReformUK and similar groups, have chosen their targets carefully.
It was easy to march against Trump and his proposed state visit; far harder, and far less common, to challenge the quiet, bureaucratic cruelty of our own government’s immigration policies.
It is always more comfortable to condemn the racism of others than to confront the prejudice in our own back yard.
Pointing the finger at immigrants for the UK’s problems is lazy, fear-driven politics — and it is deeply cynical.
Yes, population change brings pressures on services, housing, culture, and communities.
It always has.
But Britain, like the United States and so many other nations, has been built and strengthened by immigration.
The flow of people and ideas across borders has been the lifeblood of growth, creativity, and cultural richness.
To recognise this is not to say that immigration should be immune from debate.
Far from it.
Policy must always be open to scrutiny — but scrutiny must be honest, grounded in evidence, and motivated by fairness and compassion.
What we have too often seen instead is a willingness to exploit fear — to transform natural anxieties into political capital.
It is the politics of fear without evidence.
The problem is compounded by the lack of serious, empirical research that politicians are willing to cite or act upon.
The fears are always the same: immigrants will take our jobs, depress wages, raise rents, or erode culture.
Yet the evidence — when it is sought — usually proves the opposite: immigration fuels growth, expands the workforce, drives innovation, and contributes more in taxes than it takes out in services.
Such truths are inconvenient for those who thrive on division.
They don’t fit neatly on a campaign leaflet or a headline.
They require nuance, explanation, and courage — and nuance rarely wins elections.
Fear does.
So here we are in 2025, still circling the same debate.
In Britain, the legacy of Brexit continues to shape our discourse, with immigration still wielded as a convenient political weapon.
Across Europe, too, the rise of nationalist parties has seen the same scapegoating rhetoric return again and again.
The real question is: how do we change the focus?
How do we shift the conversation from targeting people to addressing policies?
How do we demand that our politicians confront the structural problems — inequality, housing shortages, and underfunded public services — rather than blaming those who have the least power to influence them?
If such a debate were ever held in good faith, we would find that immigration is not the burden it is so often portrayed to be.
It is, more often than not, a benefit — socially, culturally, and economically.
It is a source of renewal.
A nation that closes itself off to the world is a nation that withers.
That is why we must be wary and deeply suspicious of any politician who seeks easy popularity by targeting immigrants.
History shows us where that road leads.
I once believed the UK was better than that — that we had learned those lessons.
Recent history has made me less certain.
But one truth remains: when immigrants are made the easy target, it tells us far more about the prejudices of those who seek power than it does about the strength and humanity of those who arrive at our shores.
Mr and Mrs Middle England – Take Up Sustainability
by David Palethorpe
Having mastered the arts of clean eating, clean living and occasionally clean recycling, Mr and Mrs ME of Ipplepen have now discovered their latest crusade: sustainability.
It began, as these things do, with a documentary and a guilt-ridden trip to Totnes.
Mrs ME returned home with a jute bag of “planet-positive” purchases — beeswax wraps, bamboo toothbrushes, and something called a shampoo bar that Mr ME insists makes his hair feel like a thatched roof.
They immediately set about “greening” their lifestyle.
The Range Rover is now driven only on special occasions, such as yoga retreats or quick runs to the farm shop for avocados flown in from Peru.
The solar panels went up in July — perfectly timed for a week of heavy rain — and Mr ME proudly reports that they’ve already saved enough electricity to charge his electric leaf-blower twice.
Mrs ME has taken to lecturing friends on the evils of fast fashion, though her wardrobe still contains enough linen to outfit a small Greek island.
She’s also experimenting with home composting.
The neighbours, who live downwind, are hoping it’s a short experiment.
The pair’s latest initiative is “Meat-Free Mondays.”
It was meant to become “Meat-Free Most Days,” but enthusiasm waned after Mr ME’s lentil lasagne incident, now spoken of locally as “The Great Flatulence.”
Nevertheless, they post inspiring photos of their dinners online — carefully cropped to exclude the Deliveroo bag in the background.
Their commitment is touching, if occasionally confusing.
They’ve cancelled one holiday flight but booked two domestic “eco-getaways,” which, given the mileage of their hybrid SUV, will produce roughly the same emissions as a modest bonfire of tyres.
Still, they’re doing their bit.
The village has learned that moral superiority is now measured in kilowatts saved and oat milk consumed, and Mr and Mrs ME are leading the charge — slowly, and with reusable coffee cups firmly in hand.
At heart, they’re lovely people who just want to save the planet.
Preferably without sacrificing broadband speed, central heating, or their subscription to the wine club.
And perhaps that’s fine — sustainability, after all, is about balance.
Besides, as Mr ME likes to remind everyone at the pub, “We’re not perfect — just consciously imperfect.”
And in Ipplepen, that’s about as sustainable as it gets.
Reflections of a Boomer
Reflections on life of an insignificant atom in the universe
