I didn’t feel compelled to write on a particular subject today but I’ve just watched Neil Oliver’s monologue (check him out, he’s fabulous!) and it’s come to me.
Many talk of moving countries, things are fucked in the UK, they’ll say, and they’ll run off a list of potential escape routes.
I can’t imagine it. I can’t imagine or contemplate living anywhere else. I am a definite ‘somewhere’ man as opposed to the globalist ‘anywhere’ emigré. I love England. I adore the British Isles. The magnificence of the landscapes and the cute quaintness of our villages and churches and farmland. It’s magical to me.
When we hear ‘my place’, usually it’s about what we’re allowed or not allowed to do – permission but where are you doing it? Are you rooted in your current environment? Are you connected with it physically and psychologically? Do you belong?
I realise I need to do more to assert what matters to me.
I don’t believe in pride for things I’ve been born into, I believe in gratitude for it and standing up for it. This is a noble stance and one that requires eloquence and articulation as well as confidence and principle.
What is your place? Are you embodying what it means to be a man?