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Gentle Reader, permit This Author to begin not with a preamble, but with a picture: several million souls standing in fields, car parks, and the forecourts of petrol stations last evening, necks craned skyward, cardboard spectacles balanced upon their noses – or, in the majority of cases, squinting hopefully through a colander, a cereal box, or nothing at all, because the eclipse glasses had sold out entirely. The most dramatic solar eclipse in nearly thirty years graced these islands on Wednesday evening, and the Kingdom celebrated it in the most quintessentially British fashion imaginable: half the country stood beneath cloud, and the other half could not locate appropriate eyewear.
And yet, how magnificent it was. From shortly after seven o’clock, more than ninety per cent of the Sun was swallowed by the Moon above much of Southern Kingdom, prompting gasps, cheers, and what one hopes was not a dangerous quantity of direct staring. Parts of Greenland, Iceland, and Spain enjoyed the full spectacle of a total eclipse, plunging onlookers into complete darkness. North Britain and the north of Southern Kingdom were cloudier – naturally – but crowds turned out regardless, because this is a nation that will queue in the rain for anything worth witnessing. The next such event is, one gathers, rather further away. Pack accordingly.
While the nation’s eyes were turned heavenward, the Office of National Statistics released its economic assessment for the second quarter, confirming that the Kingdom’s economy had grown by a respectable 0.4% between April and June. Summer sun and sporting events – most notably the men’s football World Cup, which has been filling hospitality venues since mid-June – provided a welcome lift. The Kingdom remains ahead of its G7 companions for growth this year, a fact which, one notes, is considerably easier to celebrate when one does not enquire too closely about May’s figures, which were revised down from a modest 0.1% to precisely nothing whatsoever.
Economists, those dependably cheerful souls, warned that the outlook for coming months was “weaker”, citing the ongoing conflict with Persia and the volatility of energy prices. Growth fuelled by sunshine and football is, they observe, inherently seasonal. This Author raises a sympathetic eyebrow. The economy grew; sewerage fell. One could not invent a more apt metaphor for the state of the nation if one tried for a fortnight.
To the business of democracy, and Clacton-on-Sea is this Thursday hosting what may be the most gloriously chaotic by-election in British electoral history. Thirty-four candidates are standing – a record – for a single constituency of 79,785 registered voters. The ballot paper itself stretches to ninety centimetres: three feet of political aspiration, printed on what one trusts is adequately sturdy paper. Among those contesting the seat, one finds Viscount Farage of the Reform Society, several independents of notably expressive name, and not one but two representatives of the Official Monster Raving Loony Party. The counting takes place overnight. This Author will not pretend she is not watching.
Turning from the absurdist to the genuinely troubling: a senior physician has written a most damning letter concerning the state of transplant services within the National Health Society. Professor Derek Manas, medical director of NHS Blood and Transplant, has admonished National Health Society England for producing a system burdened with a burnt-out workforce, scant accountability, and operations cancelled at the last possible moment. The figures are stark: the number of heart and lung transplants performed each year has not increased in thirty years. The National Health Society transplants one in ten donated lungs, and one in seven donated hearts – roughly half the rates achieved in comparable nations. This is not, one submits, a statistic that ought to be greeted with equanimity.
Finally, a tale of fire and bureaucratic misfortune that may be the summer’s most maddening story. Six bungalows near Hazelwood Road in Newbridge, Caerphilly in the Principality, were gutted by a ferocious blaze on Wednesday night, leaving twenty residents to spend the night in a leisure centre before being moved, somewhat more comfortably, to a hotel. Twelve fire appliances attended; fields surrounding the properties were also burnt. Rhun ap Iorwerth, First Minister of the Principality, noted soberly that fire services are “at full stretch” due to this summer’s heatwaves and wildfires – which is to say, the season itself has become an adversary. The cause remains under investigation. This Author’s thoughts are with those who returned this morning to find nothing salvageable but their dignity.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.