In 225AD a tall fair-haired woman called Julia Aurelianus lives in a pretty townhouse in Aquae Sulis (modern Bath). Julia is an independent woman of means, a cultured high-status aristocrat and a healer who works at the clinic attached to the temple of Sulis Minerva. She is an educated, sophisticated citizen of the Roman Empire, living nearly two hundred years after the Roman invasion of Britain. She believes the Roman Empire will last for ever. But at the same time, she is a proud Durotrigian, with deep roots in a British identity, and a leading role as a tribal noble. Continue reading “Leaving Europe: we’ve done that before”
After three years of Brexit, it’s easy to feel jaded, worn out and helpless. Whichever way you voted in the referendum of June 2016, I’ll bet my Grandma’s best black hat you didn’t think you were voting for the mess we’re all in now. It would be so easy to give up, to throw our hands in the air and join the many who are saying, ‘I want it all to go away. Just get on with it.’Continue reading “Walking with a million friends”
Another year, another #PeoplesVote Day of Action.
Peggy and I were once more canvassing with MalvernforEurope in our local village, Colwall, at the western foot of the Malvern Hills on Saturday 12 January.
It’s nearly Christmas. So here in the UK that means festive conversations and convivial gatherings around the issue of the hour…Brexit.
This is me, Jacquie Rogers, writer, pro-European, and member of Malvern for Europe. Wearing a silly EU beret.
And this is Peggy, three months old. Definitely in charge. Wearing a canine gilet jaune. Together we canvassed for the People’s Vote in Great Malvern today.
We learnt a lot.
I don’t often write about political events, either here or in my travel blog
This blog is intended for those who love reading, and might like to follow my writing and publications. Nevertheless I won’t apologise to you, my readers, for diverting today a little way down the murky paths of UK politics. But you are deserving of an explanation, so here goes:
If you’re dead or live on Mars, you may not have heard of the Swanwick Writers’ Summer School. Being neither a Martian, nor moribund (last time I looked), I was already aware that Swanwick is the oldest independent writing school in the world. But it’s taken me several years to take the plunge as a delegate. I assumed it would be packed full of published authors, all knowing each other. I pictured myself sitting forlorn in a corner, ignored by the great and good, and then slinking away to my room, knowing myself to be right at the muddy bottom of the literary food chain.