Radical Thinking

It’s now 3 years since the country voted to exit the European Union. Two Prime Ministers – and counting – and we still inhabit the Brexit wasteland. Remaining in, but endlessly sat in the departure lounge. 

And what of the two sides?

There seems to be no coming together of the Remain and Leave side of the Brexit argument. In fact, most people, and this is only anecdotal, have simply dug their heels in. They are either Remain (not Remain and Evolve) or Leave (at all costs). 

No fan of Theresa May, I think we can all agree she wrecked any chance of a Brexit compromise with her Withdrawal Agreement with the European Union. (Did you read all 500+ pages of the agreement? No? Neither did I!) She satisfied neither side of the Brexit divide. Her whole Premiership will be seen by historians as a complete and utter failure to bring Parliament together.

Jeremy Corbyn, the Labour Leader, seen by many as a Remainer, although I don’t know why, has completely failed to take his party with him on Brexit as well. His policy of constructive ambiguity, whatever that was, has seen the Fourth Estate portray him sitting on a splintered fence leaning towards Remain. I’ve never seen it that way. In all circumstances, Corbyn has re-iterated that the result of the referendum should be honoured. How can that be a Remain position? I ask myself. Where people get confused, and right-wing pundits shout it from the rooftops, is that he doesn’t advocate a Tory Brexit. And to them, that equals Remain. They somehow miss the point that he continually says he will negotiate a better deal if he becomes Prime Minister. Those are not the words of a Remainer. However, he will support a second referendum on what he sees as a bad deal put forward by any Tory government. But that does not make him a supporter of Remain.

Common ground in politics has been burnt at the Brexit stake.

Alternatively, we have Farage shouting down BBC microphone’s at every opportunity like some demented Shakespearean tragi-character threatening the wrath of the people if he doesn’t get the Brexit HE wants. Every time the megaphone agitator appears on TV I can’t help thinking, ‘O for another series of classic Spitting Image’. I suspect he’d be sat in Trumps breast pocket while in the other would be ‘Mop-Top’ Johnson, the likely new Tory leader and PM.

And on the other side of the Brexit chasm we have the Liberal Democrats – Conservatives-Lite in another dictionary – fighting for the pro-Remain votes with the Green Party led, inexplicably, by two people. Not forgetting the SNP up there in Scotland. Agitating for an IndyRef2 if they don’t get a People’s Vote to Remain.

Whilst here at APGrozdanovic I try to impartial, it is sometimes hard to pull off that particular trick, of arguing for both sides in such a divisive matter. But here goes, I have readers of all persuasions…

It’s high time for radical thinking. 

The country needs our political representatives to speak for us and act in our best interests. Not for their own narrow interest group within a party. 

Brexit voters conveniently forget what we were promised during and after the ballot. Note the ambiguity of the £350m we could spend on our NHS emblazoned over a big red bus. John Redwood saying on 17 July 2016, that ‘Getting out of the EU can be quick and easy.’ Or Michael Gove pronouncing on the 1 June 2016 that, ‘We can easily conclude a new settlement with the EU…’These and other things have been proved to be pie-in-the-sky.

On the Remain side, although they lost the referendum, I still don’t think they are putting the case forward well enough for people to re-imagine a world where a new ballot can relieve citizen’s doubts about the EU and the advantages of staying in. The political soundbite ‘Project Fear’ still resonates, no matter how many reports show Brexit impacting on the economy and jobs. For their argument to prevail, they have to step up to the plate and explain better the reason for staying.

In my fictional book, Stalag Britain, about a Brexit that goes catastrophically wrong, I wrote about job losses in various areas and shortages in the health service. Governments failing. This wasn’t hard for me to envision and include in my story, so why is it so difficult for others?

I think the time has come to think beyond Brexiteers & Remainers. It’s now an opportunity for a new Prime Minister to be radical. And I don’t mean to raise the flag for one side or the other. Whether it be, ‘Mop-Top’ Johnson or Entrepreneur Hunt who becomes the next PM, they have to jettison the idea of Brexit on 31 October, pause Article 50, and form a government of national unity. One where people of all sides of the political spectrum, including voters, can work out where we want to go as a country. That may end up in Brexit. It may not. But at least we will have clarity on the road we are travelling. We have to remember that the future is not ours, it’s our children’s and grandchildren’s. It’s our duty to leave them a prosperous future of opportunity where doors are open in friendship and not closed because we cut our nose off to spite our face.

I raise a glass in Hope…

Be Careful What You Wish For

Following the first results of the Conservative Party’s leadership race, you wouldn’t have to be a modern-day Nostradamus to see the country is heading yet further towards the Brexit rocks. 

The first three candidates to hit the buffers were Harper – who accepted that Brexit couldn’t happen by 31 October, Andrea Leadsom and the ex-TV host, Esther McVey who both stipulated that Halloween will be our leaving date come what may. And today, Nick Hancock, the Health Secretary, dropped out, citing his candidature was about the future, and his party was looking towards a leader for the here and now.

The remaining, I use the term loosely, candidates are Johnson, Hunt, Gove, Stewart, Javid and Dominic Raab, the former Brexit Secretary. We will have to wait until the coming days to find out which two will go forward to fight it out among party members. 

My views on the process of choosing a new PM like this can be found elsewhere…

The winner by a fox hunting country mile in the first round of voting was the former London Mayor & Foreign Secretary, Boris Johnson. Not only was Johnson the clear winner in the vote amongst his fellow Tory MP’s, he is the clear leader with the bookies too.

But party members, and more importantly the wider electorate, should be careful what they wish for. There are just 160,000 Conservative Party members who will choose not just the party leader, but the next Prime Minister of this country. 

Johnson’s main selling point to party members and a portion of the electorate is obviously his stance on Brexit. He has announced that we will leave the EU on the 31 October, deal or no deal.

Apart from the fact no one can predict what a no deal Brexit will look like – except people looking into a crystal ball and seeing a land of milk & honey, where Britannia rules the waves and Victoria, in the persona of Gemma Coleman, reigns – this is definitely a leap in the dark.

At present a no-deal Brexit is a perpetual fantasy, and Johnson is a master at the make believe. Just look at the fact check Channel 4 produced. It basically illustrates that what good-old Boris promises, doesn’t actually come to fruition.

Take a look at what he has said or written. Likening Africans to piccaninnies. Writing offensive poems relating to the president of Turkey. But there are a litany of things he has said and done which we should think very carefully about before contemplating allowing this man to hold the keys to 10 Downing Street.

The decision on who runs this country cannot be decided on just one issue, Brexit. This person has to be competent and have a real-world vision on where the country is heading. The new Prime Minister will have to have the gravitas to bring people together after the divisive Brexit referendum. Something that Theresa May failed to do. Boris Johnson has proved he is not that man. He is a small-world Trump-like figure who will sew division for years to come.

Guest Blog by Aaron David

In our first Guest Blog, Aaron David writes about himself and his writing. Links to his excellent work can be found at the bottom of the page.

I hate talking about myself but here goes. I was born at a very early age in 1965. If you look at a map of the UK, there’s a mountain range called The Pennines; often referred to as ‘the backbone of England. On the east side is Yorkshire and on the west is Lancashire. Nestled in the western foothills is Bolton. Bolton is widely thought to be the biggest town (that isn’t a city) in Britain. Someone recently told me it’s the biggest town (that isn’t a city) in Europe. In a few weeks it will probably be the biggest town (that isn’t a city) in the universe. Back then, Bolton was still a mill town, producing and treating cotton and cotton products. Most of the walls were coated in soot and fluffy, filthy cotton waste. I couldn’t and wouldn’t describe my childhood as happy; my parents were not a happy couple and they constantly argued. My Mum was one of the best examples of a human being I’ve ever known, but she had rotten taste in men. The least said about my Dad, the better.

I excelled in school, being alternately known as ‘the brainy one’, and ‘the class clown’. In the seventies, we had grammar schools and the eleven plus exam. The pupils who scored in the top ten percent were offered a place in grammar school. I went to one and have always been and will always be grateful. Aged fifteen, I decided my vocation was photography. I set up a darkroom in the loft and spent as much time and money as I could to become competent. When I left school, I was a professional photographer for nine years. Aged nineteen, I had the tremendous good fortune to meet the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Thirty four years later we are still happily married. I became disillusioned and bored with photography and, aged 25 I started a business, installing and repairing burglar alarms. I still own and run the company. In 1993, we had a son, in ‘95 we had a daughter and in ’97 we had another son. My wife worked for social services and did three twenty-four hour shifts per week. Being self employed I would stay home when she was at work and go to work when she came home. It meant we never had to use any kind of childcare. Dear reader, I don’t know if you have children but if you do you’ll know that there’s a lot of time spent waiting; waiting for them to wake up, waiting for feeding time, rocking a cot at 4.00am, etc. In ’97, just before our youngest was born, I decided to use this time to test a theory; I’d always thought maybe I could write but was always busy with other things. I bought an exercise book and pack of ballpoints and set out to write ‘a funny book’. I wasn’t interested in changing anyone’s life, critical acclaim or winning awards, just writing a funny book. The first night I wrote page one. The second night I wrote eight pages. Doing some quick maths, I worked out I’d finish it by Christmas and be able to retire on the royalties by Easter. Sure enough, a mere ten years later, I finished the bloody thing. This was 2007, I didn’t do anything with it until I launched a website in 2009 and published on Amazon in 2010. By 2013, I’d sold six copies and decided I’d better have a go at marketing. I joined social media and made some amazing friends, most notably Ian Hutson, Pat McDonald, Carol E. Wyre, Tony Gilbert, Christoph Fischer and many, many others. Towards the end of 2013 I started writing short stories. I now have a dozen books published (three are compilations) and I’m working on a film script with an American screen writer.

Did I mention I hate talking about myself?

Where do my ideas come from? Ooooh! Sometimes a phrase, a TV program, sometimes something will pop into my head while I’m driving but most often I get ideas late at night; I’m an insomniac and never get to sleep before 3.00 or 4.00am. Something just goes ‘ping’ in the back of my head and the adventure begins. Here’s an example; a couple of years ago I was talking to a friend who owns a small publishing company. He said they were putting together an anthology of horror short stories and did I have anything to contribute. I said it wasn’t my genre but he said if I came up with anything to let him know. That night I was watching the original Jurassic Park films. In the second one (The Lost World) Vince Vaughn is translating for one of the islanders and says they call the island ‘the five deaths’. Ping! My mind wandered off and when it came back I had the nucleus of a story which I called ‘The Six Deaths’ (nothing to do with dinosaurs).

Short stories start with an idea or a few ideas, then it’s just a case of writing them. I choose to be concise; no starter, bread rolls or flower arrangement, just the main course. My short stories are typically five to ten pages long. Just over half of them are sci-fi (I call them ‘skiffies’ in my wacky, northern English way). A novel is a completely different beast; I have an idea of what will happen but once I set about writing, anything can happen. I have to write in solitude; I can’t have anyone in the room with me and normally have the TV or radio on in the background. Thanks to the wonders of technology, my phone has a large screen and has Word and Kindle installed so if I’m waiting in a car park I can carry on with whatever I’m writing. I used it to finish off two short story collections when I was in hospital, following a heart attack in 2016.

Since March of last year I’ve been writing a film script with an American screenwriter. Once that’s finished I have a few short story ideas and I really must crack on with my second novel; I’ve written just under 10,000 words of it.

Writing by Aaron David: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Aaron-David/e/B00CJH738O

An Invitation to Kill

The following is an extract (which may contain some language that could offend) from An Invitation to Kill by A. P. Grozdanovic. Available to buy on Kindle or Kindle app now!

He slammed the car boot shut, jumped into the driver’s seat, floored the accelerator and left the scene at speed. He retrieved the cigarette he’d jammed into the air duct earlier and took a long pull, inhaling the noxious smoke deeply.

What had he done? What the hell had he done? Shit! This wasn’t the plan!

Nick Mason’s Intermediary, Kosinski, had texted him a couple of days earlier from a burner phone and arranged to meet. They always met at different locations, never the same. Routine was dangerous in their line of work.

Kosinski got out of his car as Mason parked up. Kosinski’s squat, overweight figure looked as if it was going to burst out of the ill-fitting suit as he walked the length of the car park to the restaurant entrance. His bald head seemed to grow straight from his shoulders, with no discernible neck to hold it up. Mason joined him, and with a nod, they went inside.

The Star, a restaurant-cum-bar on the main arterial road, north out of town, was new to them both. On the right of the entrance was a small seated area. The bar was straight ahead, covering most of the back wall. The main dining area lay to the left. Light streamed in from the windows that stretched around three sides of the building. The parquet floor and wooden tables and chairs gave it a rustic, but spotless feel. A waiter welcomed them as they entered and asked if they would be dining.

‘Is the beer garden open?’ Kosinski enquired.

‘Yes, sir. If you’d like to come this way.’ They followed the waiter out of the side door, to the left of the bar, and into the beer garden. Kosinski had picked this location carefully. The garden was walled-in by a high wooden creosoted fence. A pathway split the grassed area in half. Wooden tables lay either side of the path on the grass. All the tables were available, meaning they would be alone. Kosinski chose the furthest table from the building. The waiter dropped two menus in front of them.

‘We’ll both have a Club Sandwich and a double brandy.’ Kosinski ordered without looking at the menu or conferring with Mason.

‘I’ll be back in a moment with your drinks, sir,’ nodded the waiter.

They remained silent until the waiter had disappeared inside the building.

‘So, what’s the urgency?’ Nick asked.

Kosinski looked nervously towards the door to the restaurant. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. ‘We need a hit doing.’

‘What?! When?’

‘Like yesterday.’

‘It can’t be done,’ Nick cautioned. ‘Your people will have to wait until I’m ready.’

Kosinski’s hand slammed down onto the wooden table; his eyes blood-shot. ‘It can’t wait! Not this time. You’re gonna have to, I don’t know,’ he wavered, ‘condense your planning.’

‘No, can do.’

A tiny trickle of sweat ran down Kosinski’s forehead. ‘Do you want the job or not?’

‘Keep your hair on!’ Mason said, with the thinnest of smiles. Leaning in, he confirmed, ‘I’m interested. Look, when you say “yesterday”, what does that mean exactly?’

‘This person needs to disappear permanently.’ The agitation in Kosinski’s voice was palpable. ‘Like now!’

The door to the restaurant banged shut. It was the waiter approaching with their drinks. The conversation died between them while he placed a glass at either side of the table.

‘Your food will be here shortly, gentlemen. Is there anything else I can get for you?’

‘No, that’s fine.’ They paused for the waiter to leave before Kosinski continued. ‘Look! It’s a simple job.’

‘What you’re asking me to do is way out of my comfort zone. I’m a driver. I normally only do surveillance, drop-offs, getaways. That sort of thing.’

‘But, you’re perfect for this job.’ Kosinski took a gulp from his glass. The drink took his breath for a second before he continued. ‘There are hundreds of deaths on the roads every year. What’s better than someone dying in a car accident? Hit and run. Happens every day,’ he said casually.

‘A hit is a completely different ball-game, though.’

Kosinski looked around before adding, ‘Look, Mason, stop playing hard to get! What did you say to me when we first met?’ His question was met with silence. ‘I’d better remind you. “I don’t have a red line”, you said. “Anything goes”, you boasted.’

‘Killing is different,’ Mason admitted. ‘It’s not something I do regularly.’

‘But for the right price?’ Kosinski rested his elbows on the table, his question hanging in the air.

To read more of An Invitation to Kill visit:

Time For Change

Since Harold Wilson voluntarily resigned as Labour Prime Minister in 1976, we have had three, and soon to be four leaders of this country who have been forced to throw in the towel.

Margaret Thatcher was toppled in 1990 by her own party due to problems that included the Poll Tax and Europe. Tony Blair’s Labour party had had their fill of their most effective leader after ten years in 2007, replacing him with the Iron Chancellor, Gordon Brown. David Cameron had to resign in 2016 after his ill-fated sojourn into settling the European question for a generation.

And now we have Cameron’s successor, Theresa May, promising to step down as Prime Minister because she has been unable to satisfy the thirst of Brexiteers within her own toxic party. They are now predictably plotting to replace her.

What these leaders all have in common is that they weren’t replaced at the ballot box, but by their own party, who had become exasperated and disillusioned with them. In todays world, where politicians of every persuasion rabbit on about respecting votes at the ballot box, this archaic form of replacing an unpopular leader has now become unacceptable.

Post Brexit referendum, where sovereignty and accountability were heralded as reasons to leave the EU, the British public must have the final say on who resides in Downing Street. It isn’t good enough anymore to allow a cabal of MPs, and party members, to choose who governs this country in our name. 

If people want effective democracy in this country, then things have to change. The fixed-term parliamentary act has to be amended. Whilst this was a good addition to democracy, it failed to anticipate that leaders could be jettisoned at any time by their own party. Who in turn could retain power by nominating their own leader and thus Prime Minister without recourse to the electorate.

It’s self-evident our system of government needs an overhaul. If Prime Ministers are to be accountable to voters, then they have to be voted in by the electorate. We may need to move to another system of government all together, perhaps a Presidential format, where voters know who they are getting for a fixed period. Or, simply, a tweak to the present format. Say, if a party wants to sack its leader, then a fresh election is triggered within a short period with their new leader in place.

If the electorate continually accepts that a small group of party members and MP’s can decide this country’s leader, then the public will get what it deserves. And quite honestly it has, for in each case listed above, the Prime Minister has been replaced by an increasingly unpopular successor. 

In the modern world, democratic accountability is essential. It’s now time for change.

May Has to Go!

At the time of writing, Theresa May, the Conservative Prime Minister, has lost 1,300 council seats and seen 40 Councils float away into the Brexit wind. She must be up there with the worst Prime Ministers the UK has ever had the misfortune to suffer.

And yet she stills clings on to power. Why? Because her party is riven by division. Take it from me, if there was a credible alternative, the Tory’s would have dumped her long ago. No Boris, please sit down!

During her time in Number 10 Downing Street she has seen 42 government or cabinet ministers resign or be sacked. That must be a record. Just one department, The Department for Exiting the European Union, is on its 3rd Secretary of State. Surely, a poisoned chalice, if ever there was one.

Not only as she failed to live up to the Brexiteers hopes that she’d lead Britain out of the European Union like some modern day Boudica, she has wrought mayhem and suffering along the way.

I can’t recall a Prime Minister calling an election when they have a working majority and then losing it. How calamitous is that? The list of mistakes she’s made along the Brexit route is endless. Among them, triggering Article 50 when she had no need to. That was a clanger of epic proportions. She could have waited to find a consensus first. But no, she had to rush in like some kindergarten kid looking for its next sugar rush.

Take food banks as an example of her governments attitude to the needy. A good snapshot of how people are feeling the pinch in the Cameron/May Austerity Britain. In 2009/10 as the Tory’s came to power the Trussell Trust, the largest distributor of food parcels, handed out 41,000 parcels. In Mays 2016/17, they handed out 1.2m. (Source: Full Fact) Surely a sign things aren’t right?

Homelessness has risen to 320,000 people. (Source: The Big Issue) Put your hands down! I know Europe causes that too. Yeah right! Its policies worked out and rubber stamped in Downing Street, Theresa May’s nice little grace and favour London pad, that determine this disastrous situation. Or is it that picturesque country pile she uses at weekends, Chequers, where she plots another catastrophe? Whichever, I’m sure a few families could squat in there for a while and she wouldn’t notice.

Wages still haven’t reached pre-recession levels despite almost 9 years of Tory rule. (Source: Full Fact) And yet the Conservative Party continually bangs on about putting more money in your pocket and charging you less in taxes. Do me a favour!

What about PIP, the flagship policy to renew the Benefit system. A court ruling found that it was unfair to people with mental health issues. A review of it is estimated to cost £3.7m by 2023. This is under a Tory government that propagates the idea of sound financial management. It beggar’s belief! (Source: BBC)

And zero hours contracts? In 2017 there were 1.8m people estimated to be working contracts that did not guarantee them a minimum number of hours. (Source: Full Fact) In surveys, some say they are happy with the arrangements, but others aren’t. We should be living in a country where people have a choice. Minimum working hours shouldn’t be foisted upon workers.

This government can’t even be trusted with the NHS. With NHS England reporting a shortage of 100,000 staff (Source: The Guardian), how is this government proposing to keep people healthy? I would suggest with Brexit taking all it’s energies up, it hasn’t got a chance.

And let’s not forget about the debacle of the Windrush & Grenfell Tower scandals? All on Mays watch. 

Since her elevation to Prime Minister she has nailed her colours to the Brexit flag pole. She wanted to satisfy the 51.9% who voted for Brexit (on a turnout of 72.2%), attempting to side line the rest. But she has failed on Brexit, big-style! Who could succeed with their expectations? Europe was willing to let Britain walk without a deal. It was parliament that stopped the Lemming-style approach of the hard-liners. She can’t even control her own party and coalition.

This country will be well shot of Theresa May once this Brexit fiasco is sorted out, one way or the other. We just have to hope that the next Prime Minister can bring the country together in a way that she has found beyond her capabilities.

Epilepsy

Having a seizure is a very uncomfortable experience. It’s confusing, upsetting, inconvenient, frustrating, embarrassing, and can result in injury.

There isn’t a lot that can be said that is positive about experiencing a seizure, except that you soon find out who cares for you. Those people soon become accessible and helpful.

I developed epilepsy later in life and, if I’m honest, I am still a little miffed it settled on me. Fortunately, I don’t have seizures regularly. I can go years without experiencing one. But it does make you forgetful, that the epilepsy actually exists within you. There are reminders, of course. Like every evening when you pop your tablets out of their foil. Or when the helpful, and informative, Epilepsy News drops through the letter box. But essentially, it does drift into the background of everyday life becoming less important by the day.

And then, with a rabid snarl, the epilepsy attacks with a vengeance. How dare you forget I exist! How dare you take risks with your life and others by driving! Don’t you know a car is a killing machine in the wrong hands?

But of course these questions come to bear after the seizure. For when the seizure hits, for me, the lights simply go out. That is the only description I have. I’m sorry if you want something more lurid or exciting. But I haven’t got anything more, despite the voyeurism of the modern world. All the excitement is experienced by others. People close by might see me stiffen up, fall down, bite my tongue, thrash about, my lips go blue, or my desperate gasps for breath, or the panic of onlookers who haven’t seen a seizure before. But be assured, I’m seeing none of that awful scene. The lights are definitely out.

And then, like a dimmer switch, some minutes later, the light begins to resume – slowly. The ”dimmer switch” is a good description, because as you would turn a light up slowly, I come to understand what has happened. The text book words I often hear are, ”you’re OK”. When I first hear these words, to be honest, I haven’t got a clue why someone is telling me I’m ”OK” or even where I am.

With a groggy head and a body that really has no control of itself, I am generally manoeuvred into an ambulance. Now there are more people telling me I’m ”OK”. Even I’m beginning to get the message.

I’ve never had the compunction to argue at this stage. I don’t really think I care. If anyone was to tell me I’m ”OK” while lifting my wallet, I sense now that would be something I wouldn’t argue about. So putting me in an ambulance with a cheery smile and a cheesy joke that only ambulance staff can get away with isn’t going to be a problem.

What is a problem, and you can only see this on reflection, is that sometimes you are going to be in some very tricky places when a seizure occurs. My first experience was when I was sat down. Sounds fine doesn’t it? If you’re going to have a seizure at least be relaxing on the sofa. Only don’t have a hot cup of coffee in your hand and don’t be at work. One burns and the others raises questions about whether you can continue to fulfil your role at work.

I’ve also experienced a seizure in the shower, trapping myself behind the bathroom door. It’s embarrassing when you realise you were stark naked when someone you’ve known for years was trying to save your life! And the most dangerous of places, driving a car. Thankfully, someone was able to take control of the situation and subsequently avert the worst of fates. So falling down on the carpet does on the whole seem preferable!

The upshot of these periods in life, generally, is a visit to the local hospital, plus to your GP for a chat about medication and lifestyle. You do tend to visit these establishments more than most other people. Once you come to terms with your condition, these visits become routine.

Of course, there are other implications following a seizure. Giving up your driving licence, for example. Thus, relinquishing your freedom of movement. A bus pass can alleviate this, but it’s no replacement for the sheer joy of being able to jump into the car to visit your grandchildren. To use public transport takes time and planning beyond anything needed when you own a car.

There’s also work. There is a sick period to negotiate. When will you be ready to return, especially if the seizure occurred at work? It takes time for the fuzziness to clear, the last time for me at least two weeks. But what happens if your employer raises concerns about your fitness to complete tasks that before were seen as ordinary? What do you do then? The last thing you need is to be seen as either a burden or as a skiver! You just want to be able to return as normal. But oddly, you find yourself talking, explaining, justifying. 

In reality you know you can’t talk it away. You can’t explain it. And you know there’s not much point trying to justify it. However you came by your condition, you now have it and it isn’t going to go away. It will always be there lurking in the back of your mind, waiting to explode! Regardless of the medication you take, it will ride roughshod over your life. It doesn’t care where you are or who you are with. It is the devil within you!

But, despite it’s readiness to pounce, it is important to fight the temptation to dwell on your epilepsy. You have to queue up for the bus in the rain. You have to reorganise your work and recognise adjustments might have to be made. It’s important to fight for what is essentially a normal life, even if the style you’re accustomed to has to be modified.

But whatever the epilepsy thinks about you, you are still you! You still like the same tv programmes, the same music, the same holiday destination. You still love the same people and more importantly, the same people still love you.

You might not be able to beat epilepsy, but like everyone else, you can lead a satisfying and successful life with it.

This article has been edited from a previous blog.