The PR Blog

Back in 1904, HG Wells wrote a short story about a man who stumbled into a forgotten kingdom where everyone was blind. He thought that would give him incredible power because he possessed something that they did not. The ability to see.

He soon learned that his gift of sight was seen by the villagers as an affliction of the brain that must be caused by two things on his head that he called eyes. They pitied him and, instead of being a gift, the eyes were perceived as a curse, an illness and a disturbance of his brain.

It did not take long before the man realised that, when surrounded by the blindness of ignorance, knowledge itself was an enemy to be ousted and eradicated.

From the beginning of the Covid panic, it felt that something was very wrong. Never had a pandemic, much less a seasonal pathogenic wave, been treated as a quasi-military emergency requiring the upending of all freedoms and rights. 

What made it more bizarre was how alone those of us who objected felt until very recently when Elon Musk finally bought the platform Twitter, fired all the embedded federal agents, and has started to release the files. 

World poverty is a burden to be shared, but there is another principle now widely recognized. Poor countries will emerge from poverty only when they take full charge of their own destiny.” 

The 2017 comedy Daddy’s Home 2 has become one of my family’s favorite Christmas movies.

One of the reasons the movie is such a hit is that it has not one but two hilarious scenes featuring one of the greatest Christmas Songs ever written:

“Do They Know It’s Christmas.”

Samuel Pepys is probably the most famous diarist in history and his words are treasured throughout the English speaking world. A politician from the 1600's, he captured the spirit and soul of Britain in those days of an era  we no longer recognise. Though, in some cases, perhaps we do, all rather too well.

As I sit here today, pondering my continuing annoying partially crippled state ( due to a rather unpleasant insect bite on my toe ) and inability to wander happily down to my car or take a stroll somewhere further than the rubbish bin, I read Mr Pepys most excellent diary entries for Christmas Day and Boxing Day 1663. 

Only minutes before midnight on Christmas Eve, 1953, the engine driver  of the Wellington  to Auckland express train will notch back  to walking pace  in a remote area of New Zealand's North Island's 'volcanic plateau. Most passengers  will be sleeping.