Who is at liberty to inflict such hurt?
Dear Sir, — Today is not an anniversary of any sort in my life but while undertaking a bit of decorating I took time out to have a little sob. I almost felt a sense of guilt changing the decoration that has existed since my wife’s untimely death. That little essence of her charm, taste and industry is now encapsulated in Rectory Red; it took a lot of soul-searching to attempt it.
This is not my only reflection on former times.
My house is now to be cheek by jowl with a new extension to the property next door. I had tried my hardest to stop the intrusion but to no avail. Its allowance showed several things about our lives generally.
First and foremost, the housing ladder is broken. It is one thing starting on that ladder but one’s progress up it, previously one of easy steps; now, with such modifications as I am suffering, a take of interrupted progress, harder, for all the intermediate rungs are being wiped out.
I was staggered by the pusillanimity of the local council, the deference they display towards the planners.
I was dismayed by the blind acceptance of change by the planners that defer to central government. Anyone thinking that either organ of local government, elected or bureaucratic, will stand by their constituents is bogus. Local elections are an exercise in wasteful, useless historic continuity.
The final factor is the emotional upset of these machinations. Buying a house, we buy an environment as much as bricks and mortar. The image of home, its setting, is of fundamental importance. To have that aspect ripped out of your imaginings is stupefying.
The emotional aspect of planning decisions has no place in a system that is empirical.
If it cannot be weighed or measured then it is tossed aside. During the process, and at my worst emotional moment, I proposed that the circumstances were such as they could illicit self-harm; hopelessness, a tough bureaucracy and your meaninglessness in the eyes of the control mechanism demand a great sadness, for it conjures loss in one’s life.
Even the thought of my harm, of unknown proportions, brought about by the numbness of the core, was waived aside apart from references to mental health.
If it is a disability to have loved and lost who is qualified to treat such angst? Who is at liberty to inflict such hurt so irresponsibly?
Undemonstrative functionaries are placing valuations on our lives. We might as well just pass our life’s work on to them and ask that they distribute it in some mechanistic manner. — Yours faithfully,