A Painful Experience. Why am I so Interested in British Politics? Farming Upheaval.

On average, near 10mm of rain every day this week, with glimpses of the sun

The day before I posted last week's blog. I had a painful hospital visit. I went to see my surgeon to review the success or lack of success of my Adjustable Transobturator Male System (ATOMS) and the necessary adjustments as required to increase efficiency. Simple, yes, but no! Regarding its results so far, I can now sleep through most of the night with a single pad change, not out of necessity but as a precaution, whereas before it entailed numerous changes and a continuing fear of a wet bed. Best described as a horrible thought in the back of your mind every night before sleep, one of those lingering fears that keeps you awake. Although still incontinent, it is much better; even during the day, there is improvement. So, in light of this, the surgeon suggested he add more fluid to increase the pressure in my urethra to lessen the leak, so to speak. This is done through a port in my scrotum using a special needle. Unfortunately, my nether regions, particularly my scrotum, sorry ladies, are still very swollen from the implant procedure one month ago. It had also moved, and despite using X-rays a couple of times, he failed to insert the needle into the port; thereafter, he decided to leave it for a couple more weeks, hoping the swelling would reduce. Hence, an excruciating visit. I now have another appointment in two weeks, when he has set a day aside, and if there is further difficulty in hitting the entry point on the pod, he may carry out minor surgery to relocate it away from the scar tissue. 

During my time there, which included sending me for an X-ray and not being satisfied with the result, escorting me himself down to the X-ray department and supervising the exact target area for the best image, he spent time explaining what was happening to both me and Rozanne, who had accompanied me. She did look out the window during the actual torture. When he told me to come back in two weeks, remember this is a renowned, very busy urological surgeon; he even asked me what time I preferred. It may be painful again, but I am so impressed by his efforts to make my old age more pleasant. Gobsmacked would be closer. Together, we made the appointment for Thursday, the 11th, and I will only be able to report back to you in two blog posts. Fingers crossed. I have often said old age is not dull; mine certainly isn't.

My Sopa da Pedro. This is my portion!!!

Most days we go out for lunch, except on Sunday, since it is cheaper than cooking for two at home. Last Sunday, I made oxtail and invited some friends, the Tideys, to share. One of the meals we had this week was Sopa da Pedro (Stone soup), which is a soup served as a main course, very much a meat broth with pork offcuts (including ears) and chorizo.

When I went in for surgery a month ago, I did not know I was going to get this so-called ATOMS, rather just a simple sling and was surprised they carried out this expensive surgery and placement of this state-of-the-art equipment. After all, I am old. The procedure and device are not cheap, so that got me wondering why I hear about how hard it is to get a hospital bed, let alone treatment in the UK, compared to here in Portugal. Even the cost of private healthcare procedures here in Portugal is so much cheaper than in the UK. So, I turned to AI to research it and came up with a startling average figure for a hospital bed and treatment in both countries: Portugal at about £250 per night with treatment, and the UK at over £1000; that is the cost to the respective countries. The UK spends four times as much as Portugal does. Why? This is the trouble with using AI: one question answered always leads to more questions, so I decided to look at doctors' and nurses' salaries. While UK salaries are substantially higher, they are still less than double those in Portugal, meaning the majority of costs in the UK go to administration and utilities. It also said that primary health care and other criteria were better than in the UK, and that access to private treatment was much easier and cheaper. I think this is perhaps an indication that many state-funded services in the UK are heavy with pen-pushers; that is, bureaucracy, and light on practical service providers and workers. At the same time, private medical professionals charge more in the UK. Remember when I had a delay, they offered me to go private at their expense, but I declined, preferring to stick to the surgeon I knew. I am also sure that senior management salaries will be much higher in the UK than here in Portugal. Just an exercise I carried out in my recuperation boredom, but it makes you think about the efficiency in the public sector in the UK.

That now brings me to my next subject in this blog. Why am I so intrigued by British politics? To a man or woman, I have little respect for the present political ruling class in the UK, be they in Whitehall or Holyrood. My original interest was in how the British dealt with their former colonisers, especially us in Zimbabwe, and, importantly, in the confiscation of our property, the loss of our farms, and our legal right to compensation. Why did they show so little interest in their citizens, former citizens or their descendants in Zimbabwe? That is, in short, to try to understand their psyche. Obviously, when I was the president of the Commercial Farmers Union (CFU), I came across many British politicians, diplomats, and technocrats, including, before that, John Major when he visited Zimbabwe in 1991 at the beginning of the farm listings, and notably Malcolm Rifkind when he was foreign secretary in the mid-nineties. Luckily, I never met the Labour Foreign Secretary, Robin Cook or that troublemaker, in Zimbabwean terms, Clare Short, the Labour Minister of Overseas Development and Mugabe’s favourite sparring partner. I have met many since, and few have given me any confidence in their ambition to right the wrongs of the world; they're focused on self-interest and on promoting their personal biases, shaped by perception rather than reality. Rifkind was actually easy to talk to and knew more about Zimbabwe than most, having lectured on constitutional law at the University of Rhodesia in the 1960s. As the years went by, in my view, the leading figures in the two main parties seemed to have merged in mind and in action, making it harder to differentiate between them. 

I always thought that, at least, their actions were to the detriment of their offshore citizens, like us, and of foreign powers, until this new Labour government took power following what I thought was a poor Tory government. It now seems pretty benign, while it seems Starmer’s goal is to attack those productive citizens, business owners and workers with his party immediately showing a preference for the unemployed, malingerers, and immigrants rather than supporting the working man, small business, while maliciously openly attacking the custodians of the countryside by putting an inheritance tax on farmers, a threat to the existence of the family farm. Meanwhile, it will not affect the growing number of corporate farmers, the claimed target. Idiots! Grants to reduce the cost of food production are increasingly being replaced by grants directed to environmental projects that are not necessary for the good of long-term sustainability of the countryside without continued financial support, thereby promoting unproductive farming practices at the expense of crop and livestock production. Cheap cereal imports have protected consumers from bread and cereal price increases, but they have not done so for red meat products, as sheep and cattle numbers decline, mainly on marginal family farms. These prices have risen substantially. Further, the country will rely more and more on imported foodstuffs, which will not necessarily be grown under the standards required by the British farmer. Similar to the killing of local industry for Net Zero targets, while more than happy to import finished goods manufactured by dirty, cheap fuels abroad. Now they, Starmer and the Chancellor, lie about the state of the economy, not just to the people but to their cabinet, to increase taxes to cover a non-existent deficit or a so-called ‘Black Hole.’ Why? Perhaps to claim they fixed a broken economy, which was not broken, and at a later date, perhaps approaching an election? Who knows? They even attack those flying their own country’s flag. As I have property in the UK, which I rely on for my pension and pay taxes on, I do watch the political shenanigans there, as I feel that is the best description, with trepidation. I do know in this country, Portugal, they are proud to fly their flag and their nationality, why can't the British? My disdain for them has turned into disgust.

“The actions of the government of Britain in their dealings with Zimbabwe have only substantiated my perception that the statement, ‘Perfidious Albion’, is very true.” - Peter McSporran

Back to mid-2001, with the farms in partial disarray, settlers planting maize willy-nilly on Mede, Rydal and Wellesley farms while Diandra farm was still fairly unheeded, although we had daily visits from the ‘war vets’ with various demands or scurrilous actions to cause havoc. For instance, if they planted crops on your land unprotected by fences and your cattle ate them, it was a significant cause of conflict, an example of one of many tools of disturbance in our farming operations.

The Zimbabwean side of the Zambezi escarpment heading for Chirundu

I rejected most of these demands despite the intimidation, as did all my managers, but they were under increasing pressure, especially Tommy Billar on my Mazowe farm: Rydal, where he was very much on his own. We decided to plant another tobacco crop on Diandra and Mede while stopping all cropping on Wellesley. At that time, Alistair Smith and I leased Wellesley in partnership from Hamish and Nancy Black, who had earlier left for the UK after seeing the writing on the wall. We had an option to buy, and that year, they approached us to exercise it at an adjusted price to account for the crazy inflation in the country at the time. We decided to reject it, as by now I knew, unless by some miracle things changed, all the farms would be taken with little chance of compensation. Shortly after that, the farm was designated for confiscation for resettlement, although we still had use of the house and grazing. It would have been useless to try and grow a crop. Therefore, Andre Billar, the manager there who was Tommy’s brother from Rydal left us to go exploratory mine drilling, and Ian (Rinty) Lindsay returned to help us wind down the farms as they were taken over, as he had already lost his farm and took the time to help me and give him and his young family an interim income and temporary home. I have much to thank Rinty for, especially in moving equipment off the farm over the next year when he could, and for selling the livestock. Remember, the threats were real, and beatings were common, and death threats were now a real threat. Thank goodness I was not there when all the cattle went to the abattoir. In the meantime, I continued driving up and down to Zambia almost on a bi-weekly basis.

The Zambian side of the Zambezi escarpment

In mid-year, Choppy and Karen Steyn said they would like to leave, seeing no future in remaining and having been offered a joint venture in an export roses project with their brother-in-law, Peter Tate, on Richard Tate’s farm in Matepatepa. They thought a small, intense export rose project would be left alone, after all, Mugabe said he did not want farms of less than three hundred hectares, yet another lie. I suggested that, despite Richard thinking he could retain the farm, it could well be a misplaced hope. Sadly, I was right. Choppy approached me in the early nineties to take over management of my farm workshop, while Karen was my administrator and confidante in many ways. Choppy moved up from workshop manager to farm manager growing tobacco and hypericum for export on Mede. For a while, he even grew mushrooms for us. They were both loyal, hardworking people who became close, worthy friends and remain so to this day. I could not deny my little empire was truly under threat, and there was nothing I could do. As Choppy and Karen were leaving, another manager who had lost his job due to the invasions came to work for me. Wayne and Joey Marais were also to prove themselves trusted employees in the most challenging circumstances during that torrid time. Wayne, the farm manager on Mede, and Joey, a fantastic administrator. From their first day on Mede, they had to contend with the resident farm invaders. We have remained friends since, and now, after many years working for Irvine’s, they run their own small engineering business converting vehicles for off-road trips.

Disclaimer: Copyright Peter McSporran. The content in this blog represents my personal views and does not reflect corporate entities.