MP Jo Cox’s outstanding legacy is the ongoing sharing of her shining statement: that we have far more in common than that which divides us.

I say it to the kids all the time now. Especially after the Manchester bomb. Also when they’re punching each other.

We know it’s true. Or at least, mostly true. And we need to especially remember it at a time when our nearest and dearest may have voted in a way that makes our bones shake and our mouths say things like BE GONE FROM MY LIFE YOU CONTEMPTIBLE TORY TIT-RASH.

I’m sure even Treeza and I have more in common than that which divides us. We both have vaginas. We both like a statement necklace and a bold lippy. Aside from the demeaning female biz, I am convinced (coz I is a professional psychologist) that she is clearly tormented by my kinda grief, pain and extreme self-scrutiny which, left unresolved, have caused her to lose aspects of her humanity; crucial ones like not killing loads of disabled people through wilful neglect…the woman needs therapy.

Jezza and I have more obvious shizzle in common what with us both giving a hoot about other humans, some of whom we don’t even personally know and some of whom might be *gasp* Muslim. Also shared is our general approach of cracking on with things in the company of many others, shored-up by the shared knowledge and opinions of our fellow humans.

But then Jezza’s also tee-total which is a hefty friendship-barrier for me, plus he’s veggie so I’d feel murderous gnawing at my beloved medium-rare rib-eye in front of him. Apparently he celebrated his “win” with a decadent glass of fizzy apple juice. I think we all know that fizzy apple is pure piss in a glass. Yet I’ll bet his tipple was savoured far more than Treeza’s expensive brandy, mixed with the bitter tears of hubris.

I also know Jo Cox’s statement to be true on a more personal level when it comes to my marriage, where it would seem Gwyneth and I have far more that divides us.

Example: Gwyneth likes to start the day with litres of this:


This is not my hangover in a bowl. This is a ‘green juice’ which he CHOOSES to drink and “ENJOYS”.

I prefer these for breakfast:


He is flummoxed by my inability to close any door:


(That is an actual image of my actual kitchen taken the other day. No staging).

Whereas I have to live within the confines of this rigorous storage system:


(Please be assured that were it not for Gwyneth, there would be no need for a ‘dried fruit, nuts and seeds’ box…)

Rather than form a coalition of chaos, we have, over twenty years, striven to reach a harmonious balance. He spends a good deal of time closing doors. I spend a good deal of time suppressing the gag-reflex. He would no more insist I take a sip from that devil’s cup of green juice, than I would demand he join me in the imbibing of delicious nicotine.

This is called compromise and anyone who has been in any kind of long-term relationship, at work or at home, knows that if you don’t learn to let it go sometimes you’ll forever be finding maliciously placed biscuits in your ‘flours’ box.

So it’s lovely to see our “ruling” party putting Jo Cox’s rallying cry into practice as they seek to establish all they have in common with some of the most women-hating, abortion-banning, gay-bashing, fear-spreading, war-mongering “humans” in our Queendom.

I don’t think this is quite what Jo had in mind. I think in this case she would be pleading for them to establish quickly all that they DON’T have in common because sometimes you cannot and should not ‘let it go.’

P.s. This post comes to you later than planned due to crucial talks held in the interests of maintaining my coalition of compromise. (There was a biscuit in the ‘flours’ box. This marriage shizzle ain’t easy y’know)…