Exactly 20 years ago yesterday, my wife and I arrived here with little more than a couple of suitcases and the clothes we stood up in. We had never been happier.
A year and a half later and we were in our own home. No furniture or much else, but we had it, and achieved it without help from anyone. Certainly not from the “government initiatives” which give local panhandlers social and economic advantages over anyone who actually works for a living.
It’s been ….interesting!
I was returning almost a decade later to a place which had a certain charm – despite being a racist, sexist, homophobic backwater. The thing is, (unlike, say, the US) it doesn’t matter if Manx politicians have double digit IQs because nobody has enough power to do serious damage. Far from moving forward, in 1998 things seemed to have gone backwards, to my astonishment and delight.
My wife also quickly learnt to love Manx idiocies. Take, for example, the evangelicals who run “mercy missions” to East Europe or Africa, where their victims fall about laughing at Westerners who barely know how to flush a toilet, yet seriously expect to run schools and hospitals.
But then, if you grew up in a place run by goons like Ceaucescu, you would be amused rather than alarmed by a place where illiterate peasants still run things, but lack the guns or gulags to keep the literate in line. Even funnier, our mighty finance sector now depends on clients in post-Stalinist countries it once mocked for failing to adopt free market principles. Oh dear, how quaint.
So have things changed in 20 years?
Well, yes and no.
The island has had to adapt to the realities of 21st civilisation. So much so that we – briefly – even had an openly gay Chief Minister before yet another fat farmer inherited the job.
But we still have to get by in private sector workplaces dominated by small town bores. It’s just that these days they are as likely to be descended from white-flighters as home-grown dimwits. Yes, I know, there’s always the bloated public sector, but people tend to inherit those jobs rather than actually applying, being recommended or getting asked.
Which does bring me to the worrying emphasis on “Manx culture”. George Bernard Shaw famously said that you should try everything once except folk-dancing and incest. On the Isle of Man they are the same thing, though – luckily – you never get asked if you aren’t part of the family.
I suppose, as a respectable tax payer, I should be worried by the increase in state-sponsored sibling sex. Curiously perhaps, I am not. After all, if they only procreate with themselves they are no threat to anyone else. Logically, there also has to be a point where, like the Neanderthal, they just vanish.
It may just be that I’m over-optimistic. That, in turn, may be because a week or so ago I started re-reading the wickedly funny, massively offensive (at least to the intellectually lazy) Auberon Waugh, so have developed false optimism that unrelenting humour can overcome unrelenting puritanism and stupidity.
But, in brief, in 2018 I intend to laugh more, mock more and worry less. And if that annoys anyone, it will cause further amusement and mockery.