2023 has been a dreadful year: for the millions caught up in wars, obviously; but also in a far less catastrophic way for those of us in safer situations who are interested in politics, but without far-Right proclivities. The political Right – in the forms of ‘populism’, authoritarianism, nationalism, amoralism, anti-‘wokery’, and proto- or neo-‘Fascism’ – seems to have become the dominant and even fashionable current of the day; surprisingly to those of us who had been ensnared by the lazy liberal-progressive assumptions of the post-war years, and could not credit that men like Trump and Farage (and women like Braverman and Truss) could be taken seriously ever again. It has been a shocking engagement with the cold reality of – I would say – a virtually untamed global capitalist civilisation at its latest stage of development, and possibly – although I hope not, for fear of what may come after – in its death throes.

For me personally it has been a pretty low year, of physical and mental decline, whose nadir was a period in a UK hospital where a misdiagnosis resulted in terrible pain, until they put it right, but no righter than I was before I went in. Returning home I was put on several waiting lists for my various (non life-threatening) ailments, none of which however came with a definite date for a doctor’s appointment, which I was led to believe I would have to wait months for. That can be attributed to the dire situation that the UK National Health Service is in just now; due, of course, to Conservative government parsimony (and ideology), which may itself be a function of capitalism’s progress/decline. So a few weeks ago I upped and left England in order to benefit from my other citizenship, in Sweden, which has a functioning health service still. There I was granted appointments almost immediately.

I may stay here for good, with my beloved ‘sambo’ (partner) Kajsa, and for the first time a ‘room of my own’ (feminists will recognise the reference), which I can work in. I have various ideas for a short book and articles, but not (yet) the ‘get up and go’ attitude that will sustain them into print. Kajsa is still being asked to give lectures and classes at Stockholm University; which is encouraging at her (our) age. Maybe death isn’t the only thing worth living for in one’s eighties. I, on the other hand, seem to have dropped out of everyone’s reckoning – universities, the LRB’s review editors; the whole world of scholarship. I’m now passé. Hopefully my books aren’t.

More cheerfully: we’ve been summer holidaying as usual on Svartsö, with my children and grandchildren, as well as Kajsa’s. We’ve planned trips abroad – to the Baltic States, for example; but Covid, my relative immobility and the danger of a Russian invasion there have put us off that. Next spring, perhaps. My house in Hull is being looked after by our Ukrainian refugee family, who are getting it free, but at well worth the cost to me, by giving me the peace of mind I can never get when I leave the house empty. They are a real boon; lovely, sad people all four of them. I so much hope that they can return to a free Ukraine eventually. But not for my sake, of course. – I would have put up Palestinians; but the authorities don’t seem so protective towards them. We all know why.

Maybe 2024 will be better? It’s clearly going to be a crucial year, with several important national elections coming on. The UK one looks promising for Labour – although not my favourite variety of Labour. The coming US Presidential elections, on the other hand, look rather more alarming. Will the world survive another spell of Trump: almost the perfect personification, incidentally, of end-of-the-road capitalism?