This was Canada

I was listening to Radio 4 the other day. (You might think this unremarkable, but it was. I still have not forgiven the BBC for its lack of journalistic rigour in their reporting of Brexit. The kind of thing I mean is where, in the name of ‘balance’ they would just squeeze in one more charming interview with the likes of, say, former Tory MP and leading Brexiter Andrew Bridgen (later expelled for comparing Covid 19 vaccinations to the Holocaust and for breaching lobbying rules) for his views on the ‘merits’ of a no-deal Brexit. The World at One and PM, I’m looking at you. As Naomi Jaffa has warned us, the Today programme went Daily Mail years ago: it’s been ten years since I listened. But Brexit was something else.) Mid-morning, on a coffee break. Today is long gone and WATO and PM have yet to set out their grovelling wares. Woman’s Hour: Bingo.

Something weathered in the voice that greeted me, a bit creaky, like worn mahogany. Pin-point sharp, too. Trained by my father as a child to guess the voice of a speaker without it being announced, I plumped straight away for Margaret Atwood. She said:

This was Canada. You didn’t think you were going to be successful. You thought you were going to be dedicated. It wasn’t considered a career, it was considered a vocation, like a priest.

Margaret Atwood, Woman’s Hour, 5 November 2025

And I thought: that’s it. That’s all I need to listen to. Nothing can improve upon its wisdom. (I was wrong: the whole interview is studded with such nuggets.) Thank you, Radio 4, I take it all back. My other thought was: that is a proper poet’s answer. It’s basically the same thing a prizewinning friend of mine said to me a thousand years ago: ‘I don’t write for prizes. In the end, the process is all any of us have.’

The coffee now made and the stairs climbed, I shuffled back into my chair, took a sip, and reached for my notebook. Where had they got to, those lines about the [———-]? Could they be worked on for a moment? Could I remember again my vocation and commit to being dedicated? I gazed out of the window. This was not Canada, but Plymouth, in the rain. It turns out I could.