Why grassroots matters

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I would not normally do this, but the last few years have put me in touch with people for whom I have the deepest respect. I have met people who are literally the salt of the earth. I have been very, very lucky. I have also met their antithesis - seeking career boons, pensions, fast cars, money, with no care for the end game, or those it will affect.

I'm not sure I understand all of the truth and heart behind what is being done to make Broadband Britain happen, despite all the years I have been involved, but this poem and Panchatantra help.

I know, sadly, that there are many out there who pretend to be behind the 'cause' but I think this might be the test to prove their value to the UK Endgame.

This blog post can be read at http://5tth.blogspot.com

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream–and not make dreams your master,
If you can think–and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings–nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And–which is more–you’ll be a Man, my son!

–Rudyard Kipling