Garden

I’m sitting in the garden for a change; it’s another beautiful clear, blue sky day, a warm spring day with not a single cloud.  When I first sat down I could hear a dog barking but that has stopped now, there’s just the road noise which is rarely far way, even in a lockdown.  The Co-op over the road is honey pot for this drone.  And a bee is buzzing somewhere close; the wind is making the gate knock in the lock, rustling the dead leaves and whispering through the fresh ones.

Somewhere in a nearby garden someone hits something metallic with a hammer, once, twice, three times…  The insect buzzing comes and goes; I still haven’t located its source.  What a way to spend a spring day, I’ll be confined so for a few weeks yet.

From across the road comes the rattling of shop trollies.  At the moment there are no birds in the sky and there seems to be very little birdsong but when I manage to retune my ears it’s there in the background.  When the human racket recedes it comes to the fore.  Away in the distance an emergency vehicle uses its siren and what must be a motorcycle goes through the gears as it heads east and fades to a murmur. 

A Dove flies over and another sits on an aerial a few houses away, two Gulls drift across the blue as well.  I walk to the far end of the little garden and back but don’t see any more birds in flight; the sound of their songs is becoming easier to pick out now though.  From somewhere comes the call of a startled Blackbird but I can’t see the culprit, I hear a duck quack and there it is, flying quickly towards the river valley.  Then a Wagtail passes over with its dipping flight never making it close enough to really see.

There’s been a buzzing since I sat down and I haven’t been unable to locate the culprit, then the penny dropped.  It was coming from the box that houses the gas meter.  I opened the door and let a confused Bumblebee have some fresh air; I wonder how long it had been locked down?

The Hammer sound has started up again, rhythmical and persistent, and from another direction comes the grind of some kind of garden or DIY power tool.  I suppose I am concentrating on the sounds because the vista is so small and familiar.  All I’m really doing is sitting on a garden bench which threatens to give me arse ache and writing the things that come to mind although my pen is a long way behind my brain.

So let me concentrate on what I can see for a minute or two.  To my left is a mini greenhouse that has surprisingly stood up to the winter storms but it doesn’t look like there’s anything growing inside that came with an invitation.  Beside it is a brick shed with a large wasp like creature paying close inspection.  It doesn’t want to be looking for a home as it will find itself most unwelcome.  I can’t prevent myself from unlocking the shed to investigate; a wasp nest is the last thing any home needs.  I open the door warily, the creature has found its way inside but is not part of a gang, it buzzes through the open door and past me, it sounded pissed off.  What lies inside the open door reminds me I want to go fishing.

Back on the bench, opposite me across the square of paving slabs sits a big black plastic chest and a small, green upright shed type thing, both of these house garden tools and stuff.  Beside the shed is an old plastic table which is covered in flowerpots which contain mostly dead things and weeds but they are splashed with wild sown flowers, mostly small Pansies I think? There’s a smudge of grey on one of the slabs because yesterday I made a fire…  Interrupted by a Goldfinch on the wire but it didn’t stay long enough for a photo…  Anyway I have a pile of Beech branches from this year’s scalping to dispose of.  In the space I have, building a bonfire and getting rid of it all in one go isn’t really an option, as tempting as that might be.  Instead I kept things small; the base was made from two foil dishes that brought quiche into the house.  These were surrounded by three pieces of broken concrete slab which provided shelter and containment.  I know how to build a fire because I was a Scout as a youngster and I know how to keep things safe because I’m not a fucking idiot.  Once it was burning I fed it with small amounts, little and often.  To be honest it will probably take about four more fires of a similar scale before the pile is disposed of, but hell I’ve got the time at the moment.

Now to my right there is Ivy growing up the fence.  It is looking a bit bedraggled as I’ve had a couple of bouts of hacking at it over the last few months.  It was starting to get too big for its boots and was taking the piss, threatening harm to the fence.  I expect we’ll be going toe to toe again before very much longer.  Then Shelley’s bike leans against the fence, shrouded in a dark waterproof cover.

Further round, the Beech hedge is starting to form the barrier it was planted for.  Most of the ten trees have leaves now to some extent, the foliage gets thicker every day.  A couple of the trees are well set now and all the leaves are the light, bright, fresh green shades of spring.  They will get darker as the weeks go by.  I have a good understanding with the hedge, as I mentioned, I scalp it every year in late march and bar the occasional trim I pretty much let it do its thing.  It has turned out an odd shape for a beech hedge but it does the trick and for most of the year it provides the privacy we are entitled to.

The lawn is not fit to be called such.  It is a small patch of green grass, beds of clover and dotted with dandelions.  It’s all pretty green so passes as a lawn in a way but it’s pretty patchy towards the fence and hedge.  Here most plants died because I could never be arsed with sweeping up the leaves but this year I made an effort.  I also supplemented the grass with the unwanted tufts that grew easily between the slabs, cleverly transplanting them to the bare patches where they would be welcome.  I’m keeping half the grass mown as normal but allowing the sparser areas to grow higher and carefully strimming when necessary.

Just as I’m about to go looking for more bird life two Pigeons fly over, will I see anything else at the other end of the yard?  No, just another Pigeon but there are still the teasing songs of birds unseen.  I pay close attention to the hedge and see that seven of the ten Beech trees have leaves now, just the fifth from the left, the eighth and the ninth are still to open buds.  The sixth from the left opened up first, followed by the fourth, seventh, first, second, tenth and third.  The ninth one (aka the lazy tree) is always last but I can’t guess which out of five and eight will be next.

Another pigeon flies over, its shadow crosses my page and a small white butterfly flits in and then up and away.  Now more persistent buzzing and up to my left a bumblebee appears to be courting with the flat roof, maybe the one I released earlier?  I like to think so.

How long have I been out here?  It could be five minutes, it could be half an hour and when I next look at a clock I’ll be none the wiser.  And still the sky as brilliant blue, still the east wind rattles the leaves and gate and the somewhere birds still sing.

Then something small and shrill lands on next door’s aerial, I’m pretty sure it’s a Goldfinch, yes it’s mate flies down into the garden while the first still sings and stands sentry.  A few seconds later the second Finch is back, it perches on the feeder for a second or two but I make it nervous so it hops atop the fence.  We both sit and eye each other; I am still and silent, he/she is fidgety and noisy.  Then it leaves and joins its mate, they fly away in unison but come back across the garden a minute or two later.  The Goldfinches have started to visit the garden regularly since the first leaves appeared which was eleven days ago now, for the first couple of lockdown weeks I never saw them.

The longer I sit here quiet and still the more things happen.  A Blackbird lands on the grass and skips around a bit, never getting within a couple of metres but my presence doesn’t spook him.  When he leaves I sneak to the corner and peer round; the Goldfinches are back, using the hedge as cover while they mount raids on the other feeder.  There are Sparrows here two but they are more interested in the splitting buds on the branches and are much braver than the Finches.  I suppose they should be as we pretty much cohabit, the last few years have seen then nesting both in the hedge and under the eaves of the house.  As neighbours go they are pretty good but they are noisy buggers first thing in the morning.

Lockdown insanity part 4

BoJo the clown isn't fucking funny.  Time for a rant.

It's all OK, BoJo is out of hospital and getting better every day and he'll make everything great again!  We'll it's the least he should do after allowing this momentous fuck up to happen in the first place.  That's right, our Prime minister BoJo the Clown, allowed this virus to get a foothold in the country, quoted on 1st March;  “A recession, that’s what I fear most” he deliberately put the interests of business before the lives of people.

At the beginning of the pandemic the UK government ignored the advice of WHO and scientists.  On 26th february Scientists urged for "an urgent lockdown to save lives..."

In January the UK government (Hancock) lied about the country’s readiness for a potential pandemic.
In late February the Sunday times reported Dominic Cummings saying the government policy was "... Herd Immunity, protect the economy and if that means some pensioners die, too bad"

The UK government saw what was happening in Italy and Spain yet chose to follow exactly the same course of action.  

An earlier lockdown would have nipped the pandemic in the bud.

Professor Helen Ward – “It’s very sad that so many people have died, and so many more are desperately ill because politicians refused to listen to advice.  We said lockdown earlier, we said test, trace, isolate.  But they decided they knew better…”

Why were Athletico Madrid fans allowed to come to Liverpool when they weren’t allowed to watch matches in their own country?

05/03/20   A statement from WHO   "We are concerned that in some countries the level of political commitment and the actions that demonstrate that commitment do not match the level of the threat we all face. 

This is not a drill. 

This is not the time to give up. 

This is not a time for excuses. 

This is a time for pulling out all the stops.

Countries have been planning for scenarios like this for decades. Now is the time to act on those plans."

https://www.who.int/dg/speeches/detail/who-director-general-s-opening-remarks-at-the-media-briefing-on-covid-19---5-march-2020

Both Germany and South Korea dealt with the pandemic in a different and more effective way. Until 12/03 UK government followed the same course of action as Germany but on that date had a deliberate policy change that differed from Germany in moving away from testing and isolation.  As time has gone on Germany's death rate is 3% while in the UK its 13%

When the clown finally put the country into lockdown Facebook proles were rapturous, describing it as his Churchill moment.  (I'm not making this up.)  If anyone dared suggest it was too little too late they were obviously unpatriotic Marxists, me?  Really?

The NHS are heroes but they went into this fight under funded and without adequate equipment. On 18/04/20 the RCN said ‘thousands of nursing professionals from across the UK are being asked to work without the right PPE…’

Staff and residents in UK care homes have been thrown to the wolves.  These people have been forgotten and ignored and we will probably never know the true death toll.

Testing in the UK has been pathetic.  The government promised 100000 tests per day by the end of April but three weeks in we haven't reached a fifth of that.

New Stateman; The eleven days that may have cost the UK…  https://www.newstatesman.com/2020/04/eleven-days-may-have-tragically-cost-uk-fight-against-coronavirus?fbclid=IwAR20MlWGdOu2Cq-73-mPwMP8gQNoNZhTyBFygpRzQ-cNu0d-0ehsgNRHwVM

On the days where UK deaths hovered just below(?) 1000 the media told us to be happy because the clown is feeling better.

11/04/20  The BMA has warned that doctors’ lives are at risk due to inadequate PPE.  Hancock says NHS staff are using too much.  Another 917 deaths announced in the UK, the 10000 mark will be passed tomorrow.  The loathsome Priti Patel took the government briefing today and came across with her natural lack of empathy and no apology for the lack of PPE.  I doubt they’ll let her do it again.

In the interwebworld there are  FaceBook fuckwitts that believe this virus is an act of war by China, really?  To what advantage?  This is after years of the subliminal rhetoric we’re exposed to which means people make the automatic assumption; China = Bad, USA = Good, of course!  In reality it should be China = Bad, USA = Worse.  This same subtle mind control means these same people wouldn’t possibly believe the UK government could make a mistake, let alone knowingly trade lives for cash.

And the yanks are up in arms because ‘lockdown’ is getting in the way of their freedom’s FFS And that Trump creature is still inciting them.  Of course the Trump supporters should be allowed their freedom to spread the disease, just like they demand the right to sell guns to lunatics and both should be considered natural selection.

The other evening there was some kind of online concert where loads of ‘stars’ beamed themselves into our homes, playing a few tunes.  I didn’t watch it.  The Strolling Bones and that cunt MaCartney pratting about isn’t my idea of entertainment.  I’m not sure if there was any fundraising aspect to this or if we were just supposed to feel happy and grateful that these attention seeking bastards have given us some of their precious time.  If so, fuck off.

It’s quite a clever little ‘trick’ the Establishment is trying to pull off here.  Recreate the WW2 spirit, get everybody behind our army, in this case the NHS obviously, yup get behind the troops, cheering and clapping.  Everyone big up the NHS, pull together solidarity!  Then hopeful while everyone is busy flapping their limbs, perhaps most won’t notice what a total fucking cock up the government had made of things.

20/04/20  The British press is finally starting to get stuck into the government.  The Sunday Times highlights BoJo missing five COBRA meetings (really dramatic name for what is basically a bunch of Etonian wankers having breakfast but...)

   The Irish Times puts it nicely;

“Only a dysfunctional political culture could conclude that a showman, a proven liar, a fraudster with such limited ability, with such disqualifying flaws and such meagre track record is the one to lead any government at such a dangerous time”  449 more hospital deaths today.  Toll appears to be dropping.  BBC reports “Infection rates ‘flattening out’…”

Germany has started to ease restrictions, but they have handled the outbreak a lot better than us.

21/04/20  Social media shows than Piers Morgan (of all people) is continuing to get stuck into the government, more effectively than the new Labour leader thus far.  Reports that fake twitter accounts being set up in names of NHS staff, government propaganda.  And apparently the government is knowingly using flawed test kits.

Tory MPS Philip Davies, Caroline Nokes  Accepted free tickets to the Cheltenham festival in early march from a gambling firm (Ladbrokes/Coral) desperate to keep the festival (attended by 200000) open.  Cheltenham hospital is the worst affected in the whole west country.

I realised today that I'm becoming immune to the death toll, a month ago when it topped 100 in a day I was horrified, now it nudges a thousand (all added up...) and I'm barely moved.

A walk in the park

I’m out of the house around 0800, straight away the birdsong strikes me, a Blackbird on the crest of a roof proclaims its presence to the world.  I cross the road and walk down to meet the high street, here the buildings are tall, old and in some cases oak beamed, Needham Market is a lovely little town.  Just round the corner is a zebra crossing, here I cross and carry on past the bus stop with sparrows bringing the bushes to life then I turn right at the Rampant Horse (the Swan is behind me, we’re spoilt for pubs here, not that I use them) and through Station yard towards the railway.  At the far end the original red brick Victorian station building dominates the yard but it hasn’t been used for this purpose for many years.  To the left is a tunnel beneath the tracks, (a throwback to a bygone age when it was used for moving cattle) this takes me out of the town and into the countryside, of sorts.  ‘Needham Lake’ is basically a park with the aforementioned lake (really an old landscaped gravel pit) as the centrepiece.  We’re lucky to have this in the town, not just the lake but acres of meadow and woodland, an oasis in this semi urban setting.  The air feels fresh on my face and I can almost taste the morning chill.

I turn right alongside the railway line and walk through a gap in the hedge towards the tree lined lake.  It’s a sunny morning and the air is filled with birdsong; The Collard Doves and Wood Pigeons are unmistakable, I recognise the songs of Blackbirds and Robins but there is an orchestra of squeaks and whistles from species unseen and therefore unknown.  I walk on across a little meadow and up a slight slope then I can see the lake; the trees, reeds and foliage is turning green, leaves breaking from their buds, regenerating after the bleakness of winter.   There’s another walker going the other way and he nods a greeting but the regular old boy doing laps always looks straight ahead.  The sun is low in the eastern sky so I have to shade my eyes, the lake is mostly calm and the ripples of small fish can be seen breaking the surface every now and then.  More obvious is the aquatic birdlife cruising through the water surface; Mallards, Moorhens, Canada and Grey lag Geese.  I carry on along the tarmacked path, my attention now more drawn to the water than the flora, it’s the angler in me, I can’t help it.

At the far end is a paved carpark and brick toilet block, all nicely tree shaded.  There are platforms here for fishing, duck feeding and one used by a model boat club.  At this end I usually find feeding Carp and yes they are here again, mopping up the leftovers from the duck feeders.  There are at least two fish here, muddying the water and sending clouds of bubbles to the surface.  They would be easy to catch but I’m not allowed in these surreal times.

After watching the Carp for a few minutes I carry on, curving back on myself and turning back towards home.  There are more geese here, paired up as its breeding time now, they sit warily on the bank but they’re not afraid, humans here are usually a source of food but I will leave them disappointed.  To my right the river Gipping trickles slowly seaward, it’s just a weed choked stream come summer, a poor shadow of the waterway I knew as a child but if I could be bothered I’d be sure to see Chub in the pool above the mill, grouping together ahead of spawning in a few weeks time.  I’m approaching the end of the lake again now, here there are many tree lined islands set aside as a nature reserve.  This end of the lake is all trees, a little wood if seen from above and once again I’m surrounded by twittering birds.  I notice tits, both blue and great varieties.  To my right now is open meadow and across the other side another wood butts onto the river.  Here I often see rabbits but today just Magpies, Rooks and Jackdaw.  I cross the meadow, through another gap in another hedge and onto what is known as the ‘Camping ground’.  In a normal summer  we sometimes use this as a cricket pitch and the site of picnics for friends and our families.

I enter the tunnel again and leave the green hues and woodland settings behind.  I re-emerge into the urban setting again, houses, restaurants and small businesses, all concrete and brick.  Back through station yard again, back onto the high street for a short stretch then turn right into Barking road and a couple of hundred yards later I’m back home.

At the moment this is more than just a walk in the park, it’s more than just my daily exercise.  It’s an hour out of my comfortable cell; it’s my fix of fresh air and countryside, it stops my body from seizing up and maybe my mind too?  At times it’s almost an injection of sanity, or is it?  As I am not able to fish at the moment I’ve had to indulge myself in another form of collecting animals.  So far since the lockdown (God that sounds melodramatic) I’ve identified thirty four different species of bird either in/from my garden or on my daily walks.  The best specimen is probably the Little Egret I saw fishing in the river last week but today I saw a Buzzard from my garden soaring high over the Town, heading west towards miles and miles of open farmland.

But these walks are almost a source of contention or controversy, I actually feel kind of guilty when I leave my home and garden.  If I pass other people I give them a wide berth, as they do me.  Most people smile and acknowledge each other; this virus has actually made our town an even friendlier place.  Should I be confined within the Beech edged perimeter?  I know I’m entitled to that ‘hour’ out every day but you know what?  Some days I go out twice, there I said it, I confessed, I’m breaking the rules, I will be vilified by the moralistic Thursday hand slappers. 

It’s not like I’m mingling with people, I’m not risking spreading or picking anything up, I simply would not do that.  But I have been sneaking an extra hour walking through woods and fields where I rarely if ever see another soul.  Except my son who comes with me, but this is something we have done for the last year or so.  I’m assured that’s allowed, even though he is temporarily living at his mother’s house.  We don’t get too close; I’m not allowed to hug my son at the moment.

There are rules and there are rules.  If we are talking a game or sport then I will uphold the rules strictly and rigorously even when it’s to my own detriment (maybe why I’ve fallen out of love with football?) and I’ll be pissed right off if someone cheats.  But when it’s rules that a government has handed down then that’s a whole different issue, life has taught me that their rules just aren’t fair.  Government rules are like those of a casino, the house always wins.  And our government isn’t too keen on rules either, especially if they’ve been advised by the World Health Organisation.  I better stop now.

On the subject of walking it is not possible to be unmoved by the WW2 veteran captain Tom Moore who is walking laps of his garden to mark his one hundredth birthday and raise money for the NHS.  Last I heard he’d raised over £20 million which is fantastic.  But what nobody seems to question is why he or anyone else has to raise money for the NHS in the first place.

The Lemmy Effect

Lemmy died on 28^th December 2015.  For the uneducated, Lemmy was a musician who played bass for Hawkwind in the early seventies (and actually voiced their best known song “Silver Machine”) before forming Motorhead in 1975.  Motorhead played hard, loud, heavy metal and forged a successful career for forty years.  They may not be everyone’s cup of tea but were certainly a taste I acquired in small measures.  Lemmy (born Ian Fraser Kilmister in 1945) was renowned for his hedonistic lifestyle; he abused drugs and alcohol for over fifty years, he reportedly drank a bottle of Jack Daniels every day for over thirty years he also had a taste for Speed and LSD.  Because Lemmy had lived this way for so long it seemed he was invincible, nothing would ever kill him.  When he died it shouldn’t have been a shock but it was.

The death of Lemmy opened the pearly flood gates as in the year that followed celebrities started dropping like flies.  It was as if the death of Lemmy made their own mortality real and 2016 saw the deaths of; Glen Frey, David Bowie FFS!, Terry Wogan, Paul Daniels, Harper Lee, Jimmy Greaves, George Martin, Peter Vaughan, Keith Emerson, Greg Lake, Ronnie Corbett, Howard Marks (another indestructible), Carla Lane, Frank Kelly, Victoria Wood,  Caroline Ahearn, Prince FFS!, Leonard Cohen, Gene Wilder, Prince Buster, Andrew Sachs, Rick Parfitt, Liz Smith, George Michael, Carrie Fisher, Debbie Reynolds and the one and only G.O.A.T. Muhammad Ali.

But the Lemmy effect went further than giving famous people permission to die.  Something changed, as if the earth’s axis slipped fractionally and we’ve been spinning out of control ever since.  In 2016 the British people voted to leave the EU, which was the first step on BoJo the clown’s long plotted path to 10 Downing Street and yes that’s where he is now, after a couple of minor detours.  In the US that bag of bullshit Trump somehow found himself elected and we now live in a world where two of the biggest alleged democracies are governed by racist, sexist, homophobic bastards with an air of bullying violence and a background of almost royal privilege.  Has the world become a better, safer, healthier place since the death of Lemmy?  No, absolutely not.  Facts and intelligence have been replaced by soundbites, stupidity and outright lies.  Society is crumbling.

In just over three months 2020 has seen floods in the UK and wild fires in Australia, the environment is dying but the rich convince the stupid it’s all okay. The US clenched it’s muscles and threatened war with Iran.  Now a quarter of the world’s population can’t leave their homes, imprisoned by a disease that in itself is a symptom of a dying planet that has been allowed to spread by capitalist philosophy.

It’s all down to Lemmy, if he can die then anyone or anything can die too.  My theory continues; there is one more linchpin holding the earth on its axis and all my evidence suggests that this is Keith Richards.  If this is so even the most optimistic person will give the human race less than a decade.

It's Frothy man

It was my birthday last week and I don’t like a fuss at the best of times so the purple princess popped out for a take away curry.  Whilst she was waiting a woman walked in to order some food.  She was dressed in a big coat, with a hat pulled down low and a scarf wrapped around her face.  After placing her order she went out to wait in her car (a large 4WD of course)…  So if she was so scared of catching something she felt the need to mummify herself against infection, it begs the question; just how fucking bad is her kitchen?

How the fuck did we end up here?  Apparently it started in China sometime in November 2019 and was brought to the world’s attention on New Year ’s Eve.  Well it is a slow time for news isn’t it?  Another wild, scary disease in a foreign country?  A couple of years ago it was Ebola, before that SARS or something?  No drama.

But the story wouldn’t go away, simmering and bubbling without me paying much attention then fuck me the pot boiled over, people are fighting over bog roll in supermarkets and in parts of Europe people aren’t allowed to leave their homes.  When I was a kid I’m sure Corona was a fizzy drink advertised by a Polar bear with a catchphrase then at some point it turned into a Spanish beer, now it’s going to change the world as we know it.  The world has gone mad.

You see the problem I have stems from two undisputable facts that life has taught me; governments routinely lie and media organisations have their own agenda so can’t be trusted.  This is especially true in times of crisis.  We are not being told the whole truth here, to me that is unquestionable. 

At the beginning of the week BoJo the clown announced in very English terms that we were all basically locked down.  To be honest I was glad because normally I deal with the great unwashed on a daily basis and this was beginning to make me nervous.  Two more days tidying loose ends behind closed doors and I’ve been housebound since Wednesday afternoon.

Bojo the Clown has been feted as a hero by the Proles on Facebook, compared to Churchill by one which is probably fair if you only focus on the latter’s pre WW2 record.  But all the clown has done is read statements having consulted scientists.  People are applauding the fact he has managed to do so without fucking up in an obvious way.  This is how low we have come when a politician shows the merest competence he is applauded.  If the clown had listened to the W.H.O. three weeks ago we might have avoided the inevitable body count. 

A couple of days ago there was a nationwide round of applause for the NHS.  I was with them in spirit but slightly embarrassed to admit I’d got the dinner timing wrong…  I also resist following the crowd.  Especially as half the people applauding voted for government that sends the NHS into battle under funded, under staffed and under equipped.  Surely the British government wouldn’t do that?  Oh yes they’ve done it before, another war in another theatre.

The following day Bojo the Clown and Hancock the village idiot both tested positive for the virus.  They are a pair of cunts but I don’t wish them harm.  The irony does amuse me though.  I wonder how many people they’ve infected?

So I’ve read loads and written a little.  I’m going through the shelves of CD’s and playing gems I’d almost forgotten.  I’ve refilled the bird feeders but so far only spotted a grand total of eight species.  I’ve escaped from my open prison on two occasions, it was easy.  I went to the Co-op and bought milk, there was no bread or bog roll.  I also went for a little drive, a circular route through local villages, to keep the car battery charged, that was my excuse at least.  But apart from my good lady I haven’t been within two metres of another human in all this time.  Even my children are in other houses for the time being; my daughter hasn’t left her home at Uni for over a week and my son is with his mother because after his college closed, for a while I was the biggest risk to him.  That is a scary thought.

28^th March 2020, it’s hard to get my head around the fact that I’ve been put on house arrest by a disease that is sweeping the world and killing thousands of people.  It’s here in the UK and over a thousand people have died.  Is this a Stephen King novel come to life?  No it’s real, it’s happening and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

Anyway, here's a tune.

Old Scrote's day out

The morning was mild and breezy, as we drove to the lake I noticed Blackthorn and Gorse flowering on the embankments.  After an easy row down river, Isaac and I were fishing, for Pike as usual.  For some reason he’d forgotten how to cast today but he got his baits out far enough.  We both caught fish, I had the most but he had the biggest.  After a gruelling row back upstream we were back in the car by lunchtime, we have a full schedule today.

Into Town, the hairdressers first.  An old school friend has the scissors and the chat is nearly as fast as the snipping, during which he confirms what I already suspected, the young people today are consuming coke with the same nonchalance that we smoked weed. 

Onward into my dirty ol’ home town, at least that’s how it looks in miserable January, lots of shitty shops and vacant units.  It’s a far more multicultural place nowadays and this divides opinion.  It doesn’t feel as friendly, to me at least, but this isn’t down to skin colours as much as the vibe I feel.  I can’t help looking at the young women and not for the reasons you might expect.  I’m fascinated by the eyebrows, they look a bastard.  They’re all obviously drawn on, possibly by an infant relative and so obviously fake.  Then there’s the lips, all puffed up and pouty and yes fake.  As is the spray tanned skin tone, fake.  But I expect it all looks good on the social media portrait and that’s where they all mingle these days.  It occurs to me that they are trying to look like black women and they probably don’t even realise it.  Somewhere a fashion executive is saying “we got away with the eyebrows, what can we get the stupid bastards to do next?”  The other day at work I overheard a young woman say she’d spent “…nearly a grand on my lips…”, I know this will sound nasty but it was like spending money double glazing your shed.

Later, in the garden, the unidentified bush that squats in the Beech hedge is flowering.  There are some open daffodils too and the Snowdrops I transplanted from a waterside location are still surviving but definitely not flourishing.  I don’t know when the buds appeared on the Beech trees, they may have been there when the leaves fell off.  Spring is slipping in but winter hasn’t finished with us yet.

Evening.  I’m going gigging with the architect, well that’s what I’m calling him today.  As usual he is driving, the soundtrack is interesting, the conversation flows and spirals and goes off at tangents but fishing at the special place is an ever present theme.  We hammer along the A roads; A14, A11 then M11 and the further you go the more the concrete looms in and envelopes you before all the green has gone and everything is grey concrete or red London brick.  London.  What a shit whole.

We keep going, deeper into the labyrinth of bad manners that is the London road network.  The cars in front jump the lights and roar off.  We don’t but we catch up to the jumpers at the next set where it all repeats.  What is the fucking point?

We end up in Kilburn, parked a short walk from the high street.  All these London ‘Towns’ look the fucking same.  There are a few medium priced chain restaurants, loads of locally owned burger/kebab/pizza places and plenty of bookies.  A few grocers of various descriptions and maybe a Tesco express for those who don’t want to think.  And pubs, loads of pubs.  They all look grotty as fuck on the outside and our destination doesn’t disappoint but actually once inside I feel comfortable.

The bar is long and the Guinness is drinkable.  It’s a small room and it begins to fill until there are just enough people to make the gig not seem silly and the room retain a comfortable feel.  As usual we are the oldest people there, around us is a clientele that considers itself well trendy.  They look like students, not the cool bright ones, these are the misfits on the fringes.  Everyone gets hugged, except us two old fuckers of course.  There are several women with crap haircuts; long and straightish with high fringes that look like they’ve been self cut in the mirror using kitchen scissors, at 2 am whilst pissed.  Beside us at the bar the alpha male is wearing a tight, fluffy pink jumper beneath a black leather jacket.  He’s very demonstrative and has fastened onto a girl.  Everyone in the room knows these two will be fucking later and her mate looks like she wouldn’t mind joining in. And there he is!  The bloke who’s always in a crowd like this; Pixie boots, a long dark coat and shoulder length dark hair with a bit of a curl.  He’s the one with the funny face, looks a bit like Jim Kerr from Simple minds, you know him, he's always at the gig.  He's cool, he's different, he's quirky and he always leaves alone.  I know blurring the genders is cool these days and there’s lots of things I’m not sure about in this room.  This is not a comment, merely an observation.  Who am I anyway?  The oldest cunt in the room with my equally uncool and almost as old scrote of a friend.

The first band comes on and almost straight away I wish they’d fuck off.  There’s a bloke standing on the left with smart hair and a tracksuit twiddling knobs and poking things.  Sitting in the middle is a shaggy haired kid and he too is twiddling things, with such concentration he can’t raise his eyes towards the audience.   And on the right another lad who looks like he may in the past have fallen into farm machinery is merrily thrashing a guitar and growling into a mic. 

I don’t know what the fuck they’re trying to do but it’s painful.  At first I thought someone might have spilled beer on the equipment and the one sitting in the middle was some kind of engineer trying to keep everything working.  Then I thought maybe the guitar player was actually a puppet on strings being controlled by haircut on the left which meant the lazy bastard sitting down was still the engineer.  Then I sussed it.  I was actually watching Scooby doo.  Fred was standing up on the left, Shaggy sitting down in the middle and Scooby was playing the guitar.  I couldn’t spot Daphne or Thelma in the audience but still my revelation meant I enjoyed the show on a different level.  Fair play to them for having the balls to give it a go but the noise they made was crap.

The next band on was the one the architect had dragged me to see.  The line up consists of two members of his favourite band doing what they call a side project.  ‘Jade Hairpin’ were very good.  I suppose I’d expected punk as that’s what they usually do but this was nothing like.  If anything it was more like the guitar Indie/dance music that I have loved since the nineties and I really enjoyed it tonight.  Mike and Jonah are brilliant and were in their element.  They know they are good, they ooze confidence and swagger and are totally comfortable in this environment.  I don’t know who the other two musicians were but they were good enough to keep up in talented company.  Jade Hairpin may well disappear soon but they may have a better chance of radio play than the band from which some of them came.  The architect has converted and convinced me; Fucked Up are a truly great band.  Hard core punk will put many people off but beneath the waves of sound Fucked Up have guile, intelligence and variety.  ‘Dose your dreams’ is a masterpiece.  But they weren’t playing tonight, Jade Hairpin were and they were bloody good.

The final band of the night was called ‘Hi Viz’ and they were angry, shouty punky people with heavy metal guitar solos thrown in who I also enjoyed but to be honest they didn’t leave an impression that will last.  They were good at what they do but for me had nothing that made them stand out.

Back in the car, it’ll take a couple of hours to get home.  On the way out of the capital again, in the dark the shopping villages glow out with their illuminated signs screaming.  ‘Buy Stuff!  Buy Stuff!  Buy more stuff!  Have you got enough stuff?  NO!?  Well you can buy more here…  Buy buy buy.’  Then a bit further a sign advertises storage, ‘Store the stuff you’ve bought here’, and then a bit further’ Insure your stuff here!!!’  And when you’ve done buying or have run out of storage you can hire staff, ‘Plant hire & stuff’.  All of them are saying the same thing.  “Give us your fucking money”.

And nobody questions it.  Wherever we go we are bombarded by it.  ‘Buy Stuff!’   We get home and switch on the box ‘Buy stuff!’  The postman stuffs stuff through my letter box; it says ‘buy stuff’.  It’s probably printed on recycled paper which is kind of ironic because within seconds of scooping it off the mat I’m dropping it into the recycling bin.  (Which I didn’t buy, it was an old kitchen bin I recycled.)

The roads get bigger and quieter; London is swapped for the great concrete ring fence that encircles the jungle with a wall of pollution.   The signs try to swindle us with a road closure but we ignore them and sneak through before the cones go down.  We leave the city glow behind us and head off into the dark, it’s a starry night out there, clear skies so the temperature is dropping fast.  We’re sitting comfortably in this warm metal box on wheels heading deeper into the countryside and what we call sanity.  I’m going to be fucking knackered in the morning.

Where's my milk and honey?

I voted to remain and although initially pissed off with the referendum result, over time I just got bored of the shit show and tried to ignore the whole thing.  But I can't ignore that this is the closest thing to a real democratic vote this country has ever seen and I have to respect that vote even if I don't like it.  I don't have a problem with that bit.   The vote was held after campaigns from both sides of the argument that were farcical, full of misinformation, lies and what you and I call bullshit. We didn't really know what we were voting for.  That is the bit that itches my arse.  

"Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind."

I agree that the EU is a farce of fuckery.  It is a giant cow pat of bureaucracy; undemocratic, corrupt and cruel; it badly needs reform but then Westminster is all of those things and its a whole lot closer to home.  No matter how bad Brussels is, our own parliament is a hive of bastards, hopefully the real problem will now be more obvious.

"The English electoral system, for instance is an all but open fraud.  In a dozen obvious ways it is gerrymandered in the interests of the moneyed class"

You see the trouble with Corbyn was he gave the likes of me hope, but too much media shit stuck and it was never going to be allowed to happen.  What we need now is a socialist successor without the smears who can ride the tide of muck that will inevitably be hurled her way.  Ultimately we need electoral reform, true proportional representation and we might not get the former before the latter.  

"We shall have to fight against bribary, ignorance and snobbery.  The bankers and larger businessmen, the land owners and dividend drawers, the officials and their prehensile bottoms will obstruct for all they are worth.  Even the middle classes will writhe when their accustomed way of life is menaced."

Reading back I realised I've used a reeking pile of fecal references, this wasn't deliberate but it does seem to fertilize things appropriately.  All of the quotes were written by George Orwell in 1940, during the darkest days of the war.  Europe as a whole is in a much better state than back then, thank God.  Unfortunately English politics and English politicians are a fucking sight worse.

"... a few rich men and their hired liars..."

But the last word goes to Johnny.