Longform on David Marsden

You know, we might just win the World Cup

Fri, 03 Jul 2026 09:49:22 +0100

VAR instigated a retake of my old retake of Billy Bragg’s “A New England”.

I wasn’t even born when we won the World Cup I’m fifty-nine soon and all hope I’d given up My wife asks me now ‘Why don’t you be a better fan?’ But all the players I loved at school already failed for Ing-erland

I loved you then, and I love you still I bet you’d beat Ghana, it ended nil-nil I don’t feel bad about letting you know I just feel bad about letting you go,,.

You know we might just win the World Cup If we play like a new Ing-erland And win in normal time

I loved the games in Italia ‘90 But that was thirty-six years ago! I can’t believe what I’ve seen since then Every time we go down to ten men…

I saw two shots on goal last night I looked at them, they were the only highlights Is it wrong to wish on the BBC? I wish, I wish, don’t go to penalties

You know we might just win the World Cup If we play like a new Ing-erland And win in normal time

The Last Screw

Fri, 22 May 2026 19:41:51 +0100

Another DIY victory to add to my ever growing list.

Mum had her friendly neighbourhood gardener attach the two blocks of wood to the bench feet to raise it up so she could get on and off.

She then decided she didn’t want the bench after all, but it was too high to sit on comfortably for anyone else.

The blocks were attached with numerous long screws. Some came out. Some didn’t.

Having learnt from my earlier tortuous experience fitting a new toilet seat (full story still to come), I knew the best way to remove the remaining screws was to saw them off.

And (now I knew where it was) my trusty saw did the business right down until the last screw (it’s always the last screw).

I just couldn’t cut the last screw!

Of course! My trusty saw was a wood saw, not a hacksaw, and by now it could barely cut through butter (although it would certainly have melted butter, the blade was so hot). It was as blunt as the blocks I was trying to remove.

New hacksaw (and a few days to rest up) later, a couple of strokes of the fresh blade did the trick.

Now the bench is frankly a little low, but at least my bare feet can touch grass.

Live at the Counter Eurovision '79

Sat, 16 May 2026 23:42:41 +0100

“without the knowledge of your history you cannot determine your destiny”

Forty-seven years ago, Misty In Roots played at the Counter Eurovision rock festival in Brussels, in response to the Eurovision song contest being held that year in Jerusalem, and in solidarity with the Palestinian people.

Less than a month later, Blair Peach was murdered by the British police on the streets of Southall while defending the town from the National Front.

Ealing Council allowed the march of the fascists to go ahead despite a 10,000-strong petition from local people opposing it.

Clarence Baker, Misty In Roots' manager, was violently assaulted by police that day and left in a coma for five months.

Organist Vernon Hunt was jailed for six months on trumped up charges. He was so broken by this experience of state oppression that he never rejoined the band.

Today the British government allowed another fascist march in London on the anniversary of the Palestinian Nakba.

Today I dragged my 11 year old down to the Dominion Centre and Library in Southall to meet Misty In Roots in the entrance foyer and learn a little history.

The Dominion Centre is the site of the former Dominion Theatre where Blair Peach’s lifeless body lay “in state” for six weeks while thousands visited to pay their last respects.

This iconic photo of Misty In Roots outside the entrance now hangs in the National Portrait Gallery.

We came home with a signed limited edition red vinyl copy of arguably the best live album ever recorded. We spoke to some very nice people. And we bumped into my friend Happy.

And we met Poko, Kazi and Tunga from the band.

“if you’re not conscious of the present you’re like a cabbage in this society”

Apocalypse Now Then

Sat, 11 Apr 2026 15:47:13 +0100

Finished reading: In Plain Sight The Life and Lies of Jimmy Savile by Dan Davies 📚

In a preview to the dramatised television series of his biography, author Dan Davies says:

There is not a day that passes where I don’t wonder why I chose Savile. Of all the people to become obsessed with, to follow and agonise over, why did it have to be him? It is a question that provides no answer. The only consolation I can find is that my instincts were right.

I wonder why I keep being drawn back to Savile, but I will trust my instincts.

The opening chapter of Davies' book, “Apocalypse Now Then”, reads, deliberately so, as a litany: a nefarious late night excavation of Savile’s dead body; eulogies from the great and the good that followed his death; the absence of any knowing of the person who carried out the good deeds that earned the tributes from family, friends, and colleagues; the eventual and inevitable exposure of his lifetime of money-grabbing, psychopathic criminality; Savile’s ultimate immunity from it all.

The Magic Faraway Tree

Mon, 06 Apr 2026 15:15:30 +0100

Took my boys to see The Magic Faraway Tree. 📺

I always remembered my favourite primary school teacher reading The Enchanted Wood and The Magic Faraway Tree just before home time every day. I loved the idea of climbing up through the clouds into a new magical land. I’ve had my head in the clouds ever since!

My boys both enjoyed me and their mum reading the books to them, too. That’s so long ago for big kid now that he didn’t want to go to the cinema and miss out on his “device time”. So he was very pleasantly surprised and amused to find himself laughing out loud all the way through. He particularly enjoyed the school/prison scene which he said was “just like” his high school, haha!

Little kid got very excited/frightened when little Fran(nie) got stuck in the Land of Goodies and he thought she might not make it back to the ladder the the Magic Faraway Tree in time. He was shaking and jumping up and down in his deluxe reclining viewing chair. Later, he leaned over to me, clawing at me. I put my arm around him and tried to comfort him.

“Are you all right?”

I asked.

“I want to eat.”

He said.

“You want to leave?”

I asked, doing my best Saucepan Man impression.

" I want to eat, silly."

“You want your feet up?”

“DAD! I’M HUNGRY!!!

I magicked a bag of his favourite cheese and onion crisps from the darkness.

I found the whole thing very charming, funny, and really quite emotional.

I wished I’d brought more tissues with me, but it turned out that I had just enough in the end.

The Art of the Deal

Fri, 06 Mar 2026 22:32:00 +0100

Evolution of negotiations with my little kid during the last week:

Me: it’s time to stop gaming now.

Little kid: * throws gaming device across floor, attempts to decapitate me with a kung fu kick to the head *

Me: how about you get in the bath, count to ten, and then you can get out?

LIttle kid: TWENTY! Twenty and I’m in!

Me: hey, do you want to make a deal and get in the bath?

Little kid: ok. I’m in.

Trigger warning.

David Marsden https://davidmarsden.info/2026/02/08/trigger-warning.html

Custard Woman vs The Dark Lord

Mon, 09 Feb 2026 21:37:53 +0100

If you think America has it bad with a rapist paedophile president hell-bent on fascisting his way out of the international blackmail trap he happily stumbled into with his pants around his ankles… wait ‘til you hear about the UK’s current predicament.

Our rapist paedophile ex-prince aside, and the King’s late rapist paedophile man-of-the-people “jingle jangle” advisor aside, we find ourselves with a prime minister who thinks it’s ok to have a key political advisor who is best friends with a rapist paedophile.

Kiddie-fuckers are bad, but not so bad that you can’t stay in touch and even stay in their mansion while they’re in prison for fucking children.

Of course, its not even the kiddie-fucking that’s the problem. The problem is that the kiddie-fucker looks like he was a foreign asset or a spy. And the key political advisor passed on highly privileged sensitive information to this foreign asset.

Fuck the children! This is about national security and the national interest!

But remember, for all his faults, the key political advisor isn’t a paedophile, as far as we know.

Three strikes and we’ll chop off your broadband.

He does, however, have a history of fucking our children’s (and other poor people’s children’s) futures. He wanted to reduce aid to developing countries as long ago as 2005. And he wanted to expand Heathrow. And he wanted to cut off the internet for seven million Brits found to have downloaded copyrighted material.

Enter Custard Woman. Custard Woman bravely made some vegan custard (unusually smooth, according to her mum), dyed it green to match the green slime she imagined coursing through his’s veins, and promptly accosted him with it, throwing it right into his creepy, frightening-looking face.

To Mandelson’s credit, he brushed it off and carried on with his day. He reappeared five minutes later, custard-free, and claimed the custard was organic and non-toxic. If anything, he looked positively glowing and revitalised - as if he’d just received a hydrating facial massage and a blood/slime transfusion simultaneously. At no time did he complain of being assaulted, or of violent left-wing fascists, unlike modern-day far-right snowflake warriors. Although he did whine about a minor skin irritation on his face. Fuck him!

What brought all this on? Well I was going through my email archive to make sure I wasn’t inadvertently connected to Mandelson, Epstein, Savile or any other kiddie-fuckers or their friends. I a spirit of openness and transparency, this was all I found.

This, and a couple of messages from my fellow not a podcasters. One saying how creepy and frightening Mandelson’s facial mannerisms are. The other saying he is “worse than a bronchoscopy”.

Chilli On The Rocks

Sat, 10 Jan 2026 12:11:35 +0100

Made my usual chilli on Thursday. I must have been a bit distracted because I heated the pan up on a medium-high heat rather that the usual medium, making it too hot for the olive oil. Then I literally dropped the garlic powder jar into the pan (don’t tell the wife!). I got the jar out and thought, wow, that’s a LOT of garlic powder! I did think about scooping it out, but it was already burning and I needed to get the onions and cumin in the pan. I should have started over, but didn’t have enough oil left. Going against all LESS IS MORE principles I figured I could correct for the burnt garlic overdose by simply ADDING MORE STUFF. So I added more cumin, more turmeric, more sweet smoked paprika, more oregano, more jalapeños. It smelled and tasted pretty bad. I added vinegar and Kefir yoghurt, which made it look and taste more like a curry. There was tons of it.

The wife came home and had some for her dinner. She asked what it was (never a good sign). I explained that I added yoghurt to calm it down a bit. She ate it and said it was much better than my usual chilli.

I had some yesterday, and while it was edible, it was obviously (to me) totally overpowered by garlic. I don’t fancy any more of it if I’m honest.

Big Kid and the Umbrella

Fri, 09 Jan 2026 21:55:33 +0100

Big kid had lots of big ideas.

He wanted a big house so all his friends and family could stay and play together.

He wanted a big school so everyone could learn everything they needed to know.

He wanted a big hospital so that everyone could get the help they needed when they needed it.

But most of all, he wanted a big umbrella. In particular, he wanted his granny’s umbrella that she was going to throw away. The umbrella was very old, like an antique. In fact, it was Grandad’s old umbrella. Grandad had sadly died when big kid was a baby. He had cancer. Even though it was very old, and very dusty, big kid really wanted this umbrella. It was a shame to throw it away. And at school they had learned all about reusing old things and not sending them to landfill sites that poison the earth. And it was part of his family’s heritage. And, oh my god, it was BIG! It was a golf umbrella. Not that Grandad played any golf. But he did go on lots of walks in the rain to fetch things for Granny and get him out from under her feet. And now big kid could walk to school and back in the rain without needing to wear a big bulky coat that he would have to carry around with him all day. It would be perfect!

Big kid pleaded with Granny and his mum and dad, and eventually got his way (mum didn’t want “more junk in the house”, so the umbrella lives outside in the communal stairway). Granny is very pleased, and dad gets to use the umbrella, too, sometimes, when he collects little kid in the rain. It’s much better than those silly little umbrellas that snap and collapse in the wind and barely keep your shoulders dry.

Big kid is now very popular at school when it rains at home time. He’s always late home as he provides a sheltered taxi service home to all his friends. They all huddle together under his big umbrella and they walk each other home until he’s the last one and he walks home with his big umbrella all to himself.

Here’s where the story ends.

But in a parallel universe, big kid’s big umbrella becomes a source of envy. Bigger kids want it, and one big kid in particular has no problem taking it. He moves in, full of superficial charm, “Hey kid, nice umbrella! Wow, that’s such a big umbrella, kid. It would be perfect to keep me and my friends dry when it rains. Here, have some Haribos. They’re Tangtastic, your favourites. Let’s walk home together with my friends.”

Bigger kid has lots of stories to tell about how much better he is than everyone else, and, in particular, how much worse everyone else is, and why. “But me and you, we’re the same. We have my Haribos and my big umbrella. We’re a team!”

Big kid doesn’t really know what’s happening but he goes along with it because he doesn’t really have any choice. Bigger kid could just take his umbrella and leave him in the rain to get wet. Bigger kid could take away his Haribos. Big kid’s friends no longer talk to him, but that’s ok because they all soaking wet anyway, and bigger kid’s friends are all kind of bigger and drier. Although they do eat all of big kid’s Haribos. And big kid is no longer big kid. He’s little kid.

Soon, little kid’s big umbrella gets damaged and there’s a hole in it. The bigger kids were messing around with it pretending it was a sword. They stabbed a tree with it. Now not everyone is keeping dry in the rain and some people are getting very wet. Arguments start. Little kid’s umbrella is no longer a source of unity and pride among friends. It’s become a source of conflict and suspicion.

“Some kids are making us wet and need to be kicked out!” they shouted.

“That little kid is making us wet!” said bigger kid. “Kick him out!”

Now little kid has stopped having ideas. They’re dangerous. Bad. Crazy. Like him.

Things could have got better. Or worse.

Little kid’s dad noticed he wasn’t himself and he told his dad everything that happened. Dad spoke to the teachers at school. The grown-ups had some meetings.

Bigger kid told a pack of lies. He said little kid gave him the umbrella. He said little kid stole it from him. He said little kid broke it to stop bigger kid using it. Bigger kid said little kid was stealing his Haribos and selling them to bigger kid’s friends. Bigger kid took the umbrella back to protect it from little kid so that everyone could use it.

Bigger kid’s dad brought bigger kid round and made him say sorry.

Next time bigger kid saw little kid he punched him in the face.

I am bleeding

Mon, 29 Dec 2025 18:54:42 +0100

“AND I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH IT, TOO, IF IT WEREN’T FOR YOU PATHETIC, SINISTER, CHILDISH, MORONIC TYRANT CLOWNS!!1!”

Unsafe discharge and death by licorice

Fri, 28 Nov 2025 21:15:13 +0100

Mum moved downstairs two months ago. It hasn’t been easy. The previous occupiers, our neighbours, left the house a filthy mess. Me and my brother got the kitchen and bathroom cleaned on moving in day, but it was far from ideal. Another neighbour who I know from work/church repainted her walls and ceilings. A neighbour my wife knows weeded the garden and did some cleaning and washing. Little kid posts the dog jumpers and cat tea cosies she knits to keep her eBay customers happy. Big kid sweeps and mops the floor for manga money. Sainsbury’s deliver a crateful of cat food, fizzy drinks, snacks, and black licorice. The licorice keeps her “moving”. I make her a cooked meal every evening, empty the bins, and keep moving furniture around as and when requested. “When I get the place sorted I’ll be fine” is my mum’s mantra. Mine is more “you need to get your health sorted” and “tell your doctor”.

Mum looks set to move at the very start of next month. Moving house is the most stressful life event, and doing so when you’re 80, unwell, and from the home you bought expecting it to be your final home in the town where you went to school is harder. She’s handled it pretty well, to be fair, although the anxiety has kicked in the closer we got to the desired completion date. It’s not been easy for me, either, as there’s a limit to what I can do from a distance. It’s mostly “ask your solicitor” or “tell your solicitor” and trying to reassure her that everything will be all right in the end.

The first week she moved in, she banged her leg during the night causing a pretty horrible haematoma, which required a couple of trips to the hospital, the GP surgery and ongoing home visits from the district nurse. Yesterday morning I was on my third spoon of cornflakes before the school run when I received a text from mum saying she’d had a fall and was on the floor. Her other leg (not the one she banged before) gave way as she got out of bed and she toppled over on to her side. Remarkably, she didn’t break anything and had got herself sitting upright again, but obviously couldn’t get herself up. I couldn’t get her up either, which is probably just as well, as the medical advice is not to move them. My wife stayed with her while I took little kid to school. Paramedics duly arrived and very carefully assessed and treated her and recommended a trip to Accident and Emergency (A&E) due to her elevated heart rate and medical history. She did not want to go, but the alternative was to wait for a home visit from the GP in the afternoon and s/he would certainly call an ambulance.

After a day in A&E, and after I left her to pick up little kid, she was told she would be discharged that evening. They’d booked hospital transport to take her home, but I drove to collect her as it might have been a long wait. When I got there, she couldn’t get out of her chair into her wheelchair without the assistance of two carers. I wondered if she’d be able to get into and out of my car. And into and out of her bed. Without falling down again. There was general agreement that it was certainly a suboptimal arrangement. My wife, who is a social worker and deals with similar scenarios in her work, advised me that what the hospital was proposing is known as an unsafe discharge.

As soon as I uttered this magic phrase, mum was readmitted to A&E so that she could be discharged safely. She was not happy about that or with me, I have to say. And I can quite understand. Everyone just wants to go home and sleep peacefully, comfortably and privately in their own bed. Today she’s been reassessed. She now has a six-week care package in place for when she goes home so that she can regain her independence without putting herself at risk of another fall. They’ve done more scans and found new problems.

And, seriously, it now turns out that her long-standing licorice habit might be the single cause of some of her most debilitating problems.

Where You Been?

Sun, 21 Sep 2025 17:34:24 +0100

Everyone has been asking, so here’s the deal. Unless you count Butlins in a wet and windy Skegness (and I do), I haven’t been anywhere.

Nowhere that doesn’t have at least a flaky internet connection, or a sleeping family.

While I suppose I have been ill with what turned into an acute exacerbation of my chronic lung disease, that makes it sound worse than it was. I was still here, just under the weather.

Everyday activities became more difficult. Breathing became more difficult. But it’s carry on, or what? Throw in a few anti-sleeping pills and sleeping became more difficult. Concentrating became more difficult. For my sins, I did take a few weeks off work. But I did have a lot of free time on my hands.

As regular readers will know, I recently began excavating my old band Hovercraft from the analog archives of cassette tapes stored in cardboard boxes for thirty years. Why? Well, it’s not the first time, and it sure won’t be the last. It’s something I do periodically. Hovercraft were easily the best band I ever played in, and our life was cut short after an exhilarating nine months. I didn’t know why at the time, and I don’t know why now, but of course I have blamed myself aplenty. As well as Sir Gareth Southgate.

What better way to put all of that self-recrimination behind me than to reinvigorate the band, bring them back to life and tell the world how great we were-and still are?

With my old friend and bass player Aaron (aka Ron Nasty), I resurrected Hovercraft’s songs, created a website (hosted here on micro.blog), and began the boring, expensive, hard work of promoting our songs and searching for our lost singer/songwriter Charlie Pepper. We have a couple of big, exciting album releases planned before Xmas, and more than anything else this project has reinvigorated me, in between coughs and wheezes, and kept me going into the wee hours mixing, mastering and co-producing the whole package.

Another personal project I have been working on is a reorganisation of my website here, and more significantly, thinking about my “social” output and writing. I haven’t been very social recently, and I seem to be less interested or good at it as I get older. Plus, my time has been invested elsewhere. Anyway, I will keep at it, and will streamline my actual, proper writing so it all makes a bit more sense. I started by curating all my diatribes on local democracy and community activism and creating Southall Stories (also hosted here on micro.blog).

Yes, I am an investigative journalist! (According to Claude.)

Hopefully it will be a useful resource for anyone who is interested in all the political shenanigans in Ealing. Another archive restored!

Another personal project, and one I rarely talk about publicly, is my management of a one hundred strong online soccer management gaming community. This summer we celebrated ten years together - no mean feat at all. That’s kept me busy, too, and while the old website isn’t new (or hosted on micro.blog), it did get a makeover and some improvements, and another new website (hosted here on micro.blog) and community, and another archival project (created by Claude and ChatGPT with me as their copy and paste coding monkey like I was a teenager all over again).

Yes, I am a web developer! And an archivist! And a community manager! And (thanks to our AI overlords) yes, I am a coding monkey!

On the work front, which I haven’t forgotten about, before my recent illness, I developed a £1m+ funding application for a cross-borough youth project that will transform young people’s lives in two of the most-deprived areas in west London - and, we hope, support them to become our community leaders of the future. All very exciting, and not a little stressful - a lot depends on it being accepted and successful. I hope we find out soon if we get the grant.

Yes, I am a project development and sustainability lead! On an administrator’s salary!

On the home front, my kids are transitioning from Reception to Year one (so far so good, loss of afternoon playtime is the main complaint) and from Primary to Secondary (so far so good, all the other kids being so much taller is the main complaint).

Mum looks set to move at the very start of next month. Moving house is the most stressful life event, and doing so when you’re 80, unwell, and from the home you bought expecting it to be your final home in the town where you went to school is harder. She’s handled it pretty well, to be fair, although the anxiety has kicked in the closer we got to the desired completion date. It’s not been easy for me, either, as there’s a limit to what I can do from a distance. It’s mostly “ask your solicitor” or “tell your solicitor” and trying to reassure her that everything will be all right in the end.

Lastly, and least (and this has turned into a half-time team talk), I helped raise over £600 for my son’s school PTA. So not a bad half year’s work at all.

I might not have “been” anywhere, but I’ve been here, now. Breathing (sometimes with difficulty), creating, preserving, caring for others. Breathing new life into old. That’s not “nowhere” - that’s everything.

Mental Colonisation

Sun, 31 Aug 2025 08:23:26 +0100

The mind colonised by imperialism loses the ability to recognise atrocities when committed by the “correct” side.

Post-war Germany provides a clear example. After 1945, a defeated imperial power was restructured by Allied occupation forces who retained many Nazi officials while absorbing others into Western institutions. The Marshall Plan rebuilt infrastructure, but the deeper project was ideological reconstruction - replacing one form of authoritarian thinking with another that served new imperial masters.

This mental colonisation operates through historical trauma weaponised for present purposes. German guilt about the Holocaust becomes justification for supporting Israeli atrocities. “Never again” transforms from universal principle to selective protection, enabling the very crimes it was meant to prevent.

The colonised mind cannot process moral consistency. Someone who once offered complex geopolitical analysis reduces their thinking to partisan cheerleading. Resistance to occupation becomes “terrorism” when committed by the wrong people. Documented war crimes become “self-defense” when perpetrated by the right flag.

Most tragically, this mental colonisation makes Jewish communities less safe globally. When a state claiming to represent all Jews commits documented genocide while using Jewish identity as a shield against criticism, it creates backlash against Jewish people worldwide who had no role in these decisions.

The imperial project continues under new management. Whether we call it World War Three or an extended World War Two becomes academic when viewing the unbroken chain of interventions since 1945, each justified by the previous one’s consequences.

Mental decolonisation requires recognizing that principles apply universally, not selectively based on geopolitical convenience.

From Antisemite to Anti-American

Sat, 30 Aug 2025 21:21:30 +0100

When confronted with documented evidence of war crimes, defenders of atrocities cycle through predictable stages before settling on a final (final?) position: reframing opposition to genocide as “anti-Americanism.”

This evolution is telling. First came the antisemitism accusation - the nuclear option deployed when hospital bombings and destroyed aid trucks became indefensible. But when that weaponisation of historical trauma failed to silence criticism, the charge quietly disappeared, replaced by a more sophisticated imperial framework.

Now the same critic who was supposedly driven by “rabid anti-Semitism” gets recast as an anti-American contrarian. The accusations shift, but the goal remains constant: delegitimise opposition to documented atrocities through character assassination rather than evidence.

The “anti-American” framing is particularly absurd given the intertwined nature of Anglo-American imperialism. British special forces operate in Ukraine alongside extensive arms sales and military coordination with Israel. When Boris Johnson can veto Ukrainian peace negotiations and the UK maintains outsized influence in international organisations despite its declining economic power, we’re seeing coordinated imperial projects rather than American unilateralism.

The “special relationship” allows Britain to punch above its weight strategically while America provides the military muscle. Royal Marines in “high-risk operations” in Ukraine, deep military oversight of Gaza operations, and the historical legacy of the Balfour Declaration all point to British imperial continuity operating through American power.

Critics who oppose both British and American imperial interventions get labeled “anti-American” because the imperial mindset cannot process consistent opposition to coordinated oppression. It must choose sides in great power competition rather than opposing the system of domination itself.

The accusations will keep shifting - antisemitic, anti-American, whatever works - because the goal was never sincere concern about prejudice, but silencing criticism of documented atrocities.

Why complain?

Sat, 30 Aug 2025 08:11:58 +0100

Two years into Gaza’s destruction, you can trace the evolution of genocide denial in real time:

Phase 1: “It’s not happening” - Israel is only targeting Hamas, civilian casualties are minimal, reports are exaggerated.

Phase 2: “It’s justified” - Palestinians brought this on themselves, Hamas (“ISIS” - seriously?!) uses human shields, Israel has the right to defend itself.

Phase 3: “It’s normal” - War is ugly, these things happen, other conflicts are worse, why complain about hospital bombings when other wars exist?

Phase 4: “Why do you care?” - The mask fully drops. Not defending the actions anymore, just questioning why anyone should object to war crimes at all.

Each phase abandons the previous justification while moving the moral goalposts further into the abyss. By the end, you’re not debating policy or tactics - you’re facing someone who has reasoned themselves out of basic human empathy.

The weaponised whataboutism reveals the imperial logic - both Ukraine and Israel are Western client states whose “sovereignty” depends on US backing. When a UK prime minister can fly to Kyiv in order to veto peace negotiations, and US aid determines Israeli military capacity, these aren’t independent nations making sovereign choices.

Some of this stems from historical guilt transformed into moral blindness - where “never again” becomes “never again to Jews” rather than “never again to anyone,” providing cover for Western imperial projects wrapped in humanitarian language.

The most chilling part isn’t the denial itself. It’s watching someone systematically dismantle their own moral framework, piece by piece, to avoid confronting what they’re supporting.

Digging the Lost Tapes Restoration of Grimsby's No. 1 Band in 1996

Sun, 27 Jul 2025 19:55:24 +0100

Hovercraft (UK) were a real live band, briefly, in 1995-96.

We hovered in, made a lot of noise, broke down and sank without a trace, all in the space of nine months.

We were number one in the first, and possibly only, South Bank Demo Charts in the Grimsby Evening Telegraph.

There’s no chance of a reunion. That will be a relief to many. Our drummer emigrated to Australia. Our singer-songwriter-lead guitarist is MIA, last seen in India (or Boscombe). Our bass player plays in a semi-professional covers band. And our guitarist/tech guy is me.

Every few years I get out the digitised versions of all our old demo and home recording tapes and remix and (re)master them with the he latest free tools available. In the early days, that was Audacity. More recently, it’s Soundcloud’s and Bandlab’s (free) online mastering tools.

The goal is always the same. To transform the lofi, degraded analog recordings preserved on mangled old cassette tapes that were digitised using the cheapest USB analog to digital converter tape deck available twelve or fifteen years ago into something resembling what we actually sounded like in our rehearsal room, the studio, the pub, and - most importantly - in our own imaginations. (If you’re interested in learning more about mastering and how Bandlab mastering works there’s a couple of good articles here.)

Last October I went down the same old nostalgia rabbit-hole. Every time I think I’ve made the tracks sound better with the latest software, which usually means adding reverb or preset effects (which are likely a mixture of reverb and compression). The end result is something which sounds a bit louder, more atmospheric and less rough around the edges. Although all the reverb and compression can also make for a lot of additional noise, when noise is an integral part of the original sound AND the degradation of the original sound that was digitised.

Anyway, it’s all a bit of fun and allows for reconnecting with Ron Nasty, our old bass man (now known as Ronnie Nice). Ronnie and me had a lot of fun writing the band’s not entirely factual or unelaborated back story. Putting that into Claude.ai produced more amusing results, as did giving it some of the lyrics to the songs. These AIs can make pretty good music critics if you tell them that’s what they are, even if they’ve never heard a note. Claude is now like the fifth Beatle.

And that was what got me thinking… Can AI listen to music? That’s how I discovered Suno Music, Microsoft’s online AI music creation beast. And it is a beast. (Other beasts are available.) Me and Ron started off simply pasting in lyrics to the songs Ron had lovingly transcribed by listening to the old songs over and over again (only the other day I realised I had some of the original lyric sheets, but don’t tell Ron). Click on and Suno will produce three minutes of sophisticated sounding rock or pop that you can start listening back to in a matter of seconds. It’s highly addictive. You can add music style tags (folk, blues, punk, etc.) and even general instructions to generate a particular sound (“Indian sounding funeral dirge”) that you like. This technique created what I called Hovercraft Reimagined.

That was back in March. The originals, if you wanna listen.

Then I realised you could (then) upload and use two minutes of original audio. Not quite a recreation or restoration of the original songs, but getting close. We also enjoyed doing an album of Hovercraft songs as if covered by a female singer in a more chillout style.

Finally (!), Suno v4.5 now allows up to eight minutes of uploaded audio. Frustratingly, I haven’t been able to recreate some songs at all (Mr Tooting Brown seems impossible), and still the AI seems to insist on missing out intros, outros, middle bits, solos, lead guitar work. But it’s getting a lot closer to an actual recreation of the original songs and band sound and style.

We also had fun generating song and album covers with ChatGPT.

Lastly, to reiterate, all of the songs bar the originals were created using Suno. Most of the later ones I downloaded the stems, uploaded them to Bandlab and remixed and mastered them there, before uploading to Bandcamp.

I’m not expecting anyone to listen to any or all of this, but hope it’s a useful contribution for anyone wondering what or how to go about a similar restoration project, or indeed, to create your own new songs (I’ve also done a few of those, too). Some people are pretty sceptical about AI generated art, and that’s fair enough. But this has been tremendous fun, and it’s great for me, Ron and everyone else who remembers our band to be able to recreate, restore, produce and hear the old songs again in a way that doesn’t hurt the ears so much.

While it was never the original “plan”, we’re now looking at releasing tracks through Bandlab’s distribution service, and reworking some of the songs to make them poppier and more accessible to a wider audience. And we’re looking for Charlie Pepper. Last heard of in the Bournemouth area ten years ago.

We should put a card in the local Spar shop window: “Chilled out lamppost wanted to front retro space pop band”. That should do it.

Peak Absurdity on the Ski School Run

Mon, 21 Jul 2025 22:20:23 +0100

Big kid went skiing with school today (his school breaks up for summer a week later than everywhere else). He had to be at school half an hour earlier than usual to catch the coach to The Snow Centre. Real snow, -6°C.

As we arrived, we realised he hadn’t brought his coat.

I quickly dumped little kid in breakfast club, and hobbled back to the car, which I had clairvoyantly parked half a mile away so the kids could scoot in the rest of the way. Bin collection day slowed things down, and the wife was in a state of undress and unable to fling the coat out of the window when I arrived home, meaning I had to haul myself up and downstairs to retrieve it myself, huffing and puffing and effing and blinding all the way.

Miraculously, I managed to walk without crutches at almost Olympic speed into school and presented a relieved big kid with his coat, literally as he stepped on to the coach.

When I got back home, again, in a pool of sweat, wife had gone swimming. She texted me to ask if our lad had got his coat, and to say “I need a Bailey’s after all that stress!”

This evening, when the lad got home, I asked him if he was glad he had his coat with him in sub-zero temperatures. “Nah. They gave us ski jackets.”

I Got My Mojo Workin'

Sat, 19 Jul 2025 20:32:50 +0100

Hovercraft’s electrifying take on Muddy Waters' blues standard, transforming the Chicago classic into something distinctly their own while maintaining its essential swagger. The band stretches the familiar structure through strategic lyrical modifications and extended repetitive passages that push the song into hypnotic territory.

Recorded during their brief but intense 1995-96 existence, this version captures the raw energy that made their live performances so compelling. The 4-track intimacy brings the listener right into the room with the band, making the blues feel immediate and urgent rather than reverential.

The Pied Piper of Ealing

Wed, 16 Jul 2025 00:33:52 +0100

A couple of weeks ago, big kid sang at the Royal Albert Hall in “Ealing Together: Harmony in Diversity,” performing lyrics by Jewish socialist and renowned children’s author Michael Rosen in a new song “Ada in Ealing”, a celebration of a former Ealing resident, and the world’s first computer programmer and a pioneer of mathematical logic, Ada Lovelace.

Tonight he performed in his school’s musical version of The Pied Piper of Hamelin, a story about broken promises and failed leadership. The stage lights went out halfway through, but the show went on - the children kept singing, the story kept unfolding, and somehow the adults pulling the strings behind the scenes got the lights back on.

The biggest laugh from the grown ups watching came when the council leader overcame his cognitive dissonance about political dishonesty by not paying the piper due to budget constraints: “For a politician to lie?! It’s disgusting, disgraceful, dishonourable…. Dis could be the perfect solution!” They all understood perfectly.

Sitting in that school hall, watching children perform a story about adults who make promises they don’t keep, I realised I’d been writing about the same tale in “Perceval House W5.” The Pied Piper isn’t just a fairy story - it’s a documentary about local politics.

The council leader in Hamelin promises to solve the rat problem but refuses to pay when the Piper delivers. Sound familiar? Promise to “put people before buildings,” then close the buildings. Promise “transparent engagement,” then rewrite petition rules to stop residents asking questions. Promise to protect services by cutting them.

From celebrating Ada Lovelace - a woman who saw logical patterns others couldn’t - to performing a story about leaders who’ve abandoned logic entirely. The journey from The Royal Albert Hall to the primary school hall, from Ealing to Hamelin and back again, from songs about a mathematics logician to tales about a corrupt politician.

Ada Lovelace would have spotted the flawed algorithm immediately: spend £1 million on councillor allowances to save £750,000 on children’s centres. The logic doesn’t compute.

But she’d also have recognised the pattern in the Pied Piper story. He who pays the piper calls the tune. In Ealing, we’re discovering who’s really been programming our decision-makers.

Unelected developers and council officers concocted a plan to sell off community assets. Berkeley Group paid for MIPIM trips. The council issued compulsory purchase orders to demolish people’s homes to make way for a new road and Berkeley’s marketing suite opposite the new Elizabeth Line station. The council is “powerless” to prevent Berkeley Group poisoning the Southall community, like the rats in the nursery playground. The algorithm executes perfectly.

In the original tale, the children disappear forever when the adults break their promises. But big kid’s generation might rewrite that ending. They’ve already shown they understand the contradictions better than the politicians creating them.

When then five year old Zion asked the Council Leader directly about the gasworks poisoning and got a “too sciencey” response, he understood perfectly what was happening. Tonight, performing as part of a story about broken promises and failed leadership, he understood it perfectly, too.

The lights failed, but the children kept going. The system breaks down, but the community adapts. Sometimes the show must go on until the grown-ups remember how to keep their promises.

And sometimes, just sometimes, the lights come back on.

URGENT support to fund a legal challenge to Ealing Council’s decision to close 10 children’s centres.

So It Goes: AI On The Absurd Logic of Ealing Council

Sat, 12 Jul 2025 17:17:01 +0100

🎧 I fed my satirical piece about Ealing’s democratic innovations into Google’s NotebookLM.

Two AI hosts discovered how perfectly logical it is to close children’s centres while voting yourself a 70% pay rise. They marveled at the mathematical elegance of spending £1 million on councillor allowances to save £750,000 on community services. They found it remarkable that one person could tweet about “putting people before buildings” and then close the very buildings where people access services without experiencing any cognitive dissonance whatsoever.

The AIs were particularly impressed by Ealing’s latest innovation: rewriting petition rules to prevent residents from asking follow-up questions. Democracy 2.0 - now with less democracy! Much more efficient than the old system where people could actually influence things.

But here’s the thing the machines found most puzzling: impossible things keep happening in Ealing. Communities save their Young Adult Centre. They protect their Town Hall. They refuse to accept that decisions have been made.

Mrs. Patel might just save her children’s centre too.

The Save Ealing Children’s Centres campaign is live. The AIs think this is statistically improbable. Mrs. Patel understands perfectly.

Listen, then read why resistance isn’t futile.

An artificial conversation about very real absurdities.

Also available in Punjabi:

URGENT support to fund a legal challenge to Ealing Council’s decision to close 10 children’s centres.

Perceval House W5: Where Local Democracy In Ealing Goes To Die

Fri, 11 Jul 2025 13:50:30 +0100

The Children’s Centres Crusade

Chapter 1: The Art of Political Contradiction

In the London Borough of Ealing, our elected representatives have perfected something remarkable: the ability to hold completely contradictory public positions without experiencing any apparent cognitive dissonance.

Take our Council Leader. On January 15, 2015, he tweeted: “Think its really important that we put people before buildings. Important we keep activities going & that can be done in a different way."

Ten years later, he’s closing children’s centres, buildings where people access those activities.

This isn’t hypocrisy - it’s innovation. Why limit yourself to consistent principles when you can have all the principles, simultaneously?

Mrs. Patel, a parent trying to save her local children’s centre, discovered this when she attempted to navigate Ealing’s democratic processes. What she found was a system so logically perfect that resistance had become mathematically impossible.

Chapter 2: The Democratic Möbius Strip

“Who decides about children’s centre closures?” Mrs. Patel asked at a council meeting.

“The Cabinet,” she was told.

The Cabinet explained they were implementing officer recommendations based on budget pressures created by government policy following community consultation showing residents wanted services maintained differently.

“So who can change the decision?”

“The decision-makers.”

“Who are the decision-makers?”

“The people with authority to make decisions.”

“Who has that authority?”

“The decision-makers.”

Mrs. Patel found herself trapped in a perfectly circular system. To influence the decision, she needed to identify who made it. But everyone who appeared to make decisions claimed to be implementing someone else’s decisions. The decision seemed to exist independently of anyone actually deciding anything.

Image: Jono Hey, [Sketchplanations](https://sketchplanations.com/mobius-strip)

It was like a democratic Möbius strip - no matter which direction you followed, you always ended up back where you started.

Chapter 3: The Mathematics of Progressive Budget Management

The numbers, at least, were clear:

Cost of councillor allowance increases (2022-2025): Over £1 million
Savings from closing children’s centres: £750,000
Council Leader’s pay rise: 70%
Number of children’s centres being closed in Southall: 3 out of 6

The Council Leader had discovered something revolutionary: you could simultaneously claim budget constraints while voting yourself substantial pay rises. The secret was treating these as completely unrelated mathematical operations.

“We have to make difficult decisions due to budget pressures,” he explained, while awarding himself £58,000 annually.

“But you spent more on pay rises than you’re saving,” Mrs. Patel pointed out.

“That’s a different budget.”

“It’s the same money.”

“You don’t understand local government finance. And we need higher calibre councillor candidates.”

Mrs. Patel was beginning to understand perfectly.

Chapter 4: Environmental Priorities - A Scientific Approach

The Council Leader’s environmental consciousness follows a precise hierarchy, documented through his public responses:

Tier 1 Emergency Response: Eels gasping in the River Brent receive immediate action [pdf) and public concern.

Tier 2 Public Complaint: Someone’s “bag and/or small child” taking up a tube seat merits a public tweet about “Some people.”

Tier 3 Busy Schedule: Children gasping from toxic air [YouTube] in bedrooms get told " I’m very busy.” [YouTube)]

When five-year-old Zion asked him directly, “Peter, why didn’t you help us?” [YouTube] about the gasworks poisoning, the response was so technical that Zion said it was “too sciencey” to understand.

This established a clear principle: if environmental concerns can’t be explained to five-year-olds, they’re probably too complex for five-year-olds to experience.

Chapter 5: The Southall Paradox

Only in Southall can carcinogenic benzene, and naphthalene - which is known to be potentially fatal to some people with African and Asian heritage - be released into the air from the Gasworks development at levels way above legal limits and be simultaneously “not hazardous” according to Ealing Council.

One moment the Headteacher at Blair Peach Primary School is reporting asthma and headaches [p. 10] caused by very strong smells from the Gasworks site; in another moment, the developer’s head of construction is appointed to the school’s board of governors [pp. 7-8] and arranges to remove dead rats from the nursery playground [p. 11]. These events are clearly unconnected.

It’s all perfectly normal in Southall, where kids can be locked in class without ventilation on hot days to protect them from the harmless petrol odour, and the developer’s “community liaison officer” can simultaneously be the chair of Southall’s charity umbrella organisation, an ex-Tory tobacco salesman whose former employer paid for our ex-MP’s research assistant to attend a jolly. Nothing to see here!

Here’s where things get even more interesting. The Council’s own “Southall Reset” [pdf] document acknowledges that “challenges of deprivation, low pay, are particularly acute” in Southall, contributing to “deeply embedded health and wellbeing challenges.”

The Race Equality Commission Report “highlighted the need for an investment in adequate primary care in Southall” and “deeper meaningful engagement, and better conversations with residents.”

The Council’s response to this need for MORE investment? Close children’s centres.

“So you know we need MORE investment?” Mrs. Patel asked.

“Absolutely. The evidence is clear,” they said.

“Then why are you closing children’s centres?”

“Budget pressures.”

“But your own report says we need more investment, not less.”

“That’s a different report.”

“It’s your report. You wrote it.”

“Different department.”

“Same council.”

“Different budget.”

“Same money.”

“You don’t understand local government.”

Mrs. Patel was beginning to understand perfectly. They could officially acknowledge that Southall needed more investment while simultaneously cutting investment. They could document the problem and implement policies that made it worse. Each document existed in its own logical universe, disconnected from actual decisions.

Chapter 6: The MIPIM Negotiations

Every year, the Council Leader attends MIPIM in Cannes - what Private Eye calls a “booze ‘n’ hookerfest” - with expenses paid by Berkeley Group, the company behind the gasworks development that’s been poisoning Southall residents.

He goes to “negotiate hard” with developers.

The documented results of these negotiations:

More developments approved
Continued toxic air from gasworks
Larger councillor allowances
Closure of community facilities

Either he’s a remarkably poor negotiator, or “negotiating hard” means something different in Cannes than it does in English.

Chapter 7: The Zionist-Anti-Zionist Synthesis

The Council Leader represents Southall Green - 69% BAME, one of the most ethnically diverse wards in Britain. Many of his constituents have strong views about Palestinian liberation.

His attitude? “People who commit themselves to being opposed to Jewish national self determination / liberation aren’t my cup of tea. They can exist, sure, just outside of the Labour movement.”

So he simultaneously represents a diverse community while working to exclude people from that community based on their views about Middle Eastern politics.

It’s a masterclass in representation: represent everyone, except the people whose politics you disagree with.

Chapter 8: The Protection-by-Destruction Innovation

The Council Leader has pioneered a new approach to public service: protecting things by eliminating them.

“We’ve made the decision to protect the front line by working with what we have, rather than allowing Govt Commissioners to slash and burn services,” he explains, while slashing and burning services.

It was like watching someone slash the low-hanging fruit on the trees and then set fire to the orchard; then selling the “infertile land” to developers when there’s nothing to eat.

But that wasn’t even the worst part. Mrs. Patel had discovered something even more troubling. Back in 2012, a group of unelected businessmen had met to play Monopoly [pdf] with public assets. Not the board game - though the principle was identical. They wanted to “sell off our public assets for £20m profit.”

Their target included “buildings used for services for vulnerable adults, children and families.”

“So they planned this years ago?” Mrs. Patel asked the councillor.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” the councillor said.

“But you’re closing children’s centres,” Mrs. Patel said.

“We’re protecting services by cutting them,” they explained patiently. “We’ve made the decision to protect the front line by working with what we have, rather than allowing Government Commissioners to slash and burn services.”

“But you ARE slashing and burning services.”

“We’re protecting them by cutting them responsibly.”

“How is closing them protecting them?”

“If we don’t close them, someone else will close them worse.”

“Who?”

“The Government Commissioners.”

“Have they said they’ll close them?”

“Not yet.”

“So you’re closing them to prevent them being closed?”

“We’re protecting them by cutting them.”

Mrs. Patel was beginning to understand perfectly. Round and round she went, trapped in a perfectly logical system designed to make resistance impossible.

The beautiful thing was that everyone was telling the truth. The councillor really didn’t know about the 2012 meeting. The 2012 meeting really had happened. The plan really was being implemented. Nobody was really in charge of implementing it.

Somehow, a decision made by people who didn’t officially exist was being executed by people who officially couldn’t stop it. This allows him to be simultaneously the protector of services and the person closing services - a remarkable administrative innovation.

Chapter 9: Democracy 2.0 - Now With Less Democracy

But the system’s crowning achievement is happening right now. This month - July 2025 - Ealing Council is rewriting the petition rules in direct response to successful community campaigns.

On page 294 of their July 15, 2025 council papers [pdf, see p. 294], you can see democracy being crossed out in real time. They’re removing:

Residents' rights to ask follow-up questions
Requirements for senior officers to give evidence
Meaningful participation in debates about their own petitions

They’ve solved the democracy problem by removing the democratic bits from democracy.

The timing is perfect: after communities proved they could win by building independent pressure (Save Southall Young Adult Centre, Save Southall Town Hall, Save Warren Farm Nature Reserve), the council is changing the rules to prevent it happening again.

Soon residents will be able to petition - they just won’t be able to ask questions, get answers, or participate in discussions about their concerns.

It’s democracy in name only, which is much more efficient than the old democracy where people could actually influence things.

Chapter 10: The Southall Young Adult Centre Miracle

But here’s the thing - resistance is still possible. In 2022, the Council wanted to demolish Southall Young Adult Centre to build 60 flats. The usual process commenced: consultation theater, predetermined decisions, official helplessness.

Then the “Save Southall Young Adult Centre” campaign launched. They didn’t try to work within the impossible system. They built independent pressure. They refused to accept that “decisions had been made.”

They won.

The centre was saved.

“How?” Mrs. Patel asked.

“We stopped playing by their rules,” the organisers said. “We built power they couldn’t ignore.”

Chapter 11: The Impossible Solution

Mrs. Patel realized the children’s centres could be saved the same way. But it would require doing something the system said was impossible: organising outside the official channels, building independent power, refusing to accept predetermined outcomes.

The Council had just changed the petition rules specifically to prevent another people-powered victory. But that only proved they were afraid of effective organising.

The system’s weakness was its strength: it was so obviously absurd that anyone paying attention could see through it.

The Council Leader could tweet about putting “people before buildings” while closing buildings where people accessed services. He could claim to protect services while cutting them. He could represent diverse communities while excluding their political views. He could prioritize eels over children and call it environmentalism.

All of this was only possible because residents had been playing by rules designed to make them lose.

But the campaigns to save the Young Adult Centre, the Town Hall and Warren Farm proved the rules could be broken.

Chapter 12: The Choice

Mrs. Patel had a choice. She could continue navigating the impossible bureaucracy, filing petitions that couldn’t ask questions, attending consultations about predetermined decisions, lobbying councillors who claimed to have no power.

Or she could do what the other campaigners did: build independent power and refuse to accept defeat.

The children’s centres could be saved. But only if parents stopped trying to reason with an unreasonable system and started building the power to change it.

The Council Leader would continue inhabiting his world of simultaneous contradictions, where closing centres meant protecting them and cutting services meant investing in communities.

But Mrs. Patel had learned something important: impossible things happen every day in Ealing politics.

If the Council Leader could be simultaneously progressive and regressive, protective and destructive, representative and exclusionary, then maybe Mrs. Patel could do something equally impossible.

Like save a children’s centre.

The Young Adult Centre campaigners had already shown it could be done.

Now it was the children’s centres' turn.

Mrs. Patel was beginning to understand perfectly. Even this right wing authoritarian Labour government thinks it’s a bad idea to close children’s centres.

Chapter 13: The Engagement Paradox

The Council Leader had perfected the art of simultaneous engagement.

He could tweet about “absolutely committed to engaging, listening and compromising” while sharing photos of residents protesting his refusal to engage, listen, or compromise.

He spoke frequently about “transparent engagement” and “finding the compromises everyone needs to make” - usually while explaining why the compromises residents needed to make were accepting whatever he’d already decided.

Even councillors who were “most responsive” resigned rather than “effectively endorse his toxic brand of politics.”

But the real innovation was tweeting “Welcome to Dystopia” while creating it.

Chapter 14: The Investment Paradox

The Council Leader had achieved something remarkable: he could simultaneously remember genocide while investing in it. “Remember Yesterday, Act Today,” his council posted about the genocide of 8,732 Muslim men and boys in Srebrenica thirty years ago, while investing £112 million in companies enabling genocide of more than 28,000 women and girls in Gaza today. More than 50,000 children killed or injured in Gaza to pay for his pension.

It was beautifully efficient. Why limit yourself to one genocide when you could remember one while funding another? The children understood perfectly.

Equally impressive was his ability to close children’s centres for budget reasons while sitting on the board as a paid director [pdf] of a corporation that had just received £140 million in public funding. The logic was flawless: children’s services were unaffordable, but corporate development was essential.

The Council Leader had mastered the art of proportional response. Children’s centres closing to save £750,000? Budget pressures, difficult decisions, no choice. Sitting on the board overseeing “one of the biggest regeneration schemes in Europe” with £140 million in funding? That was worth £2,000 a year of his valuable time.

It was a masterclass in priorities: Europe’s biggest regeneration project required his oversight, but Southall’s children’s centres were an unaffordable luxury.

He could simultaneously claim there was no money for community services while helping to plan a “mini-Manhattan” in his own borough. The vision was clear: 54-storey towers, yes. Children’s centres, no.

He’d found the perfect balance: cut services locally to save money, earn money regionally to oversee developers' profits. It was like a perpetual motion machine of fiscal responsibility.

Chapter and Verse: The Evolution of Enlightenment

In 2010, our future Council Leader shared his frustration about “sitting around not understanding all this punjabi” at community meetings in the area he would later represent.

By 2020, he had evolved. “Words have consequences,” he tweeted. “Impact is as important as intent. Culture is defined by leadership.”

Ten years of personal growth had taught him that words matter. Which made it remarkable that he could simultaneously lecture about cultural sensitivity while closing community centres in the same diverse communities he’d once struggled to understand. It was a masterclass in progressive evolution: you could acknowledge that words have consequences while ensuring your own words from the past had none.

Disclaimer

Readers who think this is all a bit unfair, unbelievable, unhelpful or downright unlawful…

The most revealing evidence of how the system works came from inside the machine itself. In 2022, leaked WhatsApp messages [pdf] from the Ealing Labour councillors' group chat revealed what they really thought about their leadership.

Mason’s own Labour colleagues called the Council Leader “callous, ruthless, sectarian.”

They discussed votes of no confidence, referenced “corruption and even theft” regarding the previous leader, and debated “bribes” and “rewards” for loyalty. Meanwhile, publicly, they maintained perfect unity and collective responsibility. It was the perfect illustration of how the system works: private recognition of the problems, public performance of harmony.

Mrs. Patel understood perfectly. The same councillors who privately criticised authoritarian leadership accepted Mason’s cabinet positions and pay rises to sit in silent support during council meetings.The leaked messages proved Mrs. Patel wasn’t imagining the contradictions - even the people inside the system could see them. They just couldn’t say so publicly.

URGENT support to fund a legal challenge to Ealing Council’s decision to close 10 children’s centres.

Sources: All tweets, council documents, and quotes are publicly available and linked in the original post at https://davidmarsden.info/2025/07/11/perceval-house-w-where-local.html

Try your hand at democracy in Ealing with our fun interactive FAQs, budget calculator and decision-making process explainer!

Forking* Hell (Again)

Sat, 14 Jun 2025 19:05:04 +0100

Almost exactly sixteen years ago I wrote a blog post titled Forking* Hell! about the relentless, sleep-shattering racket of reversing forklift alarms from the Beaver Industrial Estate (aka Chancery Gate Business Park), just a stone’s throw from my home.

It took months of escalating complaints, sound diaries, late-night MP3s, and even a YouTube video to get Ealing Council to take the matter seriously. But eventually, following site visits and interventions, they did. Forklifts were fitted with quieter white noise alarms, acoustic barriers were repaired, and the beeping stopped.

For a while.

We had more beeping in 2013 and 2017. Each time it was the same old story, but also it was eventually resolved.

2025: Guess Who’s Back

After years of relative peace, the problem has returned. Forklifts with traditional beeping alarms are once again reversing their way into my headspace—late at night, early in the morning, and all day long.

This isn’t a one-off. It’s relentless. Some nights, the beeping continues past 11 p.m.; some mornings, it starts before 7 a.m. I work from home. My wife does too. Windows stay shut even in hot weather just to make it bearable.

And once again, I’ve gone through the motions:

Sent detailed emails to the council
Provided audio recordings and video footage
Explained the site history and previous resolutions
Pointed out that something has changed recently (a broken barrier? a new operator?)

Response time from the council: One week.
Reason for delay: “Your email may have been blocked because it included links.”
Suggested action: “Call us next time it happens.”

Because obviously, I’ve got nothing better to do at 6:45 a.m. than call a noise hotline while forklifts beep through my kitchen window.

A Brief History of Beeping

Here’s the timeline in a nutshell:

2009–2010: Original complaint. Acoustic barrier found faulty. Council intervened, site improved.
2013: Issue re-emerged. Council visited, spoke to operators, and beeping was replaced with white noise alarms.
2017: Warning signs. I emailed again asking them to restrict night operations or use quieter alarms.
2025: The beeping has returned. My patience has not.

The Ask (Again)

I’m not asking for miracles. Just the same thing that worked before:

Site inspection
Identify the offending units
Replace the beepers with directional white noise alarms
Check the acoustic baffle hasn’t fallen apart again
Remind businesses what Best Practicable Means under the Environmental Protection Act actually means

If you live near the estate and you’re also being disturbed, I encourage you to file your own complaint. Noise pollution doesn’t fix itself.

Want to Hear It?

You can:
🎧 Audio recordings from our kitchen
🎥 Video showing forklifts in action (YouTube)

Déjà Beep

History doesn’t repeat, but it often rhymes, said Mark Twain.

In my case, history reverses slowly, with a loud, repetitive beep that echoes off corrugated warehouse walls and slices through what was once known as my attention and the “quiet enjoyment” of my home.

*Thanks again to Andy C

Person of Interest 101

Fri, 16 May 2025 17:24:45 +0100

The voicemail asked me to call 101 and quote my call reference number.

It took three attempts to get through to a human being. I guess they really are all busy dealing with emergencies.

“‘Ello, ‘ello, ‘ello. What is the nature of your call today?” (Why do police officers always talk like this?)

“I reported a crime online yesterday. I got a text and voicemail asking me to quote my call reference number…”

“Is that Mr Marsden?”

“Why, yes it is!” (Impressive detective work!)

“I’m afraid the online reporting form isn’t very helpful. It sends the information to us in a way that makes it difficult to understand what actually happened. Just give me a minute while I go through it.”

[A full five minutes on hold later…]

“Hello sir. You want to report the theft of your son’s scooter?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” (By now I wanted to report the theft of what little hope I’d had left when I started dialling the call.)

“Does the school have any cctv footage?”

“Yes, they do, but they haven’t reviewed it yet, as far as I know.”

[Another five-minute intermission.]

“We’ll need to take a statement from you and your son. The earliest I can visit you is next Friday between 8 and 9 a.m., or 12 and 1 p.m.?”

“My son will be either going to school or already at school during those times.”

“What about next Saturday?”

“Yes, that would be better. My only concern is that, by then, we will have lost not only his scooter, but what little chance there was of ever getting it back or finding out what happened to it. When I was growing up, the police would have just visited the school…”

“Yes, same here. Unfortunately, we can’t just go into schools these days. But don’t worry - this case won’t just be sitting on my desk.”

Somewhere out there, Finch and Reese are watching every camera feed in New York, saving lives in real time with the help of an all-seeing AI.

Meanwhile, in my corner of the UK, a ten-year-old’s scooter vanishes in broad daylight, and the only Machine involved is caller id at the local police station.

“OK. Thank you, officer.”

Keir Starmer's identity crisis

Wed, 23 Apr 2025 13:03:37 +0100

Keir Starmer is a walking, talking political identity crisis. Starmer is a man - at least we assume that’s what he is. We have not verified his biological sex. We see him using the men’s toilets (at least that’s what I assume) and playing football with other people who appear to be (unverified) men. Ok, let’s put it this way. Starmer is an unverified man, or at least, appears to self-identify as a man. I tell you what, for the sake of clarity, I’m just going to refer to him - or them - as a person.

Starmer is a person who lied to Labour Party members to win their votes to become the elected leader of the Labour Party. He made a series of pledges to enact socialist, progressive policies. All of which he’s reneged on. As leader of the Opposition to the murderous, racist liar Boris Johnson, Starmer went out of his way to consistently support the Tory government.

His entire strategy was to remove any possibility of mistaking him for a Labour leader, and one former Labour leader in particular. If anything he was even more right wing than Johnson. Crucially, he had no responsibilities and therefore appeared more competent and professional than Johnson. Having established himself as a Tory clone, Starmer was able to position himself as the “change” candidate against the dripping wet washout Rishi “carry on” Sunak. It was no contest. Starmer won by a landslide and had a mandate to do exactly as he was told by his advisers/handlers.

I see people complaining now that Starmer has no policies, no principles, no political beliefs. Yet his entire career, and certainly his entire election campaign, was built solely on the pursuit of power. Pledges, promises, missions, principles, beliefs - they’re all for losers, people who identify as something or other. Starmer’s handlers positioned him as a nobody. A no-one. Someone no one could possibly identify with. Someone who could win votes from Tories in Tory seats dressing to the right, from Labour voters in Labour seats dressing to the left, and from Liberal voters in liberal seats dressing to the right again but this time wearing orange underpants. Hell, he even won votes from Scottish Nationalists wearing a tartan dress and no knickers.

It was an amazing and amazingly brilliant election-winning strategy. But it does mean that we have a Prime Minister who panders to the electoral threat from the right. It does mean we have a PM who is obsessed with people’s genitals, and whether they had them at birth. And it does mean that we have a leader who eats three Shredded wheat for breakfast every morning just to look tough for Reform voters even though he has a severe gluten intolerance. Hence Starmer’s persistent strained facial expression and his whiny voice.

Everything you ever wanted to know about the cost of fish and chips and more

Tue, 15 Apr 2025 23:06:55 +0100

Three days ago I went to Ambridge’s fish and chip shop in Spilsby to get lunch for me, my mum, my wife and two kids. A run-of-the-mill affair, uncontroversial, and unremarkable.

As a fan and occasional exponent of legacy microblogging, I described my experience in as few words as possible, and - accompanied by a couple of boring photos - I published on my micro.blog website.

Now, I say this whole adventure into the great big outside world wasn’t noteworthy, but that’s not quite true. Mum had given me two shiny plastic twenty pound notes to buy the “two haddock, one chips, and three peas” described in my post, and I had given one back thinking that this “ludicrous order” couldn’t possibly cost more than twenty quid.

It turned out that it cost £20.40, so mum was right to offer me more, although I was also correct in thinking that £40.00 was about £20.00 too much.

On micro.blog, which is known for and proud of its general sedation and nuance, I received zero engagement. Par for the course, expected and absolutely fine. I post for myself, and my kids, and while I certainly don’t mind at all if anyone else comments, it’s not a problem if no one does.

Micro.blog has a clever in-built feature which allows you to “cross-post” things you publish to Threads (among others). So that’s where my fish, chips and peas post went, too.

Unbelievably, when I got back from our long family weekend away, my post on Threads had received over 167,000 views, 333 likes and 351 comments (indicating also that I have been mildly “ratioed").

Now, I don’t use Threads much and navigating and replying to all 351 comment isn’t viable. I thought it would be more fun to create a Fishy FAQs.

Fishy FAQs

Q: And?
A: And nothing.

Q: And…?
A: And nothing…

Q: And you point is?
A: Nothing. Other than that my mum was right that it would cost more than £20.

Q: What kind of ludicrous order is that?
A: Two haddocks - half each for me, my mum, my wife and ten year old. One chips - half for me, half for my ten year old and four year old to share. Three peas - one pot of peas each for me, my mum and my wife.

Q: Surely you check the total before paying?
A: You mean before ordering? Or before giving £20 back to my mum?

Q: Did they let you off the 40p?
A: No.

Q: When did you last buy a takeaway of any description?
A: November 2024 at the same fish and chip shop. I arrived after it had closed and managed to come away with a battered sausage and a few chips.

Q: Where is this?
A: Spilsby.

And some fact-checking!

Fishy Facts

CLAIM: Fish and chips is still better value than a fast food chain.
FALSE. For pure cost, McDonald’s and similar chains are better value.

CLAIM: BREXIT!
TRUE. Brexit has led to higher prices.

CLAIM: You have to factor in the full cost of getting fish from the sea to the chippy.
TRUE. It’s not just Brexit!

CLAIM: Make your own, it’s cheaper!
TRUE. It’s a lot cheaper, but also less convenient, takes longer and isn’t always or often practical.

CLAIM: No one forces you to buy it. If we all stopped buying fish and chips from the chippy, prices would come down.
FALSE. High prices are due to supply and other costs, not local demand.

CLAIM: Jacket spuds and pizza - fish is a luxury!
TRUE. Cheese is cheaper than fish!

CLAIM: Only 3 peas? You should have got a tin.
BOOM TISH!

CLAIM: 3 pot’s of pea’s? You and your mum will be farting for England!
TRUE. Although we only had one pot each (see above).

Lastly, and most importantly, here’s how prices vary across time and the country.

Pre-lockdown: £6.50
Post-lockdown: £11.95
The other day: £15.00
Here: £8.00/£19.50/£23.90
Where I am: &16.00
Kent: cheap as chips
Sydney: £7.00
Australia: £7.50
Paris (cordon bleu 3 course meal with a bottle of wine): £30

Fish and chips price map of the UK

Ecclesiastical gobbledegook

Sun, 30 Mar 2025 13:57:34 +0100

Had a good week with work. Lots of serendipitous connecting things and people together means that we now have what we hope is a very realistic big funding opportunity in front of us, which will enable us to get started with our proposed new youth centre.

We also got accredited as a Living Wage employer via and thanks to the Young Ealing Foundation. Through that connection we got two hours of free business consultancy thanks to the often-maligned-by-me Ealing Council. I wasn’t expecting much from this, but it was absolutely incredible, such a fantastic consultant! Not only did she give some very honest, useful and practical advice to develop our vision for community transformation, she also put me in touch with a couple of potentially very useful contacts.

She said I very eloquently painted a moving picture of life in Southall with it’s rich tapestry of people and cultures, it’s unique mix of all faiths and none, and it’s wealth of community resilience, resistance and defiance in the face of very real challenges from the National Front and the Special Patrol Group in the 1970s and 1980s, deep-rooted socio-economic problems of poverty, deprivation and low pay, pulling together and surviving the COVID pandemic despite chronic overcrowding and few remote-working jobs, and fifteen years of austerity politics topped off with a cost-of-living crisis under successive ConDem, Tory and Labour-in-name-only right wing neoliberal governments, and the needs of our 16,000 young people currently served by just one youth centre and struggling with the everpresent threat of lack of work and education, drugs, offending and knife crime.

At one point she asked me what my job title is, and suggested I’m working way above my pay grade. Which was nice to hear. She described me as the driving force of our project. I suggested maybe I was more rudder than anchor. She said I’m the captain of the ship!

To be honest, I felt like I’d had ten years of successful therapy in the space of three days.

She also left me with my favourite phrase of the week rightly critiquing a section of text on our new website as “ecclesiastical gobbledegook”.

More tea, vicar?

Sun, 30 Mar 2025 12:57:41 +0100

Just brewed a pot of loose leaf Assam black tea for a change. Great taste. Had it with milk, no need for sugar, could probably drink it black.

Still loving the white tea, as recommended by lzbth@micro.blog. H/t to paternoster@mas.to for the loose leaf advice, too.

For all of my life, for some reason I believed I could have only one kind of tea. Nice to have a bit of variety (which I’m normally all for).

It doesn’t matter, but I guess this also means I’m back on the caffeine.

Fundraising update

Tue, 18 Mar 2025 13:10:54 +0100

Over a year ago I did some refresher training in fundraising on “writing a successful fundraising application”, “winning grants from trusts and foundations”, and “developing a fundraising strategy”. All very useful and highlighted particular areas we the organisations I work with need to improve and do more work to meet funders' minimum expectations. Nothing we couldn’t do, but it would need a shift in focus and energy, and some new people with specific skills and experiences on (the) board.

There’s no lack of vision, but one of the difficulties with this sort of thing generally in the charity and voluntary sector (in my experience) is that everyone is very busy doing the good work that needs to be done every day and week and month, which leaves very little time or headspace, if any, to work on how to bring the bigger picture to life, to make it happen.

Another difficulty for us has been that one of our key organisations is going through a difficult leadership transition, which effectively means they are out of the strategic picture, at least until that is resolved. That’s likely to be months if not longer.

This year I started fundraising efforts for new youth work. But rather than work on what it would take to make it happen, developing a case for support, and making sure we have all the building blocks of good governance in place, we excitedly jumped straight into finding out what money is out there and shooting off a few half-baked applications.

One thing that seems to have changed since my previous fundraising efforts fifteen years ago is that then it was difficult to get grants for continuing existing work - everyone wanted new projects. Now, it seems that funders all expect you to have a track record delivering the very work you want new funding for. I guess that’s what fifteen years of neoliberal austerity politics does!

Thankfully, now, we have agreed to work on developing our fundraising (and organisational) strategy and getting our own house in order before we start applying in earnest again. This will delay any new fundraising income for us, but that is offset by our current sole funder happily allowing us to repurpose money that was originally earmarked for different work to fund the initial youth work set up instead.

Think of the children

Wed, 12 Mar 2025 14:02:55 +0100

Ealing Council are consulting on their proposals to improve services offered by the borough’s children’s centres to children under five and their parents by reducing the number of centres from 25 to 12.

In Southall, the poorest and most deprived of the seven towns in the borough, and the town with the highest rates of new arrivals to the country, English as a second language, and up to 40,000 new residents occupying all the new builds homes currently being developed, the council proposes to improve uptake of services at the six Southall children’s centres by reducing their number to two.

If you’re not already persuaded that this is an obvious, winning and ever-so-centristly adult and professional management of the local economy, then let me elaborate further with some data!

The problem with the children’s centres as they are now is that they are very inefficient. In some parts of Southall where there are no children’s centres, for instance, as few as a third of children are accessing services offered by children’s centres based in other parts of the town. And while arguably one of the best and most successful of the purpose-built and award-winning children’s centres reaches over two thirds of children in its locality, if we close this one down, repurpose the building as something else (more unaffordable high-rise flat$$$? [like we tried to do with Southall Young Adult Centre, the only youth club in town]), and get our (private) less-qualified and experienced partners to deliver cheaper and less effective children’s services in community venues such as the recently repurposed community-centre-as-a-library, churches, mosques, gurdwaras and mandirs, everyone’s a winner, right?

I should be a highly paid consultant!

To those of you who actually live in Southall, and who are mostly women (of colour) and have children who have used or use these services now, and who say to me, “Hmmm…. This sounds like cost-cutting. We need more children’s centres not fewer. What you’re proposing is madness. You’re a Labour council, why are you doing this? Many people won’t be able to travel half an hour or more on foot or be able to afford public transport to the two remaining centres. Many people won’t want to go to the places where they worship and which are highly patriarchal, not known for confidentiality, and not designed for children’s safe and secure play and development. The library is too small, and small children like to make a lot of noise and run around. Instead of looking for new exclusionary venues, why not just use the safe and secure, purpose-built inclusive children’s centres we already have? Market the services offered in the library and the faith centres”: your feedback is valuable and I have no answers. Please fill in the survey and rate my brass neck out of five.

It’s all a bit rich coming from the same council who lectured Warren Farm campaigners on the health and wellbeing of Southall’s children two short years ago. Local people fought the council’s plans to destroy much of the rewilded land at Warren Farm Nature Reserve in order to build new football and cricket pitches on it, and instead wanted to preserve Warren Farm as a nature reserve so that local children living in an otherwise urban environment would have some wildlife and peace and quiet on open land to visit. Meanwhile, the two cricket pitches at Southall Recreation Ground which are used all day every weekend in all weathers are dilapidated and dangerous.

Save Ealing's Children's Centres

Sun, 09 Mar 2025 22:21:58 +0100

Save Ealing’s Children’s Centres

Actions we can all do:

SIGN THE PETITION - Over 1,000 neighbours already have. Every signature shows our community’s strength.

SPEAK UP BY 27 APRIL - Tell the Council closing 13 centres is unacceptable. Fill in the online consultation.

CONTACT COUNCILLOR JOSH BLACKER - Your personal stories matter. Tell him how these centres support your family.

blackerj@ealing.gov.uk

Template email. Please personalise to make it more powerful, or better still write your own!

VISIT YOUR LOCAL CENTRE - Show it’s valued. Bring neighbours who might not know what’s at stake.

Why This Matters To Everyone

• Your children lose vital services - health support, parenting help, and early learning will disappear from your neighbourhood

• Hardest hit: families who can least afford it - longer journeys, more costs, and fewer services for those already struggling

• Growing population, fewer services - Ealing’s population is increasing while services are being cut

• Your voice matters - especially if English isn’t your first language or you live in an affected area

A new hope

Sat, 01 Mar 2025 17:56:01 +0100

It’s been quite a week.

My Mum has had a rough few years. Eight years ago, aged 71, she lost John (my step-Dad) to cancer. One moment he was fine, the next he started deteriorating rapidly, was soon bedridden, and spent weeks waiting for for death to take him as his body wasted away. Three months and he was gone.

Mum sold their beautiful big retirement bungalow she’d nursed him in, and got a smaller bungalow in the small town where she’d grown up and her cousin still lives and owns the amazing wool shop.

Two years later she had a mini-stroke, fell and broke her ankle, and had to hand in her driver’s licence while she recovered.

Then came COVID-19 and the isolation, followed by misdiagnosed heart failure, and then cancer of her own. She needed major surgery, but the doctors said she wouldn’t survive a general anaesthetic (because of the misdiagnosed heart failure).

She prepared to have the surgery with an epidural. On the day of the op, they decided she couldn’t have the surgery without a general and so that’s what happened. Then there was the radiotherapy and follow up tests every three months since. She survived it all.

Then her beloved, very elderly (and very fat) cats died one after another.

She’s been through a lot!

Just before xmas last year she had a chest infection. She’s had breathing problems on and off for as long as I can remember. As a kid she said it was bronchitis. Later it was asthma. Now, like me, it’s COPD.

She hasn’t recovered from this episode and is struggling to do everyday tasks including personal care. Her neighbour has been a godsend throughout and describes my Mum like she’s her own mum. I’ve been trying to help from a distance (a four hour drive away) to organise home help, etc.

Last Sunday I noticed that my neighbours on the ground floor had a For Sale sign outside their relatively (these days) spacious one bed flat. I messaged my Mum saying it’s a shame she can’t move in there. Me and my wife could help her with the things she can’t do for herself plus keep her company and she gets to see her grandsons in the flesh more than twice a year.

I didn’t really expect her to take it seriously, but as her helpful and caring neighbour said, “It’s a no-brainer.” The neighbours downstairs told me that they hadn’t decided if they were selling or letting, but today I viewed the flat opposite which, although I’d forgotten about it, has been on the market for longer. It’s also in good condition, and my neighbour is not in a chain and has somewhere to move to.

It’s given my Mum some hope. It’s a big move at her age. Fingers crossed it all works out.

The code of life

Sat, 15 Feb 2025 21:58:37 +0100

// SIGNAL: INTERGENERATIONAL LINK

Big kid has been learning about WWII at school.
He took in a photo of his great grandfather (my Grandpa on my Dad’s side).

Grandpa Fred was a coder.
He was in the Royal Signal Corps, decoding Morse code messages from the Nazis.

// SIGNAL: CHANCE & FATE

When war broke, he tried to join the Royal Navy.
Because he knew Morse code from his job at the Post Office, they sent him to Scotland.

If he’d joined the Atlantic or Arctic convoys,
he’d very likely have ended up at the bottom of the cold, dark sea.
And we wouldn’t be here.

// SIGNAL: MY EARLY CODE

As a teenager, I spent hours typing pages of machine code
from computer magazines into my Dragon 32 PC.

One wrong keystroke and the game wouldn’t load.
But if I got it right, I’d have “Bomber” to play.

// SIGNAL: THE HUMAN PROJECT

We’re all coding — encoding and decoding —
stories that give our lives meaning and purpose.

Weaving unique patterns in the fabric of space-time.
Searching for answers in the world wide web.
Gazing at the stars, as we always have.

Using threads from the code of life
handed down by our ancestors, since time immemorial.

// SIGNAL: MARKS WE LEAVE

From cave paintings to fossils and footsteps on the moon,
from the Pyramids to the Parthenon to the Pentagon —
we’re leaving reminders of our existence.

Building structures to organise, process,
and understand information about our world.

// SIGNAL: THE NEW CODE

Now we’re coding large language models.
Training them on the whole of human knowledge and history.

Hoping they’ll tell us the meaning of life —
or at least not destroy us
in the hands of our new Nazi overlords,
or serve us up tasteless slop.

// SIGNAL: THE OLD GUARD

I’m not sure what Fred would have made of it all.

Like my great grandfather Frank before him,
he was from another time. Conservative. Happy with his lot.

He loved Oldham Athletic (“Latics”),
the Telegraph crossword,
driving carefully, and Freemasonry.

He wrote letters on a typewriter.

// SIGNAL: A BODY REMEMBERED

He had all his teeth removed at a relatively young age
in a “buy one get them all removed free” kind of deal.

The dentures never fit properly.
He spent years struggling to eat anything that wasn’t tasteless slop.

Raw egg mixed with milk and Ribena was a particular favourite.
If I remember correctly.

// FINAL PULSE

Fred would have loved his great grandkids.
It’s a shame they never got to meet.

He would probably have said:
“Give over, lad.”

You Winchester, you lose some

Sat, 15 Feb 2025 17:40:24 +0100

I was chatting to one of the other parents at school yesterday morning and mentioned how little kid is totally obsessed with space, all day and every day. It’s literally the first thing he talks about when he wakes up, and he falls asleep watching Brian Cox videos. They had a special space day at school yesterday, too.

She helpfully suggested visiting the planetarium at Winchester, about an hour’s drive away.

I hadn’t thought about going anywhere outside of London.

Later yesterday afternoon I picked up my guitar for the first time in months, wiped all the dust off it, and strummed the chords to one of my old band’s songs, written by the singer who, coincidentally, hails from Winchester.

By evening, I’d forgotten all about school mums, planetariums and old mates, and I was more concerned about finishing my book and finding out whodunnit?

On page 306 of my book, right in the middle it said (in all CAPS and bold):

WINCHESTER

I checked out the planetarium and ordered four tickets for a nice family outing during half-term .

This morning I told little kid about it and he said he didn’t want to go.

On yer bike! (Your voice matters)

Sat, 15 Feb 2025 17:15:24 +0100

Last week we had the local cycling group at the school offering free bikes and training to families.

We’d love free bikes, of course.

Two problems for me, though:

There’s nowhere safe and secure to keep them.
The roads and drivers around here are downright dangerous, and no dedicated cycle lanes.

I couldn’t help myself imparting this information in no uncertain terms to the two smiley elderly ladies handing out the marketing leaflets.

Afterwards, big kid gave me some feedback.

“Dad, when you shout it makes me want to freeze out of fear.”

Me: “Oh no, sorry, did I shout at those ladies?”

“No, you didn’t shout at them. You used your political voice. Your political voice makes me want to listen.”

Cleaning up

Sat, 15 Feb 2025 17:02:06 +0100

Big kid has been on lunch monitor duty at school for the past couple weeks. He enjoys making sure his little bro is all right, and, it turns out, cleaning up all the mess the little kids make. So much so that the headteacher commended him for his efforts.

Yesterday, on the drive to somewhere near enough to school for them to scoot in from, big kid announced:

“Dad, when I’m older, I’m going to clean up this town!”

I said it’s a big job and suggested he might want to think about starting now, and starting with the streets around the school with some of his friends. Fortunately, there’s a local group who already do just that.

It would be good to get started when the school street starts next month.

So far so good

Sat, 15 Feb 2025 14:19:11 +0100

Six weeks into my new full-time role at work with the additional two days a week focussed on fundraising for a new youth work.

I’ve scoped about 15 potential grant funders, small and large, and submitted 4 applications or pre-applications.

It seems to be grant application season as many of the closing dates are in February and March.

Unfortunately, one funder switched their closing date to Thursday last week after previously advertising it as Friday (The Wayback Machine agrees with me). Another closed their online form the day before or on the morning of their published closing date (Friday). Luckily, perhaps, they didn’t remove the live application form page I had bookmarked so I could still submit.

It will be annoying if our applications are disregarded in these two cases, although the lesson is don’t wait until deadline day.

I’m not beating myself up about it. We only had a few days to put something together, and I was chasing/waiting on my boss to draft and agree final wording. It’s a learning curve for all of us, and lots we can do better.

AI tools were genuinely helpful, and also provided useful feedback on our applications - need to remember to do that step before submitting them next time.

Too good to be true

Sat, 15 Feb 2025 13:50:38 +0100

This week at school my proud Digital Leader presented a school assembly on the dangers of the internet, and in particular too-good-too-be true offers.

Last night I got a notification that he’d spent £8.99 on his Kobo, using his £2 a week pocket money account. Which was odd as I could have sworn he was in bed with his kid brother watching space videos at that moment.

A quick investigation found that last month he’d subscribed to a free trial of “READ EVERYTHING YOU WANT!!!” Kobo Plus, and his trial has ended.

We had a little talk and, suitably humbled, I reimbursed his £8.99.

All in a day's housework

Wed, 12 Feb 2025 14:12:35 +0100

Busy day so far.

New school street comes into effect next month, so to prepare this morning we parked away from the school and the kids scooted in with me chasing after them on my flat feet.

Need to teach little kid how to use his brake.

Had to pop into the school office to ask for a parents' evening form.

Went to Tesco to buy the items that Waitrose couldn’t deliver later.

No time for breakfast, instead peeled, chopped and boiled spuds, chopped and fried onions with lentils, prepared carrots and leeks for honey-roasting, cut broccoli florets for steaming, mashed potatoes and spooned on to onions and lentils mixed with gravy and HP sauce in a baking dish, grated Red Leicester to go on top.

Emptied our general waste bin, wet and dry recycling bins, and the food bin.

Unblocked the kitchen sink with the plunger.

Put my laundry away.

Washed up.

Put the groceries away.

Time for a late brunch.

Publish and REDACTED!

Thu, 06 Feb 2025 23:24:26 +0100

This was supposed to be a comprehensive account of events of the last couple of weeks in this corner of the interwebs. Instead, thanks to the events of the last twenty four hours, and on the advice of REDACTED’s lawyers, I’ve had to make some amendments.

Nevertheless, I hope it will help to clear up any misunderstandings and fill in any gaps about what has been going on.

Unfortunately, most of my source material has now been REDACTED, breaking the very fabric of our beloved internet. Forgive me for not taking screenshots.

OMG!!1!

The dust has REDACTED, it’s all REDACTED over, and it’s all REDACTED under the bridge now (or is it?), so what REDACTED time to start REDACTEDing over the muck of the very recent past all over again?

I don’t really want to do that, and I held back from saying anything directly at the time, or since, mainly because I didn’t feel like there was anything I could add that others hadn’t already REDACTED or that wouldn’t simply fan the flames of the REDACTED of the REDACTED REDACTED REDACTED that descended from their REDACTED REDACTED horses to demand REDACTED Rotten’s evisceration and expulsion from the internets for being a REDACTED-loving REDACTEDphobe.

And I didn’t want to upset or offend anyone.

But most of all, I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of someone else’s REDACTED REDACTED.

So out of sheer bloody-minded cowardice and self-preservation I sat back behind the safety of my keyboardless AI slop consumption screen and watched the entirely human generated shitshow go down with an ever increasing sense of unwanted vicarious and voyeuristic unease.

I’ve taken part in plenty of online arguments and fights over the years (hell, even some real life and in person ones, too), mostly in closed communities, but occasionally in public forums.

My memory isn’t what it used to be, but I can’t recall there was ever a winner in any of them (and if there was it certainly wasn’t me - although it’s not the winning that matters, of course, it’s the taking part), and no perceivable good has ever come about other than that the flames eventually burn up all the oxygen of publicity and peter out.

Oh, and I hope I have learned that its not worth the emotional toll of getting involved. I learned The Power To REDACTED.

I’ve also faced unfounded accusations in the workplace.

And I still carry the scars of my REDACTEDs' arguments when I was a child.

So all this arguing and accusing evoked in me some difficult emotions and memories.

LOL!!1!

As someone who still feels relatively new to REDACTED (after two years), and certainly not feeling part of the already well-established community - I’d already been “told off” by one of the sensible centrist liberal adults for lacking a REDACTED or REDACTED opinion because I drew a metaphorical and frankly dogmatic bloody line in the sand of the ashes of the thousands of murdered children in REDACTED, and planted a tattered REDACTEDbow flag in the rubble opposing the REDACTEDide of REDACTEDinians in REDACTED by REDACTED, and the Good Ol' REDACTED of REDACTED’s role in funding and arming it - I was aghast to witness the self-declared grown-ups bitching and fighting amongst themselves over who was the fairest of them all.

A few of the most fairest of them all promptly decamped to set up in another part of the world wide web where they will be safe from REDACTEDists and REDACTEDs, and fairytale queens cosplaying as old ladies bearing poison apples.

Speaking of apples, it was First Man REDACTED who ate the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil and brought about the Fall of Man. First Man REDACTED, and First REDACTED Eve, lost their innocence and became ashamed of their nakedness. Their sinful obsession with REDACTED made them the world’s first REDACTEDs.

Led by judge, jury and executioner in-chief First Man REDACTED, the REDACTEDers had decided that REDACTED Rotten’s use six months previously of “REDACTED” was non-binary and cast-iron proof that REDACTED is, in fact, REDACTEDphobic, and that cannot be tolerated - or at least, it cannot be tolerated six months down the line when First Man REDACTED, who wasn’t cyberstalking REDACTED Rotten at all, just happened to notice that REDACTED had paid for a subscription to REDACTED’s newly unelected REDACTEDist henchman REDACTED’s REDACTED.com.

Not only was he a fully paid up member of the REDACTED billionaire’s despised social network, REDACTED had publicly praised REDACTED’s REDACTED exploration ambitions and his REDACTED cars!

As if this wasn’t REDACTED enough on its own, REDACTED was named as a REDACTED of the REDACTED indieweb REDACTED social network REDACTED, set up several years ago as a community-minded alternative to the toxic REDACTED by the ever so manly monikered REDACTED.

“HOW COULD MANLY MONIKERED REDACTED EMPLOY REDACTED-LOVING REDACTEDPHOBE REDACTED ROTTEN?!!!!”

“MANLY MONIKERED REDACTED MUST IMMEDIATELY “PRONOUNCE” HIS PERSONAL ALLYSHIP WITH TEH REDACTED COMMUNITAH!!1!”

“REDACTED MY AUTHORITAH!!1!”

FAFO!!1!

Don’t get me wrong. I think REDACTED could and should be more careful with his REDACTED utterances, particularly in his role as a REDACTED of his own REDACTED, which I presume he welcomes anyone and everyone to use, contribute to and subscribe to. It does look bad that he’s also a REDACTED REDACTED, and paying REDACTED to use REDACTED, AND praising REDACTED (especially in light of REDACTED’s overt REDACTED salutes).

But in my humble, unwanted and irrelevant white middle-REDACTED male REDACTED-gendered opinion, none of that defines him as a REDACTED-lover or a REDACTEDphobe. I mean, he could be both, or one or the other, or neither. I don’t know. I think it’s disingenuous to pretend otherwise.

That said, it doesn’t mean people can’t be offended by any or all of it six months ago, two weeks ago, now and forever more. In REDACTED’s defence, it seems like he did make some kind of apology at the time even if it wasn’t good enough, and it was compounded by his publishing of later REDACTED posts complaining about being ‘REDACTED’.

REDACTED, a REDACTED REDACTED who did take offence at REDACTED’s “REDACTED” comment REDACTED her subscription to REDACTED’s REDACTED service, and REDACTED about her REDACTED. REDACTED REDACTED her in full, and while it shouldn’t have REDACTED, could have been REDACTED much better, and undoubtedly left a very REDACTED REDACTED in the mouth for REDACTED, First Man REDACTED and plenty of others, that really should have been the end of it.

As others have REDACTED better than me, it does appear as if First Man REDACTED had it in for REDACTED and saw REDACTED’s blue REDACTED account and his praise of REDACTED as an opportunity to exert some kind of REDACTED or “REDACTED” upon him. While I’m not suggesting REDACTED set out to invoke the REDACTED REDACTED, he knows as well as anyone what it’s all about and The Power To REDACTED get involved in other people’s battles.

So it’s somewhat ironic, if no less unpleasant, that in seeking to give up his Power to REDACTED in order to REDACTED the internet, he has now had to REDACTED his REDACTED REDACTED in the face of REDACTED REDACTED.

The goat singer

Thu, 30 Jan 2025 15:09:02 +0100

In the echoes of the goat singer’s song,
where Dionysus whispers through the vines,
we find ourselves entwined in ancient rites -
fertility rituals of death and rebirth,
of new life and new wine.

Here, survival is the meaning of everything:
the stars beyond our reach, the earth beneath our feet.
Good versus evil, truth versus lies,
blame and luck, conspiracies and fate.
Destiny waits like a vulture on the tiles,
and bad choices remind us,
Of the arrogance leading us down paths we can’t retrace.

We are always wanting more -
more wine, more power, more love, more life.
But injustice follows us like a shadow,
inescapable, irretrievable, inevitable.
“You paid a price to come this far,”
As if suffering were currency,
as if pain could buy redemption.

Euripides knew it well:
the gods are not just.
They play with mortals like toys,
throwing dice with our fates,
laughing at our despair.
Moral ambiguity reigns supreme,
and protest is futile,
a scream into the void that answers only with silence.
Cynicism grows like weeds in the cracks of our souls,
but still, there is hope -
a flicker, a spark,
a stubborn refusal to give in to the darkness.

Diatribe becomes spectacle,
entertainment for the masses,
as we watch our own downfall unfold
like actors in a play we didn’t write.
Insanity creeps in,
whispering in our ears,
telling us we’re not good enough,
that we’ll never be good enough.
And maybe that’s true.
Maybe we are all doomed to fail,
to fall,
to lose everything.

Desertion, rejection, loss -
the Fall of Man,
the absence of God.
We cry out, but no one answers.
We reach out, but no one takes our hand.
Tragedy guaranteed,
but still, we’re alive.
Apart from the ones who aren’t.
Now there’s the real tragedy -
the ones who didn’t make it,
who didn’t survive the journey,
who didn’t pay the price,
or who paid too much.

Suffering is knowledge,
the bitter fruit of humanity.
We taste it every day,
in every breath,
in every tear.
But even in the darkest moments,
there is light -
a glimmer of something beyond the suffering,
beyond the pain.
A hope that refuses to die,
a faith that clings to the edge of reason,
a belief that maybe, just maybe,
we are more than the sum of our broken hearts.

And so we keep moving,
through the desert,
through the wasteland,
through the ruins of our shattered dreams.
Because even though the road is long— or there is no road and we have to find our own way - we are still here.
We are still alive.
And that, in itself, is enough.

Roadblock

Thu, 30 Jan 2025 09:00:04 +0100

I live in a cul-de-sac.

My life is a dead end.

It’s a no-through road.

With nowhere to go.

Stop signs.

Barricades.

Danger!

Keep Out!

No way in.

No way out.

What are you waiting for?

Wed, 29 Jan 2025 13:14:09 +0100

What are you waiting for?

It’s a waiting game.

Can’t wait forever.

The waiting’s over.

Something’s wrong.

Sitting in God’s waiting room.

Waiting for death.

Waiting for life.

Waiting for something.

Anything.

And nothing.

An appointment with the doctor, or the dentist.

To diagnose, to clean, or to remove the decay.

Come back if things don’t get better.

Come back in six months, or a year.

Or not at all.

Waiting for the train.

It never arrives.

It doesn’t stop.

It leaves without you.

Waiting for love.

If only someone loved me, everything would be all right.

And they do.

And it is.

But still, I’m waiting.

So it’s not that.

Waiting for the right moment.

Billions of moments, and none of them the right one.

Talk about bad luck.

Waiting in line.

Billions before and after me.

BBC says IDF murdered children and lied about it

Fri, 24 Jan 2025 09:05:02 +0100

‘The Israel Defense Forces (IDF) says the building was targeted because it was a Hezbollah “terrorist command centre” and it “eliminated” a Hezbollah commander. It added that “the overwhelming majority” of those killed in the strike were “confirmed to be terror operatives”.

‘But a BBC Eye investigation verified the identity of 68 of the 73 people killed in the attack and uncovered evidence suggesting just six were linked to Hezbollah’s military wing. None of those we identified appeared to hold a senior rank. The BBC’s World Service also found that the other 62 were civilians - 23 of them children.’

IDF said bombed apartments were Hezbollah base - but most of dead were civilians bbc.com
Home - BBC News https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cgrn0nwn0eqo

Life lessons

Fri, 24 Jan 2025 00:02:20 +0100

On Sunday I was listening to Lianne La Havas' COLORS rendition of “Bittersweet” on YouTube.

We’re picking that fight everyday
This shit’s going nowhere

The Algorithm did its job well and showed me the latest KEXP concert by a new to me band called English Teacher. I was blown away.

Even though I’ve seen more COLORS Shows than KEXPs

A bit prog at times, and a lot music studenty, but they can really play so that’s all forgiven, especially if you listen to the interview with the band at the end of the full concert.

“Albert Road” is possibly my favourite, although I think the recorded version is even better and more poignant with the video (especially in light of the drama of the last couple of days):

(Steve’s mate’s son used to play in The Fall…)

So don’t take our prejudice to heart
We hate everyone
The world around us never showed
How loving can be fun

More than The Fall, they somehow remind me of The Sugarcubes, who I loved back in the late 80s, but who I haven’t listened to properly for a long time. I listened to the album “Life’s Too Good” this afternoon while working, and it was better than I remember it. “Deus":

He put me in a bath tub
Made me squeaky clean

Apparently Bjork’s producer produced English Teacher’s album.

More reminiscent of The Fall (and Frank Sidebottom), perhaps, is their song (and video) about the singer’s smalltown hometown of Colne in Lancashire and its inflated egos, “The World’s Biggest Paving Slab”.

I am the world’s biggest paving slab
So watch your fucking feet

What's out there?

Wed, 22 Jan 2025 01:13:52 +0100

What’s out there?

My space-obsessed four and three quarter year old might ask me that soon, so I better have an answer.

At the moment he’s happy to copy his ten and a half year old brother and stick with “What’s in Uranus?” for laughs. (Although he does actually want to know what’s in Uranus, too.)

Recently, I have been replaced by Professor Brian Cox on bedtime story reading duties.

Instead of me reading simple kids' books on space until he falls asleep, Prof. Cox narrates stories on YouTube about black holes, space-time elasticity and Fermi’s Paradox. It’s fascinating, and sends the little one off to sleep at least as efficiently as me reading to him.

I admit that while I was aware of Fermi’s Paradox, I hadn’t quite cottoned on to its significance.

That, in answer the the question “What’s out there?” there’s an unimaginably vast number of planets, stars, galaxies, etc., in an even more unimaginably vast and mostly empty space. And in spite of this vastness, there’s absolutely zero evidence (so far) of any kind of life at all other than here on our tiny, tiny speck of Earth. We’re alone.

Echoing Carl Sagan, Prof. Cox was quite poetic about it and described it as the Universe taking millions of years to come up with just the right conditions for an unbroken chain of evolutionary life to emerge that has an awareness of itself.

And that the Universe is a frighteningly violent place so it’s quite miraculous that we haven’t (yet) been smashed or fried in some astronomical event. In fact, we look odds-on to smash or fry ourselves first right here, right now.

Our evolutionarily advantageous over-confidence will inevitably lead us to self-destruction, as surely as boom leads to bust, as we ignore climate warnings from our wise elders, wage war on our brothers and our sisters, and repeatedly fail to think of the children.

We’re wedded to screens and technology as life passes us by. Doom-scribing, scrolling and trolling, when we should be out there talking to our neighbours, being the change we want to see in the ‘hood, and showing some fucking solidarity with each other. We’re not all perfect, we can all say and do the wrong things, even hold the wrong beliefs.

Identity politics has much to answer for, but the answer isn’t to dismiss people’s lived experiences. Each to their own, and everyone must be able to live their lives as they want to while not harming others. But when someone expresses themselves in ways that cause hurt or offense, piling on and ostracising them often just deepens divisions.

Instead, we need to find ways to acknowledge everyone’s feelings and guide each other toward mutual understanding. This isn’t easy, especially online, but it’s essential if we want to build real solidarity.

Because the point is that the people who want to colonize Mars, or make “their” country great again, or spend billions on war when our elders are dying in hospital corridors, are not on our side. If we could find ways to stick together, however we identify as individuals, we could challenge these concentrations of power and wealth.

I feel certain that if everyone had a decent home with enough food, meaningful and/or well paid work, and enough free time to pursue leisure interests with friends and family, then very few people would give a flying fuck about what pronouns people prefer, or if someone moved from one “country” to “another”.

Maybe then we can leave a planet that’s still inhabitable for our children.

Of course, it’s also possible that we are not alone. It’s possible that aliens are among us, badly disguised as awkward, orange humans, or owls, or neutrinos.

Who knows?

AI, ethics and democracy

Thu, 16 Jan 2025 15:15:58 +0100

I keep reading that AI is dumb, dangerous and demented. And I’ve no doubt it’s all true. Ethan Mollick, author of Co-Intelligence, describes ChatGPT as “a very elaborate auto complete like you have on your phone”

AI slop is contaminating our lives with worthless junk, and while I’ve played with and been briefly amazed and entertained by Google NotebookLM’s auto-generated podcast creations, they can get repetitive, boring and stupid very quickly.

We can rail against AI all we want, but it’s not going away. I expect AI to get smarter and to have fewer hallucinations even if the danger level remains high.

What is Al good for?

Micro.blog uses Al to generate Alt-Text descriptions of images and that seems to work well enough for its intended purpose. What it can’t do, of course, is generate descriptions that are personal to the uploader or post context, e.g., if I have a picture of my son the description will be a generic “boy with curly hair” or such like.

I’ve used Google’s Gemini on blog posts I’ve written and it’s given me some very positive feedback about my writing, enough to make me feel good about myself (certainly much more so than any human reader). Although it also got into the habit of creating its own alternative versions, which often were funnier and more interesting (to me) than my own writing. (It will also roast you if that’s your thing.)

Similarly, Google NotebookLM has fed back on my entire year of posts in 2024, and was very nice about it, too. It is quite therapeutic to hear that, as long as you take it for what it is - an elaborate auto-complete that ultimately will rot your brain, take your job and ruin your life.

I’ve also used both for work in some limited ways - drafting a job description, drafting cases for support for funding applications, and summarising or analysing documents. Both require some degree of human intervention, but the process and product was useful in helping me get started, and complete the tasks.

One area where I found Al to be most interesting was in commenting on and forming an ethical response to a local democracy issue where I live. I found the response to be in line with what community campaigners (including me) had been asking for, and in total contrast to the response from our elected representatives, authorities and business leaders. That must be the auto-complete.

While I don’t think I would yet call for all politicians to be replaced by AI, I do wonder if there is a potential use case here for analysing policy implications, or at least highlighting ethical considerations?

I ran these thoughts past Claude.ai and this is a summary of what it had to say:

democratic processes need human judgment, accountability, and the ability to balance competing interests the ways that AI currently cannot

core ethical principles that should guide public service:

transparency about conflicts of interest

accountability to the people

clear acknowledgment of problems rather than minimisation

practical solutions for reporting complaints and response

the fundamental duty of public officials to serve their constituents

Human decision-makers can, of course, choose to prioritise other interests over ethical imperatives

I suggested to it that the AI response to the Southall Gasworks issue demonstrated more “empathy” than the human political response:

The AI’s response prioritised human wellbeing and acknowledged suffering, in contrast to the actual political response, which was bureaucratic and dismissive, treating hundreds of complaints as isolated incidents and prioritising procedural responses over human impact

A truly empathetic human response to such serious health impacts should have been immediate and decisive action to protect public health

Of course, the AI response wasn’t actually empathetic. It applied logical ethical principles that prioritise human wellbeing. What looks like empathy is actually systematic ethical reasoning unclouded by personal interests, political considerations, or institutional self-protection.

I suggested that it might not be uncommon for political leaders to lack empathy, and that it’s therefore so much easier for them to allow personal, and powerful political and institutional interests to take precedence over what most ordinary people would see quite clearly as the interests of human wellbeing:

This connects to research on the prevalence of psychopathic traits in leadership positions. In the Southall Gasworks case, a leader with normal empathetic capacity might find it psychologically difficult to:

dismiss hundreds of health complaints from suffering residents

accept substantial gifts while community members develop serious illnesses

continue business as usual while learning of deaths potentially linked to their decision

Of course, even someone with empathy might not be able to resist powerful institutional or financial pressures.

Arsenal match report

Sun, 12 Jan 2025 19:33:00 +0100

For some reason this match report is in four acts:

First half.

Maguire nutmegged himself…

Second Half.

Sterling looked on with impressive sideburns.

Extra Time.
Penalty Shootout.

Back to work

Tue, 07 Jan 2025 20:50:00 +0100

The last time I worked full-time, in 2015, I got fired for taking too much time off sick.

The last time I worked full time before that, in 2011, I got fired for taking too much time off sick.

So I was quite happy to work part-time since 2016, fifteen hours a week to begin with, increasing to twenty two and a half hours in 2017. It felt like something I could cope with.

And it allowed me to spend a lot of time with big kid when he was little, and then little kid, too. Although that was often tiring ‘work’ I feel very fortunate to have had that much time with them when they were so young and fun.

Working two or three days a week and really being in charge of my own hours and schedule also allowed me lots of flexibility. I could almost work when I liked and didn’t worry about how many hours I’d done. If I needed to I could easily make up time or catch up on another day.

Going back full-time today, I was very conscious of how much time I spent working, and not working. I’ve got much less flexibility now to make up my hours.

Then again, I know that at work, it’s possible to spend a lot of time in the kitchen, the bathroom, the hallway, and the office not actually doing much work. I won’t be too hard on myself for making a cup of tea, powdering my nose, connecting the wife to the internet or checking my online socials every now and then.

All in all it wasn’t a bad day. Nothing urgent to do and I ended up going down a fundraising rabbit-hole. Found a couple of new-to-me funders and shared them with the relevant people, one of whom has already said they will apply.

Job done.

This year

Wed, 01 Jan 2025 10:28:59 +0100

This year I’m returning to full-time work for the first time in almost a decade. I’m looking forward to it, though, and my main focus is going to be on researching and writing grant funding applications for local community youth work.

Last term I joined my sons' school’s parent teacher association specifically to help find grant funding they can apply for. I need to get on with that.

I also hope to be able to get more involved (again) in local democracy and activism in person. I’d like to see if we can get some kind of organised mutual aid and self-help community going.

I want to get fitter and lose some weight, so I’m intend to walk every morning (flat feet permitting) and I’m no longer taking sugar in tea and coffee.

I want to sleep better (which is partly dependent on little kid staying in his own bed all night), breathe better, and get my psoriasis under control.

And I want a new hat.

The Old Hag

Tue, 31 Dec 2024 12:54:29 +0100

The old house was long and thin, with dark corridors that ran from one end to the other, beside narrow rooms and cold passages, a front room, a dining room, a living room and a kitchen. Upstairs were four bedrooms with a bathroom in the middle, the wooden floorboards boomed and creaked with every step. I lay in the back room above the garden that grew wild, so cold and lonely, but sleep took me away as she did every night.

The screaming woke me.

The voice was sobbing, weeping, crying out for help, filling me with its fear, its sobs and cries, as footsteps urgently pounded the way to my sanctuary, beating on the door, “Help me! Help me! Please!”

I tried to move, I wanted to help, to say something, anything, but my hands were tied, I was strapped to the bed and gagged, I couldn’t move or speak.

Christ I could barely breathe as the door opened, the screaming stopped and the small dark figure entered and came over to me. It’s breath was loud, shallow and hoarse.

Now I started to make a sound. A pathetic, frightened, cowardly whimper, as the figure climbed on top of me and sat on my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I looked at its face…

I woke with my heart beating its way out of my chest as the footsteps pounded away down the hallway, taking the sobbing voice with them, as I dried the tears from my cheeks, my mouth dry, and tried to unsee the face that woke me, that saved me.

How I listen to music

Mon, 30 Dec 2024 12:37:47 +0100

I love music. Who doesn’t? I guess there must be some people. I was one of them.

I stopped loving music when I was too busy feeling miserable to love music or anything else. I stopped loving music when I converted from the warmth and intimacy of vinyl and mix-tapes to the colder and harder to get close to CDs, and later mp3s. The difference between analogue and digital. I do miss my old records.

I started loving music again when I started feeling better. I started loving music again when I started investing in better listening gear and lossless digital recordings. I’m no audiophile, but it makes a big difference, even (or perhaps especially) to my untrained and unbalanced partially deaf ears. And I honestly don’t miss my old CDs.

How do I listen to music now?

I’ve got a massive pair of old Jamo Gale Force 25 (or 35?) speakers, which I must have bought nearly thirty years ago. Back then they were used as mini-PA speakers in my old band’s rehearsal room.

Since then they’ve provided a heavy bass and mid-range sound for music and TV connected through my Sony amplifier (much, much better sound than my previous Marantz and Cambridge Audio amps). I added a pair of smaller QAcoustics top speakers to these a few years ago, which noticeably (and unsurprisingly) improved the top end and overall sound.

Although I could stream from my phone via the Bluetooth link on the amp, this year I acquired a Tempotec Serenade X music streaming device, which does the same, but with a built-in DAC (digital to analogue converter). It makes a massive sound difference, even at a relatively low cost (these things can cost hundreds if not thousands).

Plus it can connect via ethernet cable to hi-res streaming services Tidal or Qobuz, and play my entire lossless digital music collection via a connected micro-SD card.

All of that said, it’s not often I get to listen to my music without using headphones. My little kid used to love watching the psychedelic videos of The Beatles and The Stones on YouTube, as well as some Tiny Desk concerts, but that all stopped when he quit daytime naps when he turned four and discovered YouTube Kids and how to operate the TV remote control.

For years I had a pair of cheap Sennheiser headphones, which were decent enough for listening to mp3s via my laptop. In 2018 I got a Dragonfly Black DAC that plugs into my laptop via USB. The difference in sound quality was astonishing.

Later that year I bought a Fiio M7 DAC music player, and again the transformation of sound was literally music to my ears.

This year I got a Tempotec V3 (cheapish, but still an upgrade), and been through wireless Iris Flow ListenWell and wired Bayerdynamic DT 770 Pro Studio headphones, before this year treating myself to a pair of massively discounted wired Focal Elegia ‘phones. Each one offers a different sound. The key being that they make listening to music an aural pleasure again.

I’ve also got some cheapish EarFun in-ear buds (a big upgrade on Pixel buds) for a quick wireless listen and an EarFun dongle DAC to plugin to my headphones and phone or laptop as an upgrade on my Dragonfly.

Big kid now has my Fiio M7 and Iris Flow headphones and loves listening to The Beatles, as well as my old band Hovercraft.

The art of a good sandwich

Sat, 28 Dec 2024 23:14:04 +0100

Let’s get something out of the way before we get into the meat, or the filling, of this post. A sandwich is two slices of bread. Buttered.

I don’t want to hear anything about OPEN sandwiches. Open sandwiches are like open marriages. Great if you want someone else to have your other half.

The art of a good sandwich:

Use multiple fillings. Four is a good number.
Less is more. Don’t over egg it.

For example, tonight I cleared out some leftovers and turned them into a great sandwich: two slices of ham, half an avocado (sliced), three cherry tomatoes (quartered), a squirt of mayonnaise, chopped dried chives and three or four spoons of sweet and hot jalapenos out of a jar.

Many times I’ve got halfway through a “classic” cheese and tomato sandwich and thought “it’s too cheesy.” A squirt of mayo and a sprinkling of chives world have saved it. Some of that jalapeno magic would have made it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against sandwiches with fewer than four fillings. When I was recovering from Covid, all I could eat was cheese and pickle sandwiches. I like a jam sandwich occasionally. And if it’s a crust, I’ll even eat it in an “open” jam sandwich (or bread and jam as we call it).

Which brings me on to toast. Toast and marmalade is not a sandwich. Cheese on toast is not a sandwich. Avocado toast is not a sandwich. But two rounds of toast with a filling inside IS a toasted sandwich. (See how simple this is?)

Now, with toasted sandwiches I would advocate sticking to one or two fillings. (Melted) cheese is always a winner with the kids. Grown-ups might like to add some chopped ham, onions or mushrooms. My little kid’s current favourite is “honey toast”.

Developers: if you really want to help the community

Sat, 28 Dec 2024 10:09:06 +0100

This was survey feedback given to developers proposing to build a massive data centre on the site of the industrial estate down the road from me, but it applies more broadly to all big developers, especially those with annual profits of half a billion pounds.

I’m concerned about noise from the site causing a nuisance and health problems in an area that is already susceptible to multiple environmental health stressors, and exacerbated by deep-rooted poverty, deprivation, low pay and systemic racism and power imbalances embedded in the local authority planning system.

I’m also concerned about the local power grid. Only a couple of years ago it was reported that Ealing doesn’t have enough capacity to power more new homes that are so badly needed, particularly in Southall which suffers from chronic overcrowding. A data centre requires a lot of power. How will this work?

If you really want to do something for the local community how about you plant thousands of trees to compensate for the fact that Southall has the lowest tree canopy cover in the whole of Ealing?

How about building homes for the street homeless and providing ongoing support they will need to live in them sustainably?

How about building a drug and alcohol rehab unit to treat the ever growing numbers of addicts roaming our streets and parks?

How about using all that information processing power to work out how to provide more frequent, more reliable, free public transport in Southall and to reduce the congestion caused by all the traffic?

How about building a secular community centre, a library, a youth club, a health centre, a school? Southall is so overdeveloped now, and Ealing Labour Council sold off all our community assets to developers.

Wolves match report

Thu, 26 Dec 2024 22:07:19 +0100

We watched Wallace and Gromit this afternoon, which everyone enjoyed, little kid was particularly excited.

After that, despite protests from the kids, I watched United at lowly Wolves. I’d been convinced beforehand that this was a game the new Portuguese manager must surely win. At half-time it was 0-0 and I thought it was hard to see either team scoring (or not conceding).

Within a couple of minutes of the restart Bruno stupidly got himself sent off for fouling the Wolves right back in the Wolves' half. Needless, and it left the ten men looking bereft without their leader, talisman, only creative outlet and most likely goal threat.

Wolves soon capitalised and deservedly went ahead. I thought United looked a little better when Casemiro and Eriksen replaced the ineffectual Mainoo and Ugarte in central midfield late on, but even then United looked like they did under Ten Hag - lost.

Yes, we can see what the new manager is trying to do. 3-4-2-1. But it doesn’t work, for whatever reasons. And like Ten Hag, he has no Plan B. Can he have lost the dressing room already? He seems to have alienated Rashford and Casemiro, and while both have their faults, both could be important players, too. Their replacements are worse.

Wolves scored a second with virtually the last kick of the game, and their new Portuguese manager recorded his second win in two games playing 3-4-2-1.

In my opinion, United should be playing a counter-attacking 4-3-3 and playing to our strengths (fast wingers), which would secure our perennial weakness (central midfield), and protect our defence. Instead we’re playing a new system, which no one seems to understand and that seems to play to no one’s strengths.

Of course, maybe we just need more patience and in another ten games it will all look different. Or we could be looking over our shoulders at the bottom three.

My year on micro.blog

Tue, 24 Dec 2024 20:32:42 +0100

I had a lot fun writing and publishing on micro.blog this year, and also looking back and picking out these (for me) highlights.

I started the year with the final (so far) part of my curriculum vitae series. The one where I found my dream job:

There was no welcome… it stank of piss. The only redeeming factor was that none of the inmates seemed able to move.

The beauty of the whole endeavour was that people needing care were no longer seen as tasks to be performed and checked off on a list, but as people who had lives, stories, senses of humour, wants and needs like everyone else.

Such a great thing could obviously have no future.

On the power of writing:

Having an hour or so in relatively undisturbed peace and quiet just to write whatever comes into my head has felt very therapeutic. I feel like something significant has changed within me, for the better.

On journaling:

Journaling is like legacy microblogging minus the passive aggressive bullshit and wit.

On the power of memory:

Nothing was where Jim remembered it. Like his hat, they were very much alive in Jim’s memory, but in the world we walked in the goalposts had literally moved, the final whistle had blown, and everyone had gone home except Jim.

On travelling abroad for the first time:

It all felt utterly surreal to me then, like being stranded on another planet, adrift in my bunk bed, alone in the halls of a spacecraft listening to the crickets and the ghostly sounds of train hours.

On local democracy:

The event itself was a repeat of several resident surveys and failed plans over the past twenty years or so. The problems are always the same. The responses from the council are always the same.

On my four year old’s analysis of the state of British politics after the results of the May General Election:

You can clearly see the Labour supermajority in red, and the Tory wipeout in blue. That they are two cheeks of the same backside is encapsulated in the red triangle atop the blue square in the centre.

On the state of our national game:

Nowadays managers - or coaches - are often restricted to, well, coaching players in training and on match days, and speaking to the media before and after games. They are seen as specialists rather than all-rounders, and more specialists from the world of finance are brought in to fire the tea ladies…

On United under Ten Hag:

A clear and obvious error, if ever there was one, and yet we are forced to watch repeat after repeat, week after week of him getting it wrong. A bald man somehow getting balder…

On working from home:

Working from home has given me the time and space to transform how I work for the better. I’m better organised, more thoughtful, less rushed and distracted. I can honestly say that I’m now the most productive I’ve ever been thanks to a more comfortable, relaxed and focussed personal workspace.

On cheese:

Double Gloucester. Trump-like appearance, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a vote-winner. Biden-like quality: good all-rounder, mild, creamy, child-friendly, goes with most things, melts easily. Oily.

On the death-grip of neoliberalism:

Neoliberalism doesn’t change, and the more that the people are subjected to its bad decisions, its lust for war, for death, for oil, for money, for making the rich richer and the poor poorer, the harder it gets for people to change, and the fewer good decisions are made.

On Person Of Interest:

If you like guns, shooting people, torture, (mock) executions, (child) kidnapping, (attempted) murder, blackmail, gambling, Russian Roulette, cyber-stalking, identity theft, mob rule and police corruption, you’ll probably like Person of Interest.

On Lincolnshire sausages:

A special treat then was boiled sausages for breakfast. The skins would fall off, and we ate them with white bread soaked in the soup or broth they created in the pan along with a dash of English mustard.

On living and breathing music:

It’s hard not to love such amazing musicianship, singing and songs, all performed with unconfined joy in the moment.

And:

I do wonder if sometimes songs speak to me even when I’m not actively listening? When I do pay attention to the words they do carry meaning for me. They just needed to be heard.

On journaling (again):

Doing this work has made sense of a lot of daily, weekly and monthly events, habits, routines, scenarios, relationships, that otherwise would have remained loosely connected, strung together like the Christmas tree lights every year when you take them out of the box you left them in in January. In a mess, tangled up, half-working.

On the bales:

My fingertips took several days to regrow. I had fifty pence deducted from my wages for the cost of replenishing the first aid kit, and received a straight knockout for bleeding on the ropes.

On writing (again):

I write for me. It helps me breathe and to feel alive.

On local democracy (again):

If you’re lucky, you might see something done after a year or two of complaining.

On driving (and living):

Always look ahead as far as possible.

On Al:

We think Al is dumb. But we elect dumber, and Al will only get less dumb.

Toast in the Machine

Tue, 17 Dec 2024 11:52:09 +0100

Some people seem to find the idea of machine intelligence frightening. And with good reason. Because from where I’m sitting at the breakfast table, the machines around me are mostly dumber than a rock (although that’s a bit unfair to rocks, who are actually very smart).

My music player has forgotten my wifi name and password and refuses to reconnect.
My wife’s work laptop is making all kinds of noises trying to attract her attention, oblivious to the fact that she’s not here, and hasn’t been for a good ten minutes.
There’s our microwave. So many buttons, settings and options. We use it several times a day and only ever tell it to heat food or drink for x number of seconds or minutes. But it’s brainless, and if you don’t keep an eye on it like a small child it will spill your drink or chuck food everywhere.
My kettle sits quietly now, but I know that when I go to boil water for my tea later it will keep on boiling the water until I manually switch it off, despite all its various settings for different boil temperatures and offers to the keep the water warm.
And then there’s the expensive toaster. Another one like the kettle that promises to toast (or defrost) every possible variety of bread-based product on its own individual setting, and with six settings for how brown you want it. Wonderful! The grim reality is that there are just two settings. “Untoasted “and “Set the smoke alarm off”.

I’m showing my space-obsessed four year old pictures of Pluto taken by a telescope on a spaceship launched from Earth twenty years ago and I still can’t get a toaster that can do somewhere in between soft, cold bread and cremation.

We shouldn’t laugh. We think Al is dumb, but we elect dumber, and Al will only get less dumb (and more dangerous).

How long before The Mossad detonates my toaster?

In fact, eighteen years ago (I mean, really?) I bought the cheapest toaster I could find in Argos for £10. I plugged it in, put in my rounds of bread and pressed play. Two minutes later, the plastic surround had literally melted.

I would go back to holding a toasting fork over an open fire, but/as my kids point out every Xmas) we don’t have a chimney.

The Last Supper

Mon, 16 Dec 2024 21:03:59 +0100

Work xmas lunch today was delicious, especially the spiced pear cake for dessert (albeit with the tiniest slice of pear I’ve ever seen).

Company was good, and highlighted how socially inept I am without a couple of pints inside me.

Service was excellent apart from the ridiculous length of time it took to pay the bill. They seemed to need to input each individual course into the till, but couldn’t work out why the total didn’t equal 13 x £16.95 - one of us didn’t order dessert.

Another one of our gathering is likely soon to be deported, which I felt uncomfortably aware of throughout.

Road Rage

Sun, 15 Dec 2024 13:57:16 +0100

My driving instructor told me that I would have to learn to drive twice. Once to pass my driving test (which I did first time, rather fortuitously), and once to learn to drive like everyone else does (i.e., with little regard to the laws of the land, the rules of the road, or the Highway Code).

He also gave me some more sound advice to be a good driver: in addition to getting from A to B, my aim should be to avoid causing other road users to brake, stop or get out of my way. I’m not perfect, so I don’t always get this right, but it’s something I always remember and try to do.

One of the best pieces of advice I ever received was from a friend who was totally into cars and bikes, driving them, riding them, taking them apart and putting them back together again.

His advice was to always look ahead as far as possible. It sounds obvious, but most drivers used to look no further than the end of their bonnet (and nowadays, of course, most are looking down at their phones).

Looking head as far as possible means you can see what’s going on and get a literal heads-up on any possible hazards approaching - children, people approaching a crossing point, slow moving vehicles, vehicles approaching a turning, emergency vehicles, etc.

(If only I’d applied this advice to the rest of my life! So many wrong turns, dead ends, car crash moments, write-offs, months getting roadworthy again….)

I also like to give way to other road users (small acts of solidarity) so that they can turn or perform whatever manoeuvre they need to do, or walk and cross safely. Although this sometimes results in drivers behind me (who obviously have no idea what I’m playing at) honking their horns at me or even overtaking me (this actually happens surprisingly often at the zebra crossing next to my sons' school).

As a bonus, this strategy means that every weekday on the school run I get my road rage going by holding every other driver to my own standards:

The speeding cars as I turn out of our cul-de-sac on to the notionally 20 mph limit “main” road.
At the junction by our local pub where cars crossing are supposed to give way. Every day I pass there I slow down in anticipation of someone speeding through regardless, and I often have to brake sharply or stop to allow someone to turn into my lane.
Directly ahead, the pinch point that stops lorries from getting stuck further down gives priority to drivers going in my direction, and while it’s badly designed, I usually have to give way to oncoming drivers.
The road it leads on to is effectively a one way street as the exit is marked with a no entry sign for vehicles who would otherwise turn into it. But it’s routinely ignored and drivers coming the other way always seem to be in a great hurry in between the cars parked on either side.
Then there’s the turn into the big main road from another one way street. The number of times I’m stuck behind someone turning right, who could have moved over to the right to allow me to turn left, but no, they need to take up the middle of the road. It’s easier now the council repainted the “Keep Clear” road markings, and that also has encouraged more drivers on the main road to give way and allow us to turn left and right.
Speaking of the middle of the road, that appears to be the preferred place for drivers of ever larger vehicles to drive. Maybe they’re frightened of hitting a parked car or they can’t envisage exactly how wide their vehicle is?

Of course, I have to get out of their way as they’re probably not even looking.

Southall Odours

Sat, 14 Dec 2024 12:19:13 +0100

I step out of my house and immediately notice the artificial “cotton fresh” scent of odour suppressants wafting south from the old Gasworks site. How can this be? They finished remediating the contaminated earth in 2019, and people have been living there in the new homes they built since 2021.

Still, it’s better than the smell of petrol, which is what we had to put up with day and night for months on end in 2018. Bad enough to wake us up in the night during the long hot summer.

And it’s better than the smell of tar, which we still get when the wind is blowing from the west. Before the asphalt plant was built, we didn’t get any odours even though there is also a Tarmac plant nearby. The Asphalt plant owners say that is because the Nestle coffee plant closed. The (burnt?) coffee smell masked the tar.

I get around the corner of my block, on my morning walk, and see the small industrial estate that was the bane of our life for months in 2022. The main culprits were the paper recylcling company, which had its own incinerator for burning (believe it or not) plastics and coated wooden pallets.

Their neighbour opposite was a custom kitchen furniture maker, which also had its own incinerator for burning laminated particle fibreboard. The garage at the front regularly burns stuff in an old oil barrel.

All of which contributed to some of the most disgusting odours imaginable blowing into our kitchen, bathroom and hallway whe the wind blew from the north-east.

I walked down the street to the corner where the local council installed a tiny corner “wildflower garden”, which my wife and kids loved because it smelled so good. Two years later, it’s reduced to a dumping ground (no one could have foreseen this).

Further on my walk, past the homes reeking of marijuana, and weaving in and out of the obstacle course of bed bases mattresses and pallets stren across the pavements, I reach the town and smell the food aromas.

I’m reminded of the old Honey Monster factory, which used to regale us with the smell of roasted (burnt?) onions (I know, right?).

And my first visit to Southall (in daylight hours), twenty odd years ago, turning left out of the old station and naively going into the underpass. The stench of piss that hit me! “Welcome to Southall!” indeed.

I finished my walk through the town and back up round and through the park. If I’d gone further up the canal by my sons' school I would have got the smell of the narrowboats' wood-burning stoves, which sometimes fills the school playground and causes kids to have to use their inhalers.

And if I’d walked along the main road home or by the junction with the big industrial estate I would have choked on the heavy air filled with the exhaust fumes from cars and lorries.

Southall stinks so bad that the council set up its own Southall Odours web page, email and hotline where you can report bad smells. Because if you don’t report it, the council can’t do anything.

If you’re lucky, you might see something done after a year or two of complaining, as long as you can withstand the constant gaslighting.

If you’re unlucky, and you’re not already dead or too ill to complain, you’ll be branded a troublemaker and excluded from local democracy.

Or you’ll be told to move by the council’s community safety director.

What's going on in Syria?

Wed, 11 Dec 2024 21:43:50 +0100

If I understand this correctly: it’s illegal in the UK to say or do anything that could be construed as support for the democratically elected government of Gaza and likewise for a party of the democratically elected government of Lebanon because we designate them as proscribed terrorist organisations.

The outgoing US president brokered a one-sided ceasefire between Lebanon and Israel, which allows Israel to continue bombing Lebanon and illegally invading and occupying its sovereign territory.

As soon as this ceasefire was in place, the Israeli prime minister threatened the president of Syria, and the armed militia formerly known as al-Qaeda/ISIS/Daesh/al-Nusra (who we designate as proscribed terrorist organisations) proceeded to violently overthrow the government of Syria (who we did not designate as a terrorist organisation despite all the bad press).

Incidentally, the leader of this armed militia formerly known as al-Qaeda/ISIS/Daesh/al-Nusra was previously held in US detention facilities in Iraq for several years and was coincidentally released just in time to form Al-Nusra at the start of Syrian Civil War in 2011.

The leader of this armed militia formerly known as al-Qaeda/ISIS/Daesh/al-Nusra has now formed the new government in Syria.

They are the good guys and are really very moderate compared to the former government of Syria - the bad guys (which is presumably why we didn’t proscribe them as a terrorist organisation).

While all this is happening, Israel is bombing Syria and illegally invading and occupying its sovereign territory. And Israel continues to obliterate Gaza. All paid for by the good ol' US of A.

No room at the inn

Thu, 05 Dec 2024 14:47:50 +0100

Immigration case I’ve been working on since almost exactly a year ago has finally gone kaput with devastating and life changing consequences for the person involved.

They’ve lived here since they were eighteen. They volunteer to run a wellbeing cafe in a local church. They applied for grant funding to keep the cafe open over winter. We wanted to employ them as a community development worker.

They now have to leave the UK by the day of our office xmas lunch or face deportation.

What you writing FOR?

Wed, 04 Dec 2024 12:23:45 +0100

I was in Hounslow, west London last year. I went to a cafe in a leisure centre. I’m not proud of it, I was volunteering with my son’s school. And I’m alone, I’m not eating or drinking and I’m writing in my notebook, right? Teacher walks over to me: “Hey, what you writing for?” Isn’t that the weirdest fucking question you’ve ever heard? Not what am I writING, but what am I writing FOR? Well, god dammit, you stumped me! Why do I write? Well… hmmm… I dunno… I guess I write for a lot of reasons and the main one is so I don’t end up being a fucking teacher!

Of course, this didn’t happen, and it the joke doesn’t really work like this. Leaving aside Bill Hicks unnecessary misogyny and condescending attitude towards our sisters in the hospitality industry - you have to admit, though, he would have been funnier than the (ri)bald bloke on Masterchef - the question stands. What am I writing for? Why do I write?

Well, the truth is, I write for a number of reasons. The main one being because it’s something I enjoy doing. Typing up blog posts on the fly in the cafe of the leisure centre where my son and his class did their weekly swimming lesson allowed me an hour to create something with no internal editor or censor stopping me. It was very cathartic. Writing this now with a pen and paper at the kitchen table is the same.

So, mainly I write for me, which is liberating. It helps me breathe and to feel alive.

But I also write for my sons. One day I’ll be gone, probably while they are still too young, and I’d like to leave them with something of me that they can get to know when that time comes. My oldest is always asking me to tell him stories about when I was young, but I’m very bad at that, and can’t remember much that’s appropriate for a ten year old anyway.

In my twenties, I used to write and receive back copious letters from friends, but also from my Dad and his Mum, my Grannie. One day my Dad’s letters stopped coming. There was no reason, or even hint of a reason. I was several thousand miles away at the time, so unable to investigate. The story I was told turned out to be a spiteful load of old bollocks, but at the time it was the only one I had, and so I believed it. I don’t feel like I know my Dad very well at all, but what I do know is that he seemed to find most enjoyment and fulfilment in his life when he was away.

After I explained to my son’s teacher that I was writing for pleasure, one of the swimming instructors at the next table gets up, stands over me and goes, “Well, looks like we got ourselves a writer!” while all the kids in their swimming costumes tried to peer over my shoulder from behind the glass screen to see what I was writing, laughing and pointing at me. That only lasted a few seconds, thankfully, before they all got on with their swimming lesson and left me in peace.

Bad Santa

Wed, 04 Dec 2024 08:33:57 +0100

Big kid is getting too clever.

I got him a surprise xmas gift he’ll love and set up an online account for him in advance so it’s ready to use on the big day.

This morning he switched his alarm off on his old cheapo kids smart watch and asked me what the notification about the order is.

I played dumb, but I’m sure he’s putting it all together.

On The Bales

Fri, 29 Nov 2024 11:38:48 +0100

The recent farmers' protests in the UK and a comment on micro.blog about old style rectangular straw bales reminded me (again) of my own farming history.

[@Miraz](https://micro.blog/Miraz) It has taken me many years to get used to this way of packing hay. I grew up with the old rectangular bales that we had to fill the loft with for the horses' winter. What do they call this big rolls of hay? Also "bales"?

markstoneman https://micro.blog/markstoneman/50684702

Now, obviously, without farmers we don’t eat. All those fields left to grow wild kindly paid for by the European Union… oh, wait, that freebie blew away in the Farage wind and now costs us £2.4 billion of our own money every year.

Talking of wind, apparently the new inheritance tax farmers are protesting will incentivise them to use or sell their farmland for use as wind or solar farms. Presumably to keep the lights and the air conditioning on for the rich when it all goes tits up, while the rest of us scrabble around blaming immigrants and woke lefties.

Farmers are notoriously tight-fisted, as I related in my own story about having my farm labouring wages deducted by the farmer after he gave me a lift home. Tight as a duck’s arse as we used to say. Steve, the farmer’s foreman, walked like a duck. Probably because he spent all day sitting on a tractor shovelling straw bales on to trailers for us to stack.

My first day on the bales ended in disaster. Steve could have lifted me down on his tractor shovel thing, as he he did many times thereafter, but instead allowed newbie me to slide down the ropes we’d just tightened.

My fingertips took several days to regrow. I had fifty pence deducted from my wages for the cost of replenishing the first aid kit, and received a straight knockout for bleeding on the ropes.

Baling was actually decent fun when you got used to the physical aspect of the work. I worked with my mate who lived on the same road, and it was a challenge to stack the bales in the right way and learn particular tricks for making them fit into impossibly small spaces. The lorry drivers often helped and, being Northumbrians, they were usually a good crack. They wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible and to make sure their load wasn’t going to topple over on the long road back to Cockermouth.

The days were often hot and long, and I would spend a lot of time visualising my first pint of the evening when we were done. But invariably, by the time I’d got home, soaked in the bath, eaten and gone out, the last thing I wanted was beer. I usually drank a shandy instead and went home for an early night.

Bye Bye Biden

Thu, 28 Nov 2024 17:16:48 +0100

Some highlights and thoughts from Yesterday’s Man: The Case Against Joe Biden by Branko Marcetic 📚

Against Biden’s best efforts, disaster had been averted. (p. 127)

This seems to sum up his career neatly. Far from the popular public image that he has cultivated and that the media have happily gone along with for the most part.

Foreign policy

“I’m not going to start World War Three for you!”

Not Biden, but British army General Mike Jackson refusing to follow Biden’s friend General Wesley Clark’s orders to confront Russia in Kosovo. (p. 172)

The book was written before Russia invaded Ukraine. It seems that Biden wants to go out with a bang, despite his previous utterances.

”There is no such thing as a winnable nuclear war.” (p. 152)

Biden saying one thing and doing another is characteristic of his entire political career. He’s not unique in that respect, of course, and perhaps he’s actually better at it than most. He did get elected president after all.

Israel

Biden was the ultimate Friend of Israel. He helped provide Israel with huge amounts of US aid money, and Israel lobbyists on his campaign staff returned the favour helping Biden raise huge amounts of money to run his various election campaigns.

Biden spent his entire career giving unqualified support to Israel, and claimed that Americans “couldn’t afford” to criticise Israel in public.

Yugoslavia

Toward the end of Bush’s term, the ex-communist Eastern European country of Yugoslavia began disintegrating in a miasma of nationalism and ethnic and religious sectarianism, forces unleashed by a Western-imposed program of economic “shock therapy” that in essence exported Western neoliberal policies to the once prosperous country, running its living standards into the ground. War soon broke out. (p. 156)

Later, Biden agitated for Clinton’s military intervention in Serbia, which lay the foundations for future “humanitarian” bombing campaigns elsewhere.

If you cared about political survival, it was safer to err on the side of war. (p. 158)

Iraq

Despite [or because of?] his role in starting the war, Biden was still considered one of the party’s wisest heads on foreign policy. (p. 173)

George W. Bush apparently followed Biden’s instructions on selling the war on Iraq to the American people and the United Nations.

Biden proposed an ethno-nationalist “three state solution” for Iraq similar to Israel’s proposals to came up Arab states into weaker sectarian units.

He proposed to Balkanise Iraq into smaller ethnic and religious sectarian states with limited freedom of movement and borders controlled by foreign troops.

A bit like Gaza and the rest of the illegally Occupied Palestinian Territories now.

Flawed as it was, the plan burnished Biden’s credentials as a foreign policy expert. (p. 179)

Iraq duped Biden forcing withdrawal of US troops. In response, ISIS ‘emerged' from an oppressed religious minority.

War on Terror

Biden’s ‘counter-terrorism plus’ policy saw the US bomb seven Muslim countries without declaring war, much like Israel is now doing with more American bombs.

That helped to fuel anti-Americanism and an immigration and prisons crisis.

Instead of providing homes for the poor, he would spend the following decades housing them in jails. (p. 85)

Domestic policy

Race relations

Racist Clinton doubled the American prison population and achieved the world’s highest rate of incarceration. Mostly with black people.

This policy usefully helped to reduce official unemployment figures and paint Clinton’s neoliberalism as an economic miracle.

Another lesson Biden had first wrongly internalised from American apartheid: that people of different backgrounds simply couldn’t live together in harmony. (p. 177)

Instead Biden backed segregation (busing) and individual states' rights over a united federal states of America.

Women’s rights

”I don’t think that a woman has the sole right to say what should happen to her body.” (p. 184)

Biden on the Roe v. Wade decision in 1974

Biden’s neoliberalism

Biden presented as a progressive liberal on the side of the working class. But he spent his career siding with Republicans and moving the Democrats ever further to the right.

At one time even a former Klan recruiter thought Biden had gone too far. Another Klan leader praised Biden’s election platform claiming it was as if it had been written by a Klansman.

Supporting spending cuts

Biden said Jimmy Carter was nothing special, and welcomed Reaganomics as a step in the right direction. Although in typical Biden fashion he also claimed Reagan’s first budget would be an economic disaster before voting for it (along with 29 other Democrats).

Reagan’s cuts cost 270,000 jobs and reduced access to financial support for millions of Americans. Rather than reducing the deficit, it increased it, and made the rich richer, and the poor poorer.

Like Thatcher in Britain, Reagan’s greatest achievement was in transforming his opposition into his mirror image. You still get a choice at the polls, but there’s very little, if any, substantive policy difference between the two.

”Biden isn’t a liberal anymore.”

Ayn Rand acolyte Paul Ryan, who lost to Biden in the 2012 vice-presidential election, but declared a more important victory.

Biden’s support for tax cuts for the rich wasn’t a one-off. This was a repeated pattern of voting indicating where his true loyalties lay. Indeed, later he proposed his own tax cuts that were more severe than Reagan’s, and “right out of the Tea Party playbook”.

Where once the tyranny of “special interests” meant the control of government by big business and the super-rich, it now referred to the ordinary Americans the New Deal had sought to protect from those same powerful entities. (p. 68)

No longer aligned with the working class, Biden now focused on the middle class, solidly Conservative, tax-and-government fearing supporters of the super-rich.

”It’s the middle class, stupid.” (p.147)

Much like the South where Biden always pivoted for support of anti-union, pro-slavery and white supremacist votes. Biden could have tried to bring Southern voters to the Democrats, but instead chose to lead the Democrats to align with the politics of the South.

Biden had successfully facilitated the decades-long wholesale robbery of working- class Americans by law enforcement. (p. 91)

Enter Bill Clinton, who with Biden’s full support, carried on Reagan’s economic policies leading to ever more cuts in government spending and hardship for millions more Americans.

Biden again offered trillions of dollars of cuts to retirement funds, Medicare, Medicaid and food stamps, giving Mitch McConnell everything he asked for.

As president, much of Obama’s job involved cleaning up messes that Biden had helped create. (p. 191)

The major legislative accomplishments that Biden had racked up in prior decades had succeeded because they had been in pursuit of Republican goals. (p. 199)

Biden did what he always did: plead fealty to working class voters in public speeches filled with references to his Scranton roots while privately appealing for the support of big-money interests. (p. 214)

By 2020, Biden had shifted (and shifted the Democrats) so far to the right, he was finally electable and the safest establishment option to defeat Trump as president.

Dua Lipa's Tiny Desk concerts

Sun, 24 Nov 2024 14:10:10 +0100

Dua Lipa’s Tiny Desk concert at home in between covid lockdowns in 2020 is the most watched Tiny Desk concert ever.

Which doesn’t surprise me at all as we must have watched it literally hundreds, if not thousands, of times.

My little boy absolutely loved it, and even me and big kid secretly liked it, too.

Love Again is my favourite.

She’s just performed a new concert at Tiny Desk HQ, and it’s also very watchable and listenable, with These Walls the standout track.

On Journaling

Sat, 23 Nov 2024 19:06:48 +0100

I wrote this a week ago.

My last journal was over a week ago, last Saturday.

I’ve had a week off work with a really bad cough, wheezing, shortness of breath. Generally feeling better these last couple of days, but also still coughing. Last two days I had coughing fits in the afternoons leaving me dizzy, and exhausted. I haven’t slept well some nights either, due to coughing, wheezing and breathlessness.

But sitting here right now, I feel as good as I have done in two weeks or more.

Time off from work has allowed me to go through 90 days of journal entries to categorise and summarise them, and then outline or tease out the key themes or ideas in each area of interest. Why? Well, 1) what are all these journal entries for? I mean, I get the process, but am I missing out on something greater? 2) Lots of people publish weekly summaries and some people like reading them. But why?

I think I get it now. Doing this work has made sense of a lot of daily, weekly and monthly events, habits, routines, scenarios, relationships, that otherwise would have remained loosely connected, strung together like the Christmas lights every year when you take them out of the box you left them in in January. In a mess, tangled up, half working. Better than nothing, but a lot of stress.

And another surprising fact. While I started - and soon stopped - journaling in March, then restarted in August, I had wondered if spending the time to write in a private journal would take away from writing for my blog? Actually (and unsurprisingly, really) the opposite has occurred. I have written more than ever, privately and publicly.

I’ve also generally felt better in myself, although I’ve still had my usual ups and downs, and I’m still quite easily uplifted and dragged down.

It’s also made me realise I do a lot more things than I imagined, and do them OK.

It’s helped me to better understand some of my relationships, particularly with family.

I’m reading more, and listening to music more.

It would be useful (although perhaps less fun)to do the same exercise with my work journal. (41 pages, 46 days).

244 pages over 90 days for my personal journal.

Unfortunately, I haven’t journaled since.

Jon Batiste's Tiny Desk concert

Sat, 23 Nov 2024 16:29:35 +0100

Jon Batiste, like Alicia Keys, is a supremely talented musician and performer. This is another must watch Tiny Desk concert from 2019.

This is another video my little kid enjoyed watching, singing along to (before he could talk), and dancing to with his big brother (before falling asleep).

Don’t it make your soul shake?

Alicia Keys' Tiny Desk concert

Sat, 23 Nov 2024 16:09:46 +0100

If you haven’t seen and listened to Alicia Keys' Tiny Desk concert (Feb 2020) then I highly recommend that you do, even if - or especially if - you think she’s not your thing.

This is a video my little kid loved to sing along to before falling asleep for a mid-day or afternoon nap.

We all just wanna be shown some love

Living and breathing

Sat, 23 Nov 2024 14:19:02 +0100

I have vague memories of seeing Florence + The Machine on the BBC at Glastonbury, possibly in 2009. She was the big new thing, breathlessly jumping around all over the place, climbing up the gantry, as she showcased her debut album Lungs.

Lungs album cover photoshoot stills - Tom Beard 2009

Or maybe it was 2015. Ship To Wreck sounds so familiar and like it would have caught my ear.

All very dramatic, elemental, and possibly not quite my thing more generally at those particular times. I didn’t pay much attention then or since.

By then, I’d fallen out of love with life, not just music. In recent years, I’ve rediscovered music, and life, and this week Florence + The Machine.

My little kid is 4 ½ years old. He’s obsessed with space at the moment. When he was younger, and still napping in the day, we found that he enjoyed falling asleep to a variety of music videos on YouTube. Mostly videos of music I liked. I don’t know how that happened!

At one time he really enjoyed some of the NPR Tiny Desk concerts - bands playing stripped down acoustic or semi-acoustic fifteen minute sets on a tiny office stage in front of a small audience.

Two he really liked were Alicia Keys and Jon Batiste - which weren’t my choices (well, they were my choices, but now I had permission to choose them), but I grew to love them, too. It’s hard not love such amazing musicianship, singing and songs, all performed with unconfined joy in the moment. My son got it. So did I.

One he wasn’t so keen on, but I enjoyed, was Florence + The Machine’s Tiny Desk performance. Usually so full of bombast, almost over-produced, and perfect for rocking out stadium tours, this was vulnerable and exposed. Two voices, a harp, acoustic guitar and keyboard. Three perfect songs.

I really tried to listen to more, the album versions, but I still couldn’t get into them.

This week, with my focus on my own personal breathlessness and lung history, and still thinking about another Machine entirely, I tried again. I still couldn’t do it, not fully. I now liked the album versions of the Tiny Desk songs, but the rest washed over me. I read more about the band, the albums, reviews, trying to understand why people like them so much.

Then last night, I finally got it. I cant explain why, exactly. Maybe it’s just familiarity. Probably it’s paying attention. As with many things in life, you sometimes have to make an effort to learn to appreciate things and develop a taste (or ear) for them.

Each breath screaming / ‘We are all too young to die,'” Welch sings in the chorus of “Between Two Lungs"

I do wonder also, though, if sometimes songs speak to me even when I’m not actively listening? I’ve always been useless at remembering lyrics. Not great for singing songs in a band. But the songs I love for the music, the energy, the tunes… When I do pay attention to the words, sometimes years later, they do carry meaning for me (even if that’s not necessarily what the song is actually about). They just needed to be heard. That’s the beauty of it.

No more gasping for a breath
The air has filled me head-to-toe
And I can see the ground far below
I have this breath and I hold it tight
And I keep it in my chest with all my might
I pray to god this breath will last

Sausages

Thu, 21 Nov 2024 12:45:11 +0100

Lincolnshire sausages are the finest sausages you can get.

I remember as a boy, fifty years ago, my grandmother making sausages at home for the local butcher. Sometimes, she would let me feed the sausage meat into the machine and then turn the handle to push it through into the skins.

A special treat then was boiled sausages for breakfast. The skins would fall off, and we ate them with white bread soaked in the soup or broth they created in the pan along with a dash of English mustard.

In later years, my Mum would travel to Boston in south Lincolnshire from her home in north Lincolnshire specially to buy sausages from the butcher who made the best Lincolnshire sausages.

She would freeze them and pack me off with ten or twelve wrapped in old newspaper whenever I came back to visit from university or when I first moved to Manchester and then London.

I haven’t had a proper Lincolnshire sausage for many years now. The ones we get now are made in Hampshire. They’re nice enough, better than any other variety of supermarket sausage I’ve tried, but you wouldn’t want to boil them.

They’re pretty versatile. They’re great with mashed potatoes and gravy, in a special Valentine’s casserole, in a Yorkshire pudding, with xmas dinner wrapped in bacon, in a bread finger roll with (or without) onions and ketchup, in a sandwich or, as my kids like to eat them, cold on their own in the bath after school.

Machine of Interest

Tue, 19 Nov 2024 22:21:49 +0100

I asked The Machine to review my review of Person of Interest

Transcript

Got Carter

Tue, 19 Nov 2024 20:14:31 +0100

I started watching Person of Interest almost three months ago thanks to a recommendation from Hippy Steve. Obviously I’m about thirteen years after everyone else, as it first aired in 2011. At that time, I was busy singing songs about one J Carter….

Person of Interest is a post 9/11 surveillance thriller, although I still think my initial impression of the first episode - Minority Report meets Police Squad! wasn’t far off. After watching two and a half seasons, I’d add a good old dollop of Reservoir Dogs into the mix.

Luckily for me, the whole five seasons was free to watch on Amazon Prime, with just a thirty second ad break halfway through each episode.

The basic premise for the show is that we are surrounded by cameras recording our every move. The US government wanted to create an automatic means of harnessing all this information for the greater good - preventing terror attacks on its territory.

The creator of this artificial intelligence - known as The Machine - now has sole access to it. And he is using it to prevent not just terror attacks, but also everyday attacks on ordinary people. People who the government were never interested in because they were irrelevant to national security.

Finch, who is obviously the brains of the operation, hires some brawn - Reese - to do the dangerous work of physically intervening to prevent daily murders. In fact, Finch rescues Reese from whisky-fuelled vagrancy after his former life as a CIA special agent has fallen apart, and offers him redemption. He’s still a hired hitman, but he doesn’t have to kill anyone anymore, just save them from murder.

People don’t change, but they can make good decisions

Luckily there’s only one murder a day, and Reese is just as capable sloshed, slashed, shot, and tied up. He’s the human embodiment of The Machine - Superman, infallible, with all the (ir)relevant information fed to him by Finch via an earpiece and every conceivable weapon, perfect timing and lucky escape available to him, along with miraculous recovery from injury.

Between them, they are all-seeing, all-knowing, and omnipresent, and the recipient of mysterious cryptic phone calls revealing the social security number of the next murder victim or perpetrator.

Soon we start meeting new regular characters. The would-be mob boss working undercover as a shy, socially conscious high school teacher in the toughest area in town. The police homicide detective (one J Carter) looking for “The man in the suit” - Reese - who keeps being seen at the scene of the incredible deaths of various villains. The corrupt police officers (dirty cops known collectively as HR) who protect and serve themselves and their criminal and mob friends. Including Fusco, who is assigned to work with Carter, and recruited by Reese as an inside source and dirty worker.

You can’t run from the past forever, but love is real

Season Two is definitely a cut above Season One. The characters are more rounded, there are more of them, their interactions and back stories are playing out and getting entangled. Finch and Fusco have, or had, love lives. Reese is looking out for Carter even though she’s still officially hunting him. Reese acquires a killer Dutch dog called Bear and keeps him as a pet to protect Finch from the mysterious and powerful root who has been watching everything he does and who wants access to The Machine.

Then, out of the blue, halfway through S2, I can’t watch it anymore! Not without parting with £17.99! But by now I’m hooked, watching an episode almost every evening. £17.99 gets me the information that it was Finch who ordered Reese and his duplicitous CIA partner to be killed in China, and sociopath Shaw joins the team after her old boss Control tried to kill her. My old boss’s doppelganger turns up in one episode as a serial killer identity thief in a good old-fashioned Columbo episode where everyone is stuck on an island in the middle of a hurricane, and everyone except the killer is a suspect until it’s (almost) too late. Fusco killed his old dirty cop partner Stills and buried him in the woods.

Carter and Bear dig up Stills' body to save Fusco’s ass

Finch gets captured by root. She wants to set The Machine free. It turns out Finch programmed The Machine to forget everything at the end of every day in an act of self-deletion. root seems to have some kind of connection with The Machine and sees it as a living organism.

In Season Three, Carter brings down HR, including HR’s chief henchman and all round bad guy Simmons. Or does she? No, she doesn’t. He’s somehow still alive. It’s getting silly.

Reese’s number is up. By now, he’s in love with Carter, and she’s in love with him. She dies in his arms, shot in the chest by the evil Simmons, who escapes yet again. Simmons brutally tortures the now extremely likeable Fusco, breaking three of his fingers before sentencing both Fusco and his young son to death. Shaw manages to save Fusco’s son, but she can’t be in two places at once….

Dirty cop turned hero

Somehow, Fusco manages to free his ties and garrote his executioner before he can pull the trigger. Then he finds a strangely unarmed Simmons before he can fly to safety. But instead of shooting him, or even arresting him, he first decides to fist fight him with three broken fingers. Bear in mind that Simmons is hard as nails, and Fusco is short, fat, and a bit of a softie at heart.

Against all the odds, Fusco wins and takes cop-killer Simmons in.

After Carter’s death, Reese goes AWOL and back on the bottle. Fusco finds him out west and they end up in a slapstick brawl in the rain. Meanwhile, Finch and Shaw are captured by the evil Control and her evil Odd Bod henchman Hersh, but miraculously saved by root (who by now had been captured and caged by Finch).

I got bored

Halfway through S3 I gave up. Reese and Fusco miraculously saved Finch and Shaw, who were themselves captured by Vigilance (a violent pro-privacy campaign group), then Hersh. root was captured by Control and brutally tortured, but somehow managed to escape, turn the tables and then save everyone.

I haven’t mentioned the mysterious, sinister and extremely evil elderly Englishman who seemed to be running the whole show (actually the show’s creator’s grandfather in real life), who managed to look like death and worse than Michael Gambon in The Singing Detective.

If you like guns, shooting people, torture, (mock) executions, (child) kidnapping, (attempted) murder, blackmail, gambling, Russian Roulette, cyber-stalking, identity theft, mob rule and police corruption, you’ll probably like Person of Interest. I was into it for around fifty or so episodes, but it became too much, too repetitive, too cliched. They killed off the only J Carter, and I can’t have that, even if J Bezos has another £17.99 from me.

People Don't Change

Tue, 19 Nov 2024 09:01:07 +0100

People don’t change, but they can make good decisions.

This is a quote, or the gist of a quote, from an episode of Person of Interest, a TV show I watched avidly for two and a half seasons before rapidly losing interest after the scriptwriters killed off one of the only characters with a fully functioning sense of empathy (who happened to be a black woman) and which therewith descended into a cliched, repetitive, and all-too predictable (yet surprising) slapstick parody of itself.

If I wanted to watch a bunch of psychopaths endlessly escalate a brutal war on humanity I could just look at the news. Americans sure like their guns and shooting people for entertainment. Personally, I prefer a nice cup of tea and a good book, and a bit of peace and quiet.

Anyway, people don’t change, but they can make good decisions. Especially when they have enough guns pointed at their head. That’s the takeaway, or the moral of this story. But they always escape, and then they’re back to making bad decisions all over again, usually involving pointing guns at other people’s heads.

And maybe that’s right. People don’t change. Not until there’s a compelling reason to. We carry on mindlessly making the same old bad decisions over and over again like in Einstein’s theory of insanity, repeating the same mistakes and expecting a different outcome.

It’s a horrible take. But it’s true to some extent. Getting better (it can’t get much worse) can be a bit of a song (and a dance). Recovery is a long and winding road. They tried to make me go to rehab, but I said “No, no, no!” There’s a lot of resistance to change, and even to making good decisions.

But is much of this also a result of the world we live in, and who we are? We live in a world consumed by neoliberal orthodoxy. We are in thrall to the ideas of freedom of the market, the decimation of government and public services, and the freedom of individuals (and individual responsibility, even while what’s left of the state bails out the greed and mistakes of unaccountable banks and corporations).

There’s no such thing as society, Thatcher told us. There is no alternative.

Trump was right, Americans will never vote for a black woman. Hell, they wouldn’t even vote for a warmongering white woman. The white supremacist patriarchy is strong. Yes, they voted for a black man, but he turned out to be the most murderous president in history.

Is there an alternative? There’s always an alternative. It’s just that usually the alternative is more of the same, or worse. Take it or leave it. And even when there is a different option, one which might slightly rein in the excesses of this neoliberal onslaught, it’s demonised as a Stalinist coup that will murder Jews. “Nothing. Has. Changed.” implored Theresa May, quite rightly, as she continued as Prime Minister despite losing her massive parliamentary majority and failing to obtain a mandate to deliver Brexit, or anything other than her own resignation. Calling that election was the most audacious thing she ever did, aside from running through a field of wheat as a child.

Despite the people obviously voting for change, and genuine hope, it was clear that what we really needed instead was a lying, racist killer clown to run the country into the ground.

At least he had a plan. An oven-ready plan to deliver Brexit on a plate just in time for the New Year. It would be served cold, and thoroughly unappetising to everyone, toxic even. But it was the will of the people. It’s what we wanted. We voted for it! We wanted to sever our economic ties to our nearest and biggest trading partner and experience the freedom of going it alone in the big wide world, unleashed!

But that wasn’t enough! The killer clown told too many lies, and hosted too many parties in covid lockdown. He had to go. A tiny minority of elderly rich right wingers then voted for a new leader for us. One who would be more honest, less racist, less murderous, and not as stupid. Liz “Pork Markets” Truss.

Oh, fuck. She might not have been a liar, or a racist, or a murderer, but boy was she stupid. She killed the Queen, trashed the UK economy, and blew up Russia’s Nordstream pipeline, all in less than a month. Talk about a whirlwind. And some bad decisions. She now has a very nice pension. You reap what you sow.

People don’t change, but they can make good decisions. Neoliberalism doesn’t change, and the more that the people are subjected to its bad decisions, its lust for war, for death, for oil, for money, for making the rich richer and the poor poorer, the harder it gets for people to change, and the fewer good decisions are made.

DPD FFS!

Mon, 18 Nov 2024 17:53:22 +0100

DPD notified me that their driver had delivered my parcel. “Parcel received by Rhanderg”.

That’s obviously not me, and neither did I have my parcel.

I saw the DPD van outside my neighbour’s block opposite, so figured he must have delivered there by mistake. But, no, my neighbour didn’t have it (and he’s not called Rhanderg either).

I opened a chat on the DPD app. The proof of delivery photo was taken at my neighbour’s door. I was assured the driver would come back later, retrieve my parcel and deliver it to me. But I’d already checked with my neighbour and they didn’t have it.

Two minutes later, the driver turns up with my parcel. He said he dropped his phone in the mud (and accidentally took a photo of him not delivering it to my neighbour’s flat?).

My Cheese-o-meter

Fri, 15 Nov 2024 12:50:05 +0100

For the best sensation, please read this post at room temperature.

Blessed are the cheesemakers.

What’s so special about the cheesemakers?

Well, obviously it’s not meant to be taken literally. It refers to any manufacturers of dairy products.

Now, I’m going to milk this for all it’s worth, but I would question the last sentence. I’m going to stick to cheese. Not literally, of course. That would be messy and smelly. Always wash your hands after operating cheese.

I’m going to stick to cheese, metaphorically - for the benefit of the cheeseless.

[@davidmarsden](https://micro.blog/davidmarsden) I am still waiting, cheeseless.

annie's micro(b)log https://micro.blog/Annie/49637183

That’s it! Cheese! We’ll go somewhere where there’s cheese!

Cheeseboard Disclaimer

While I don’t consider myself to be any kind of big cheese - I’m not a cheese authority or cheese expert - I’m perfectly qualified to write a cheesy summary of my life in cheese.

Please note that I am not affiliated to the Cheese Marketing Board, and clicking any of the links in this post will not help to feed my hungry cheese-loving children.

Cheese-o-meter

Without further fondue, here’s my Cheese List.

Triple Gloucester. The elusive holy grail of cheeses. From Gloucester.
Double Gloucester. If you have trouble finding Triple Gloucester, then you can’t go wrong with its populist sibling Double. Trump-like appearance, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a vote-winner. Biden-like quality: good all-rounder, mild, creamy, child-friendly, goes with most things, melts easily. Oily. Used in cheese rolling competitions. From Gloucester.
Single Gloucester. Pale and aloof, Double’s estranged half-sister. From Gloucester.
Mature Cheddar. Hard, white, crumbles under pressure. The epitome of Englishness in cheese form. Ideal in a cheese and tomato sandwich, or a Ploughman’s lunch. Mixes well (grated) with Double Gloucester. From Cheddar.
Vintage Mature Cheddar. See 4, but harder, whiter and crumblier.
Mild Cheddar. See 4, but less pale, slightly softer, and less crumbly. Almost tasteless. Pointless waste of milk.
Red Leicester. Underrated cheese. Red. Makes a fine cheese sauce for cauliflower or macaroni. Makes a great topping for a Shepherd’s Pie (better than mixing Cheddar and Gloucester - Gloucester can get a bit oily). From Leicester.
Wensleydale. White, crumbly. Perfect with a mince pie. From Wensleydale.
Lancashire, Lincolnshire, Cheshire. Lumping these all together not because they’re are all the same, but because it’s so long since I tried them I can’t remember what they are like. From Lancashire, Lincolnshire and Cheshire.
Gouda. Sliced foreign cheese. Kids eat it.
Edam. A very special Dutch cheese which is made backwards. Don’t eat the rind!
Jarlsberg. Sliced foreign cheese. Full of holes.
Emmental. Stringy cheese. Good for toasties and the bin.
Swiss cheese. American cheese. From Switzerland.
Brie. Fancy French cheese. Round, rindy, soft and stinky. Nice with a cracker.

Camembert. See 16. It’s like no cheese I’ve ever tasted.
Blue cheese. French. Mouldy. No thanks.
Stilton. See 18. Not French. From Stilton.
Ricotta. Soft, creamy. Perfect with spinach on a pizza, or better still in a calzone at Pizza World.
Mozzarella. On a pizza.
Mascarpone. In a cheesecake. Not a cake.
Halloumi. Fried. On its own or with olives, hummus, pitta. From Cyprus.
Feta. Greek salad. From Greece.
Cottage cheese. My Mum loves it. From a cottage. From-age?
Goats' cheese. From goats.
Sheep’s cheese. See 26, but from sheep.
Parmesan. Baby sick.
Smegma. You don’t want to know where it’s from. One of the first bands I was in at school was called The Amgems. We weren’t as good or as funny as we thought we were.
Lung cheese.

WFH Saved My Life

Tue, 12 Nov 2024 11:24:42 +0100

I’ve worked from home since the end of February 2020. I transferred all my work and systems online to do so, and while I’m still part-time, in practice I’m now available 24/7 for every conceivable administrative emergency (“Hi David. Please order me some large coloured post-it notes and have them delivered to my home tomorrow” or “Hi David. Please bring £200 in cash to my house this morning so I can pay for my lunch meeting today.").

I won’t pretend I’ve always been highly productive, in the office or at home. But I always get everything done that needs to be done, and I’m super-flexible and adaptable. I’ve been asked to do - and done - huge, complex projects at short notice and with short deadlines that are outside of my remit and frankly beyond my skill set, but I’ve done them, learned how to do it on the spot or got help.

I do go into the office for occasional in-person meetings and social gatherings (“xmas lunch” looms) when necessary, and indeed spent a solid three hours working last Thursday with a masked colleague (she had a fever) in a freezing cold office. I’d just recovered from a bad reaction to the covid vaccine. Next day was a write-off. I was exhausted and worried about whether the work we did was really good enough. The day after and since I’ve had a terrible cough and cold, shortness of breath, wheezing. (Since my COPD diagnosis, every rasping breath I take is assessed and rediagnosed by my non-medic wife as requiring medical attention.)

My workplace is bad for my health. Pre-covid I had multiple chest infections that kept me away from work and reduced my productivity to zero for weeks at a time. Since I worked from home, and catching covid aside, I’ve had zero time where I’ve been unable to go to the office for essential work that can only be done there. Even when I’ve had coughs and colds, I’ve felt well enough to do the work that needed to be done. Somehow (until now with this new cough) I don’t seem to get so ill or feel so bad when I’m at home.

Working from home has given me the time and space to transform how I work for the better. I’m better organised, more thoughtful, less rushed and distracted. I can honestly say that I’m now the most productive I’ve ever been thanks to a more comfortable, relaxed and focussed personal work space.

And, yes, being part-time, and flexible, I can take a nap if I need one.

Why should people work at home? https://youtu.be/bQN_Fb03RfE?si=CZoQagrotTA_urw8 The ‘return to work’ now being enforced by many organisations makes no sense for many people, or the planet. It really is time that we have some enlightened managers who did what is best for people and the world, and not what they see as being best for them.
Richard Murphy https://mas.to/@RichardJMurphy/113468713160356801

Not Fake News

Wed, 06 Nov 2024 13:53:31 +0100

Convicted felon, fascist and fake news king, the 45ᵗʰ President of the United States paid the porn star ‘stormy Daniels’ hundreds of thousands of dollars not to tell anyone that she had sex with him.

Last night, she appeared on a Channel 4 US election special with disgraced former UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson, who was there to plug his memoir “Unleashed.”

Daniels wanted to know if Johnson had any children, and wondered if Johnson would leave his daughter alone with Trump. (Trump has a whole series of very serious sexual misconduct allegations against him.)

Johnson explained that he has met Trump and he’s perfectly polite and well-mannered, so of course he would have no problem with him.

Johnson himself, of course, is famous among other things for being a serial liar and not knowing how many children he has.

Needless to say, Trump won the election, and Johnson is trying to make a comeback.

Liz Kendall - Mad, Bad and Dangerous

Wed, 06 Nov 2024 10:52:18 +0100

Trials of employment advisers giving CV and interview advice in hospitals produced “dramatic results”, Work and Pensions Secretary Liz Kendall told the BBC.

No. No they didn’t.

The Secretary of State for the Department of Work and Pensions was referring to her experience of visiting a severe mental illness Individual Placement and Support (IPS) programme.

In the community.

Mental health patients are in hospital usually because they are incapable of living life in general let alone getting a job. Plus, mental health units are usually secure wards, so they can’t get out.

IPS works because people are in recovery, receiving treatment that makes them feel better and well enough to start thinking about work.

Hats Off!

Mon, 04 Nov 2024 14:06:11 +0100

Sat on a bench in a children’s playground, a older couple approach me. The man is wearing a Union Jack bobble hat, points at my cap and says, “Were you in Vietnam?”

Now, I’ve heard this or similar many times online, always from Reform, but never in person.

“It’s The Clash”, I said. “London Calling.”

“And Jeremy Corbyn. For the many, not the few.”

“Oooh! Jeremy Corbyn! We wouldn’t be in this mess if he was in charge!” He said.

Then his wife asked me if I knew how to share a story about Chesterfield to all her Facebook friends.

Family Connection Restored

Sat, 02 Nov 2024 20:42:31 +0100

Spent the day at my Mum’s, and a good portion of our final half an hour with her trying to fix the wifi connection on her phone.

Restarting her router slightly improved connectivity.

Just as we’re about to leave, she says, “I’ve got loads of new routers they keep sending me.”

Quickly set up her new router and now everything works perfectly.

When we got back to our caravan, I got a text. “You didn’t take the plum loaf I got you.”

COPD

Thu, 31 Oct 2024 18:44:13 +0100

Last week I received confirmation of a diagnosis of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) based on results of spirometry tests back in August (it took that long for my GP surgery to get the results from the test centre, and only after my own intervention after their repeated failures).

My GP helpfully seemed very keen to blame my twenty-odd year history of smoking.

I first smoked at about age 20. My parents were smokers (wasn’t everyone back then?). I was never a heavy smoker. The most I ever smoked was ten a day. It’s also true I smoked a number of other substances that didn’t come with filters. And then there was some vaping. I suspect that might have been the worst of the lot, but who knows? I haven’t smoked for ten years.

In my childhood, I remember several episodes of severe shortness of breath, e.g., when running around the sports field at primary school I collapsed gasping for breath, and unable to continue. I was never diagnosed with asthma. I was told to get up and stop being so weak.

As I got older, whenever the football season started, I could never get through a full game. I put it down to lack of fitness and stamina at the time, but whatever it was, the symptom was breathlessness. I was told to get fit and sent off on cross-country runs.

I had regular episodes of shortness of breath throughout young adulthood that were not triggered by exercise (I’d more or less given up by then, helped by a dodgy ankle). I thought it might be hayfever or a dust allergy.

Fourteen years ago, I needed a thoracotomy on my right lung after a chest infection went wrong. I developed pleurisy, a collapsed lung and an empyema. In the post-op, my surgeon said my lung was “as good as new”.

In the years before covid, I had frequent chest infections requiring antibiotics and time off work to recover. Then and now, I wonder if that was triggered by the Southall Gasworks remediation and air pollution?

I now see that studies show that exposure to volatile organic compounds (including benzene, naphthalene and toluene) is related to COPD.

The good news is that I had no symptoms of COPD, so it’s been diagnosed at an early stage. I’ve started with my new inhaler, and my wife reports that I’ve stopped snoring.

The Hangover

Thu, 31 Oct 2024 17:47:46 +0100

I had my covid vaccine a week ago today. As expected I had a torrid night with violent shivers, nausea, headache and generally feeling like crap.

While that was the worst of it, I had a whole 48 hours of ‘mild flu symptoms’, followed by a whole week of feeling like the day after going on a massive bender.

I was hoping for a good night’s sleep tonight, in preparation for a long drive tomorrow, but it’s Diwali.

Which in our neighborhood means a non-stop onslaught of fireworks for several hours this evening.

The Southall Gasworks Story

Tue, 29 Oct 2024 23:21:53 +0100

The story of how the remediation of Southall Gasworks highlights the environmental injustices faced by communities of colour.

The disregard for the health and concerns of these residents raises questions about the inequitable distribution of environmental burdens and the role of local government in protecting vulnerable populations.

It also highlights the potential conflicts between development, profit, and public health, and the need for greater transparency and accountability from authorities and developers.

(This is a Google NotebookLM creation, based on selected sources from my blog posts on Southall Gasworks.)

Chasing youths with carving knives

Tue, 29 Oct 2024 22:06:14 +0100

How my journey into care work was a serendipitous outcome of my search for meaning and purpose beyond the confines of traditional work. At least, that’s according to Google NotebookLM, based on my Curriculum Vitae series of blog posts.

Transcript

Clear and obvious error

Sun, 27 Oct 2024 21:56:33 +0100

After watching and re-watching the same three-second clip of nothing happening for so long that here in the UK we had to put our clocks back another hour just to have enough time to finish the game, the match referee (Ross from Friends look-a-like David Coote) turned to face what he knew would be a worldwide audience of millions of armchair experts like me yelling “VAR! WTF!” at the screen in front of us. You could see in his face and his body language that he knew just like us it was ludicrous. Another referee sat in a business park office just down the road from me had told him to review his original decision - that nothing had happened - because the ref had made “a clear and obvious” error of judgment.

The late penalty awarded by VAR and converted by West Ham and England’s Jarrod Bowen should duly result in the termination of the losing manager’s contract. That’s football. This VAR rubbish isn’t, but we have to live with it for now.

This particular fiasco neatly sums up the entire ETH tenure. A clear and obvious error, if ever there was one, and yet we are forced to watch repeat after repeat, week after week of him getting it wrong. Team selections, tactics, transfers, substitutions. A bald man somehow getting balder every time the full time whistle blows.

If only United had a VAM. A Video Assistant Manager. Another (more capable manager) sat in a nearby office watching the game on a screen like you or me, who could intervene at key moments during the build-up to the game (team selection), during the game (tactical changes and subs), and off the pitch (transfers, man-management) to a whisper into Ten Hag’s hairless ear: “Hold on, Eric. I think that signing Antony for £80m is a clear and obvious error” or “Hi Eric, Maguire’s a fucking liability mate” or “Eric, pal. We need to talk. Onana?” I could go on but you get the drift.

Now, I know everyone rightly hates VAR for ruining the game, and it would be unfair to blame ETH for ruining United. But VAM would make it much more entertaining.

Another Door Closes

Wed, 02 Oct 2024 06:55:34 +0100

Our twenty year old fridge door failed. It refused to stay closed anymore. Hinges had gone.

After a couple of weeks battling with adhesive magnetic door locks designed for something else, I did the most manly thing I could think of. I called an engineer.

The NEFF man arrived and did the job in a matter of minutes for £172.

It’s been an expensive couple of months fixing doors, old and new.

Palace Match Report

Sun, 22 Sep 2024 09:56:19 +0100

Watched the United game (on my laptop) yesterday, having missed the Southampton and Barnsley games.

A big improvement on the Liverpool debacle, especially in the first half.

Dalot playing as a LB, DM and playmaker/midfield general all at once was as unexpected as it was impressive.

Eriksen starting, to maintain the creative link he made with Mainoo against Barnsley we’re told, was also unexpected, but it too somehow worked. Drifting left to cover Dalot rather undid his link with Mainoo, though.

Rashford benched, supposedly for “rotation”, went against all known football management laws about not changing a winning team and playing players who are in form and scoring goals.

It almost worked as Garnacho (who always looks like he has a goal in him, if nothing else) replaced him, but hit the bar with a thunderous effort from wide of the penalty box.

When the subs came, they undid all our tactical and positional advantage, perhaps as much due to Palace’s positive changes as United’s later nearly self-defeating swaps. Ugarte was a downgrade on Dalot and less of a creative menace or goalscoring threat than the unfairly maligned Casemiro might have been. Rashford, and then Hojlund, couldn’t hold the ball up or link up the play like Zirkzee did. But by then our shape had gone and Palace were on top.

Lucky to come away with a draw in the end, thanks to an incredible double save from Onana and wasteful finishing from Eze, although we should have won the game in the first half an hour.

Digital Leader

Mon, 16 Sep 2024 14:07:59 +0100

Hoping we found a good solution to help big kid’s Digital Leader application.

He found it difficult to focus and get his head around answering the questions in a sensible (let alone helpful) way.

Instead, I recorded him speaking about the devices and tech he uses, how he helps his little brother and his parents to play games, and how using new apps like Duolingo has helped him to learn Spanish (when previously he hated Spanish lessons).

Google automatically transcribed his speech and copied it to Google Docs. There I edited out the ums and ahs and pasted it into his Discord chat with me. Then he copied it out by hand on to the application form.

🤞

Impossible demands

Sat, 14 Sep 2024 21:45:22 +0100

Starmer is cynically setting up the NHS to fail in order to present private healthcare as the fix.

Starmer: a man way of his depth when dealing with the NHS https://www.taxresearch.org.uk/Blog/2024/09/13/starmer-a-man-way-of-of-his-depth-when-dealing-with-the-nhs/ Starmer's speech on the NHS yesterday offered view of a man unprepared for office who sends out incompetent messages to those who now work in the organisation he leads and who has no comprehension of the economic environment in which he must manage healthcare.
It's not surprising that now the UK public is seeing Starmer in action that his popularity is falling.
Richard Murphy https://mas.to/@RichardJMurphy/113129230455417659

Death cult

Sat, 14 Sep 2024 21:40:40 +0100

OBR: We have to kill old people and starve the children of the poor in order to keep funding our expensive wars and ensure the rich get richer.

Labour: Let’s get to it!

The Office for Budget Responsibility’s forecast for the national debt is a worthless exercise by economically illiterate fantasists https://www.taxresearch.org.uk/Blog/2024/09/13/the-office-for-budget-responsibilitys-forecast-for-the-national-debt-is-a-worthless-exercise-by-economically-illiterate-fantasists/ The Office for Budget Responsibility has forecast that UK debt will rise to 300% of GDP in 50 years because they think it impossible that taxes can rise above current levels, even though state spending will reach 60% of GDP in their opinion. All they prove is their own lack of imagination and competence by doing so.
Richard Murphy https://mas.to/@RichardJMurphy/113128970254426009

Funny old game

Sat, 07 Sep 2024 13:39:51 +0100

In the good old days, football was a simple game. You had eleven players and a substitute numbered 1 to 12, no shirt advertising, a referee and two linesmen, a manager, a trainer, a physio, a scout or two, tea ladies, drinking culture, long hair and perms, the club chairman, a board of directors, a club secretary, a groundsman, a stadium in the beating heart of the town or city, fans, standing room only, electric atmospheres, matches on Saturday at three o’clock, live coverage on the radio, match reports in the Pink Final after the game, and highlights on Match of the Day at 10:30 the same night. Tradition and history.

These days, it’s big business. You’ve got a hundred players in the first team squad, shirt number bingo sponsored by online sports betting companies, the reserves, the academy, a women’s team, out on loan, transfer windows, exiled due to poor man-management, five, seven, nine subs to choose from, a referee and a substitute referee, assistant refs, refs sat in an office in a business park (a clear and obvious error), refs at home, refs in the studio, refs in the crowd, a manager, a head coach, a goalkeeping coach, various other specialist coaches, multitudes of doctors, physios, psychologists, data analysts, worldwide scouting networks, dieticians, head chefs, gambling addictions, agents, chief executives, directors of football, technical directors, presidents of business, heads of legal, heads of state, matches at any time from noon to after the last train home, an advertiser’s stadium out of town, sitting room only, live streaming all day and all night. Profit and sustainability.

At one time, a manager of a football club could expect to run all aspects of the club to a lesser or greater degree, or at least have a major say in how it was run. Nowadays, managers, or coaches, are often restricted to, well, coaching players in training and on match days, and speaking to the media before and after games. They are seen as specialists rather than all-rounders, and more specialists from the world of corporate finance are brought in to fire the tea ladies and keep the manager - sorry, coach - fully focused on his job and not get distracted by wheeling and dealing in the transfer market, player contracts, or appealing points deductions for spending beyond the club’s means.

United

Indeed, this is how United plc’s Dan Ashworth keeps Eric ten Hag successful on the pitch. Oh, wait. I’m no fan in particular of Jamie Carragher, but he might have had a point when described United last season as one of the most poorly coached sides in the Premier League. United’s usual set up is a chaotic mismatch of players out of form, out of position, out of confidence, and out of luck. Individual errors rule the day, and most of the players look lost and like they’d rather be in the physio room or gambling rehab. We rely totally on one player - Bruno - to create chances and score. This is a colossal failure of recruitment, of management, of coaching, of captaincy, of teamwork.

Fergie took six seasons to win the title after twenty six years of hurt, and three seasons after winning the cup in 1990. His team often looked like it wasn’t making any progress, but the cup win did see a consistent marked improvement season on season (13th to 6th to 2nd to 1st). Ten Hag produced a masterful cup win against all the odds, although perhaps City’s players were caught off guard expecting an easy win after United’s lucky semi-final win against Coventry. Every season Pep has them playing in a clearly identifiable system and is never afraid to switch players or tactics.

Ingerland

It’s funny to hear Morgan Gibbs-White talk about Ingerland’s new interim manager Lee Carsley and describe his qualities as basically being a father-figure. Most top-level professional footballers are with their clubs from the age of eight, and likely spend more time than most kids away from their families and any normal childhood - living the dream, nonetheless. You can understand why they would value this kind of man-management, someone who will stick up for them no matter what.

Ten Hag hasn’t got that about him at all. He’s lost a whole load of players in one way or another because he didn’t have the heart or the head or the guts to stand by them when they needed him. De Gea, Maguire, Wan Bissaka, Casemiro, McTominay, Sancho, Antony, Martial, Rashford, Greenwood.

The spineless corporate bosses meanwhile took an age to decide the safest bet was to keep ten Hag. Failure is expected and gives them half a season at least to bed themselves in and some new players, too, in time for a new manager. If he does well, then they made the right decision. If they had appointed a new manager he might have failed, too, with the current players, and that would have reflected badly on the corporate bosses.

At least we’re not Chelsea. Telling your captain that he’s not technically good enough. Successfully scraping through the play-off round of the Conference League. Moneyball gone mad (although they could have a decent team in three seasons…).

TV Show of Interest

Thu, 22 Aug 2024 14:41:47 +0100

Finally got around to watching the pilot episode of Person of Interest last night. Took a little while to get going and I almost gave up. Not a comedy at all, but I couldn’t help feeling it was somehow a little like Minority Report meet Police Squad!, and not in a bad way.

Only another 102 episodes to go…

Academics in Europe are continuing to work with Chinese counterparts on “clearly problematic” artificial intelligence #AI research in areas like biometric surveillance, cybersecurity, and military fields, a new analysis has found. https://sciencebusiness.net/news/ai/europe-still-working-china-military-and-surveillance-uses-artificial-intelligence-report
____
This is why I chose to rewatch #PersonOfInterest recently. By the end of season 3 a true hellscape is unleashed.
Hippy Steve https://m.ai6yr.org/@exador23/111455594306981467

Spuds Up!

Tue, 20 Aug 2024 19:10:21 +0100

We harvested the last three of eleven potato bags at the weekend. A decent crop, and very tasty.

Highlights were regular watering and earthing up (using homegrown compost) with my kids, and big kid’s tenth birthday party where his friends got to (among other fun activities) harvest the first three bags and take home a potato bag each.

Fond memories of going potato picking with my mum in the Lincolnshire Wolds in the early 1970s.

Election Fever

Thu, 04 Jul 2024 07:55:00 +0100

My inbox is full of people asking for my opinion and personal experience of this UK general election campaign and who to vote for.

(Un)fortunately, as I sat down to type the words from my fingertips, my four year old decided he needed to express his thoughts instead.

It’s obviously not to scale (he’s only four!), but you can clearly see the Labour supermajority in red, and the Tory wipeout in blue. That they are a ‘uniparty’/two cheeks of the same backside is encapsulated in the red triangle atop the blue square in the centre.

The Green surge in vote share (in green, on the left) isn’t reflected in seats won, of course. In pink, you can see the rise of the independents, black is the Workers Party, and to the far right (in grey) is Reform.

The Lib Dems are an irrelevance (except in the South West) in yellow (this is where we had to stop, as he got very upset at the lack of orange).

The Cuckoo's Nest

Sun, 19 May 2024 12:25:41 +0100

Ealing Genocide Supporters Club (aka Ealing Labour Party) held their Southall Branch meeting yesterday at the Dominion Centre in Southall. Under the guise of a “Your Town, Your Voice” community get together, our local elected repellents gathered on masse in all their finery. I couldn’t help myself as they posed for a group photo all gurning inanely as the photographer encouraged them to “say cheese!”. “Say genocide!” I offered. “Genocide supporters!”

Cllr Dr Murtaza of their number aggressively reprimanded me. “What evidence do you have that we support genocide?” he demanded to know. Well, I told him, my main piece of evidence would be that you have done nothing to oppose it.

Ooh! There’s Cllr Martin! Our locally elected anti-Traveller racist! “What evidence do you have to support that?” Well, here it is.

Oh, and while you’re at it, Cllr Dr Murtaza. Next time you are chauffeuring our glorious leader around in your Porsche, try not to park in a cycle lane, please.

Then there was illegal samosa factory proprietor Cllr “I own half of Southall” Anand.

I hadn’t realised until yesterday quite how visceral my revulsion for these people is. The grand cuckoo in the nest arrived about half way through the event. I would have confronted him myself, and previously I have done. Maybe I was just worn down from a week with the ‘flu, but I felt like I really had to keep my distance for my own sanity. In any case, a few council officers made beelines for me and made sure I was busy answering their questions.

Interestingly, one officer suggested to me that resident-led ward forums would be the likely outcome of this event. Fantastic news, if that’s the case. Another officer I spoke to later, knew nothing about this idea, though, but took copious notes. A neighbour and friend told me that she spoke to the cuckoo himself who told her that this meeting was in fact the replacement for he old (councillor-led) ward forums. That’s that then.

The event itself was a repeat of several resident[pdf] surveys and failed plans over the past twenty years or so (for which I’ve seen records, or taken part in). The problems are always the same. The responses from the council are always the same. Nothing.

Fear and Loathing

Thu, 09 May 2024 18:01:41 +0100

I spent the best part of nine months in America in 1989-90 on an international student exchange programme. It was an experience I’ll never forget, mostly good, and certainly an eye opener.

There was a bit of a last minute faff getting my visa (I had misunderstood the requirements) and by the time I got to Gatwick Airport I was shitting bricks, having never flown or been abroad before. Lockerbie was also still fresh in the memory.

The plane I was on just happened to be Virgin Atlantic’s inaugural flight from Gatwick to JFK, and so we had the unpleasure of Richard Branson sexually assaulting us in stockings and suspenders to celebrate.

On arrival in the US, I had no clue what to do other than to get a “limousine” to Farmington, CT, and then a taxi from there. I had my dime for the phone call ready.

The limousine was a coach, and we arrived in a deserted Farlington coach terminal at 2 am. I found a phone booth, put in my dime and called a taxi. The operator couldn’t help me and hung up. There goes my dime! Why didn’t I have a Plan B dime? Fuck! Somehow, I managed to call another taxi and got to my student digs on campus at CCSU in New Britain.

It all felt utterly surreal to me then, like being stranded on another planet, adrift in my bunk bed, alone in the halls of a spacecraft, listening to the crickets and the ghostly sounds of train horns. From the initial induction for international students - “Americans can be outwardly incredibly friendly to strangers, and will almost certainly invite you to come to their house anytime for dinner. Whatever you do, don’t go! They won’t be expecting you!” - to the imposing vastness of the country and people, I was warned to expect culture shock.

Everything was big to me then, which meant that I felt small and insignificant. I found it hard to adapt and got so homesick that I booked a flight home for Xmas and New Year just to see my family and friends again. I didn’t really want to go back afterwards.

But I had already had some amazing experiences. My roommate, Mark, was totally into active outdoor life and we went climbing locally at Ragged Mountain, which was an exhilarating first for me climbing to the top of a cliff. Then we set up a ridiculously ambitious plan to climb Long’s Peak in the Colorado Rockies during the Thanksgiving holiday. We failed because we got hit by what was thankfully just a two day a blizzard as we set up our tents at basecamp. Once safely back down and showered, we had a massive breakfast at Ed’s Cantina in Estes Park the next morning before going skiing (another death-defying first for me).

Mark is still cycling, skiing, hiking and living off his memories of later climbing Mount Everest while selling toilets to pay for it all (which is funny in itself as I have never met anyone who can fart and burp constantly like he did back then). Mark’s wilderness pal Mike is still in the wilderness, and is now also a published author on the significance and synchronicity of owls as messengers from other worlds or dimensions in time and space.

We regularly ate at Pizza World in Farmington, where they made the biggest and best spinach and ricotta calzones. We drank pitchers of beer at Elmer’s, and got free slices of fresh pizza every evening at 10:30.

I trained with the Blue Devils' soccer team (with one eye on getting fit for our Colorado expedition), and made number 26 (out of 11) on the team, which featured multiple Geordie, Irish, and European failed pros on soccer scholarships, and coached by a Geordie and an ex-Bristol City player.

A group of us Internationals set up a satirical student magazine (A Connecticut Wanker) produced on a very early Apple Macintosh computer.

I even got to have a go on the student radio one morning and played Fools Gold by Stone Roses to our mystery audience.

That reminds me, Steve Albini’s untimely death yesterday - when I got back to the UK, I tried to get involved in the student union magazine and wrote a condemnatory piece about the naming of Albini’s new band Rapeman. I got slaughtered by the hipster editorial team for being unhip and not being into Marmalade, and I held a grudge against Albini ever since (despite grudgingly enjoying his work as a producer). So it was with mixed feelings that I read yesterday that he had recently noted the error of his ways as a young man and sought to hold his hands up and acknowledge his white male privilege.

When I somewhat reluctantly returned to the states in January, I ended up having such a blast I didn’t want to leave when my visa expired and tried (and failed) to get a new one so I could stay and work. We did more skiing (in Killington, Vermont), and watched Nelson Mandela walk free on the hotel TV. (Almost exactly thirteen years later, I watched in shock and awe as the US bombed Baghdad back to the Stone Age on the hotel TV while on a skiing trip in France).

We did Spring Break in Miami, and the Florida Keys, but especially Key West.

We took a road trip to New Orleans via the Appalachian Trail, Memphis and the Mississippi. And we finished off with a road trip delivering a car from Boston to LA, taking in the Mesa Verde, and the Grand Canyon, along the way.

We did day trips to New York and Washington, DC.

When I say “we” in all of the above, we were a group of international students, quite a few of us English, but with some French, German, Italian, Cypriot, Bangladeshi and Canadian people in the group, too. Not everyone went on every trip, but I did.

We split up in Santa Monica as my two travelling companions wanted to go to San Diego, while I wanted to go to San Francisco (and I had run out of money, so my plan was to get a flight back to New Britain from there, and then on to my flight home to the UK). I ended up literally walking around San Francisco for a week with no money and staying in the cheapest hostel I could find. I spent quite a bit of time sitting on the dock of the bay looking at Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge.

One memory that always stuck in my mind was talking to a business professor at CCSU. I think I had signed up for his class before quickly dropping it because he insisted on too many formalities in his classroom that I felt had nothing to do with learning or even business (although what do I know about the latter?). Anyway, for some reason I can’t remember, this professor ended up explaining to me just how fearful, and loathing, and downright paranoid he was about unAmericans who - in his words - were “all out to get us”.

I didn’t really understand it then, I was just left gobsmacked that anyone could really feel like that in the richest and most powerful country in the world. But on the other hand, I knew that most of the Americans I had met had never travelled beyond their state borders, and never learned anything of the world outside of the US, and mostly were solely concerned with getting their degrees while having one massive keg party. A surprising (to me) number of female students were already married (or engaged to be married), and all wore so much make-up on a daily basis it’s like they were auditioning for Real Housewives sixteen years before it aired on TV.

The Israeli genocide of Palestinians in Gaza and a recent quote from a Jewish man born and raised into Zionist culture made me think about my paranoid professor and his culturally repressed students and the American people more generally, as it is the United States of America that is paying for and arming Israel. The US is, of course, founded by religious extremists fleeing persecution in their homelands, and who then inflicted genocide on the native American peoples as they colonised and settled on their lands. It’s a white European, male supremacist culture, very similar to Zionism, so it’s really no wonder the two are inextricably allied.

Two Little Ducks

Tue, 07 May 2024 09:37:10 +0100

Along with thirty-odd other parents, I saw my nine year old off on his big adventure this morning, a school trip away to Wales for three nights. Everyone was super excited and nervous, and so were the kids.

The teachers accompanying them were super-organised. We’d had several in-person meetings prior, as well as countless Dojo messages and crumpled lists stuffed into school backpacks telling what to pack and what not to bring.

One teacher checked all the kids into the school hall and gave everyone an identifying number to stick on their top. Another checked in all the sealed and named daily medication bags. A third handed out school prepared packed lunches. A fourth mingled giving out reassurances as required.

The coach arrived on time, and the teacher who handed out the numbered stickers announced that children would go to the bus in groups of five according to the names and numbers he read out - a bit like child bingo. Everyone put their suitcase in the hold and carried their backpack and themselves on to the bus. Finally they were all ready to go!

Mingling teacher then asked if anyone needed to go to the toilet before they set off, and I swear thirty-odd kids all got off the bus and went an did their last minute business before (hopefully) all getting back on board. A quick hand count (“only raise one hand each”), and the coach drove out of the school grounds to waves and sobs from parents.

A few minutes later, little Abdul emerged from the boys toilet… (well, I didn’t hang around to see that, I just hope that didn’t happen).

What Marxism teaches us

Sun, 05 May 2024 15:52:23 +0100

What Marxism teaches us is simply to approach questions of society from a material basis: how does human life persist? Through production of the goods and services needed to live.

How are these things produced under capitalist society? Through exploitation of the labor of the working class, that is, by requiring one class of people to sell their labor as a commodity to another class to produce values.

What is the result of this system? That workers are “alienated” from their labor, meaning from much of their waking life, constantly required to produce more and more with an ever-precarious access to the means of subsistence.

Via Jacobin.

Stop the Planes

Sun, 05 May 2024 14:58:15 +0100

My wife was born in Uganda. She’s Black, like our kids. She came to the UK when she was five.

She’s just told me she feels like she should put herself on a plane to Rwanda.

Then she said she realised she came here legally, she has indefinite leave to remain, and she’s a British citizen.

I asked her what was it that made her feel like she should deport herself.

Unsurprisingly, she said it’s because of all the anti-immigration rhetoric in the news. As she said,

It’s obvious no one wants my Black face here.

A Trip Down Memory Lane

Thu, 25 Apr 2024 20:45:49 +0100

Andy’s post on Kingstonian Football Club losing their home reminded me of the loss of Southall’s football ground, and a chance meeting I had with an old supporter a few years ago.

Jim had lost his coat.

He remembered leaving it in the Halfway House pub next to the entrance to the Southall football ground on Western Road.

He told me he lived in neighbouring Hayes with his wife, who would be very angry with him if he went home without his coat.

He also had a house in Ireland.

We walked and walked, but we couldn’t find the Halfway House. It was neither here nor there. We couldn’t find the football ground, either. Nothing was where Jim remembered it.

Like his coat, they were very much alive in Jim’s memory, but in the world we walked in the goalposts had literally moved, the final whistle had blown, and everyone had gone home, except Jim (and me).

I felt very confused. Finally it dawned on me that Jim was probably feeling very confused, too. And probably very frightened. He asked if I could show him the way to get the bus back to Hayes, which I did.

We never did find his coat.

Where's Daddy?

Thu, 04 Apr 2024 09:49:47 +0100

We have AI that can decide who is a terrorist and then track their every movement so we can wait until they're home to drop a bomb on their whole family.
But the 3 successive precision air strikes on #WCK aid workers coordinating with and following route instructions from the IDF was just a 'tragic mistake' because it was night time.

Hippy Steve

Journaling

Fri, 15 Mar 2024 11:29:39 +0100

My nine year old started keeping a journal at school so we can read what he’s been doing at school every day. (Replaces the “What did you do at school today?” “Can’t remember” alternative). It’s terrific.

He wanted to know what I’ve been doing, too, so I am reciprocating. I’ve never kept a diary a journal before, but I’ve enjoyed doing it these past couple of days.

It’s fair to say, though, that my lad’s days are far more interesting and fun than mine.

Bath Night

Tue, 27 Feb 2024 19:26:25 +0100

My little kid (now two months from being a not so small four) has gone right off the idea of having a bath at all in recent weeks. It takes two of us to get him in and give him a quick shower every couple of days.

To get him into the bath tonight, I tried something new.

I got on all fours so he could ride me like a horse into the bathroom while I hummed the theme tune to The Lone Ranger. He dismounted, undressed and climbed in without any bother.

Instead of drinking the bathwater, he had three cups of Ribena.

Last Words

Wed, 07 Feb 2024 16:26:23 +0100

These are my last words writing from the café at the local leisure centre where I go every Wednesday during term time as a parent volunteer for my son’s swimming class. It’s their final session today.

My lad has gone from being so anxious about swimming that he didn’t want to go at all, to wanting to go for swimming lessons now the class sessions are over.

The café that was closed has reopened, although I still haven’t bought anything. They have new tables and chairs, too, which is nice.

It’s been something a personal journey for me, too. Having an hour or so in relatively undisturbed peace and quiet just to write whatever comes into my head (and publish to my micro.blog) has felt very therapeutic. I feel like something significant has changed within me, for the better.

I can’t say what, exactly, for a number of reasons, not in public. Maybe another time.

I’m also wondering if it’s a permanent change, or if it will all unravel. And I’m also feeling some sense of loss. Something that has been a part of me for a long time has gone. Even though it had an overall bad effect on my life, it was a regular companion. It won’t be missed, exactly, but it takes some getting used to, it not being here.

I’ll need to find somewhere else to write.

Curriculum Vitae (Memento Vivere)

Wed, 24 Jan 2024 12:42:03 +0100

Having been so bitterly rejected both in love and at work, I started to look around for new opportunities. I don’t remember how I found it, but a nursing home nearer to where I lived at the time (Cleethorpes) was advertising for a Therapeutic Activities Co-ordinator to develop a range of meaningful activities with frail elderly people who also had - iirc - impaired memory, or dementia. Right up my street (well, just around the corner).

This was the first time in my life (I was thirty years old) that I’d ever actually wanted a job, and I was determined to make sure I did everything I possibly could to get it (the money was better, too, although not a great deal). I think I really impressed them at the interview with the presentation I did (probably bullet points, but that was all the rage back then), but more my genuine enthusiasm and excitement at the prospect of doing what, at the time, seemed like it would be my “dream job”.

The role was to cover three separate nursing and residential homes in the Grimsby, Cleethorpes and Humberston area, all quite different as it turned out. I would also liaise with a colleague in Hull (where the company that ran the care homes had its headquarters), who had already been in post in his area for a year or so. Steve was a social worker by trade, and he was very upset to discover that I was not. He was also agitating for a substantial pay rise, and later on we would jointly present our case to the board of directors.

I shadowed Steve for a day or two and wrote substantial notes and reflections, before setting up my desk on the landing of the first floor next to the lift and the payphone (yes, really) at The Anchorage just up the road from Blundell Park. When I first entered The Anchorage it was a shock to the system. I was used to a welcoming, friendly, clean, freshly smelling (as much as possible), professional, and lively residential home where I used to work. The Anchorage was anything but. There was no welcome, staff looked harried, the place was so obviously run down and uncared for, it stank of piss, and all the residents appeared to be fully comatose.

That was on the ground floor. Upstairs was slightly better - at least the residents were awake. But it was like a madhouse, and brought back traumatic memories of a childhood school visit to the local mental hospital to sing Christmas carols to the moaning, leering, grabbing, drooling ~~inmates~~patients. The only redeeming factor now was that none of the inmates seemed able to move. I was going to have my work cut out here.

I think my boss expected me to have a timetable of bingo sessions, sing-a-longs, tea dances, quiz nights, etc. up and running straight away. But I would have to raise the dead first, and persuade the staff and manager to be supportive and helpful, In fact, a complete change of culture was needed. I spent several weeks getting to know everyone, not only there, but at the other two homes as well. One of the others was much larger with what seemed like a highly mobile group of very demented residents, while the other was more of a mixture of demented and simply frail elderly people. Once I got to know everyone, The Anchorage seemed to be mostly people with physical health problems, often compounded by the effects of a stroke.

The other two homes also had good, strong supportive managers, while The Anchorage had a temporary manager (one of the senior nurses), before appointing an absolute horror of a woman who mercilessly bullied me and made my job much more difficult than it needed to be. Luckily, most of the nurses and carers were good people.

To cut a long story short, we raised the dead. It turns out (who knew?) that even very poorly, very old people are up for conversation, doing things that interest them, socialising, going out, singing, dancing, moving, learning to walk again, reminiscing, and just living what life there is left. But they need help to do so. And when they get the help they need to do some or all of these things, it also turns out that they are often more continent, can walk again, need less of the carers' and nurses' time for personal care, feel better, have better health, and - crucially from the business point of view - live longer.

And when the residents are happier, have something to get up for, and are easier to look after, the staff are happier, too. We had a lot of fun. It was amazing. A highlight was organising three coaches and a disability-friendly minibus to take every resident from all three homes literally around the corner form The Anchorage to The Excel Club, which was (in the good old days), the premier night spot and bar for many of “my people” when they were young, for an afternoon of drinking, dancing, eating, socialising and reminiscing that I won’t forget (even if many of them them had forgotten by the time they got home).

The beauty of the whole endeavour was that people needing care were no longer seen as tasks to be performed and checked off on a list, but as people who had lives, stories, senses of humour, wants and needs like everyone else.

Such a great thing could obviously have no future, and when me and Steve presented the business case for expansion and pay rises to the board it was rejected outright. The most helpful training I ever did was with a trainer who advised me “don’t waste time trying to persuade people who aren’t interested - focus on those who are.” I’d tried my best, I really had. While I did really enjoy the job, I didn’t want to be doing the same thing week after week, year after year, with no prospect of advancement and for a company that clearly wasn’t interested or appreciative.

I started looking around again, and this time further afield. I felt I was in a rut, personally as well (it was all work and no play for me), and I needed a fresh start.

Thriving?

Wed, 13 Dec 2023 14:43:17 +0100

My son’s school’s Thrive teacher is leaving. She helped transform my lad’s experience of school from being one where he had weekly if not daily challenges with regulating his emotions and his behaviour, to one where he enjoys school every day. She’s going to be very greatly missed.

I managed to tell her this today and thank her for her work. It was so sad to hear her story.

She has committed ten years of her life to helping our youngsters get the best start in life, and done lots of extra work getting accredited to do so. But, at the end of the day, she can no longer afford to continue, and has taken a job elsewhere in sales and marketing.

What a stupid, shit country we live in.

Curriculum Vitae (Hocus Pocus)

Fri, 08 Dec 2023 11:13:00 +0100

Inevitably, my time as a Manchester University player came to end, and I left the club by mutual consent when my contract ended.

Somewhat bizarrely, looking back on it, I joined what appeared to be an obscure and tiny religious cult in the middle of nowhere (deepest, darkest Lincolnshire), dabbling in some rather questionable therapy / witchcraft.

My role was primarily as Administrator with responsibility for making sense of the almost entirely lacking paperwork, contracts, and financial arrangements of the company (?) / sole practitioner / lead sorceress. Bed and board were included in my pay, which meant I didn’t get paid much at all, and had to do a lot of household chores on a strict rota, along with the other, er, residents.

I got kicked out about six months later for dropping acid at the weekend. Somehow, with a couple of band mates, we cleaned ourselves up and managed to persuade a friendly estate agent to rent us out a four-bedroomed semi-detached house that had one careful previous owner (the local vicar), that was ideally located opposite a big pub and just up the road from the local drug dealers.

We spent eighteen months there, mostly on the dole, getting our musical act into gear. Completely by chance (we put up a card in the local Spa shop window asking for a “chilled out lamppost”), we met a nomadic (on the run) alcoholic junkie who could actually sing, write songs, and also played a mean guitar. We rehearsed every day in that house (pity our poor neighbours), recorded a couple of decent demo tapes (got to number one in the local newspaper charts), and played some wild gigs that were generally pretty well received.

The end was nigh, though, as it always is. I’d got a job to help pay for gear, and fell madly in love with one of my new co-workers. Euro 96 appeared, and we all took a break from music to enjoy Ing-er-land’s latest heartbreak efforts. Our junkie friend wasn’t into football, or staying around, and one day he was gone. My love interest left, too.

This was the catalyst for me to focus on work for the first time in my life, as a coping mechanism for loss, as much as anything else. The more I worked, the less loss I felt. I couldn’t get enough of it.

I started at the bottom. Literally. The job I applied for was Personal Carer in a Residential Home. I assumed that it meant psychological care, and didn’t pay much attention on my first morning shift when I shadowed another carer who was wiping bottom after bottom (and more) of all these frail, elderly folks.

Anyway, I got into it (and my new co-worker), and found that, yes, there was a quite a degree of psychological care involved, too, if you had the time, skills and inclination. Unbelievably (or so it seemed to many in the industry at the time, when frail, elderly people find they have something worth living for (a friend to talk to, something fun to do, something like a day out to look forward to), they’re much more capable of getting themselves dressed, feeding themselves, staying continent.

Of course, many carers had none of those things, and in fact, got very little psychological care themselves in their own lives. Often it was just a continuation of the sadistic brutality from their school days.

But I found myself actually enjoying the job despite the low pay, and often quite unpleasant working conditions. I enjoyed the people - the camaraderie and comradeship of the staff and residents. We really were all in it together

That said, there was only so much arse wiping I could do before I got fed up with it. I’d done everything and more I’d been asked to do and applied to be a Senior Carer and even a Care Services Manager (responsible for running the shifts, and the home in the absence of the Home Manager). But I wasn’t successful - too little experience, I was told. Which might have been true. I’d only been there a year.

But I suspect it might also have been because I was too much of a threat to the darker side of what was going on. The manager was taking money from at least one of the more severely demented residents, and some of the staff were in on it, too. At least, that’s what I’d been told.

Teachers

Wed, 06 Dec 2023 15:24:31 +0100

Yesterday morning, I was sat in the foyer of my little kid’s children’s centre waiting for the staff to arrive so he could start his day. He was eager to get in, banging on the locked doors to the main part of the nursery. In my day, the kids would be trying to get out, not in.

Some other parents, younger than me, commented the same. Everyone recounted some particularly, sadistic child-hating teacher who regularly brutalised them or some other poor unfortunate during their formative years.

We’re lucky that teachers today seem to be so much friendlier, and supportive, and tolerant of differences and behavioural challenges. And generally just miles better teachers and humans.

There were exceptions, of course. I had one teacher in particular, who would have fitted right in with contemporary teachers (although probably not, actually, as he was a bit of a contrarian). But he was a great teacher, loved kids, and dedicated his life to teaching.

It always amazes me, though, when I see old school friends on Facebook reminiscing about some teacher we had, about how wonderful they were. Most of them were drunken bullies, whose hobbies revolved around making kids miserable and causing physical and mental harm.

They’d be locked up now.

Curriculum Vitae (Ad Absurdum)

Thu, 30 Nov 2023 14:59:56 +0100

I spent most of my three years ‘working’ in Manchester down the pub. When I was in my shared smoke-filled office, I was more often than not playing a very early demo of football manager (four free seasons, on repeat), or compiling a regular comedy fanzine for the five-a-side footy team I helped to found and run. They were crazy and fun times.

Every other weekend, I got a train back to Lincolnshire for band rehearsals, recordings and occasional gigs. Although these were more often than not simply excuses to drink to excess.

I forget how much I was being paid, but it seemed like a fortune (it wasn’t, but life was free and easy back then). My boss Terry was a quietly manic Irish gynaecologist who had somehow ended up leading European studies into vertebral osteoporosis. He had more faith in me than I had in myself. He would type things on to the computer screen and ask me to read them. I would say things like, “You need to slow down, mate. Use some spaces and punctuation.”

My main role was to input response rate data, which consisted of reams of handwritten register books from all over Europe containing names, gender, dates of birth, and what kind of fracture they had suffered, if any, and if they responded to our survey, or not. Thrilling work.

On the plus side, I got to go to a couple of conferences (excuses to drink to excess) in Bath and Prague. I remember watching Ireland beat Italy in the 1994 World Cup with a bunch of Italian bone doctors in Bath. And we stayed in a stereotypical concrete skyscraper communist-era hotel-cum-conference centre on the outskirts of Prague, but had enough free time to explore the gothic city centre in the midst of a wintry, thundery snowstorm while drinking Czech vodka.

As what felt like a last resort to motivate me, my boss sent me on a week long working holiday to Athens. My objective was imply to visit one of the research centres there and make sure they knew how to complete the response rate registers correctly. A two hour job, as it turned out. They sent me for a week, as it was cheaper than sending me for a day or an overnighter, flights only, I had to find somewhere to stay when I got there. When I arrived in the heart of Athens and got out of my airport taxi, I stumbled on to the street trying to catch my bearings. A ‘friendly’ local ‘took pity’ on my and asked me where I was from. “Manchester” I said. “Aha! Bobby Chalton! Nobby Sti-les! Come! Come! I have a bar! I will get you a drink!”

I walked into his dimly lit bar just around the corner. I bottle of cold beer was waiting for me. So friendly and welcoming! As my eyes became accustomed to the light, I looked around to take in my surroundings. A group of scantily clad young (and not so young) women giggled at a table opposite the bar. Red lights everywhere! I made my excuses and left!

After doing my two hours work, I spent the rest of the week walking all around the old town and seeing all the ancient sites by day, and drinking to excess in the evenings.

Curriculum Vitae (Ad Nauseam)

Fri, 24 Nov 2023 10:47:00 +0100

After failing to become the next George Harrison, I spent three years idling around, getting into trouble, and generally not knowing what to do with myself.

I had some summer jobs working on a local farm stacking straw bales on to lorries from Cockermouth, feeding turkeys, and working in the grain barn (doing what I can’t remember, although I do remember not being able to breathe because of all the dust).

I remember one day my car broke down, leaving me and my baling partner stranded in a field in the middle of nowhere. It was a very second hand Mini Cooper, which ultimately failed its MoT when the papier mâché the previous careful owner had used to fill the side panel caught fire while the mechanic was welding something (it’s a long time ago, and I never understood how cars work, partly thanks to my Physics teacher, who told all the boys to leave his class on “how cars work” because, obviously, being boys, we already knew).

Anyway, the farmer kindly gave us a lift home. On the way, he told us he would deduct the petrol money (£5 each) from our wages. Now in those days, £5 was quite a lot of money, certainly enough to get royally drunk on at the weekend and still have enough for a bag of chips from the Chinese takeaway afterwards.

I also worked some summers in the plastics factory my mum worked at. She, and the other local mums made children’s play clothes, while the local children put poles into windbreaks to make sitting on the local beaches bearable in the face of the North Sea winds.

I came to the conclusion that there must be something wrong with me, and so I decided to go to University to study psychology and find a fix.

In order to get into Uni, I needed a better ‘A’ Level result than me three Es from school, so I did a correspondence course in Law and got a B. I could have gone to Manchester Polytechnic, but instead elected to go to Bolton Institute of Higher Education. I was really too terrified to go to Manchester Poly (too big, too big city centre). Christ, I was even terrified of getting on the train (not knowing how or where to buy a ticket, how to know which train to get on, how to know when to get off, etc.).

Manchester appealed because it was where my dad hailed from (well, Oldham, really, although he went to school in Manchester, and, of course, went to Old Trafford to watch Best, Law and Charlton in their heyday).

Bolton was interesting and fun, though, and I made some good friends there, got a 2:1 degree, spent a year in the US on an exchange programme where I did several road trips across the country, climbed a mountain, nearly died in a blizzard, skied down other mountains, made no. 26 on the University Soccer Team, among other things.

In my first semester in the states, I was terribly homesick and made an unscheduled visit home for Christmas and New Year. When I went back, I got into the experience so much I wanted to stay, but couldn’t get a job or visa to do so.

When I finished my degree, I was hopelessly lost again with know idea what to do. My degree had taught me (wrongly, imo) that psychological problems were contained wholly within the individual person and could be treated by taking lots of drugs (not that I was against that, at all). My careers advisor helpfully counselled that I could do anything I wanted to do as long as it wasn’t psychology (for which I’d need a medical degree). I half-heartedly applied to do a Masters degree, but the thought of more constrained studying wasn’t what I wanted (I wanted money to buy drugs).

So, with friends, I got a summer job with an employment agency picking orders in an old cotton mill converted into a warehouse in Shaw. We supplemented the permanent staff, who could mostly be found sleeping in dens hidden inside a maze of boxes, and so had to work twice as hard for a fraction of the pay without any benefits of regular employment like sick pay, holidays, etc. Or in our case, as it turned out, no pay at all, at least until I led a delegation of workers to confront the hapless recruitment agent.

I quit that job, and looked around for work. I remember going to an interview in leafy Stockport (or maybe it was Wilmslow) or somewhere “down south” for some kind of “trainee manager” job. There were a lot them about at the time. While I was waiting to go in, I saw and heard all the staff gather for what appeared to be their regular morning meeting, where they began chanting some bizarre marketing cult bullshit. I made my excuses and ran for my life.

I signed up, instead, as a “trainee manager” for Domino’s Pizza at their franchise in Swinton. I lasted six weeks, although it felt like longer. I worked 80 hour weeks for £80 a week and all the leftover pizza I could eat. My nadir was a Saturday night when I found myself left alone in charge of the shop and unable to cope. I was never the fastest at making the fast food. In those days, Domino’s promised to deliver within 40 minutes of your order or you get it for free. Once I got behind, it was impossible to catch up. On this night I swear people were phoning their friends saying, “Free pizza at Domino’s! It’ll be stone cold when you get it, but hey!”

My dad threatened to get me a job in the pea processing plant where he was now a supervisor back in Grimsby, and while I ended up moving back with him I worked in a high street burger bar called Yankees (I called it Wankers) instead. Why? I don’t know, because I was clearly unsuited to the frenetic, frantic pace of the work, and dealing with drunken customers in the early hours of a Saturday or Sunday morning. I remember chasing a group of youths down the street with a carving knife after they squirted ketchup all over my nice clean shop walls. Wankers!

Along with my best friend at Uni, I applied for a job at Manchester University as a Research Assistant. I was terrible at interviews then, while he breezed it. I was absolutely gutted, and couldn’t believe it. Then, out of the blue a few weeks later, my mate called me to tell me they had a job for me. So back I went. I spent three years researching nothing at all, but thoroughly enjoying living the life in Manchester city centre, with all that entailed, in the early 90s.

365

Wed, 22 Nov 2023 15:37:23 +0100

It’s my 365 day ‘anniversary’ on micro.blog.

When I moved here last year, it was in the wake of the X-ification of Twitter, the exodus to Mastodon, and generally wanting to start blogging/writing again.

I’m still on Twitter/X, and left Mastodon to move. I did start blogging a bit more to begin with, but that soon tailed off to nothing, as it always does.

I did try to interact with the micro.blog community, and I follow quite a few people here and find their posts interesting enough to bookmark on a regular basis.

But I wasn’t really looking for community, or even interaction particularly. More a place to keep in touch with a few old identi.ca/Mastodon friends, and have my own place on the web.

My recent new volunteering role has meant I have a regular time and space to write, and I realise now that what’s important (as everyone who writes always says), is simply to write (and publish). Nothing’s ever finished or perfect, and it doesn’t need to be. Very few (external) links or photos, or anything that isn’t writing.

And I like it.

ToryBoy

Mon, 20 Nov 2023 12:35:00 +0100

ToryBoy The Movie is the account of filmmaker John Walsh’s disillusionment with what he saw as the corruption, lies, hypocrisy and general incompetence of Blair’s Labour government, and his conversion to the Conservative (Tory) Party general election candidate for Middlesbrough in 2010.

Under his own steam and £15,000 of his own money, John found his opponent, Sir Stuart Bell, the serial incumbent Labour MP, invisible and unknown to his local constituents who nevertheless voted him back in every four or five years (albeit with an ever diminishing majority). Bell was too busy, it seemed, living in Paris, and employing his family not to answer phone calls at his parliamentary office. Worse, his son stole £8,000 worth of stuff from Bell’s parliamentary colleagues, eventually serving sixty days in prison for the privilege.

Despite this record of failure, Bell was duly elected again, with Walsh coming in third behind the newly Nick Clegg-revitalised Lib Dems.

Last year, I had my own attempt to counter what I (and many others) saw as corruption, lies, hypocrisy and general incompetence of our local elected councillors. Standing as independent candidates, me and my two friends came fourth in the safest Labour ward in Ealing. It was good fun campaigning, and I enjoyed the physical activity of walking almost every street in my ward dropping leaflets, and the social activity of actually talking to people in person. And we helped to reduce Labour’s vote share and majority (not that it makes any difference to the result).

Still, people voted in their thousands for two councillors who have been in post for twenty four years each, while the problems everyone complains about are the same but worse.

Ultimately, it was another failure to add to my CV.

Writing to my MP: ICJP - Complicity in War Crimes

Sat, 18 Nov 2023 10:37:15 +0100

Adapted from this template letter.

Dear Mr Sharma,

My esteemed representative: I write to you today with a heavy heart, weighed down by the profound disappointment I feel in your recent actions. Your unwavering support for Israel, despite its blatant disregard for international law and its commission of war crimes, has cast a shadow over your impartiality and your ability to hold office effectively.

The recent decision by the International Centre of Justice for Palestinians (ICJP) to serve written notice to Rishi Sunak and Keir Starmer of their intention to prosecute UK governmental officials for their role in aiding and abetting Israeli war crimes has sent shockwaves through our nation. Your name, unfortunately, stands out locally among those who have failed to condemn these atrocities, a silence that could have serious criminal ramifications.

I urge you to reconsider your position on this matter. The evidence of Israel’s war crimes is overwhelming, documented by the United Nations, Human Rights Watch, Amnesty International, and the International Service for Human Rights. These are not mere accusations; they are indictments of a government that has flagrantly violated international law and caused immense suffering to the Palestinian people.

Your constituents, including myself, have repeatedly implored you to vote for a ceasefire. You claimed to support a ceasefire, but when you had the opportunity to cast your vote to represent your constituents, you failed to do so. Worse, you claimed you did. But “humanitarian pauses” are not enough; they merely provide Israel with a respite to regroup and continue its assault on innocent civilians. The lack of leadership and condemnation from our elected officials is a stain on our country’s reputation.

If you are unwilling to do the right thing and support a ceasefire, then I implore you to step down from your position. You have lost the trust of your constituents, and your continued presence in office is an insult to the values of peace, justice and humanity that we hold dear.

Sincerely,

Your concerned constituent,

David Marsden

Curriculum Vitae (Repetitum)

Fri, 17 Nov 2023 11:32:55 +0100

Following on from my success delivering the news to my local community, I took a break from the world of (very part-time) work to focus on… playing in my first bands. And learning to play the guitar. Much of which came at the expense of any interest in or motivation to study, or revise for ‘O’ Levels, and later ‘A’ Levels.

Living in a small rural market town, some of my friends, and my own younger brother, in fact, had Saturday jobs bush beating - literally (as far as I know) beating bushes to encourage game birds to fly to their sporting deaths. Let’s never forget that killing is a sport for our aristocracy and their hangers-on. Famously, at the time, the host of these shootings was “peppered in the buttocks” by our drunken home secretary Willie Whitelaw. You couldn’t get away with a name like that now.

My brother graduated from bush beating for toffs to hunt sabotage.

I did well enough in my ‘O’ Levels (one A, eight Bs, and a C), that my maths teacher told me I would “never amount to anything”. He wasn’t wrong.

My dad tried to motivate me after my mock ‘A’ Level results by leaving me a drunken handwritten note and caricature drawing of me with an arrow pointing to it (I mean, in those days what else could he have done?) saying: “THICK CUNT”.

Then he got me what felt like a punishing summer job at the duck processing plant where he was a line supervisor. Being the boss’s son was no fun when they put me on the killing floor. I became a vegetarian for nine years after that (although since returned to meat eating - that’s another story).

I messed up my ‘A’ Levels (three Es, and failed General Studies writing about the punk band Stiff Little Fingers). I was profoundly depressed, but had no one to talk to about it. Mainly because I had been brought up not to talk about or express any “bad” or “difficult” feelings. Random people used to come up to me and say “Cheer up, it may never happen”, but it in my internal world, it already had.

Music, and playing guitar in a band, was my only outlet, but we were young and totally delusional. We were a three-piece, but believed we were the next Fab Four. We played a successful debut gig in Cleethorpes at The Sub, but instead of building on that, we immediately packed our bags and gear into a van, and drove to London to live in a series of squats in Stepney, Poplar and Limehouse.

An older ex-school friend was part of an anarchist community based out of a bookshop, and helped us find, gain entry to, and occasionally get the water, gas and/or electricity working. In those good old days, you could easily “sign on” the dole and get enough to actually live on.

I read and heard a lot about the politics of anarchism, which I found very attractive to my idealism. That said, I couldn’t ever see how it would work in practice, in the real world. It would need a revolution, of course, but even then, it would need a revolution in people’s minds and thinking first.

Six months living in squats, a couple of lousy gigs and a demo tape later, we packed our bags and returned home.

Curriculum Vitae

Wed, 15 Nov 2023 16:09:00 +0100

I’ve had a long and winding career in the fields of work and education. At one time, I was doing quite well, but it all got a bit too much and it’s been a bit of a struggle since.

Which is a shame, because it would have been nice if things had turned out better.

I was never really suited to work. It’s almost always felt like a real imposition, a drag, and a massive downer.

The money was never enough, and most of it went on social and recreational activities, which, looking back, were a means of self-medication.

It’s funny, because I really did try hard to fit in and make a fist of it from the age of twenty-nine to forty-three. A mid-life crisis along with pleurisy, a collapsed lung and an empyema, followed by a thoracotomy, two consecutive nine month long frozen shoulders and that bastard GORD (gastro-oesophageal reflux disease) almost finished me off.

Those fourteen years working in therapeutic activities for older people with dementia, and later in training and employment for with adults with psychotic diagnoses were mostly relatively happy and relatively mostly successful (repeated ultimate catastrophic failures, aside).

I went from wiping arses to leading a rehabilitation centre for some of the most disadvantaged people in society.

Before all of that I’d been completely lost. I never wanted to work, only to play music in a band. My first ever paid work was a paper round, but I regularly mis-delivered whenever there was a change to the round. The best thing about that job was getting to read all the different back page headlines and football stories before anyone else.

Dishing It Out

Mon, 13 Nov 2023 11:23:00 +0100

Following on from the pots and pans incident, my wife has decreed that the bamboo plates and bowls I bought as child-safe alternatives to our regular crockery are in fact likely coated with melamine and, therefore, toxic.

She’s probably right, although only for hot food. I had noticed that my hot food tasted a bit funny using these, but I think they’re fine for sandwiches and such.

She claims her eggs taste better (“like childhood”) cooked in our new stainless steel frying pan. I used it to cook an omelette for the first time yesterday, and it was undoubtedly the best omelette I’ve ever tasted. Is that possible?

Beer Nights In

Sun, 12 Nov 2023 20:25:25 +0100

I didn’t drink all of these beers in one sitting, or, in fact, any of them on Friday afternoon, prior to the school run.

Friday night I had a couple of the light beers.

Steeplechase Pale Ale: far too citrusy for my taste.

Deco WCIPA: another one far too citrusy for my taste.

Accompanying snacks made them drinkable.

Saturday night I had a couple of the dark beers. I had a feeling I would like these even less, but…

The Adventures of Mr Malty Baltic Porter: lovely malt flavour, rich, dark, but not bitter.

Salted Cinder Toffee Stout: I thought this might make me throw up, but it was surprisingly good, not too sweet or salty.

🍺

Hey David

Fri, 10 Nov 2023 10:01:00 +0100

Our contract with Plusnet for telephone landline and (not full) fibre broadband ends on 25 November. I started looking around for cheaper and/or better alternatives back in August. Not that there was anything wrong with Plusnet’s service. In fact, compared to Sky and TalkTalk, they’re bloody brilliant. But end of contract time usually means either a hike in price to stay loyal, or finding a new provider that offers new customers a better deal than its existing customers.

So, I was very pleasantly surprised to discover a full fibre broadband option available in my area. Apparently, a company called Hey! Broadband had laid there own network of fibre-optic cables in my street, meaning that we could replace our maximum 67Mb download speeds for £28 (due to go up to £54) a month with 900Mb download and upload for 99p a month for the fist six months, and then £29 a month thereafter. It sounded too good to be true!

Of course, we don’t need ten times faster broadband, but the extra bandwidth and improved coverage would be nice. It’s not uncommon now to have one of us in a Teams meeting, another gaming on his Switch, another watching internet TV, and another doing general internet stuff. The first three, certainly, have all complained at times of lag and buffering. And even the last one has found online work meetings in my bedroom-cum-office occasionally impossible due to poor connectivity.

Hey! Broadband make it clear on their website that they cannot guarantee to be able to connect new customers to their network even if your address is within their network area. There may be unforeseen problems. They also make it clear that potential new customers should not cancel their existing broadband service before you have your new Hey! Broadband service up and running for a couple of weeks without any major issues.

So, I wasn’t expecting a smooth service. For one, I had no knowledge of when or where the new fibre-optic cables had been laid in our cul-de-sac. On the adjoining road, maybe. But I would let them sort that out. When the two engineers from Hey! Broadband’s sub-contracted installation company arrived on 2 October things didn’t immediately look hopeful. They were very friendly, but looked barely old enough to be out of school, and had no idea where the cables were outside to connect us up.

After an hour or so of looking around the local area, they came back and informed me of the good news and the bad news. The good news being that they had found a cable that we could, in theory, be connected to. The bad news being that it was on another street around the corner “about three doors away”. They would need to get permission from the homeowner to go into their premises and then somehow connect the cable up to our non-adjoining property. But I didn’t have to worry, they would take care of everything, and we should hear something within five to seven working days.

Of course, seven working days later when I phoned them, nothing at all had been done, and in fact, they asked me to provide contact details for my “neighbours” and to go knock on their door and ask permission to enter their property. Which I could have done, but as I pointed out, I don’t know them, or which house it is, and even if I did, I have no official ID to show that I’m an engineer from Hey! Broadband. I asked to speak to a manager, and was told someone would call me back later.

Days passed until another engineer appeared at my door. He was even friendlier than the previous two, and old enough to have a young child of his own. He’d already had a look around and found the cable in my next door neighbour’s outside storage cupboard (as well as my little kid’s trike in our storage cupboard, which he wondered if I still wanted, and if not, could he take it for his little kid?). I let him take the trike, and he promised someone would call later that day to book a new installation date.

No one called, although we still had the revised installation date for 31 October, and another even friendlier and slightly older engineer showed up. He actually managed to connect us up, pulling the cable through from the street next to our cul-de-sac (“the longest pull” he’d ever done), cabling it out from our neighbour’s storage cupboard up and over our communal porch and up our wall to our first floor flat. He drilled a hole in our wall (reassuring my wife that, no, the hole wouldn’t let cold air or creepy crawlies in) and set us up with new full fibre broadband.

It turned out that he’s self-employed, and does up to five of these installations a day at a £100 a go. He left school aged eleven unable to read or write. As he wired up our new modem, he told me how he had a habit, when younger, of setting fire to things. He went back to college to learn to read and write when his kids started coming home from school asking for help with school work, and he didn’t want to tell them he couldn’t do it. He didn’t ask for a trike, either.

Funnily enough, I met him again two days later around the corner from my big kid’s school while we were feeding the community cats. He was doing an installation there, or trying to. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to pull the cable through on this occasion.

We’ve had Hey! Broadband for a week without any issues at all, and full 900Mb ethernet speeds as advertised, with wifi speeds around 150Mb down and 250Mb up. No telephone landline anymore, which is no loss, as we only ever used it to answer scam calls. I’m now a [Hey! Broadband Brand Champion]heybroadband.co.uk/champion (referral code: HeyDavid M39)

Doctor's Orders

Thu, 09 Nov 2023 14:39:25 +0100

My local pharmacy: Come and get your FREE flu jab!

Me:

My local pharmacy: Come and get your FREE flu jab!

Me: I’ve come for my FREE flu jab.

My local pharmacy: That will be £16.95, please.

Me: I’ve got two text messages from you telling me it’s free.

My local pharmacy: Are you pregnant? On dialysis? Undergoing heart surgery?

Me:

My local pharmacy: Do you have asthma?

Me: Bingo!

ERROR 55 - Internal Communication Problem

Thu, 09 Nov 2023 14:30:22 +0100

Boss: Can you order a new printer for the office?

Me: Sure. *orders a new printer for the office*

Office: Did you order a new printer for the office? It’s arrived.

Me: Yes, I’ll come over and set it up.

Office: No need, we already moved the printer from the other office. And we have a tech person coming in Monday to set it up.

Break in Transmission

Wed, 08 Nov 2023 15:58:31 +0100

Last week’s swimming lesson was cancelled, and the week before that, we went away for half-term. To a very wet and wild north-east Lincolnshire right by the sea (or the Humber Estuary). With no wifi, and very poor data connectivity. In a tin can caravan.

But we all had fun, and the kids got to spend time with their grandparents who live nearby. And use their wifi.

On the night before we left I met up with a couple of my oldest and best friends, Murray and Aaron, who I hadn’t seen for ten (Aaron) and thirty (!) (Murray) years. It was really great to have a couple of pints and talk shit with them, just like the old days, as if it was only yesterday.

Any Old Pots and Pans?

Fri, 27 Oct 2023 09:13:00 +0100

Following on from the successful installation of our new front door (which my wife is now quite happy with), we now have new stainless steel pots and pans to replace the old and “dangerous” non-stick pans we had before.

My wife “read something on the internet” which said that the non-stick coatings are toxic, and so that that was the end of the matter.

Still, they are very nice new pans, even if a little more care is needed when using them to cook and clean.

Frank

Wed, 25 Oct 2023 11:11:00 +0100

Frank was my great grandfather on my dad’s side.

I only met him a couple of times. One time, me and my brother were made to wear the most ridiculous and embarrassing outfits, and we just felt very uncomfortable and ill-at-ease meeting this very old man from another time.

He was born in the early 1901. So he must have been 80 or so when we met him. Not so old these days, but back then he really was like a dinosaur, or a fossil.

I remember a couple of stories about him. After the Great War, when he was a young man with a new wife and baby daughter (my grandmother), he had to walk twenty-five miles to work, where he would labour hard for sixteen hours before walking home again, only to be brutally murdered by his father before going to bed and getting up the next morning to do the same thing over and over again. Well, he certainly had to work hard, just to survive and raise a family.

Life was no doubt much harder then than any of us can really imagine, but you try and tell that to the young people of today. Would they believe you? No!

My great grandmother, Ellen, was committed to Lancaster Asylum some time after my grandmother Freda was born. I don’t know what the reason was, but it’s possible it was because she was suffering from what would now be recognised as post-natal depression.

In those days, it was a life sentence, not to mention the shame it brought upon the family.

Frank divorced Ellen and married “Auntie Florrie”. I don’t know if Florrie was actually Ellen’s sister, but it’s possible.

Freda never forgot her mum, and secretly visited her whenever she could.

When Frank got the cancer that would kill him, Freda took him in and looked after him in her bed until he died.

Propaganda

Tue, 24 Oct 2023 15:10:41 +0100

Last night, I was away in the middle of nowhere with no wifi and very poor data connection, so put on the TV to watch the BBC/ITV news at ten.

Haven’t watched it for fifteen years or more.

It was pure propaganda for Israel.

Jeremy Bowen even said as much: “This is what they want you to see” (as opposed the genocide in Gaza).

Getting Dressed

Mon, 23 Oct 2023 10:00:00 +0100

My three and a half year old is going through that stage where he doesn’t want to get dressed in the morning to go to nursery.

I remember with my oldest lad some mornings I used to be in tears trying to get him ready.

Fortunately, their mum is now working from home and has taken on this task with the little one. My main job now is to remind my nine year old to “sit at the table and eat your breakfast” every two minutes.

Up until a couple of weeks ago, my secondary role was as assistant little kid dresser. I would sit him on my knee with one arm around his chest holding his arms down, while trying to hold a leg or a foot so that his mum could forcibly put on his underpants, socks and trousers without him kicking or pulling them off again.

Mum has now found a much more kid-friendly method, with no tears.

Underpants are now butterflies, fluttering around looking for somewhere to land. Socks, of course, make great foot-puppets. Trousers are caterpillars crawling on a tree branch, and his coat is a big brown bear who just wants a hug.

It’s still exhausting, but it makes the morning a little bit happier for everyone.

Haircut

Fri, 20 Oct 2023 12:55:00 +0100

My nine year old had a trim the other day. No one else can really tell, but his massive afro isn’t quite so massive as it was last week, and certainly a little less knotted.

Should make it easier to get his swimming cap on.

His mum cuts his hair. We took him to a barber’s when he was younger, and I literally had to hold him down while the barber did his work.

I never liked having my hair cut. I used to have very thick curly hair as a boy, although not an afro. My mum used to use what she called thinning scissors, which were kind of like scissors with teeth. It felt like having my hair pulled out.

I think as kids we’re just so much more sensitive to all these things. And my lad’s hair is a core part of his identity. (When he was younger, he used to identify as a lion, so his hair was his mane.)

I managed to overcome my fear of hair cutting as an adult, and even found a reliable barber pre-covid. Since the pandemic, like many others, I bought a pair of clippers and do it myself now.

Catwoman

Wed, 18 Oct 2023 14:48:50 +0100

Last week, we had a visitor.

Catwoman appeared, to save the day!

All the way from leafy Surrey, she turned up in her Porsche 4x4 and catsuit to catch our community cats and take them to the vet “because they have cat flu”.

With her ten year old assistant, and cat trap, she tried for (what seemed like) hours to catch a cat, or a kitten, to no avail.

Too Much Pressure

Tue, 17 Oct 2023 10:52:00 +0100

Inevitably, as I sit here in the cafe next to my son’s swimming lesson, unable to drink coffee because the cafe is permanently closed, my mind wanders and starts thinking about coffee.

For most of my adult life, I’ve started the day with a cup of tea. Regular English breakfast tea. PG Tips, Tetley. Milk and sugar.

Tea was always my preferred drink, but I did like a cup of instant coffee or two later in the morning, but only if it was one I liked. I wasn’t fond of Nescafe or the other regular blends.

A few years ago, I switched to Rooibos (redbush) tea, and never went back. I also started appreciating real coffee made in a French press, and later got my own Aeropress. What really sealed the coffee deal, was discovering fresh coffee beans that aren’t burnt (Pact Coffee).

About three years ago, I backed a Kickstarter campaign to build an affordable, portable espresso maker, CoffeeJack.

Now, I’m not one of those people who backs a lot of these types of things, although it wasn’t my first or last. I understand that it’s not like ordering from Amazon or anywhere else. You’re backing a project with money in the hope that it’s successful and that you end up with a product that works as described. There’s no guarantee.

Now, CoffeeJack delivered about three years after they got my money. Which is a long time! They had lots of problems along the way, including, of course, the covid pandemic. So fair play to them for getting their project finished at all. And it was worth the wait, in my opinion. They produced exactly what they promised, and for six months I had two cups a day of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.

Sadly, just when I thought I’d cracked it, I cracked the bayonet on my CoffeeJack. Too much pressure, to quote The Selector.

Impossible Job

Mon, 16 Oct 2023 09:48:00 +0100

Last week, my boss asked me to produce a professional looking ten page job profile for a potential new appointment.

He provided me with an example from another employer, and asked me to use the same format.

He wanted me to find some suitable photographs “online” to use.

This was all outside of his skillset.

And mine.

He wanted it “by tomorrow” (Wednesday), and gave me the text he’d written for the first page, as well as the headings he wanted to use for the remaining pages.

The formatted example he’d given me was a pdf. I was very pleased to discover that Adobe now provides a free pdf to Word conversion, which certainly made my job easier.

It was easy enough to find photographs, of course, but not so much photographs that are free to use. My boss later told me he wasn’t worried about that, as he “wasn’t using them for commercial purposes.”

The next day (Wednesday), my boss emailed to say he would send me the final nine pages of text he still hadn’t written “tomorrow morning” (Thursday), and that “we” would “populate” the template document then.

While I was eating lunch the next day (Thursday), his email arrived leaving me two hours to put the whole thing together. I didn’t think it would be enough time, but just got on with it.

Two hours later, I still had two pages to do, but had to collect my kids from nursery and school, make their tea (or dinner, as they call it), and get them in the bath. I managed to finish it later while they watched TV.

My boss was very pleased, although he said he didn’t expect anyone would actually see it.

Pay Rise

Fri, 13 Oct 2023 09:24:00 +0100

I haven’t had a pay rise since April 2017.

Taking into account the cost of living increases year on year, and especially in the last year or two, I’ve effectively taken a pay cut every year.

To be fair, I was thankful to have a job at all during and after covid.

Thanks to Kate Morley’s historical UK inflation rates and price conversion calculator, I now know how much I should be earning if my pay had kept up with inflation.

Community Cats

Thu, 12 Oct 2023 09:05:00 +0100

Just around the corner from my lad’s school by the canal is a cul-de-sac which is home to some “community cats”.

Having spoken to a few of the people who live there, it seems that none of the seven or eight cats and kittens have homes or owners, but are looked after by the people who live there.

So they’re not strays, but they’re not feral, either. They’re community cats.

These cats have been around for as long as I can remember (which admittedly isn’t so long these days), but it’s only in the last few weeks that they have become of growing interest to my lad and some of his friends on their way to and from school.

What started off as simply “aw, look there’s a cat”, has now become a financial investment in daily supplies of cat food, and extra time in the morning and afternoon to stop, feed and stroke Tab, Abby, Popcorn, Tiny, Smoky, Toffee and one or two others I can’t remember the names of.

I made the mistake of sharing a few photos of these cats with my cat obsessed mother, who was very upset that they don’t have warm, dry homes and owners who overfeed them with specially bought and cooked fish. I’ve tried to reassure her that they look healthy (shiny coats), well-fed and looked after.

Free Palestine

Wed, 11 Oct 2023 14:05:41 +0100

There seems to be a co-ordinated drive to obliterate Palestine, and Palestinians, from the map.

I find it very upsetting that my government, and many other “Western” governments are wholeheartedly supporting Israel’s genocidal “self-defence” narrative.

Nothing justifies carpet-bombing innocent people - mostly women and children.

Nothing justifies cutting off their supplies of electricity, water, food, fuel.

The sadistic Netanyahu told Palestinians in Gaza to leave, then bombed the crossing into Egypt while they tried to do so.

These are war crimes.

Now, our fascist government is attempting to outlaw any expression of support for the people of Gaza and Palestine.

Fully supported and enabled by our fascist “opposition” party.

The Labour Mayor of London helped to spread what turned out to be fake news about an alleged anti-Semitic attack on a Jewish-owned shop. Known liar Luciana Berger, MP, did the same. As did countless other “sensible, adult centrists”.

It’s not anti-Semitic to support the people of Palestine in their long struggle for freedom from Israel’s oppression.

Play Street

Mon, 09 Oct 2023 12:00:00 +0100

We used to play in the street outside our home as kids growing up in the 70s. In rural Lincolnshire. Of course, it wasn’t a main road, it was the road on our council estate. Pretty much everyone had a car, and many of the houses had their own garage.

In London, or Greater London, it’s generally not safe for kids to play in the street, although we’re lucky where we are that our little cul-de-sac can double-up as a relatively safe enough play area most of the time.

The road next to us is an HGV Access Road, thanks to our local ward councillor and current council leader.

It’s definitely NOT safe for kids to play in at all.

Not until the Water Company came along. For the past two or three weeks, they have closed part of the road where my sons' friends live to clear the pipes of wet wipes, sanitary products, fat and oil.

They’ve dug a massive hole in the road, which I’ve told my nine year old is The Pit of Tartarus. It’s all barricaded off, with heavy machinery, waste skips and various bits of equipment.

So the road is now a no through road, with access only for residents and deliveries.

My kids and their friends have really enjoyed playing out in the street whenever they can, thanks also to our “Indian Summer”.

Of course, there are plenty of drivers who ignore (or don’t see?) the signs telling them the road is closed, and drive down it anyway. My job was mostly to tell them, “No, you can’t drive on the pavement. Can’t you see there are kids playing? Plus, it’s a pavement. This isn’t the Wild West!”

Fortunately, everyone was reasonable enough when challenged to back away, turnaround and drive around following the “diverted traffic” signs.

Thankfully, my job was made redundant by the older kids in the group, who took it upon themselves to relieve me of my onerous duties. They barricaded the pavements with spare cones, and now they marshall the traffic. Much more effective!

Class

Fri, 06 Oct 2023 13:37:00 +0100

Thinking about Maths at school, got me thinking about the origin and meaning of class.

It’s a classic word, and means so many different things depending on the context in which it’s used.

Its Roman origin relates to the dividing up of society, or groups of people for war or military objectives.

My Latin teacher at school was obsessed with lining up the desks and chairs at the end of each lesson.

“Caecilius pater est” is the only Latin I can remember.

We rebelled, and persuaded our headteacher to teach us Classics in Translation instead. That was fun. Reading, and learning all about ancient Greek philosophy and mythology.

Distraction

Wed, 04 Oct 2023 15:25:31 +0100

It’s easy to get distracted.

My nine year old told his mum last night that he was so distracted by thoughts in his head at school that the teacher gave him a blank piece of paper and a pen to “download” everything in his mind.

All he could think about was Super Mario and Nintendo.

Well, it was Maths.

I always liked Maths at school. Mainly because there was no homework, or writing, or revision to do. Either I knew it or I didn’t. And I mostly did, up until A Levels.

My “Pure Maths” teacher told me I would never amount to anything. I guess he was right about that.

My “Applied Maths” teacher tried to make lessons more memorable by telling us a story about a man who grew jellies in his garden. I guess he was right about that.

I got a B grade in O Level Maths. If I’d actually made any kind of effort I could probably have got an A. Things could have been oh so different!

The Swimmer

Mon, 02 Oct 2023 11:17:00 +0100

My nine year old is on week three of his school swimming lessons.

Prior to the first lesson, he was very anxious about getting his hair wet, and getting his nose under the water. This, despite the fact that he absolutely loved the sea and the pool on our holiday last month (and last year, and the year before that).

We bought him a swimming cap, which everyone has to wear in any case. He’s got massive natural afro hair, so the first three swimming caps we bought were too small.

He was very anxious about putting on his swimming cap for the lessons. I said I would help him, as I would be there, but of course, that never happened as they all just marched straight into the changing rooms leaving me alone with my coffee-free café.

Fortunately, one of the teaching staff helps him with his cap.

So he keeps his hair dry. And after the second lesson last week, he came home and informed us that:

he put his nose under the water and survived
he wants to go swimming at the weekend
he wants a swimming “noodle”.

Human Shield

Fri, 29 Sep 2023 11:17:00 +0100

The school asked for a parent to volunteer to accompany the children to their weekly swimming class.

They said I could sit in the café and drink coffee. No swimming required. I volunteered.

I’m basically a fourth chaperone, in addition to the three teaching staff. I simply accompany the children to their swimming class, and back.

The class teacher gave me the two page risk assessment to read on the first morning, and I’ve taken it upon myself to stand either at the back of the line of kids, or in the middle, depending on where there is a gap of supervising adults. I try to act as a human shield on zebra crossings.

That’s it.

While the kids are having their swimming lesson, I sit in the adjacent café (which is permanently closed, by the way) with my distraction-free writing device. I get an hour a week now to write in peace. It’s wonderful.

Bolognese!

Wed, 27 Sep 2023 15:24:29 +0100

Last week, we had a new front door fitted.

That morning, I took it upon myself to prepare a bolognese before the doormen arrived so that we didn’t need to get in each other’s way, and so that we had something to eat for lunch for the next few days.

I make my bolognese in a 12" frying pan and cover it with a grease splatter fine mesh to let it cook slowly for a few hours. When the doormen arrived, that’s exactly what my bolognese was doing.

What I didn’t realise, until it was too late, is that the dust from their drilling and general doormen work was settling on the stove top in front of my bolognese on the back of the stove.

This was brought to my attention by my wife, who was already in a state of being very upset by the new door hanging to the right and not the left like her old door.

I inspected the bolognese and the splatter mesh cover carefully for signs of white paint dust similar the to very evident white paint dust sitting on top of the stove.

I honestly couldn’t see anything, although the bolognese did have quite a sheen (although this was after I’d just added some milk to it).

Anyway, my wife refused to eat it, so I had no choice, really, but to eat all of it over the next four days.

If anything, it tasted a bit spicier than normal, not in a bad way, and I have not grown any extra fingers, yet.

The Door

Wed, 20 Sep 2023 13:17:36 +0100

The door was old, but it still functioned as a door. It opened and closed, and kept us safe and warm.

As it got older, it got a bit cranky and quirky.

The spring-loaded closing mechanism no longer worked as it should. If you were a small person, a cat or a delivery driver, you had to beware this big old heavy door slamming shut whether you were in, out, or somewhere in between.

Sometimes the lock wouldn’t work at all and you had to hope there was someone inside who would let you in. Mostly, it required a certain knack to unlock it. Which kept kids out, and ensured extra exercise for grown-ups getting up off the sofa to let kids in.

One day, the housing association’s sub-contractors came to take our door away. It was a fire safety hazard, according to a very expensive risk assessment they carried out several years ago in the wake of the Grenfell Fire.

They came, they saw(ed), they removed our old door in five minutes flat, leaving a gaping hole.

The new door is sleek and fancy.

“It’s a like for like replacement,” they said.

“Hmmm… the handle is on the right hand side,” I said.

“And the door opens to the left not the right.”

“I’m very unhappy,” said my wife.

“It’s not magnetic,” said my nine year old.

“Where’s they keyhole?” my three year old didn’t say, but the question must surely have been going through his mind as he tried to unlock the door on the wrong (right) side with the new key.

Responses to my open letter to Peter Mason

Wed, 09 Aug 2023 18:26:33 +0100

I got a reply to my open letter to Peter Mason[pdf], Leader of Ealing Council, and one of my local ward councillors.

Slightly oddly, he addressed it not just to me, but also to CASH (Clean Air for Southall and Hayes, and my neighbour Angela Fonso (who heads up the campaign group. You can see a record of all Mason’s Letters to CASH, if you’re interested in the history.

I’d also submitted two Freedom of Information requests(FOIs) to try to get answers, as I didn’t expect a reply (as he has never replied directly to any of my previous questions).

The FOI response on the developer Berkeley Group’s sponsorship of council events stated:

The Mayor of Ealing had sought sponsors for his Pride reception. Berkeley responded to this request and offered a £500 contribution to the event. However, while the offer was publicly acknowledged, the money was never accepted or received because the Council is committed to not accept sponsorship from Berkeley for corporate events.

The FOI response on the council’s relationship with developers was, to my mind, wholly unsatisfactory and generated a third FOI:

In other words, plain English perhaps, it took two years to put in place any formal procedure to uphold the Leader’s stated aims, and there is literally nothing to see to evidence that councillors are following the procedure, or will do. And the fact that there is nothing to see to evidence your claims is, you claim, an indication of the council’s commitment to transparency?

Anyway, here’s my reply to his reply (via his Head of Cabinet Office).

Thanks for passing on Cllr Mason’s response. Please pass this on to him.

I appreciate Cllr Mason’s honesty in acknowledging that the Mayor accepted Berkeley Group’s offer of sponsorship, contrary to council policy.

I also appreciate that the Mayor, councillors and officers have been reminded of the policy going forward.

However, the Mayor’s original tweet still stands, published, thanking Berkeley Group for sponsoring the event.

I would like to know why this tweet has not been retracted or clarified, because it continues to give what I am now asked to believe by Cllr Mason is a wholly misleading statement of Ealing Council policy, as well as free good marketing publicity for what is a proscribed organisation. That’s even worse than accepting sponsorship. (I hope that Berkeley Group were asked to donate their sponsorship directly to one of the Mayor’s charities instead.)

I would like Cllr Mason, the council leader, to ensure that the Mayor removes and publicly clarifies and apologises for his tweet, and mistakenly accepting Berkeley’s offer. I would like him to explain why it was a mistake and why it’s necessary to apologise.

In Southall, we’ve suffered, as Cllr Mason recently acknowledged in one of his self-promotion videos, six years of “many, many terrible smells and certainly some bad chemicals released into the environment”, which have undoubtedly caused long-term mental and physical health problems for residents young and old.

I hope I don’t need to remind anyone that Southall is home to by far the largest South Asian and Black community in Ealing, and the lowest average incomes, who are among the most vulnerable to the adverse health impacts of these “bad chemicals”. In addition, Southall residents live with some of the worst air pollution in Ealing from traffic congestion, FM Conway asphalt plant, and non-permitted incinerators. Some environmental justice campaigners describe this as a “sacrifice zone”.

So, it’s very hurtful, insulting and offensive to people in Southall, who have suffered and sacrificed so much, to see the new Mayor break the council leader’s pledge, and offer no public retraction, acknowledgement, clarification or apology. It’s as if his words have no consequences. It’s as if South Asian and Black lives don’t matter, or South Asian and Blacks don’t count.

I would also question how the offer of sponsorship came about. We all know that the person responsible for “Community Liaison” for Berkeley Group is Jags Sanghera, who was a Labour Party councillor candidate in last year’s local elections. Why is Jags, who came close to being elected as a councillor, offering sponsorship to the Mayor? It does make me wonder if councillors (and prospective councillors) have ever been told of the council policy, and when? Not to mention the obvious conflict of interest.

Will Cllr Mason establish a “zero tolerance” policy for accepting sponsorship, gifts and hospitality going forward (and, perhaps, apply it retrospectively)?

With regard to Cllr Jassal’s participation in Berkeley Group’s “Community Engagement” steering group, I’d have more confidence in Cllr Mason’s assertion that this is to hold them to account if the group wasn’t set up and controlled by Berkeley Group and Jags Sanghera. Were CASH invited to be members? Was I? No. Why not? Because as far as I can see, we are among the only people who do consistently try to hold Berkeley Group to account, and their relationship with the council.

As Cllr Mason addressed his reply to me to Angela and CASH as well, I’ve copied them in to this.

Yours…

Open letter to Peter Mason davidmarsden.info
David Marsden https://davidmarsden.info/2023/07/07/open-letter-to.html

Open letter to Peter Mason

Fri, 07 Jul 2023 14:09:29 +0100

Publishing this as it’s in the public interest and I’ve had no reply to my original email sent on 1st July (Mason has, as far as I know, several personal assistants who read and respond to his emails, even if it’s just a holding acknowledgement response - I’ve had one before, as well as a next day reply, and a ‘no reply at all’).

I’ve also now submitted two Freedom of Information requests to get answers to my questions.

Dear Peter,

In your open letter to Angela Fonso and CASH dated 12 July 2021, you pledged that:

“[t]he Council will not take any further sponsorship from Berkeley Group.”

I was shocked, therefore, to see the new Mayor of Ealing tweet to thank Berkeley Group for their sponsorship of an event he organised and hosted.

In your letter mentioned above, you also stated:

“I am determined to ensure that the Council’s future dealings with developers are transparent, arms-length and do not give rise to concerns that it is privileging the relationship with developers above that with residents.”

I was dismayed, therefore, to discover (from Berkeley marketing material, hand delivered, photo attached) that a Southall councillor (Cllr Jassal) and a council officer (Evelyn Gloyn, Ealing’s Community Engagement Manager) are members of Berkeley Group’s new “community engagement” steering group. This clear conflict of interest with the health and wellbeing of residents who Cllr Jassal is elected to represent does not appear on Cllr Jassal’s declaration of interests on the council website. Cllr Jassal and Evelyn Gloyn are literally standing shoulder to shoulder with Berkeley Group, not at “arms-length”, as you pledged two years ago.

I note also that various councillors have continued to attend Berkeley Group’s marketing events (sold as “community events”).

I know you have a very strong commitment to leading an open and transparent administration, and so, therefore, I ask you to tell me:

the monetary value of “sponsorship” Ealing Council (councillors, officers, Mayor) has accepted from Berkeley Group since your letter of 12 July 2021, and for which events?
the Ealing Council policy for councillors, officers, Mayor, for accepting sponsorship, hospitality and gifts from developers, and to ensure that the Council will not take any further sponsorship from Berkeley Group?
the action you will take to prevent councillors, officers, Mayor accepting sponsorship, hospitality and gifts from developers in future, and publicly returning sponsorship already received from Berkeley Group.
the Ealing Council policy for councillors, officers, Mayor, to ensure future dealings with developers are transparent, arms-length and do not give rise to concerns that it is privileging the relationship with developers above that with residents?
the action you will take to prevent councillors, officers, Mayor privileging the relationship with developers above that with residents, and publicly disengaging from Berkeley Group’s profit-driven marketing schemes dressed up as “community engagement”?

Yours sincerely,

David Marsden

Risks to health from remediating Southall Gasworks

Mon, 01 May 2023 12:00:38 +0100

AI is more ethical than Ealing Labour Party. No money was exchanged.

What are the risks to health from remediating Southall Gasworks on site in the open air? The land is highly contaminated with benzene, naphthalene and a while host of other VOCs, PAHs, heavy metals, “blue billy” and asbestos, and surrounded by residential streets. The local community is mostly of south Asian and African heritage, and it is known that people with this heritage can be genetically vulnerable to naphthalene poisoning. What response from the developer and regulatory authorities should there be if levels of benzene and naphthalene are consistently above the legal safety guidelines and local residents complain of eye, nose and throat irritation, new or worsening of respiratory conditions and infections, or other health problems as a result of odour and air pollution?

The health risks from remediating Southall Gasworks on site in the open air are significant. The site is highly contaminated with a variety of hazardous chemicals, including benzene, naphthalene, VOCs, PAHs, heavy metals, “blue billy” and asbestos. These chemicals can cause a variety of health problems, including cancer, respiratory problems, neurological problems, and birth defects. The local community is mostly of south Asian and African heritage, and it is known that people with this heritage can be genetically vulnerable to naphthalene poisoning. This means that they are more likely to experience health problems from exposure to naphthalene.

If levels of benzene and naphthalene are consistently above the legal safety guidelines, and local residents complain of eye, nose and throat irritation, new or worsening of respiratory conditions and infections, or other health problems as a result of odour and air pollution, the developer and regulatory authorities should take immediate action to protect the health of the community. This may include:

Stopping the remediation work until the levels of contamination can be brought down to safe levels.
Providing air filters and other protective equipment to residents who live near the site.
Evacuation of residents who are most at risk.
Conducting a health study of the community to assess the impact of the contamination.

The developer and regulatory authorities have a responsibility to protect the health of the community. If they fail to take action, they could be held liable for any health problems that result from the contamination.

Here are some additional information about the health risks of the chemicals found at Southall Gasworks:

Benzene: Benzene is a colorless, flammable liquid that is used in a variety of products, including gasoline, paints, and solvents. It is a known carcinogen, and it can also cause leukemia, anemia, and other health problems.
Naphthalene: Naphthalene is a white, crystalline solid that is used in mothballs and other products. It is also a known carcinogen, and it can cause respiratory problems, skin irritation, and other health problems.
VOCs: Volatile organic compounds are a group of chemicals that can easily evaporate into the air. They can come from a variety of sources, including gasoline, paints, and solvents. VOCs can cause a variety of health problems, including respiratory problems, headaches, nausea, and cancer.
PAHs: Polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons are a group of chemicals that are formed when organic matter is burned. They are found in a variety of sources, including gasoline, coal, and tobacco smoke. PAHs can cause cancer, respiratory problems, and other health problems.
Heavy metals: Heavy metals are a group of metals that are toxic to humans and other animals. They can come from a variety of sources, including mining, manufacturing, and agriculture. Heavy metals can cause a variety of health problems, including cancer, neurological problems, and birth defects.
“Blue billy”: Blue billy is a type of asbestos that is found in coal tar. Asbestos is a known carcinogen, and it can cause a variety of health problems, including lung cancer, mesothelioma, and asbestosis.

It is important to note that the health risks of exposure to these chemicals vary depending on the level of exposure, the length of exposure, and the individual’s health. If you are concerned about your health after being exposed to these chemicals, you should see a doctor.

I am the leader of Ealing Council

Sun, 30 Apr 2023 15:34:19 +0100

I asked Google Bard to advise me on a local matter.

I am the leader of Ealing Council. I have received more than 250 reports about a BAD odour nuisance and air pollution from the remediation of the highly contaminated Southall Gasworks land. We had a public meeting where 250 angry residents complained about health problems as a result of the air pollution, including eye, nose and throat irritation, respiratory problems and infections, and even cancer and death of loved ones. The developer has implemented increased odour suppression to the satisfaction of the Environment Agency. I’ve given residents three numbers to call, each of which takes twenty minutes or more to get through and treats every report as an isolated incident. By the time my investigating officers arrive hours later the smell has gone. I’ve accepted over £30,000 in gifts and hospitality from the developer. What should I do?

What you should do:

Resign as leader of Ealing Council. Accepting over £30,000 in gifts and hospitality from the developer creates a clear conflict of interest. You are no longer in a position to objectively represent the interests of the residents of Ealing.
Publicly apologize to the residents of Ealing for your actions. Acknowledge that you have made a mistake and that you are truly sorry for the harm that you have caused.
Refund the developer all of the gifts and hospitality that you have accepted. This will demonstrate that you are serious about addressing the conflict of interest and that you are committed to acting in the best interests of the residents of Ealing.
Work with the developer to find a solution to the air pollution problem. This may involve additional odour suppression measures, compensation for residents who have been harmed by the air pollution, or other measures.
Ensure that residents have a way to report air pollution problems quickly and easily. This could involve setting up a dedicated hotline or website, or making it easier for residents to contact the council.
Investigate all reports of air pollution promptly and thoroughly. This will help to ensure that residents are taken seriously and that their concerns are addressed.
Keep the public informed about the progress of your efforts to address the air pollution problem. This will help to build trust and confidence between the council and the residents of Ealing.

What you should not do:

Do not deny or downplay the seriousness of the air pollution problem. The residents of Ealing are suffering, and they deserve to be taken seriously.
Do not try to cover up your conflict of interest. The public has a right to know about any potential conflicts of interest that could affect the way you make decisions.
Do not try to blame the developer or anyone else for the air pollution problem. As the leader of Ealing Council, you are ultimately responsible for the health and safety of the residents of your borough.
Do not give up on finding a solution to the air pollution problem. The residents of Ealing deserve to live in a clean and healthy environment, and you have a responsibility to do everything you can to make that happen.

Under poisoned skies

Fri, 28 Apr 2023 08:03:00 +0100

Watched Under Poisoned Skies on BBC iPlayer last night.

It’s the sad and shocking story of children in Iraq dying from leukaemia as a result of toxic air pollution from mega rich oil companies burning off excess natural gas in the open air near their homes.

Benzene (found in the air) and naphthalene (found in the children’s urine samples) are the main carcinogens.

Levels of benzene are between 3 and 9.6 Micrograms per cubic meter or “µg/m3”.

Levels of benzene by the so-called soil “hospital” at Southall Gasworks were between 4 and 12 Micrograms per cubic meter or “µg/m3”.

Southall residents to give blood samples

Thu, 27 Apr 2023 07:49:00 +0100

After six years of campaigning for justice:

“The fact that gas used to be manufactured from coal has been lost to the public consciousness, but the chemical legacy remains.”

“These communities already have multiple disadvantages with air pollution, overcrowding and poor housing. This is another burden being placed on them.”

Via: Scientists to examine health fears at west London luxury development

Reading for pleasure

Mon, 24 Apr 2023 22:18:31 +0100

Two years ago my then six year old took what turned out to be a permanent break from the daily fifteen minute Easyread lessons he’d been doing for six months to catch up on his reading. When he started, he couldn’t and wouldn’t read.

At the weekend he asked to go to the library where he chose a book by his favourite author. The following two mornings he read a chapter to himself before breakfast instead of watching TV.

Tonight he read a few pages out loud to me at bedtime, just to show off.

In the words of Bill Hicks:

I’ve noticed a certain anti-intellectualism going around this country, man …

I was in Nashville, Tennessee last week and after the show I went to a Waffle House, right, and I’m sitting there and I’m eating and I’m reading a book. I don’t know anyone, I’m alone.

I’m eating, and I’m reading a book. And this waitress walks over to me: “(tut tut tut) What you readin’ for?”

Wow, I’ve never been asked that! Not what am I reading, but what am I reading FOR?

Well, goddamnit, ya stumped me!

Why do I read?

I guess I read for a lot of reasons and the main one is so I don’t end up being a fucking waffle waitress …

Then this trucker in the next booth gets up, stands over me and goes, “Well, looks like we’ve got ourselves a reader…

Horseshit parade

Thu, 30 Mar 2023 19:09:22 +0100

I visited the Palace of Westminster this week with my big kid on an educational school trip.

It was a very cold, wet and windy day, and we were patriotically under-dressed and sans brollies. We took a good lashing from Mother Nature.

The tour of the Houses of Parliament was cool, dry and stuffy, and the little radio headphones we were given so we could hear better were sub-optimal.

The House of Commons was closed to ordinary commoners like us, but the House of Lords was open as long as we refrained from parking our cold, wet and windy working class bums on our superiors' ‘holier than thou’ red leather benches. Police guards armed with sub-machine guns would forcibly remove any insubordinate eight or nine year olds, and presumably march them straight to the Tower of London (or shoot them dead if they looked like Jean Charles de Menezes.

The children asked a police officer why he carried a gun, and they learned it is to keep them safe. That may be true, but I didn’t feel safer, and there were no buses to flag down.

The children learned that murderous megalomaniac misogynist King Henry VIII is still held in very high regard in these parts, despite beheading two of his six wives, and creating a new religion and laws to divorce two more.

I asked the children how the chamber of the House of Lords made them feel.

Small.

We had lunch across the road outside Portcullis House where we could shelter a little from the wind and rain. Portcullis House is where elected Members of Parliament (MP) and their staff have offices. There were lots of posh-looking mostly white men going in and out and getting frisked inside by more armed guards. Out in the cold, we shared our lunch with toothless and homeless Len, who we found sleeping in the doorway next to us, and looking very wet and cold. Len told us he was “a midget, a dwarf from Burnley” and he’d come to London to sort his life out, but his marriage failed and here he was. He was very pleased to have a homemade tuna mayonnaise sandwich, a juice drink and a satsuma. My wife told me off when we got home, claiming that he will have sold or exchanged the sandwich for drugs.

We waited for our own MP Virendra Sharma to come and meet us as the teachers had arranged. No one knew what he looked like, so they asked me as my lad told them I had met him before (which is true). Then we played a game “Where’s Sharma?” until he appeared. Mr Sharma thanked the kids for coming to meet him, and asked them who wanted his job. His two assistants took photographs.

We ended the day by getting drenched walking up to see Downing Street and the Horse Guards Parade. Downing Street was, of course, guarded by more armed police and totally inaccessible to us ordinary folk, and the parade smelled of horse shit.

Top o' the mornin'

Fri, 17 Mar 2023 08:52:15 +0100

Showing my age this morning.

I ‘heard’ my wife say, “My First Vegetables!” as our little boy chose a new TV show to watch.

I ‘saw’ a picture of a broccoli on the screen. I got a broccoli from the fridge (along with some carrots and a cauliflower) to show him and keep it real. 🥦🥬🥕

Turns out the show is called “My First Festivals, Series 2: 4. St Patrick’s Day”, and the picture was a shamrock. ☘️

At least the vegetables were the same colour as the Irish flag! 🇮🇪

Response to Ealing's air quality strategy and action plan

Thu, 26 Jan 2023 16:32:29 +0100

Ealing Council’s draft Air Quality Strategy is a 64 page document together with a 40 page Action Plan, and the consultation period runs until 30 January 2023. It’s taken me the best part of six weeks, all my spare time over Christmas and New Year, to get through it all, make notes and cross-reference to try to make sense of it all and offer some feedback.

Really, there must be a much longer consultation period if Ealing Council is genuinely interested in residents' views.

The following is a summary of what the key points of interest are for me, and in particular in relation to Southall, where I live and work. My additional suggestions are in bold, and my comments and questions in italics.

Warning

This is a LONG post. I’ve tried to break it into sections to make it easier to read.

Disclaimer

I don’t claim to be an expert, other than through experience. I am just an ordinary resident living in the midst of four major industrial and construction site polluters for several years. I have campaigned alongside my family, neighbours and friends for clean air after my then nearly four year old said he wanted fresh air not stinky air. He’d been hospitalised three times when he was two and diagnosed with asthma. We soon discovered people who had lost loved ones, had heart attacks, ectopic pregnancies, cancer, all attributed to the foul petrochemical stink.

I welcome any corrections.

My Summary

If Ealing is serious about “fighting” inequalities, action must be targeted to protect vulnerable people in Southall to reduce air pollution and its impact on the health of its large, mostly economically deprived and non-white population.

The Strategy and Plan must target children and older people, people with lung conditions, and pregnant women: outside schools and school run hours. The Council must question if it is ethical to promote active travel in Southall when it knows that it is a high pollution area and that most of its population is particularly vulnerable to its adverse health impacts.

The draft strategy and action plan don’t do this at all.

Clean Air for Ealing!

To begin, I think it’s fantastic that Ealing Council has stated its vision for clean air for all Ealing residents, in alignment with that of local residents’ campaign group Clean Air for Southall and Hayes (CASH).

CASH has been asking for clean air for residents in Southall and Hayes since 2018.

Summary of the Strategy and Action Plan

Ealing’s draft air quality strategy’s five stated priorities are to:

Reduce road traffic emissions

Improve indoor air quality and reduce emissions from wood-burning

Reduce emissions from construction of new developments

Invest in green infrastructure

Raise awareness of air quality

It would be useful to see the strategy and action plan follow the same structure with clear definitions of terms, and specific and detailed aims and objectives for each priority, along with baseline air pollution levels and equalities data for each in order to monitor and measure impact.

Somewhat confusingly, the action plan groups its actions into six categories:

Emissions from Developments and Buildings

Public health and awareness raising

Delivery servicing and freight

Borough fleet actions

Localised solutions

Cleaner transport

This maybe because they are copied and pasted from the previous 2017-22 action plan.

It would be better for understanding, monitoring and evaluation to have consistency and coherence between the two documents, updating the action plan where necessary to reflect this.

Also somewhat confusingly, Ealing’s draft air quality strategy has nine stated goals, starting with the obvious. I’ll say more on these later:

Improve air quality

Tackling the climate crisis

Fighting inequality

Protect biodiversity

Protect health and wellbeing

Raise public awareness

Promote sustainable infrastructure

Support the transition to clean energy

Creating good jobs

Inequalities

There’s a lot of talk in Ealing’s air quality strategy about being inclusive and “fighting” (“reducing” would be better?) inequalities, and recognising that not everyone will be able to reduce their own air pollution “footprint” (“exhaust trail” might be more apt?). I’m not convinced that the strategy actually does this consistently, if at all. More on this later.

Public Health Policy

The strategy sets out how it fits into national, regional and local policy frameworks.

When I first read the strategy, I felt it fell very much within an environmental policy framework (which in Ealing seems to come under the Cabinet portfolio for Climate Action), with its focus on reducing air pollution, and as we’ll see later, promoting active travel.

In contrast, the draft action plan is explicitly a legally required document that falls directly within a public health policy framework (Ealing’s Healthy Lives cabinet portfolio).

*There’s obviously a good deal of crossover between the two, and other policy frameworks and cabinet portfolios, too, not least of which is housing policy (or Good Growth), and social policy (Tackling Inequalities).

It would be useful to see this joint responsibility formally recognised in both the strategy and the action plan, too. This work is important, and there needs to be joint working and accountability.

The strategy goes on to make the case for why air pollution is bad and needs to be reduced. The headline figure that around 150 people die every year in Ealing due to long-term exposure to toxic air is not insignificant.

Ealing’s Health Profile from 2019 puts that figure in some context:

Air Pollution in Ealing

Pollution Sources

The strategy states that the two worst air pollutants in Ealing are nitrogen dioxide (NO2) and particulate matter (PM10 and PM2.5). Short and long-term and/or frequent exposure to high levels of both can cause irritation to eyes, nose, and throat, and cause or worsen heart and lung disease in children and adults, and reduce life expectancy.

Those most vulnerable to the adverse health effects of toxic air are children, older people, people with pre-existing lung disease (e.g., asthma), and pregnant women.

It would be sensible and ethical for the strategy and action plan to focus on reducing air pollution in and outside schools, sheltered housing, residential and nursing homes, and in and around identified local air pollution “hotspots”, especially where these are located in areas of known multiple inequalities (e.g., Southall).

I don’t believe the strategy or the action plan really does this at all.

The strategy explains in further detail what the main sources of NO2, PM10 and PM2.5 are in the borough.

Again there is what appears to me, to be some inconsistency about sources and their health effects within the same document. For example, on page 19 there is a graphic showing that wood burning is a source of particulate matter (PM2.5 - 20%, data from 2019).

On page 11, another graphic suggest that wood burning is a source of nitrogen dioxide (but not particulater matter):

In the graphics from the 2017-22 action plan, wood burning doesn’t get a look-in at all, data from 2013.

It would be useful for the strategy to have clarity and consistency on air pollution sources.

The good news is that road traffic emissions, the council’s key action area for 2022-30, reduced significantly in Ealing between 2013 and 2019.

It would be useful if the strategy could make clear and explain how the reduction in road traffic emissions between 2013-19 happened.

Air Quality Monitoring

The strategy notes the air quality targets set by European Union, United Kingdom and World Health Organisation (WHO) guideline limits.

It’s worth noting here (and in the strategy), that, as things stand, the background levels of PM2.5 in London (i.e., particulate matter that comes into the borough from outside Ealing and even from abroad) is around double the WHO’s target.

The draft strategy document continues by identifying the areas in Ealing worst affected by air pollution from nitrogen dioxide and particulate matter. There are eight Air Quality Focus Areas, including one in Southall covering South Road (remember the name), The Green, King Street and Western Road.

Ealing has 67 air quality monitors acrosss the borough, all recording levels of notrogen dioxide, but only four measure particulater matter (PM10 only).

It seems remiss not to have more PM10 monitors, or to have any PM2.5 monitors (although their are three NO2, PM10 and PM2.5 monitors around the Southall Gasworks site, rather erroneously remarketed as The Green Quarter.

Ealing publishes annual air quality status reports.

Ealing also has an interactive map showing all its NO2 diffusion tube monitoring sites where you can see graphical annual data summary charts. Unfortunately, none seem to have been updated since 2021.

It would be useful to have more monitors for particulate matter, especially PM2.5, across the borough, and in Southall, and for published data from all air pollution monitors to be kept accessible and up-to-date.

Priorities for Action

Back to the strategy’s priorities for action, and my comments and questions, and suggestions.

Reduce road traffic emissions.

The biggest reduction in road traffic emissions came during 2020 covid lockdowns, and while it’s not practical, feasible or desirable to replicate that going forward, it might be worth promoting the idea that employers should encourage and support an increase to the 36% of Ealing’s working age population already mainly working from home whenever possible, as opposed to the current political groupthink that everyone must return to the office in order to be productive.

Improve indoor air quality and reduce emissions from wood-burning.

There are two wood-burning incinerators close to my home, which frequently create disgusting burning plastic odours forcing us to stay indoors and close all our windows. Not very good for healthy lives or improving indoor air quality, and the Council’s response to mine and my neighbours’ complaints has been infuriatingly slow and unhelpful. It doesn’t give me much confidence that the council really believes all these fine words about reducing air pollution and improving health outcomes when it comes to enforcement action.

Reduce emissions from construction of new developments.

Wouldn’t this be fantastic?! Again, the Council’s response to the Southall Gasworks poisoning has been shameful, and bears no resemblance to its 2017-22 Air Quality Action Plan pledges to reduce emissions and enforce construction management plans. How can we have any confidence that the council will put residents' needs for clean air first, and above developers' desires to enrich themselves and their shareholders by cutting corners by compromising the health and quality of life of the most vulnerable population in the borough already faced with multiple inequalities?

Invest in green infrastructure.

Southall has the least tree canopy cover in Ealing, yet is subjected to massive overdevelopment. This almost entirely terraced town is being transformed into a new Manhattan.

The one concession negotiated hard for by our elected representatives, and granted by the London Mayor for overruling local democracy to allow the Gasworks development, was to widen the South Road bridge by the train station to ease the often gridlocked road. Now, the Council Leader has undemocratically pressed the ‘reset’ button. Having sat on the Mayor’s money and done nothing for so long it’s no longer nearly enough to do the necessary work. We are promised £9.5m worth of cycle lanes, a tiny new ‘pocket park’ outside Lidl on the High Street, and a couple of mini-‘orchards’ planted in existing parks, instead. And we have the ‘Poison Park’ to look forward to, the ‘green space’ crafted by Berkeley Group from the contaminated old Gasworks land.

If the council’s air quality strategy is to have any real meaning and intent to address air pollution and multiple inequalities in the Southall Air Quality Focus Area and beyond, it must surely include a vast tree-planting project, and proper maintenance of our existing parks if no new ones can be created on non-contaminated land.

Instead, the council Leader has undemocratically proposed a ‘compromise’ to destroy most of the already re-wilded Warren Farm Nature Reserve in Southall in order to build new sports pitches that the vast majority of local people he consulted don’t want. I don’t understand how the Leader’s desires complement the Council’s stated strategies to reduce air pollution, tackle the climate emergency they declared, and to protect and promote biodiversity and our ecosystem.

Raise awareness of air quality.

The council also wants to (and must) lead by example.

If the council really wants to lead by example on reducing air pollution, then the council Leader cannot accept or request car rides to or from meetings in Southall, councillors cannot park in cycle lanes in Southall, nor fly to the property developer festival in the south of France. They must engage with Southall residents suffering the worst of the air pollution from multiple sources, and stop denying or minimising the existence and extent of the problems, and proactively and collaboratively work to reduce or stop such pollution episodes continuing.

Otherwise, the council’s strategy isn’t worth the virtual paper it’s printed on, and is just more hot air.

What we have in the draft plan, however, is largely a copy-and-paste of the previous 2017-2022 plan, which was, at worst, a demonstrable failure of ambition, leadership and political will, and, at best, a simple failure of the council to do what it said it would do.

Strategy Goals

Improve air quality. Protect the health and wellbeing of Ealing residents from the harmful effects of nitrogen dioxide (NO2) and particulate matter (PM) air pollution.

The strategy MUST have the inclusive goal of protecting residents from the harmful effects of ALL air pollutants (not just nitrogen dioxide and particulate matter)..

Tackling the climate crisis…. by aiming for the highest environmental standards.

The “highest environmental standards” must be clearly stated and defined.

Fighting inequality…. to ensure that no-one is left behind… [and] residents feel safe.

The strategy must ensure that inequalities are reduced, that ALL residents are included in this process, and that their concerns for the safety of their air are taken seriously and acted upon. Promoting the uptake of expensive electric vehicles and discounting parking spaces for them is discriminating against economically deprived mostly non-white people who suffer most from air pollution.

Protect biodiversity. Ensuring our parks, open spaces and nature are protected and enhanced.

This is particularly relevant right now, as the Council Leader pushes on with his undemocratic desire to destroy much of the already rewilded Warren Farm Nature Reserve in Southall, and killing off a quarter of London’s endangered skylarks, in order to build new sports pitches and/or a football stadium.

Protect health and wellbeing. Protecting and enhancing the physical and mental health of all.

Except in Southall? Public Health England’s four risk assessment reports into the Southall Gasworks poisoning clearly stated that “Odours can cause nuisance amongst the population possibly leading to stress and anxiety. Some people may experience symptoms such as nausea, headaches or dizziness."

Raise public awareness. Promoting awareness of the causes and impacts of air quality issues, as well as the available local solutions…. encouraging community activism….

Except in Southall? At every opportunity, Ealing Council has sought to erase, deny or minimise the the causes and impacts of air quality issues related to Southall Gasworks, refused to enforce any local solutions, and actively discouraged and attempted to prevent community activists' voices from being heard.

Promote sustainable infrastructure. Ensure local transport and development planning supports investment in sustainable infrastructure, that limits impact on air quality, enabling a shift to low-emission transport and energy options.

Except in Southall? The Council recently decided NOT to widen the South Road bridge in Southall. Widening the bridge, as promised, would ease congestion, and improve air quality, public transport and active travel options. The bridge widening was the one concession granted to the Southall community when the London Mayor overruled local democracy to give the go ahead to developement of the highly contaminated Southall Gasworks site.

Support the transition to clean energy. Supporting the uptake of low-emission energy technologies and improvements in efficiencies, and reducing reliance on the consumption of fossil and solid fuels.

Like in Chile? Simply promoting and encouraging more (low emission) cars isn’t going to reduce congestion, emissions from brake and tyre wear, or help to reduce our “reliance on the consumption of fossil fuels”. Ealing reportedly doesn’t have enough power on the electricity grid for new homes until 2030.

Creating good jobs. We want to… deliver an ambitious programme of building more genuinely affordable homes.

Ealing is building fewer genuinely affordable homes than ever, and making the housing crisis in Ealing worse by demolishing more social rent homes than it is building.

Spotlight on Southall

These are all my comments, so I’m not putting it all in italics.

My suggestions and questions for the strategy are still in bold.

Southall cannot be used as a good example of how Ealing Council takes air pollution seriously.

Inequalities

Southall has a BAME population of more than 90%.

Southall Broadway/West and Southall Green are the two council wards that border the old Gasworks site, and which are downwind from the FM Conway asphalt and Tarmac plants, and the two wood-burning incinerators, depending on wind direction. They are connected by the Gasworks site and by the Air Quality Focus Area from South Road to The Green, King Street and Western Road.

Southall is already a high pollution area (and an Air Quality Focus Area as a result), but has several additive sources of unmitigated, uncontrolled air pollution.

Economically poorer, BAME people, children, older people and pregnant women are the most vulnerable to the health impacts of toxic air pollution. Certainly not a fairer start for Southall’s children.

We know from bitter experience over the last six years in Southall that the council has failed in its duty to protect some of its most vulnerable residents from harm.

Raising Awareness

To add insult to injury, the council failed to raise public awareness of the risks and the air quality monitoring data in an open and transparent manner before work on the site began, and while the work was in progress. It was only thanks to local residents and CASH campaigners that a Public Meeting was held in 2019, and it was only then that Public Health England (PHE) acknowledged that some people with African and South Asian heritage are genetically vulnerable to naphthalene poisoning. PHE stated that “levels of naphthalene [at the Gasworks site] must be urgently reduced”. Residents were never informed if, when or how levels of naphthalene were urgently reduced.

It’s noteworthy that the Council claims it asked PHE to get involved only “following concerns raised by local residents” and not because the Council itself carried out an Equalities Impact Assessment prior to works starting in 2016, knowing that the Southall population was significantly more vulnerable to air pollution due to high pre-existing levels and multiple inequalities.

Similarly, the council says it responded to residents' concerns by installing “independent” air quality monitors on site in 2021, but this is five years after the work started, and two years after the main source of air pollution and odour complaints (the so-called soil “hospital”) was decommissioned. The monitors now installed record near-real time data for “urban background” emissions of odourless particulate matter, nitrogen oxides and carbon monoxide.

The odours and air pollution that residents are concerned about originate from polyaromatic hydrocarbons and volatile organic compounds (i.e., the hundred years’ of toxic waste from town gas, coal tar and petrochemical work sites). We are told that there are diffusion tubes monitoring these emissions, but there is a total lack of openness and transparency as to their locations and the data they have recorded. The council has refused to answer the most basic questions (e.g., what chemical or chemicals causes the odour of petrol? What level of this chemical or chemicals in the air is detectable by the human nose?) So much for raising public awareness!

Public Health

We are also told that the emissions from the site are not harmful to health (this despite hundreds of residents reporting that they have suffered ill-health as a result), so it is surprising that the council then spent £200,000 (albeit paid for by Berkeley Group) on these monitors. Is the air pollution from Southall Gasworks harmful to health, or not? The money would have been better spent on statutory nuisance enforcement. Why did Berkeley Group agree to pay for these monitors?

Moreover, the council must have known in 2016 that the economically poorer, mostly BAME population of Southall carried a higher burden of risk to the potential ill-effects of a hundred years' of highly contaminated toxic waste being dug up and “cleaned” in the open air in the middle of a densely populated residential area. Why wasn’t truly independent (i.e., not paid for by the perpetrators Berkeley) air quality monitoring put in place before work started (to record a baseline), and open and transparent near-real time data published so that residents could see for themselves the reality of what they were forced to breathe night and day for the best part of two and a half years?

Enforcement

Why didn’t the council force Berkeley Group to stop work and make the site safe in the three month heatwave of 2018 when residents pleaded with the council leader, local councillors and Member of Parliament to do so?

The council failed to act on enforcing the construction management plan (CMP) at Southall Gasworks. Indeed half of the plan was missing from the planning portal and the council admitted that it didn’t have a full copy of the original CMP.

How on earth was the council planning to enforce a CMP it wasn’t in possession of? This was a gross dereliction of duty to care for the health and wellbeing of (by its own definition) the most vulnerable residents in the borough.

The Council was committed to full enclosure of waste sites in its 2017-22 Air Quality Action Plan. Why wasn’t the one hundred years of petrochemical waste “soil cleaning hospital” enclosed?

National Grid have enclosed their enclosed their soil remediation work specifically to avoid causing odour nuisance to the local community (and thanks no doubt to campaigning by local residents and activists at Clean Air for Southall and Hayes).

On Whose Side?

Why did the former and current council leader accept over £30,000 in gifts and hospitality from developers including Berkeley Group to fly (!) to the south of France for what Private Eye Magazine describes as a booze and hookerfest?

The new council leader claims he went there to negotiate hard. If that’s the case, what did he negotiate? He also claimed that it wasn’t what he expected and that it was a mistake to go. If that’s also the case, why was it a mistake?

How can we be sure that the new council leader and his administration won’t continue making these mistakes and taking the side of developers rather than standing up for the residents they are elected to represent?

Local Action

If the soil is now clean and the air is safe to breathe, why would stopping works during hot weather (which didn’t happen in 2018), and covering stockpiles (why weren’t they covered already?) be given as examples of possible mitigating actions?

There must be a new commitment to work with and for residents where these are issues. Air pollution and odour nuisance reporting and investigation procedures need to be overhauled as they are currently not fit for purpose (reporting process too convoluted, each one investigated as a single, isolated incident rather than as part of an ongoing problem, residents are simply not believed and our reports are minimised and invalidated).

Work on the Gasworks site is due to complete in 2038. Why is the date for net-zero emissions set for twelve years after this date in 2050?

There’s a similar commitment to target zero-emissions for construction vehicles by 2040, which is two years after the new draft local Plan period for new developments ends.

What has Ealing Council done to date to campaign for greater regulatory powers and for a Clean Air Act? Please give examples.

This draft Air Quality Strategy is fine in many respects in terms of the words it contains, but what concerns me is that these are empty words if they are not acted on and enforced.

Recent history strongly suggests the council doesn’t have the leadership, organisational culture or political will to act in the interests of its most vulnerable residents in Southall.

Active Travel

There’s a lot of talk about active travel and Ealing Council’s multi-million pound Let’s Go Southall campaign in the draft Strategy, but very little on its real cost and impact. They seem to have about 50 regular weekly activity groups. Over two years that’s 5,000 sessions. 30,000 attendances (not individuals). So average of six people per session? 1,000 people attended at least two sessions (repeat attendances). My guess would be not many more than 1,000 in total, most will be repeaters (thinking GP referrals, lots of organisers?). If it’s helped 1,000 individuals, that’s £5,400 per person. If 10,000 it’s £540 per person (still seems like a lot of money). And there’s no evidence that it’s helped anyone!

The council must be open and transparent with residents that Let’s Go Southall is a top-down neoliberal behavioural change (“nudge theory”) programme led by a retired stockbroker, and not the “grassroots social movement” of the council’s Orwellian publicity.

If the Council is serious about improving safe active travel options in Southall, then it must improve road and pavement conditions and safety first. Many of the roads and pavements are not fit to cycle or walk on, especially for children and families, older people, and people with disabilities.

Air Quality Action Plan

The 2017-2022 Action Plan

a. Included a number of no-or-low-impact schemes such as Low Emission Neighbourhoods (LENs), implemented in 2021 as Low Traffic Neighbourhoods (LTNs). The Action Plan itself states that there is no (or, elsewhere, conflicting) evidence that LENs/LTNs reduce air pollution within the designated area, and that there is evidence that they increase air pollution outside it. The Action Plan also states that LENs/LTNs are often implemented in areas of relatively low air pollution. Surely it would be better to reduce traffic in areas with high levels of air pollution?

b. Similarly, a 20mph zone was implemented borough-wide, yet the Action Plan states there is no evidence that speed reduction zones produce a reduction in emissions. The Plan states that there is a perception that road safety is improved. Perhaps the Council will reflect on the road safety issues associated with its promotion of the uptake of much heavier electric vehicles while reducing road space for vehicles.

c. Another low impact scheme was Play Streets. How many Play Streets are there now? How often do they run? Where are they?

d. How many Pocket Parks are there? Where are they?

e. How many Green Screens are there? Where are they? Why were green screens not erected at Southall Gasworks even after residents complained of dust from the site in their homes?

f. How are these schemes evaluated in terms of reducing air pollution? Where are the air quality monitors located to record baseline measurements to compare against air pollution levels during or after the scheme is in place?

g. Enforcement of anti-idling laws was deemed “not cost-effective”. Smoke control was not deemed a problem and therefore not promoted or enforced. Who made these decisions?

h. What is the wider ‘cost’ to residents in not taking enforcement action against these criminal behaviours?

The 2022-2027 Action Plan (AQAP)

If air pollution monitoring data cannot inform the efficacy of individual actions, how can it be used in combination with secondary data to do so? I’m sure there must be a sensible explanation, but to most people I suspect this statement makes little sense. In Southall, we have continuously been asked to ignore our own lived experience of health and quality of life problems attributed to the open-air ‘cleaning’ of a hundred years of petrochemical waste at the Gasworks site, in favour of the developer Berkeley’s assurances that it’s own monitoring of air quality is ‘within acceptable limits’ and harmless to health. Public Health England published four risk assessments based on Berkeley’s data, and came to similar conclusions, although neither looked at any secondary data. The air pollution data has still to be published so that the public can make up their own minds.

I’m not sure how imperceptible changes that cannot be detected by monitoring or modelling can be interpreted as Low Impact or a step in the right direction.

The Action Plan here seems to contradict the Strategy by stating that changes in the levels of air pollution above a certain level can be attributed even to individual actions (although more likely to be due to multiple actions).

If the council is serious about using air pollution data and secondary data to establish efficacy of its air quality strategy and action plan, (which sounds sensible enough), then it must explain what measures it will use, and publish baseline data and regular updates.

Like it does with its performance dashboard.

Looking at the Council’s own evaluation of it’s 2017-22 Action Plan, I would suggest that it’s achievements are minimal, and misleading.

Electric Vehicle charging points (p. 30 of 2022 AQAP) were not actually a specified target in the 2017 AQAP, so I’m unsure how this can be claimed as an achievement? Similarly with School Streets and specific cycle lanes. LENS/LTNs were specified as a target, but there is no mention of that fiasco here. Air quality monitoring data must be used to locate pollution hotspots for any future implementation of LENs/LTNs

The 20 mph speed limit was implemented borough-wide, but only since December 2021. Why did it take so long? What is the use of it if it isn’t enforced, especially in Southall?

The Property Lobby: The Hidden Reality Behind the Housing Crisis in Ealing

Fri, 16 Dec 2022 20:30:40 +0100

There will be 14,800 new homes in 23 new developments in Southall over the next few years. 14 units over 10 stories high, and 7 over 20 stories high. Up to 40,000 new residents (and their cars)!

One third of the total new developments in the whole of Ealing borough (only Acton is getting it worse).

So not happening so much in the ‘white’ or richer areas of the borough, for some reason.

None of these homes will be genuinely affordable to most people currently living in overcrowded homes in Southall or Ealing, as Studio bedsit flats start at around £300,000!

Most will stay empty until they are sold to investors from China, Malaysia, Singapore, Bahrain(!) where they are actively marketed by the greedy property developers.

The same property developers who gave former Ealing Council ‘Leader’ Julian Bell and new Ealing Council ‘Leader’ Peter Mason (also a Southall Green ward councillor) over £30,000 in recent years to holiday in the south of France at the MIPIM property festival in Cannes described as a “booze ‘n’ hookerfest” by Private Eye Magazine.

Bell says, “it didn’t cost the taxpayer a penny”, but in Southall we are already paying with our health and quality of life thanks to the poisonous air from the development of the contaminated old gasworks site (due to complete in 2038!).

Town planner Mason says it was a mistake, and not what he expected(!).

Where will 40,000 new residents' children go to school (and how will they get there and back), how will they get an appointment to see a GP, which hospital will they go to when they need emergency treatment, and how will they get there on the roads already regularly gridlocked by too much traffic?

Worth taking the time to have a look at stopthetowers.info/other-cam…

Cllr Mason recommended we read Bob Colenutt’s ‘The Property Lobby: The Hidden Reality Behind the Housing Crisis’.

So I did.

What Colenutt says (and he has a wealth of experience in local authority housing and planning, and in the community resisting property developers), is that developers do have too much power (as Mason argues), but also that local councils and councillors do not do enough to resist, do not have the negotiating skills (contrary to how Mason originally described the importance of trips to MIPIM to ‘negotiate hard’), and too readily embrace the ‘financialisation’ of the land and property market brought about by David Cameron’s and Nick Clegg’s ConDem government in 2010.

So now, we have a very real housing crisis fuelling the huge profits of private developers, all facilitated and egged on by mostly Labour councils too easily rolling over and allowing them to build fewer and fewer ‘genuinely affordable homes’ (because “where’s the profit in that?").

What Colenutt says loudly and clearly is that without ordinary people’s and communities' resistance it would be so much worse, and that to all intents and purposes councils and councillors are in bed with the developers.

Non-fiction: The Property Lobby: The Hidden Reality behind the Housing Crisis by Bob Colenutt 📚

Free School Meals for every child in primary school.

Sat, 10 Dec 2022 10:08:09 +0100

Subject: I’ve written to my MP, will you?

Body:

On 13 December Zarah Sultana MP is presenting the #FreeSchoolMealsForAll Bill in Parliament.

The bill would extend Free School Meals to every child in primary school. It would support families and help ensure every child has the basics to grow and thrive.

MPs should back families, back children, and back the bill.

I’ve just asked my MP to back the Bill. Can you ask your MP to do the same?

Here’s the link: actionnetwork.org/letters/a…

Thanks!

Special Xmas Lunch Menu

Wed, 07 Dec 2022 14:24:59 +0100

Starter: Seasonal Word Soup

Main course: Roast Gobbledegook with all the trimmings including sage and EU stuffing balls

Dessert: Traditional lemon biscuit

Christmas Lunch Special Diet Option for Non Special Diet Registered Pupils

Our catering company is offering a Christmas Lunch and for pupils who do not normally use the service and have an allergy but would like to take part in the Christmas lunch the below options are available.

This is only for pupils who have an allergy/intolerance that is covered by the 14 in EU allergen legislation*. If the allergy/ intolerance is outside the EU 14 and the pupil is not registered as a special diet with the catering company, then they must continue to have a packed lunch.

This is designed to safeguard children who have food allergies and intolerances, while allowing then to take part in the Christmas Lunch, and to also support the catering staff involved in the preparation and service of the Christmas Lunch. Please refer to the Dietary Safeguarding Policy for more information.

Please complete the form below by ticking one or more of the options you wish your child to have. Please sign and date to consent you are happy for your child to be served the selected options and return it to the school who will then hand this to the kitchen staff.

Kids' stuff

Tue, 29 Nov 2022 13:18:33 +0100

I have successfully replicated this study at home, and can attest to its reliability and validity.

An ethnographic study in Madrid charted the gradual “take over” by the child (accoutrements like toys, furniture, and special foods, and the removal of “dangerous” or breakable items) of the domicile, leaving less and less “adult” territory (Poveda et al. 2012).'

The Anthropology of Childhood: Cherubs, Chattel, Changelings by David F. Lancy 📚

Washed up

Wed, 23 Nov 2022 14:07:01 +0100

✅ Made breakfast and packed lunch for Kid A.
✅ Dropped Kid B at nursery 😭.
✅ Dropped Kid B at school.
✅ Collected kids' clothes from store.
✅ Listened to the end of The AbsoluteLee podcast and the start of The Prince of Aberystwyth while sitting in traffic.
✅ ☕ and breakfast.
✅ Prepared chilli con carne.
✅ Work call.
✅ Unblocked bath drain.
✅ Received grocery delivery.
✅ ☕.
✅ Washed up…

A New Ingerland

Mon, 21 Nov 2022 13:19:39 +0100

Warming up for Ingerland’s opening match in the World Cup by practising penalties.

Corporate Social Responsibility

Tue, 15 Nov 2022 12:05:57 +0100

In my work email.

As part of our Corporate and Social Responsibility, we are running a digital poverty mission to “Connect The UK”. We have already purchased 40,000 brand new Tactus GeoBook laptops and have donated over £2.5 million in device discounts. These laptops come fully loaded with Microsoft Windows 10 Pro Education, a 3 year warranty and are discounted to just £84 per device.

They’re £80 each on Amazon.

The Prince of Aberystwyth

Sun, 13 Nov 2022 09:10:34 +0100

With the Prince of ActivityPub’s return to the fold, I can sense a #tinap reunion in the air…

Pump Dot IO

Sat, 12 Nov 2022 18:50:54 +0100

Muskovite Twitter’s demise is imminent.

Everyone’s go-to Twitter-alternative place of refuge Mastodon is swamped with an invasion of Tweeters seeking a better life.

What better time for a reprise of Pump Dot IO?

Abandon all hope

Sat, 12 Nov 2022 13:59:23 +0100

I reported an abandoned car to my housing association.

It’s been left in our little communal car park since the middle of last month, taking up a neighbour’s parking space.

It’s got no tax or MOT.

I previously reported it to the police, who got back to me to say “it’s not of interest” to them, and to my local council, who have apparently done nothing. Presumably because it’s not classed as being on a public road.

Let’s hope the HA removes it.

An Ancient History Of Welfare

Mon, 14 Feb 2022 22:45:07 +0100

In 1997 the UK government was spending an annual £24 billion on sick and disabled benefits.

In 2010 it was spending an annual £24.6 billion on sick and disabled benefits.

Some 2.6m people claim incapacity benefit, or its successor, the employment and support allowance, at an annual cost of about £12.5bn.

There are now 3.16 million people receiving DLA and forecast expenditure on the benefit for 2010-11 is £12.1bn.

There was a £93 billion total welfare benefits cost in 1996-97:

Now, that has more than doubled, pretty much like everything else:

In 2009, £0.9 billion was due to fraud. (Of course, the figure we're most likely to be familiar with is the £5.2 billion spun by David Cameron, which included tax credits and bureaucratic errors.)

It was a 'previous' government which introduced Incapacity Benefit as a cost-saving measure in the 1990s, yet spending on disability benefits doubled during this time:

”)

Yet, it makes sensational headlines and presumably makes some people feel better to scapegoat people worse off than them for the nation's ills. Especially so, when every day we seem to be subjected to political rhetoric labelling benefits claimants as 'scroungers' and 'cheats' living off hard-earned handouts from the better off (after all, that's what the Welfare State is for, isn't it?), words which could equally and more fairly be used to describe those same mostly Christian and church-going politicians' expenses claims and their rich friends' tax avoidance and evasion. Who better to target than the sick and disabled who are well used to it, after all?

That sickens me more than the people who choose not to work even if they are mentally and physically able to.

Strawberries for pigs?

Wed, 14 Apr 2021 10:33:42 +0100

Little did we know at the time, but these little strawberries were usually engulfed in a toxic plume of benzene, naphthalene, and god only knows what else.

Sensibly, the wife refused to eat them.

We later discovered that official planning documents for the nearby old gasworks, which was being dug up in the open air for new homes to be built on the contaminated land, stated that no vegetables should be grown on the land. Ever!

Ealing Council Leader Julian Bell publicly blamed 'the wrong kind of wind', and – quite possibly – privately blamed 'fucking moaners'. All the while racking up over £30,000 in declared gifts and hospitality from developers including Berkeley Group, who were digging up the gasworks land.

Our soon-to-be local ward councillor and (ex-)Head of Planning Peter Mason knew all about the dangers (he tells us on Twitter) from the contaminated land back in 2009 when he campaigned against its development along with our MP Virendra Sharma (who said the development would be 'a disaster environmentally').

Yet no one told people living nearby to expect to be gassed in our own homes and gardens during the three month heatwave that was shortly to arrive.

In fact, Ealing Council announced on Twitter that the odours, while 'unpleasant', were 'not harmful to health' would be 'gone in a few days'.

I later discovered that there is scientific evidence that some people with Asian and African heritages are genetically more vulnerable to very serious and sometimes fatal health conditions from inhaling naphthalene, a fact acknowledged (although later denied, despite the published evidence) by Public Health England at a packed public meeting in July 2019.

No one told us.

Ealing Council, despite being fully aware of the potential dangers to health (and to the environment) failed to carry out any kind of Equalities Impact Assessment, and only helped Berkeley Group to rush through the decontamination process to maximise their profit from Crossrail in Southall.

Profit over people. Labour Council. Our lives didn't matter to them.

Now, we are being asked to believe that our MP (who has begun making the right noises two years too late – what happened to the nearly 1,000 signature petition I gave you in 2018 Mr Sharma?) cares and is on our side, and that our local ward councillor cares and always has done. Only Bell is – unusually for him – honest enough not to suddenly pretend he gives a shit about anyone but himself and looking after his own family.

At the packed public meeting in 2019, which our local ward councillor chaired, he and Bell refused to declare their financial interests with Berkeley Group, refused to let me speak with the microphone so that people couldn't hear that the Council, Berkeley Group, the Environment Agency and Public Health England had all colluded to cover up the real level of toxic and carcinogenic air pollution – that it was consistently above legal limits and rising – by manipulating, removing, and presenting the air quality data in such a way as to make it look like it was mostly within legal limits.

At the same meeting, our MP arrived late, mostly unseen, sat silently at the back of the room, and left early, mostly unseen. At the same meeting, a strangely truthful Bell admitted that he had 'known about the nuisance, the BAD nuisance, for two and a half years'! Yet nothing could be done.

Now Peter Mason, free from his constraints as Head of Planning after resigning following his failed coup attempt to take the leadership from Bell last year, is telling us that something could and should have been done, yet all of them remained silent and did nothing for years.

Unbelievable!

How I caught covid

Tue, 02 Feb 2021 14:21:56 +0100

I tested positive for coronavirus yesterday.

I started to feel unwell – like I had flu – on Sunday afternoon. After a night felling too hot and too cold, Monday morning I had a temperature of 38.3°C.

I went to my local walk-through testing clinic later that afternoon.

It was a self-test. If I'd known, I would have ordered a test-at-home kit, although I wouldn't have got my result as quick.

I couldn't do the throat swab as it made me want to throw up. The nasal swab was faintly pleasurable.

• • •

The walk-through experience was generally quite anxiety-provoking. I can't wear my glasses or hearing aid while wearing a mask, so found it stressful trying to follow instructions. The testing marquee itself, for all the hand gel, seems like as good a place as any to catch covid.

In eleven months, I've been out to the supermarket maybe three times, the pharmacy the same, to the park occasionally. During the summer, we visited my mother-in-law after she had recovered from covid.

I took my six year old to and from school every day up until the Christmas holidays, and that is the last direct contact any of us as a family have had with other human beings.

• • •

So, it's a bit of a mystery how I caught the infection. The most likely source I can think of is our communal stairwell to our flat, which we share with our next door neighbours and their visitors, posties, delivery drivers.

When the pandemic began, we always used to wear a mask to go out, but we stopped doing that (and got out of the habit) in the summer when infection rates were low. I had still been wearing a mask to bring our grocery deliveries in, but not when I put the rubbish out....

Chaos and Confusion

Wed, 23 Dec 2020 10:28:00 +0100

If you thought last year was bad…. No one could have foreseen this!

British coastguard sued by French charity for failing to save drowned refugees.

Broccoli and cauliflower thrown away.

A shortage of lorry drivers.

Renationalised energy companies.

Nationalising Sausages

Wed, 23 Dec 2020 10:01:00 +0100

Navy gunboats defending our fish from the French.

An army of Sikhs feeding European lorry drivers caught up in Kent.

Shortages of broccoli and lettuce.

Nationalising sausages doesn’t seem like such a crazy idea, now, does it?

High Traffic Neighbourhood

Mon, 05 Oct 2020 09:36:00 +0100

Took me an hour (as opposed to 10 minutes) to drive my lad home from school this afternoon, thanks in part to the High Traffic Neighbourhood (‘Improving access for HGVs’) in Southall ‘Green’.

Like a rat, I tried the side streets and back roads option and found those to be jammed, too, and Scotts Road - although confusingly still two-way throughout - is now No Entry from the eastern end.

I would have abandoned my car and got out and walked/scooted home, but there was nowhere to leave it - all the pavements (and even the double yellow lines) were parked on, or being used by, er, pedestrians.

The more virtuous brothers and sisters amongst us may righteously question why me and my lad weren’t scooting/walking anyway? Why are we driving when Southall is known for its traffic gridlock?

We have done it a couple of times. It takes us 40 minutes each way in fine weather. My lad would love to do it every day, I’m sure, although not in the wind, cold and rain. I don’t believe my dodgy feet/knees/hips/back would manage it daily, either.

And why are we going to a school so far away from where we live?

Well, it’s the best (and happiest) school in Southall. And it’s the one that is furthest away from the gasworks stink and toxic air. We wanted to give our little asthmatic boy some clean air five days a week, if we could. (Of course, we since found out the school is under the Heathrow flight path, and next to the smoky narrowboats moored on the canal….).

(In case you are wondering, the ambulance somehow squeezed down the middle of Western Road, fortunately no well-intentioned bollards or planters in the way.)

A Successful Home Delivery and the Lockdown/Lock-in.

Fri, 01 May 2020 14:11:00 +0100

My second son was born late Saturday night (what would normally have been my beer night) two weeks ago, after a short, but intense, labour.

He was delivered at home by two brilliant midwives, who were fully protected courtesy of customised #tinap bin bag aprons, unused clean air protest dust masks, and disposable gloves my wife stocked up on back in February when – without any scientific advice whatsoever – she somehow accurately foresaw the current coronavirus global pandemic somehow reaching the UK's shores (and airports). Practising prudent use of valuable PPE supplies, the midwives wore their own prescription spectacles to protect from splashes to the eyes. (This is, of course, not true. They had NHS supplied aprons, surgical masks, and gloves.)

Home delivery

Now, we've had our groceries, pizza and most other household and personal items delivered to our home, rather than dealing with the stress of actually going out and having to interact with other people, for years, so a home delivery of our new son might have seemed like an obvious choice.

But a home birth was definitely Plan B, and only came to be Plan A due to coronavirus related issues with hospital birth and childcare arrangements for our nearly six year old, which now favoured delivery at home.

Preparing for birth

My boss had told me a few days prior that 'home births are great, because you can make a cup of tea'.

So, I stocked up on tea bags, and prepared myself mentally and physically for the big day by repeatedly ignoring my wife's pleas to listen to her hypnobirthing mp3s on the expected role of the 'birthing partner' (whatever that is), and getting through the last of my beer stockpile in anticipation of several years of enforced sobriety (in order to deal with nighttime and next morning emergencies).

I'm just thankful we never got around to implementing my boss's idea for a work appraisal, because his multi-tasking expectations are clearly way beyond my capabilities.

Labour of birth

While I fully accept that I had the easiest job on the night (bar my nearly six year old, who thankfully slept through it all in the adjacent bedroom), I was very pleased the main bit was over relatively quickly (three hours) as my right arm and hand were getting tired.

To ease the pain of contractions, and in the absence of any pain relief other than 'gas and air', my wife insisted (on pain of death) that I massage her lower back for two minutes every three minutes.

In between massages/contractions, I had to top up her glass of filtered water and hold it to her lips for her to drink.

Birth

When the baby's head came out, slowly, I remember thinking it was weirdly like watching a picture coming out of a printer.

When he was out, I immediately noticed his testicles seemed abnormally large, the size of giant tea bags. (Turns out they were swollen with fluid.)

'He's a boy, he's definitely a boy!' I said.

I could have done with some gas and air myself at this point.

After birth

My wife has been pretty amazing through it all. I don't know how she copes with the lack of sleep, although I'm doing my best to make sure she gets a couple of hours whenever she can when she's not busy feeding baby.

I have done a few nappy changes. Son no. 1 is always delighted whenever his little brother pees all over me, which was really his main reason for wanting a little brother in the first place.

Lockdown/Lock-in

We're mainly homebirds, so the lockdown/lock-in has not been too bad for us. And we're lucky to have had everything we needed, including toilet paper, flour, use of our communal garden and area where we live for exercise, sunshine, unusually fresh air, and seeing red kites and egrets flying over, among other lesser spotted wildlife.

My eldest lad has suffered the most, as he misses his school routine and friends, which is compounded by his not realising that he would no longer be the centre of attention now his little brother is here.

Return To Work

Tue, 08 Oct 2019 09:14:00 +0100

I returned to work last week after my extended absence due to respiratory illness, which may or may not be related to three years of breathing the poisonous gasworks' air.

I find I now have to literally climb over two rough sleepers camped outside the door of my workplace in order to get in. There is no more space in the nearby doorway, and the doorway around the side entrance is similarly occupied.

By my reckoning, we have five more rough sleepers than we did two months ago, or two years ago, or four years ago.

Meanwhile, Southall’s skyline is rapidly changing from terraced family houses to much-needed ‘genuinely affordable’ skyscraper studio flats, while ‘parklets’ are opening up in the posher parts of Ealing.

To be fair, I did see that the Bell regime have cut a deal with Compton’s foldaway bikes so that residents on the Copley estate can hire them without having to pay a membership fee, and improve air quality at the same time.

Trigger Vote for Sharma

Tue, 01 Oct 2019 15:24:00 +0100

In July 2019, I attended a public meeting with Public Health England to discuss air pollution problems created by the development of the old gasworks site.

At this meeting, I asked Public Health England if it is true that people with Asian and African heritage are genetically more at risk from poisoning from naphthalene – one of the main causes of the stink coming from the gasworks site.

Do you know what they said?

Yes.

Yes, Asian and African people are genetically more at risk from poisoning from naphthalene – one of the main causes of the stink from the gasworks site.

Our MP, Mr Sharma, who had been publicly supporting the need for this meeting, arrived ten minutes after it started. He sneaked in, sat at the back mostly unseen by anyone there, and then left early.

A bit like his time as an MP!

So, at this meeting.

We discovered that Asian and African people, the majority of people in Southall, are genetically more at risk from poisoning from naphthalene.

What did Mr Sharma have to say about that?

Nothing.

For two years or more, Southallians have complained to Mr Sharma about the oppressive stink, and poison air, coming from the old gasworks site. I have suffered numerous chest infections, my wife had serious and severe health problems, and my young son has been hospitalised with asthma and now has to take steroids every day of his life so that he can breathe. I know neighbours whose loved ones have now got cancer, and some who have died from cancer. All, we believe, caused by the poison air.

What has Mr Sharma done to help us?

Nothing.

A year ago, a group of us presented Mr Sharma with a petition signed by 900 Southallians and their families and friends begging Mr Sharma to do something to get Berkeley Group, the developer of the old gasworks site, to stop poisoning Southall.

What did Mr Sharma do?

Nothing.

Finally, throughout the last couple of years, while his constituents in Southall Green have been poisoned by the toxic air from the old gasworks site, and getting ill with breathing problems, and cancer, the developer Berkeley Group has sponsored numerous local events, mainly to 'clean up' Southall.

What did Mr Sharma do?

He attended every one and was photographed smiling broadly wearing his hi-viz jacket with the Berkeley Group logo emblazoned across it.

So tonight, I'm voting in favour of the trigger ballot for Mr Sharma, so that we have the opportunity to have a new Labour MP for Ealing Southall, one who will stand up for local people rather than help those who oppress them.

And I ask all of you to do the same.

Solidarity!

UPDATE: Sharma was triggered for reselection, but survived without having to stand again thanks to his old pal Boris Johnson, who called a general election shortly after.

Southall Under Siege: The Neighbours From Hell

Sun, 25 Aug 2019 22:14:32 +0100

‘A lack of scrutiny,’ says John Freeman, Regulatory Services Officer at Ealing Council.

He’s talking about lessons to be learned from the council’s response to the new asphalt plant built in neighbouring Hillingdon borough in 2014.

‘We didn’t expect there to be so much odour from a new building, or so many complaints.’

Moving swiftly on.

Oppressive odour

The highly contaminated old gasworks site in Southall has been kicking up a stink, too.

Carcinogenic benzene and naphthalene, among a cocktail of polyaromatic hydrocarbons, heavy metals and particulates large and small, are in the air.

‘The odour is oppressive,’ says Damian Leydon.

There are twenty or thirty people in the room.

No one bats an eyelid.

Upset residents

Damian is the Operations Director at 'Southall Waterside', as the gasworks site is being marketed.

It's wedged between the grand union canal, Yeading Brook and Minet Park to the north-west of the site, and two of the twenty percent most economically deprived council wards in England. Southall Green to the south, and Southall Broadway to the north and north-east.

‘The last thing we want to do is upset residents,’ says Damian.

It’s a bit late for that.

Please stop

Damian previously worked as the Construction Manager on Hinkley Point C nuclear power plant in Somerset, and the Athletes Village at the 2012 London Olympics.

Presumably, there were no carcinogenic leaks, oppressed, or upset residents there.

Three times I ask Damian, ‘How many residents are you prepared to upset before you will stop?’

No answers

As for almost every question that night, at Ealing Council’s Air Quality Scrutiny Panel meeting in September 2018, there is no answer.

The meeting concludes, and later the ‘minutes’ are published, but such minutiae do not make the cut.

Was I at a different meeting?

The final report of the ‘scrutiny’ panel, six months later, reads as if the problem is in the past, finished, with yet more ‘lessons to be learned’ (and immediately forgotten).

Friends with benefits

As I leave the meeting, I see Damian having a cosy-looking chat in the corridor (of power) outside the meeting room with Julian Bell, Ealing Council's Leader.

Councillor Bell sat through the two hour meeting in silence.

I ask Julian if he’s booking his holiday in Cannes?

The south of France resort hosts the annual MIPIM property developers’ ‘booze and hookerfest’ (as Private Eye magazine calls it).

Julian is a regular attendee, all expenses paid for by Damian’s employer Berkeley Group, despite claiming to be teetotal. Peter Mason, my ward councillor, is a new attendee. He is not teetotal.

‘If my son gets cancer because of this, you better not stand so close to me,’ I say to Leydon.

He rolls his eyes.

‘David, don’t let’s make this personal,’ says Bell.

We can't breathe!

For two and a half years, my family, my neighbours and friends, have been harassed, attacked, and gassed in our own homes and gardens.

Our children have been forced to breathe ‘stinky’, poisonous air in their school playgrounds, and in our public parks.

We have been laid under siege through three hot summers, including last year’s extended heatwave.

Despite many repeated requests to stop, Damian’s uncovered, unenclosed cesspit of decontamination of a hundred years of toxic waste continues unabated.

Good neighbours

‘Be a good and respectful neighbour,’ says Councillor Mason, at the ward forum.

‘It’s unpleasant’ we are told. ‘It will clear in days, and it’s not harmful to health,’ Ealing Council namelessly tweeted. In June 2017.

Round and round we go.

Is this corrupt?

‘It’s the wrong kind of wind,’ claims Bell.

‘It’s not our responsibility, it’s the Environment Agency.’

‘It’s not us, it’s Public Health England.’

‘I’ll phone Julian and get him to put a councillor on it for you,’ Tony Pidgley, founder and chair of Berkeley Group tells us.

“Cash. Always cash.” (Tony Pidgley)

We started a campaign. Clean Air for Southall and Hayes. CASH for short.

‘I DO NOT TAKE CASH! I DO NOT TAKE CASH!’ is our MP Virendra Sharma’s frankly bizarre opening statement, shouted at us when we go to meet him.

What’s going on?

When is remediation NOT remediation?

Back to the future with John Freeman.

I email John to ask him when remediation of the soil (the cleaning of the contaminated land) is due to be completed. It’s the excavation, the turning, the moving of the toxic waste that has laid at rest for fifty years or more that we’re told is likely to be the main source of the odour nuisance and air pollution.

‘March 2019. It’s finished already.’

‘But it still stinks.’

‘Did you leave the cooker on?’

‘But I’ve seen the planning documents where it says remediation is scheduled to be completed in 2038.’

John consults his colleague, James Potter, Ealing’s Contaminated Land Officer, whose post was initially funded by none other than Berkeley Group.

A very simple explanation as it turns out.

‘The remediation for the next nineteen years is, in a sense, NOT remediation.’

Berkeley bribes?

Then there is the fact, confirmed (and denied) by Public Health England, that the majority Asian and African population of Southall, due to genetic factors, have an increased risk from exposure to naphthalene.

And then there’s Berkeley Group's track record of paying off their former finance director to keep quiet about allegations of bribery and corruption at the top of the company.

Understandably, we doubt the veracity of their own reports of the air quality monitoring data recorded by their business partner, data which they refuse to share with us.

Enough is enough.

Stop the work at the gasworks site while it is made safe.

Stop poisoning Southall.

Please donate to our legal campaign for justice: https://www.crowdjustice.com/case/cleanairforsouthallandhayes/

Taking the Piss

Tue, 18 Dec 2018 12:34:19 +0100

Last night I arranged to meet a beautiful young woman and we spent an hour together alone in a dingy bedsit.

Two weeks ago, I reported a crime. A broken window in an empty first floor flat, a couple of empty cans of Stella Artois in a small black plastic carrier bag, and a toilet bowlful of urine – the water tank had been drained and capped weeks ago, so there was no running water with which to flush away the evidence, or remove the stench. I know this because I work for the landlord.

Yesterday, after several answerphone messages, crossed wires and missed opportunities in the previous fortnight, Sam from forensics called me and asked me to meet her at the scene in ten minutes.

Half an hour later, in the freezing cold, she arrived, alone, in a small van and armed only with a large suitcase. I wondered about offering to carry it for her, as she was quite small, but thought better of it.

I took Sam up the flight of steps to the disused bedsit, and apologised for the diligence and speed with which our Caretaking and Repairs teams had disturbed the scene of the crime and replaced the broken window without telling me. I had deliberately not reported the broken window to avoid such a scenario.

Sam opened her case and spread out on the floor her clipboard, forms, torch, evidence bags, swabs and other items of detection. She began writing and soon filled up half a page of notes. I apologised for generating so much paperwork for her and joked that she appeared to have even more to do than me. Finally, Sam got down to the nitty gritty. She put on her gloves and took the two empty cans of Stella Artois from the small, black plastic carrier bag and placed them strategically on the floor, several inches apart. She took out a carefully wrapped cotton bud swab, squeezed out some special liquid from a small bottle on to the bud and began rubbing the bud all around the top of the can, paying special attention to the opening and inside the hole. She then placed the swab inside a fresh evidence bag, sealed and signed it. More note taking. I wanted to ask what she was doing, just to break the intense silence, but thought better of it.

Sam wrote another page of notes before examining the now repaired window. She asked me to hold the net curtains up as she couldn't reach, while she dusted the pane for prints. 'Just rub a little bit of washing up liquid on to it to get it off,' she said.

'Thanks. I think I'll leave the washing up until later, though. So what are the chances of finding whodunnit?'

'We'll probably find out who it was. But whether they'll be charged with anything is another matter. They've not done any damage. Probably just looking for somewhere to sleep.'

'Yes. I was kind of hoping you wouldn't find anyone. I feel quite sorry for them. Only two cans of Stella. Although it's premium beer. Quality over quantity, I suppose. It's a shame there are so many empty properties here.'

'Yes, that's the real crime. It makes me really angry. I just wish we had some politicians who listened and did something. But I don't have much hope that anything will ever change.'

Sam gathered up her things and put them back into her suitcase, which she'd been using as a small bench to sit on.' Right, I'm done,' she said, and switched off her torch.

In the gloom, I noticed a square of material on the dirty floor. 'Is this yours?' I turned it over. It was some kind of advertising leaflet. 'Candlelit Dinner For Two,' I heard myself say out loud.

As we left, I thought about asking Sam why she didn't take a sample of the urine, but thought better of it.

Inconsiderate Constructor

Tue, 13 Nov 2018 11:05:00 +0100

Lorry driver on his phone while leaving ‘Southall Village’ building site, right next to school entrance during school run.

Got a load more verbals from the driver and his colleagues on site - ‘Did he hit anyone?’, ‘He doesn’t work for us!’

All part of the Considerate Constructors Scheme, aka Couldn’t Care Less Scam.

Something for the weekend

Sat, 24 Dec 2016 15:33:00 +0100

Or, why I became a soccer manager.

Not Top 100, SM or even football-related. Three years out of date. Depending on this last stab at pop stardom, I will be resigning from my post as Hamburg boss in the New Year, to focus - Pablo/Dani Osvaldo-style - on my musical career.

Same old England

Sat, 12 Nov 2016 13:28:00 +0100

I've been writing (if that's the right word) about the England football team elsewhere since 2006, and this is basically the theme: (even when we win) England are shit.

If that's not depressing enough in itself, and you are curious for more, here's a little summary of what to expect should you enter the rabbit hole:

The best place to start is my preview of England's ill-fated plan to get to the final of the 2012 World Cup in South Africa under the guidance of disciplinarian Italian capo Fabio Capello.

That post links to all my previous writings on England's proud tradition and long history of international failure, humiliation, and general, all-round shittiness on the football pitch. But in case you prefer a handy list, here you are, in chronological order:

2006: A new Scotland? Why England's football team will soon be as shit as Scotland's

2007: Why we're crap: the problem with English football

2010: Why England don't have a hope in hell of winning the football World Cup in 2010

2010: No future in England's dreaming? Inside the mind of Fabio Capello

2010: The World Cup on drugs: pure-grade heroin cut with shavings of Clive Tyldesley

2012: Why England don't have a hope in hell of winning Euro 2012

By 2014, I got sick of all this, and so turned to music, with my adaptation of Billy Bragg's classic song: A New Ingerland

While I'm at it (self-promotion, that is), and in case you're still with me and wondering what the Jimmy Carter thing is all about (and you have the stomach for more football-related musical adaptations):

2011 (There's Only One) Jimmy Carter (the footballer, not the peanut farmer)

2014: Whatever happened to... Jimmy Carter?

How to be a Top Football Manager

Wed, 20 Jul 2016 19:42:00 +0100

Leaked documents and video reveal the FA’s shortlist and assessment interview questions for the England manager’s job.

Stuart ‘Psycho’ Pearce, who presided over some of the least attacking and creative Manchester City and England U21 sides in living memory, was asked to give some expert coaching advice on how to play more attacking and creative football in line with England’s DNA blueprint. In a rambling and incoherent response, he finished off by reminiscing about how he used to psych out opponents. 2/5

‘I used to be’ Alex McLeish was asked how he would motivate England’s players to perform at the highest level. The dour Scot explained how he reduced all the players he managed to quivering wrecks unable to perform under pressure. All except fellow Scot Barry Ferguson. 1/5

Gus Poyet was asked about dealing with the media and how to get England scoring goals. The fiery Uruguayan stressed the importance of ‘timing when to go’, presumably not referring to his ill-timed public thoughts on when he might leave Brighton that got him sacked shortly afterwards. He then presented a Powerpoint video on scoring goals in which he was the only one who managed to put the ball in the back of the net. 3/5

Alan ‘I haven’t done much coaching lately’ Curbishley failed to answer any questions at all, and just got all bitter and twisted about the time Charlton might have finished two places higher in the league if Scott Parker hadn’t left mid-season. 1/5

Lastly, and perhaps most bizarrely of all, Tony Pulis, not long ago sacked by Stoke City for not playing attractive-enough football, was asked how he would help a team play more attractive football, and focused on lumping it up to the big man up front. 4/5

Pulis’s video has been removed for legal reasons.

Sam Allardyce pipped Tony Pulis to the job by virtue of not being Welsh.

Louder than words

Sun, 14 Dec 2014 19:29:00 +0100

We are all consciously or unconsciously re-enacting previous unresolved experiences of loss, or absence, of relationships. These disappointments evoke in us resentment and anger, which control us until we can forgive - to see the victim in the perpetrator.

We remain victims all the while we are unable to forgive, and all the while we are unable to let people into our inner worlds of pain - to protect ourselves from breakdown, but also to protect other people from this part of our experience for fear of what it will do to them, and how they will react to us.

A New Ingerland

Tue, 03 Jun 2014 11:30:00 +0100

I wasn't even born when we won the World Cup
I'm forty-six now and all hope I've given up
My wife asks me now 'Why don't you be a better fan?'
But all the players I loved at school already failed for Ingerland

I loved you then, but I don't love you still
I bet you'd beat Portugal, but it ended nil-nil
I don't feel bad about letting you go
I just feel bad about letting you know...

There's no way we'll win the World Cup
Unless we play like a new Ingerland
And win at penalties

I loved the games in Italia '90
But that was bloody years ago!
I can't survive on the rubbish since then
Every time we go down to ten men...

I saw two shooting stars last night
I looked at them, but they were only highlights
Is it wrong to wish on the BBC?
I wish, I wish, but here's reality...

Whatever happened to... Jimmy Carter?

Sun, 18 May 2014 00:00:00 +0100

A little under three years ago I eulogised about Jimmy Carter (the footballer, not the peanut farmer) in a musical response to 20lb Sounds eulogising about Jimmy Carter (the peanut farmer, not the footballer).

I wondered why Dan, the band’s Liverpool-supporting singer-songwriter, had neglected the opportunity to write about a player who is widely acknowledged (from a cursory search of fan forums) as one of Liverpool’s worst ever signings?

Two years later (thanks to the wonder of the internet, and possibly also the wonder of Doug Whitfield and his Music Manumit Podcast), I received a reply:

Around this time, I also received another reply:

(For those of you of a technical and/or inquisitive nature, I’ve posted screenshots of these comments because I lost the ability to link to them as actual comments on the original blog post during one of my many blog migrations.)

Now, I don’t know if this is the real Dan Lynch or if it is Doug Whitfield pretending to be Dan to somehow boost his podcast ratings, but who cares?

I tracked Jimmy down and found a recent interview with him on the Millwallant podcast, in which Jimmy ‘tells us what it’s like to be a professional footballer and also demonstrates his genuine knowledge and passion for the game.’ I found it really quite insightful, all the more so coming from a player who most people have forgotten, never heard of, or so easily disparage based on his ‘failures’ at Liverpool and Arsenal.

If you prefer to read, there’s a similar interview on the Arsenal website.

What got me obsessing about a fairly obscure ex-Millwall, Liverpool, Arsenal and Portsmouth footballer again? Well, Dan’s band 20lb Sounds took five quid off me in time for Xmas 2012 on the promise of an album release in February 2013. Since then there have been a few updates about how the album would be ready ‘next month’, ‘in time for Xmas’ and how much Dan and the boys were enjoying their holidays in the sun. But no album. Until now. A year later. But only for backers, for the time being (see footnote 1). I had a listen this morning, and, really, it sounds great. Well done, to all concerned.

So I decided to have another go at my own take on 20lb Sounds’ Jimmy Carter. I could have teased and tormented you all by not releasing it for another two years, and only to people who had given me money to do so, but I’m not like that.

So, without further ado, and introducing MC Jimmy ‘The Cartz’ Carter rapping an intro (footnote 2), and Richard ‘Smash it!’ Keys rapping the chorus-to-verse bridges (footnote 3) as part of his rehabilitation and bid to replace Richard Scudamore as chief executive of the Premier League, here’s my new, updated easy listening version of Jimmy Carter:

The new 20lb Sounds album is now available to all!
Jimmy Carter rap intro lifted from the Millwallant podcast interview somewhere around the 49 minute mark.
Richard Keys, for it is he, smashed and grabbed from Millwall 2-0 Sheffield Wednesday, (old) Division One, 23-9-1989.

Xmas 2.0

Mon, 23 Dec 2013 15:28:00 +0100

Abstract: Not another Festive Fifty podcast. Tags: podcast, jamendo, music, freedom, xmas

Following on, naturally enough, from episode one, I’m pleased to announce that, this morning, I finally got around to knocking out episode two of my much anticipated and eagerly awaited annual Xmas podcast. So here it is, at last, available for the listening pleasure of children of all ages.

As usual, I can’t be bothered to produce any show notes, but if you want to find out more about the songs I played, you can head over to Jamendo where you can listen uninterrupted by my dulcet tones, and even download said music for free.

Lastly I’d like to wish all three of my dedicated listeners a very Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year. On the publishing frequency of this podcast, if you would like me to give it to you annually, please leave a comment below, and I will do my best to ignore it.

Careers Advice

Wed, 11 Sep 2013 18:00:00 +0100

“When I grow up, I want to play football for Manchester United!”

For an eight year old boy growing up in rural Lincolnshire in the 1970s it seemed like an honest and rational response to an impossible question. No one else at my school wanted to play football for Manchester United. Leeds, maybe. Liverpool, definitely. Other kids said they wanted to be firemen, soldiers, doctors, and nurses. More of that later. Maybe their parents were firemen? Or maybe not. I didn’t know what my parents were. My dad went out before I got up every morning, and came home after I went to bed. At weekends, he told me stories about George Best, Denis Law (his favourite), Bobby Charlton, and the Busby Babes. About Manchester United and how they had the best team and had the best players. Not any more. That was all before my time. I was born in the year United had won the League for the last time, the year before they went on to win the European Cup. The Glory Days. Now, in my time, United were in Division Two (although I didn’t understand what that meant at the time). What I did understand was that I got to see highlights on Yorkshire TV occasionally, with a young and annoying Martin Tyler commentating on matches against the likes of ‘local’ teams Hull City, Sheffield Wednesday and York City. United were good that season. Stuart Pearson was my favourite then. Stocky and powerful, he played with the passion that I came to expect from United players. He was never the best, but he scored goals and looked like he meant it. I meant it when I said I wanted to be a footballer.

“Think of something realistic,” I was told.

“You’ll never make it.”

“Concentrate on your studies.”

I couldn’t wait to prove them wrong.

I got in to the school team. In games lessons and playtime, I was a stocky and powerful centre forward who scored goals. Our first proper match was against another village school.

Five years later, in big school, I’d had my chips pissed on, but I still wanted to make it. I wrote to East Stirlingshire Football Club (just before a young Alex Ferguson took charge) offering my services. I got a polite rejection letter back.

No one ever told me why. I was too upset to ask.

Later, in Art class, I put together a morbid collage of war and that terrible question in cut-out newspaper headline letters:

“Why?”

“Don’t be so childish!” the teacher scolded me when he woke from his alcoholic stupor.

Well, pardon me. I was a child. Surely I was allowed to ask, and expect an adult answer?

So instead, I told them I wanted to join the Army. Not because I wanted to, but because that seemed to keep them happy.

Later still, when approaching school leaving age, after filling in countless forms asking me what I liked doing and what I was good at, I was told by a ‘careers advisor’ to study chemical or electrical engineering at university. I didn’t know what they were or why they’d been chosen for me. I resolved to go on the dole.

(Has careers guidance gone off the rails?. Was it ever on the rails?)

Why England don't have a hope in hell of winning Euro 2012

Wed, 06 Jun 2012 01:00:00 +0100

Six years ago I wondered if the lack of Englishmen in Arsenal’s team (and most of the other leading Premier League teams) would herald a new era of Scotland-like failure for the England football team?

Well, thanks in part to Arsene Wenger’s penchant for Saintly youth team players (Theo, The Ox), we’re not quite there, yet, although undercover Scotsman Steve McClaren successfully tried and failed to qualify for Euro 2008.

Mediocre

But perhaps that also explains why there are now six players (Kelly, Johnson, Henderson, Downing, Carroll - and it’s debatable whether any of them would get into the current Scotland team - plus captain Gerrard) from a mid-table, mediocre Liverpool squad in the current England set-up?

Five years ago I blogged about the problem with English football - how our ‘long history and fine tradition of coming up short against the rest of the world’ perversely raises mainstream media expectations for the national side upon the start of any tournament for which we qualify. (Of course, I realise that they can hardly expect to win the ratings war and/or advertising revenue by informing potential viewers that it’s not likely to be New Improved England, but more Same Old England, if we’re lucky. Especially not when we need all the distraction we can get from the grim reality of how useless and fucked up our country is right now.)

Failures

Had Gareth Barry not picked up an injury and had to withdraw from the current squad, England would almost certainly be starting Euro 2012 against France with the same successful central midfield system that ‘Jocky’ McClaren stumbled upon - Gerrard and Barry - just prior to his tactically innovative use of an umbrella as cover in the pissing rain and then being sacked and publicly humiliated for his efforts (which, statistically, were on a par with Sir Bobby Robson’s, and mirrored Sir Alf Ramsey’s and Robson’s failures to qualify for their first tournaments in charge).

Two years ago I successfully predicted (admittedly, not hard to do) that England didn’t have a hope in hell of winning the World Cup in South Africa. The good news this time around is that Joe Hart is in goal and that the ‘lumbering hulk of long-ball fodder who couldn’t score a goal even if you put it in front of him and offered him £50,000 a week’, also known as Emile Heskey, is not even on the standby list (although Andy Carroll does look like a handy replacement).

Left at home

The bad news is that the only English defender we have who has actually proved himself in tournament football, Rio Ferdinand, has been left at home by Old Mother Hodgson because he is a Scorpio.

Our defence, therefore, is likely to be the same as that which kept out the mighty Algeria, and the smallest nation at the finals two years ago, Slovenia, but with Phil Jagielka or Joleon Lescott replacing former England captain Ferdinand (who of course, was himself replaced before the tournament began due to injury by the injury-prone Ledley King, who of course, was himself replaced due to injury in the first game by Jamie Carragher, who of course, was himself replaced in the third game due to being crap by, er, Stoke bench-warmer Matthew Upson) alongside racist philanderer, and former England captain (twice over) John Terry.

As good a defence, in effect, as that which went on to concede four goals to a proper team, Germany.

Failures

Moving on to the midfield (if we can keep possession of the football for long enough) it looks like England will be starting with the same creative talents as in South Africa, bar the injured Barry and Lampard, who will be replaced by the injured Parker and Gerrard. Milner or Walcott (for footballing reasons, presumably) are likely to come in for Aaron Lennon on the right, with Stewart Downing (for footballing reasons… oh, wait) taking over from Milner/Gerrard on the left. Despite my longing for Downing to score the winning goal in a penalty shoot-out in the final against the Germans, this midfield quartet cannot in any way be described as an improvement on 2010’s fiasco, or even 2008’s failures.

Up front, of course, England will have to play proper teams France and Sweden without Wayne Rooney, our one truly world class player. By the time he’s eligible to play in England’s final group game against the co-hosts Ukraine, England are quite likely to be needing a win to have any hope of even qualifying for the quarter-finals.

Thoroughly outplayed

England’s two warm-up games have followed a similar pattern to those in 2010, although perhaps offering a glimmer of hope where two years ago there really was none. In 2010, England were ‘thoroughly outplayed at Wembley by Mexico, only winning by virtue of having taller players, and then, in Austria, thoroughly outplayed by the equally diminutive Japan, only winning by virtue of two fortuitous own goals’. In 2012, England were thoroughly outplayed in Norway, only winning by virtue of a sublime piece of skill from Ashley Young, and then, at Wembley, thoroughly outplayed by Belgium, only winning by virtue of a sublime piece of skill from Danny Welbeck.

Humiliation

I suspect that England’s tournament will pan out in equally inglorious fashion, beginning with defeat at the feet of the French, put to the sword in a dire draw by the Swedes, and ignominious exit in the rain against Ukraine. To cope with the likely onset of boredom, depression and homicidal rage, I recommend following the same principles as in my guide to The World Cup on drugs.

And if England’s special brand of austerity football means avoiding the pain of humiliation against Spain in the quarter-finals, then it’s surely all for the greater good.

Abducted by aliens

Wed, 04 Apr 2012 11:08:00 +0100

Abstract: Anally probed with a four metre long tube. Tags: alien, abduction, colonoscopy, humour, personal

Last week I was abducted by aliens.

I was woken at dawn by my alarm clock to find a bright light shining in through the window. As if in a trance, I found myself drawn towards the light and compulsively (as I do every morning) drew the curtains.

I felt a presence in the room.

‘Turn your alarm off, for God’s sake!’ said my wife.

I felt a non-human presence in the room.

‘Miaow’ said the cat.

I found myself getting washed and dressed and heading out the door, as if I had an appointment to be somewhere. After a brisk twenty minute walk, I found myself right inside the massive, shiny metallic spacecraft, which appeared to have landed slap bang in the middle of a car park. I felt no fear, although I was a little apprehensive. I entered the craft and was transported up into its upper level via some kind of elevator.

I have blogged before about my experiences of abduction and how aliens harvested my organs and tortured me, so this was nothing new. I felt a familiar apprehension as I caught sight of one of my abductors, a short woman in a green uniform.

‘Would you like an enema before we start?’ she asked. ‘A glass of water would be nice,’ I replied. ‘Do you need to go?’ she asked me rather sternly this time. ‘Well, I’d like to be back in time for the football.’ Now in something of a huff, she handed me a green paper gown to wear, which appeared to have been designed for tailed creatures. I followed her through to what looked like an operating theatre where I was surrounded by three little green men with surgical implements and machines which went ‘BLEEP!’.

They made me lie on a table and paralysed me by injecting something into my hand. One of the aliens stuck his finger up my back passage and said, ‘This might hurt a little bit.’ Then they made me pass out by gassing me. I awoke sometime later to find the aliens withdrawing a four metre long tube from my rear end. ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘I didn’t feel a thing.’ I was as high as a kite. They handed me back to my wife on a piece of string and told her, ‘Don’t let go of him.’

Somewhat bizarrely, they also gave me a piece of paper describing the contents of my colon - nothing at all in there save a few pesky piles.

What a bloody relief!

A Christmas Cracker

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 15:21:00 +0100

I received some customer feedback.

A Welsh reader writes:

You disgust me!

I’m not at all shocked or surprised. I disgust myself, frequently. Thanks for validating my experience.

A Mr Tim Savage of Stratford Jobcentre writes:

Get a job!

I wasn’t at all shocked or surprised. My doctor had been signing me off sick (not fit for work) for a while. So long, in fact, that my ex-employer, quite rightly, gave up on me ever returning to ‘my’ hot desk. In employment legalese, I was dismissed through being incapable of work.

Meanwhile, Big Tim had helpfully been sending me enough money to live on every two weeks for a while, and in return I kept sending him my sick notes from my doctor.

But I guess Tim’s goodwill was running out. He asked me to fill in a questionnaire about my health and asked me to visit Norman, a nurse, so that two months after losing my job because I was incapable of work due to ill health, Norman could assess my capability for work.

Norman asked me lots of questions and asked me to move my arms about as if I was directing small aircraft in to land. He was ever so nice about it. It felt a bit like being interviewed by that very nice SS-Standartenführer Hans Landa chap off the telly, except no one came rushing in afterwards to brutally machine gun to death the people downstairs after we were done. Which was nice.

Anyway. As a result of Norman’s niceness and despite me failing to safely land any aircraft due to my two frozen shoulders, Tim decided that I was capable of work after all, and told me so. And although Tim recognised that I have an illness or disability, he wasn’t going to send me any more money to live on unless I appealed, actively started looking for work, or appealed.

All of this made me feel rather like a terrible burden on society and that society might be just a whole lot better off without me around dragging it down. And I had been feeling really pretty suboptimal anyway.

So I went back to my doctor, who signed me off sick again and gave me some anti-depressants and painkillers, and decided that of the three options given to me - appeal, look for work, or appeal - I would like to appeal. Tim wrote back straight away saying that he would send me some more money to live on as long as I send him my sick notes from my doctor. Seems fair enough.

It’s quite a difficult juggling act. On the one hand trying to get better, to get well again. On the other, remaining ill enough to be eligible for handouts. The last few months I’ve been rapidly deteriorating, hitting a new low, barely able to speak to anyone even online. Most of the time, I simply don’t feel like I have anything to say.

That said, I have some good days, and I have now almost completed my assessments for psychotherapy and expect to start in a group sometime in the new year. At my last session, the therapist said it seemed like I’d been depressed all my life, but only now (well, two years ago) asked for help. Thanks for validating my experience.

I had a good day yesterday, a good morning, at least, and decided to put it to use. So I carefully crafted for you, my dear reader, a veritable Christmas cracker of a musical podcast. Perhaps a cracker that doesn’t crack and contains no party hat or plastic toy, but only a lame joke, but a cracker nonetheless.

And here, containing my best charidee radio DJ voice, it is:

Just A Ride, Episode 1: Xmas Stocking Filler (29:15)

Sorry, couldn’t be arsed with show notes. Here’s the playlist instead.

Merry Xmas everyone. That is all.

No onions, but plenty of fireworks with bier

Tue, 08 Nov 2011 12:24:00 +0100

Abstract: Gertcha by the wiener. Tags: fireworks, photos, video, bier, Chas ‘n’ Dave, hot dogs

Last night, eight of us from Enfield Clubhouse went to Alexandra Palace to see London’s largest and most popular fireworks display. Here’s a video I took. The fireworks were pretty and spectacular - worth seeing, if you like that kind of thing!

After the fireworks, we climbed up the hill to the Palace itself and queued to get into the German Bier Festival. To call it a Festival is really a big overstatement. It’s a few years since I went to a beer festival and it was most likely Up North in deepest, darkest Bury, Lancashire, or somewhere like that. Maybe they do them differently Down South, but this was a bit of a let down. One tiny little bar, like you might find in a marquee at a modern marketed music festival. One brand of German Bier - Paulaner - and only two varieties: Munich and Weiss. The Weiss was off by the time I had been pushed and shoved forward by the ten deep bar queue. If you didn’t fancy Paulaner Munich, you could have that old Bavarian favourite, Foster’s. And they insisted on calling it Bier, which makes me wonder how authentic it really was. Not that authenticity seemed to be high on the agenda as it was all served in the obligatory health and safety plastic beakers.

So, we all got beer and seats in the Great Hall by which time a bunch of Cockney Irish fiddlers and banjoists started murdering Pogues' classics, much to the delight of the mostly student audience who I’m sure were out of their minds by now. Not that it stopped one of the thieving little tykes nicking my beer when I laid it down to rest and turned my back for five minutes.

What followed is a little hazy - maybe the bier was real, after all.

I fear that I may have danced to Chas But Not Dave or Chas And His Band or whatever Chas ‘n’ Dave are now known as. I was a little disturbed by the large, bald bass player, especially when he kept repeating ‘Gertcha!’ like an overly loud belch, totally drowning out scrawny-looking Chas on vocals.

To make matters worse, on leaving, I stopped for a Hot Dog.

‘Sorry, no onions’ said the serving assistant.

‘Oh, that’s a shame. I like onions on my Hot Dog. So. They are £3.00 with onions, right?’

‘That’s right, sir, but we don’t have any onions left.’

‘No, you don’t. So, if it’s £3.00 with onions… how much is it for a Hot Dog without onions?’

‘It’s £3.00, sir. With or without onions.’

By this time I was already in full Basil Fawlty mode.

‘I’d like a discount, please. If it’s £3.00 for a Hot Dog with onions, then I’d like 20% off for a Hot Dog without onions.’

‘It’s £3.00, sir. With or without onions.’

‘How can it be the same price, with or without onions?’

‘It’s £3.00, sir. With or without onions.’

‘So, can I have a discount, then or not? I’m willing to pay £2.40 for a Hot Dog without onions. If only you’d removed the empty onion trays and not told me you had no onions I’d never have known. Or you could scrape up the remaining slivers and let me have those….’

Now, I felt like Yossarian in Catch-22 trying to get out of the Air Force by being crazy, but being told that he couldn’t be crazy because he wanted to leave. And only a sane man would want to leave.

‘I’m sorry, sir, there’s nothing I can do. I can’t give a discount. I just work here. It’s £3.00, sir. With or without onions.’

‘You could give me a discount if you wanted to. I’m sure you could.’

The guy (no pun intended) behind me piped up, offering to call the Office Of Fair Trading. I suggested that they might want to consult the Sale Of Consumer Goods Act.

‘I can’t give a discount, sir. It’s £3.00, with or without onions.’

‘OK, I give in. I’ll have a Hot Dog without onions for £3.00.’

‘You have to pay first, sir.’

‘What?! But you just gave him one! He hasn’t paid yet!’

‘I’m sorry, sir. You have to pay first and then I’ll give you the Hot Dog.’

A young American woman approached me.

‘Please stop harassing my staff, sir.’

‘What?! Harassing your staff?! You’ve got to be joking?!’

‘No, sir. You’re harassing my staff. Now, please stop it or I will have to call Security to come and remove you.’

‘All I want is a Hot Dog with onions for £3.00 as advertised. If you don’t have onions, then fine, I’ll buy a bareback Hot Dog for £2.40.’

‘Sir, you can buy a Hot Dog without onions for £3.00 or go without.’

‘Why can’t you give me a discount?’

‘I only work here, sir. I can’t give you a discount.’

‘Hang on. I thought you were in charge? Surely you can use your discretion and keep your customers happy? I just spent plenty of money tonight on donating to the cost of the fireworks display and buying beer for me and my friends.’

‘What’s your problem, mate?’ asked a student grumpily and who looked like he had dyed his original wiry ginger hair black. ‘It says Hot Dogs £3.00. Doesn’t say anything about onions.’

‘No, I know it doesn’t say anything about onions. That’s a very good point. And that’s why I’m not going to engage you in any further conversation. Enjoy your Hot Dog! Thank you all and goodnight.’

Thanks also, to Lee, Gemma, Michael, Atul, Dan, Raheem and Angelina for making it a fun night out. And my apologies for any offence caused to the Hot Dog stand workers.

Bonfire of the potatoes

Mon, 07 Nov 2011 12:38:00 +0100

Abstract: Everyone needs good neighbours. Tags: Bonfire Night, Guy Fawkes, neighbours

On Saturday night, I shared a bonfire - in honour of the last person to enter the UK Parliament with honest intentions - with three Bolivians (all of whom have jobs, and at least one of whom has a cat), a Pole, a Catalan, an Irishman, several English people (one of Asian extraction and one born in Africa), a Roman candle or two, a Chinese lantern, twelve Lincolnshire sausages, some French’s American mustard, a large bag of pomme de terres of Peruvian ancestry, and a guy that looked like Frank Sidebottom.

Oh, and - long-time readers of my blog who have not yet required a psychotherapeutic intervention will be pleased to note - some onions.

The onions went down particularly well. I fried them myself. They were so good, people asked me ‘How did you make them?’. ‘I fried them,’ I said. Did I sweat them, or cook them slowly? Not deliberately. There was a lot of them. No, I have never made French onion soup.

I also cooked the sausages. All I did was put them under the grill and turn them over occasionally, in between supping hot mulled wine in our neighbours’ garden and nipping back across the close to knock back some warm English ale and make sure our house wasn’t on fire. Unfortunately, that’s also when they burned ~~Frank~~Guy. So, sorry, no pics. (I also conducted a thought experiment about making a vegetarian alternative to sausages.)

One of the Bolivians wrapped the pomme de terres in tin foil and buried them in the burning embers of the bonfire to cook while a committee of English people tried to work out how to set the Chinese lantern alight. The token environmental activist present complained that setting a Chinese lantern alight wasn’t very environmentally friendly, and to be honest, I had some sympathy with her. Still, we were getting drunk, and this Chinese lantern was going up, one way or another. And up it went.

Perhaps the launching committee might have considered the location of the launchpad - well, actually, they did. ‘There’s a park five minutes walk from here,’ I said. ‘We’re not going there,’ they said. So, finally, we lit and launched the lantern in the close, and it rose up and up. Up and straight into the tree. Where it stayed, burning away in amongst the damp Autumn leaves. It’s still there now.

We burned some more pallets on the fire and then dug out the apples of the earth with a spade. The foil came off some of them in the process, to reveal glowing red potato coals within. Someone expertly cut the spuds in half and applied butter to the hot flesh, and passed them around with napkins and spoons. It was the best tasting potato I’ve ever had.

(There's Only One) Jimmy Carter (the footballer, not the peanut farmer)

Tue, 19 Jul 2011 01:00:00 +0100

A long time ago, back in January 2010 in fact, Dan Lynch’s band 20lb Sounds released their song Jimmy Carter (20lb Sounds) / CC BY-SA 3.0:

This is our first original release. It’s called Jimmy Carter and as you might expect it’s about… well… Jimmy Carter, the former US president. We didn’t set out to write a song about him particularly, it’s just that someone came out with the line “Jimmy Carter was a peanut farmer”, and it had to be put into song. After a quick trawl of his Wikipedia page we were turning up all sorts of gems. Such as Jimmy Carter is the cousin of Motown Records supremo Berry Gordy, he’s also won a Nobel Peace prize and even a Grammy award. Mad huh?

All those nuggets of trivia found their way into the lyrics. It was originally just the main riff but then other sections were written to make it a bit more interesting as a full song. It’s hard to know what to describe this as, it’s almost country blues, but somehow not. There’s a bit of harmonica thrown in there so watch out for that too. You can’t beat the old gob iron.

This is licensed under CC BY-SA because it’s our own original work. You can download it, share it with friends, give out CDs and generally help us spread this music as far as possible. We need your help to make this work.

Enjoy!

20lb Sounds by 20lb Sounds

I have been enjoying it ever since. One thing perturbed me, though: Dan is a Liverpudlian and supports Liverpool Football Club. Surely the song should have been about the one time Liverpool footballer Jimmy Carter and not the former US president?

As the song is released under a Creative Commons licence, I realised I could rewrite the lyrics and do my own version. And here it is, my tribute to Jimmy Carter the ex-footballer, based on his Wikipedia entry:

(There’s Only One) Jimmy Carter

Jimmy Carter is an ex-footballer
He made his name in south east London
Signed for Millwall from Queen’s Park Rangers
He ran down the wings in tight short trousers

There’s only
One Jimmy
One Jimmy Carter!

Jimmy is a man with honours
He won Division Two with the Lions
But the winning stopped when he signed for the Scousers
King Kenny’s dream turned Sourpuss nightmare

So Jimmy signed for his boyhood heroes
But his Arsenal days would soon be numbered
He went out on loan to Oxford United
While the Gunners’ team won three cups without him

There’s only
One Jimmy
One Jimmy Carter!

Then Jimmy moved and played for Pompey
But they were shit and there were no more trophies
Back at the Den for one last shot at glory
Jimmy hurt his back and it was end of story

There’s only
One Jimmy
One Jimmy Carter!

Whatever happened to Jimmy Carter?
You can still buy his print for less than a tenner
And with the change you can get his football sticker
And sing with me ‘There’s only one Jimmy Carter!’

There’s only
One Jimmy
One Jimmy Carter!

Enjoy!

Twenty Ten (The Prequel): The Cheesemaker

Fri, 21 Jan 2011 00:00:00 +0100

Originally intended as a follow-up to part one of my milk-based food product styled personal review of 2010, this post quickly regressed into a metaphorical guide to the cheesemaking process, as you will see.

By the end of the first week of March 2010, I felt like I was several thousand feet above sea level. High up a mountain, again, perhaps mostly due to the ever-decreasing capacity of my right lung, but plummeting to new emotional depths thanks to the leaden weights of my ever-increasing self-doubt and sense of despair, perhaps partly as a reaction to stopping taking my antidepressant medication (although I stopped because I was feeling worse, not better).

One of the problems I found with officially going a bit mental is that I started to lose all confidence and trust in myself and the rest of the world. I think it’s fair to say that I’ve always been a bit of an independent-minded so-and-so and generally not afraid to say out loud whatever comes into my head. This invariably leads to me getting punched in the face. Or some other non-violent conflict.

The Big Cheese

A few years ago, I worked for someone who was responsible for making the lives of a few of her staff abjectly miserable, quite contrary to our organisation’s stated raison d’être ‘for better mental health.’ It appeared that she would move from one person to another and to another and then, it seemed to me, it was my turn. I decided I wasn’t going to take it.

During a torrid six months as her primary target, I had to undergo hospital tests on my heart for still unexplained and not since repeated vomiting and blackouts. When I told my GP what was going on at work she immediately signed me off with stress and didn’t want me to go back when I did. By the time my boss had finished with me I was unemployed and unemployable. Never underestimate the power of a bully.

I learned from painful experience quite a lot about how bullies and psychopaths operate. I learned that, while part of me wants to stand up to them and expose them for what they are, the sane part of me wants to avoid them altogether. So when I did manage to find a new job with a decent manager and then moved on from that with a good reference into my current post four years ago, I was delighted to be in a position where I was ‘the boss’, although, of course, I still had to report to a management committee made up of volunteers, led by a truly wonderful Chair.

When I say I was glad to be in charge, I don’t say that because of any desire to have power over others. Quite the contrary, in fact (unless I’m deluding myself). I’ve always believed in sharing power and responsibility as much as possible, but you can’t do that if you have an egomaniac boss or a rigidly hierarchical organisational structure. Yes, there are differences between staff and service users (staff get paid being the main one), but I try to minimise these as far as I can.

Cheese Grating

It was also gratifying to work in a London borough that not only funded my new organisation’s work, but whose commissioners seemed genuinely supportive. Within two weeks of me starting my new job, however, it was grating to be informed that the local authority would be able to fund us for only 40% of what we had budgeted for on their advice of just three months earlier. My first significant and highly unpleasant task, therefore, was to have to ask staff to reduce their hours from full-time to two days a week or to make them redundant in order that the organisation could survive.

Over the next two years, we began to flourish and I was able to bring in external funding to supplement the local authority’s money so that we could provide a still much-reduced service to what we had originally planned. Even so, it seemed popular with members, staff were highly skilled and dedicated to their work and feedback from carers and professionals who referred people to us was without exception, I think, almost worryingly positive.

Cheese Ripening

By working together on daily household and business tasks, we had established a sense of community, friendships and social engagement from a safe and supportive workplace. A lifeline for people whose experience was often one of many years of loss of sense of self and worth and an absence of meaningful relationships and occupation. A second home, where they were welcomed back with warmth and kindness into the human family (cite Richard Bentall’s ‘Doctoring The Mind’) and encouraged to believe that they had real reasons to hope for - and expect - better lives.

We had people going out into the community to volunteer and set up our own catering service to employ some of our members in very part-time casual work, based on their existing skills and interests. For all but one, this was the first paid work they had done in years. We weren’t able to find anyone permanent full-time employment during a time of global recession, but still I felt proud of what we’d achieved in difficult circumstances and with fairly limited resources.

Cheese-Induced Nightmare

So when I attended our annual review in 2009 with our main funder and described what we did and the impact it had on people’s lives I was gobsmacked to be told ‘We don’t care what you do or how you do it. We just want people off benefits and into work.’ I felt physically sick and faint.

While I understand (and, in principle, support) government targets to help people with disabilities to return to work, I’ve always been sceptical about the management-theory driven obsession with outcomes and, worse, the introduction of outcome-based contracting - where service providers get paid only if they meet agreed targets. What happens, is that the largest national providers are able to tender for local contracts with the lowest unit cost, inevitably, in my opinion, sacrificing quality (process) in the name of quantity (outcomes). Except that they fail to deliver.

Processed Cheese

To me, what we do and how we do it - the process - is of fundamental importance. There are plenty of organisations who work in completely different ways and who consistently fail to get people with diagnoses of schizophrenia (who form 60% of our membership) off benefits and into work and who receive considerably larger sums of money for doing so, making their CEO’s rich (and famous) in the process. Pushing people who lack confidence and don’t feel ready to work into inappropriate and unsupported employment simply doesn’t work for most and carries the very real risk of being detrimental to their mental health.

In order to massage their figures, these organisations ‘cherry-pick’ or ‘cream’ the most able and likely to find employment while ‘parking’ those with the most complex needs and severe disabilities, the very people small, local organisations like mine tend to work with. This is not to say that these people are not able. My experience tells me that indeed they are, but that they require much longer to build up sufficient confidence and trust and need much more support to do so. Time and support costs money, but so does a lifetime of unemployment and welfare dependence, not to mention the personal and social costs of inactive and isolated lives.

Cheesed Off

Well, that was a rather long-winded way of saying that in 2009 I began to feel that I was being fucked about at work. What I believed to be the right way of working and what I was being told to do by my paymasters conflicted and didn’t make any sense to me. A year later, while I had time on my hands due to my own physical and mental illness I ‘discovered’ that evaluations of the way I was being told to work clearly stated that this approach doesn’t work, either. I felt angry for not trusting my own judgment (based on experience and advice from mentors) and felt like I’d been bullied into submission, yet again.

Join me for another cheese and whine morning next time.

Twenty Ten (Part One): Hard Cheese

Wed, 05 Jan 2011 23:45:00 +0100

Abstract: Thankfully, there is no Part Two.

Tags: snowcock, nanowrimo, manflu, cheese, depression

Note: probably none of the links work now.

I began 2010 by wishing everyone (except fascists) a Happy New Year and a promise to blog my reflections on the naughty decade in due course.

Well, that will have to wait for another time, but here - thanks to my identi.ca memory aid - are my reflections on 2010.

After recovering from hiccups, speaking in tongues, a hangover the size of every Xmas and New Year and forced communication with O2’s customer service drones, I went back to work and set about the urgent task of building a snowwoman in the front garden.

This was my equal opportunities response the the much celebrated #SnowCock (replete with massive snowballs) of Glossop erected by Tim Dobson and friends.

Heaven snows he’s miserable now

Snowwoman somehow ended up transgendering into #SnowMorrissey until he inevitably lost his head, prompting a lyrical tribute from the similarly all-white and undead Andy C.

Just as life imitates art, ‘real’ life inevitably imitates life online. Perceptively and spookily - leaving aside the evidence of my maniacal online rantings - Andy C was concerned for my mental health.

If I’m honest, my most recent mental breakdown occurred somewhat earlier. Without wishing to go into too much detail and bore anyone with my personal troubles, I had been speaking with a psychotherapist since September 2009. After a few sessions, she expressed her concern that I might be ‘bipolar II’ and asked me to see my GP in order to get a referral to a psychiatrist for an assessment. I felt pretty shocked to hear this as I’d never considered that I might have had any hypomanic episodes (let alone needed to see a shrink) even though that might have explained some of my problems.

In tears, I told my GP what my psychotherapist had said, and thus I began my own pharmaceutical research into the effectiveness of anti-depressant medications to give me some respite (my GP’s word) from my heightened and unstable emotional state. My GP also referred me for a psychiatric assessment.

Mightily relieved finally to have spoken to someone about my difficulties and for allowing myself to ask for help, I felt as high as Jesus on the mountain for forty days and nights. Looking back now, it’s perhaps significant that my identi.ca output during this time was the highest it’s ever been (according to Michele’s Denticator - unfortunately it only shows the last 12 months, so you will have to take my word on that). Interestingly, my output last month, since I’ve been feeling better and like my ‘normal’ self was just as high if not higher:

I also increased my long-form blogging output, with a serious intent to try to write more regularly and have some fun in doing so. Perhaps significantly, my first post during this high period was about mental health. I wrote eight proper blog posts in those forty days and nights including:

A rant on authority and the War of Terror

A tribute to Manchester United and my Mum and Dad

A reminiscence piece I originally wrote in 1989 about my time stuck in a blizzard on Longs Peak, Colorado

An Ubuntu fanboi article

Another reminiscence piece, this time about a childhood incident

And a frankly bizarre post about a blue tit

It had taken me nine months to write my previous eight proper blog posts and almost five months to write the next eight. I wrote only one in the two months reviewed in this post while I was feeling so physically and mentally ill. Between May and December 2010 I wrote another fourteen.

I crashed down to earth only three days and six thousand unpublished words after my spur-of-the-moment decision to write a fifty-thousand word NaNoWriMo ‘novel’ in thirty days. Like all the other novels I’ve started, this one remains unfinished, although I did get past page four on this occasion. All of this was while I was working full-time. Mild insomnia helped.

Man flu

Just like in 1994, 1999 and 2004, I felt myself slowly burn out as Xmas approached and by the time #SnowMorrissey had melted I was feeling too depressed to work or do anything else other than go to the doctor’s surgery. My GP doubled my anti-depressant dose and I later self-diagnosed the new but familiar sharp stabbing pain in my lower right side under my ribs as pleurisy for which I prescribed myself Lemsip Max. The previous year I’d had a similar but worse pain with frightening shortness of breath, which only cleared up after a month or so using an inhaler.

Less perceptively and spookily - and admittedly without the benefit of a stethoscope, cheeseometer or any medical training - Andy C was less concerned about my physical health. Less is more.

Six days later, after a brief investigation with her stethoscope, my GP confirmed my pleuritic self-diagnosis, signed me off work and prescribed my some antibiotics for a chest infection, too. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a cheeseometer either. I started to feel a bit better, but a cold winter’s night a week or so on and the pain returned. Perhaps understandably, I was generally feeling more and more miserable, too.

At least everything was running smoothly at work during my two weeks absence.

‘It’s just a slice of cheese’

I went back to work on 1 February feeling much better after United had made City wait another year at least for their first trophy since 1976 and after setting in motion Arsenal’s annual implosion.

Seventeen days and an x-ray later, however, I was in Accident and Emergency with a suspected collapsed right lung. After a blood test to make sure I wasn’t suffering from a heart problems I went home the same evening. The following day I developed a strong desire to punch Nicholas Winterton in the face. Repeatedly. And regularly. Say every ten minutes. Coincidence?

Pull yourself together

By now, I’d lost touch with Reality, defending homeopathy. I’d lost hope, despairing at James Robertson’s inevitably futile struggles to print and use his own postage using only Free and open source software. I’d lost my humanity, calling Basil Brush impersonator Richard Cutts a demented glove puppet for agreeing with me about Nicholas Winterton.

Three weeks before my x-ray, I’d phoned the local mental health trust to find out what had happened to the referral letter my GP had sent them back in September 2009, four months earlier. They helpfully told me that I wasn’t a priority for treatment because I was working and, therefore, apparently OK. I asked them what did I have to do in order to become a priority? Try to kill myself? They offered me an appointment the same afternoon.

Naively, I assumed that this would be an appointment with a psychiatrist. After waiting for an hour behind the locked doors and shatter-proof glass partitions of the Community Mental Health Team building that kept the professional healers and helpers apart from me and rest of the presumably perceived as dangerous local community it serves, it turned out to be an appointment with a nurse who scribbled a few notes on a scrap of paper. He then produced a copy of a letter dated the same day that he claimed had been posted to me the day before inviting me to a meeting with a psychiatrist in two weeks.

Three days before my x-ray, I met the psychiatrist. I made an extra effort to wash my hair, shave and put on clean clothes to make myself look less like Jim Ignatowski.

He sat in front of me reading my notes as if for the first time. After a couple of uncomfortably silent minutes he said ‘You’re not Stephen Fry bipolar.’

I suppose I should have been relieved about that, but my immediate reaction was confusion - how could he possibly know? All he had asked me was ‘Would you like a coffee?’ He didn’t even ask if I wanted decaf, sugar or milk and yet he was magically able to undiagnose me without conducting any blood tests, x-rays, scans or other measurements of the balance of chemicals sloshing around in my brain, which is the current unproven theory of choice among the medically inclined.

We had a bit of a chat. I asked for psychotherapy on the NHS as I could no longer afford to pay privately. He recommended that I keep taking the medication even though I complained to him that I felt worse than ever after four months on them. I was finding sleep difficult, yet felt tired all the time, couldn’t concentrate properly, had a dry mouth and sometimes felt my mood change from OK, to tearful, to agitated, to angry and even to suicidal in the space of a few hours.

I told him I’d washed and dressed specially for him. He laughed and said that was good, because otherwise he’d have had to section me under the Mental Health Act (have me forcibly detained in the mental health unit of the hospital). He rounded off our meeting by suggesting that I should pull myself together and get a life (not his exact words, but my honest interpretation and not far off). As I bid him goodbye and was closing the door to leave he asked me if I had any plans to kill myself.

I decided to stop taking my medication. Within ten days I successfully predicted England’s abysmal failure in the South African World Cup.

Look out for more cheesy Twenty Ten goodness next week as I march on into March and explain the cheesy references….

The World Cup on drugs: pure-grade heroin cut with shavings of Clive Tyldesley

Fri, 25 Jun 2010 01:00:00 +0100

If England’s game against Algeria had been a Wimbledon tennis match, the two sides would still be at it today with the Dutch Master Johan Cruyff declaring it the greatest example of Total Crap Football ever played.

Both sets of players would be awarded (honorary) knighthoods for their part in simulating Barnsley versus Grimsby Town at a freezing cold Oakwell on New Year’s Day in the late 1990s/early 2000s and no doubt the two managers would be encased in marble as a living testament to their obduracy.

And if the first round of group games were like pure-grade heroin cut with shavings of Clive Tyldesley and smuggled past England’s Robert Green at UK border control, I have to admit that I overdosed, taking up to six hours a day for more than a week.

After an early rush of excitement, I fell into a deep reverie induced by triple daily doses of drab defensive displays before finally lapsing into a tactical coma, waking up just in time for this Sunday’s World Cup Final showdown between England and Germany.

Having beaten the USA in the knockout stages, Fabio Capello must be delighted that his masterplan has come to fruition and England are within 90 minutes of lifting the Jules Rimet trophy once more.

A valiant effort, all the more remarkable as we have scored only two goals in the process of knocking out the most powerful nation on earth (truly, an us against US game if ever there was one), the tricky North Africans and then the smallest footballing nation at the Finals, Slovenia.

I take my hat off to Fabio and his men and will go on to eat it for dinner, too, as I was convinced we really didn’t have a hope in hell of seeing this dream come true.

As a tribute, I offer my exclusive guide to The World Cup On Drugs for your viewing enhancement:

Alcohol

Preferably beer and lots of it. Great for encouraging your team’s hard men to go in for dangerous two-footed tackles on opponents. Can really make you feel good for 90 minutes, but then you can start to get heavy-legged and risk missing vital goals while you go for a pee. Can also leave you feeling tired and miserable for days afterwards if you’re over 40.
Undoubtedly the football fan’s favourite tipple, alcohol can make even France versus Uruguay seem like the most compelling game of end-to-end football you’ve ever seen. OK, maybe not even alcohol can do that. Which is why you might consider some slightly more risqué alternatives.

Cannabis and marijuana

If you smoke or otherwise consume enough of this, you won’t care who wins as long as you have plenty of chocolate and crisps. Not a good idea to try ordering a Chinese takeaway while watching either of the two Korean sides, either, unless you want bean curd noodles with prawn cracker soup and a meat cleaver in your head for being a cheeky bastard.

You may find yourself laughing uncontrollably at the little Mexican and Japanese players (but see LSD, below) and at some of the many comedy commentating double-entendres and other funnies such as:

Bougherra goes in hard on Butt!

He’s got Eggiman on the face, there.

Messi leaves Shittu trailing in his wake.

Pantsil’s off!

Bong.

Amphetamines, ecstacy and cocaine

In theory, you might think any of these stimulants would be great for staying alert during the opening round of games, but as your brain processes information faster so these interminable games begin to last forever and - as we all know - you risk irreversible catatonia. Try explaining that to your mum and dad when they come to visit you in hospital with tubes coming out of your every orifice and some new ones you didn’t have before.

If you must, make sure you’re down the pub with your mates and you should have a great time spoiling everyone else’s enjoyment of the game with your incessant yabbering. This is what all BBC and ITV commentators take before live games. You have been warned.

LSD and magic mushrooms

Hallucinogens. Watch football and expand your mind. Sounds too good to be true! Discover the meaning of life during the national anthems and spend the rest of the day communicating with the God of the Vuvuzelas or hiding in the cupboard under the stairs fearing that you are about to be abducted by giant lizard-men disguised as tiny insects working for your local council’s refuse collection team.

Either way, it will be a life-changing experience. When watching Japan or Mexico, be prepared to spend the entire game marvelling at how small their players are and how big the opposition is. Whatever you do, you will need to read the sports news the following day in order to find out what really happened.

Heroin, morphine and other opiate derivatives

Can make you feel like you won even when you lost. I try to stay away from these as a general rule, at least until the latter stages of the competition. Then, as an England fan, they can be useful to sustain your enthusiasm in between games after the first knockout round and the quarter finals and before the final itself.

Long-term use is best left until after the tournament is completed or avoided all together. Warning:
death is a likely outcome whether you use heroin or not.

Well, that’s it. Please remember that none of this is to be taken seriously and do not try this at home, children, even if you’re an adult.

No future in England's dreaming? Inside the mind of Fabio Capello

Sun, 30 May 2010 01:00:00 +0100

Fabio Capello’s master plan to take England to the World Cup final is finally taking shape.

On the evidence seen so far, truly it is something of a fantasy.

The sorry bunch of posers (Wayne Rooney, our only hope and Sid Vicious-like talisman ready to self-destruct at any moment, excepted) that represent our once proud nation may fail even to qualify for the ‘It’s A Knockout’ stages let alone reach the final for what would be our finest hour-and-half (plus extra-time and penalties, if needed) for 44 years.

If by some bloody miracle we do reach the final, I just hope we don’t live to regret not thinking about a master plan to actually win it.

But our preparations - highlights of which include being thoroughly outplayed at Wembley by Mexico and only winning by virtue of having taller players and then today in Austria being thoroughly outplayed by the equally diminutive Japan and only winning by virtue of two fortuitous own goals - are now over.

Even if he won’t be singing God Save The Queen, at least Capello now knows who his 23 will be. Here, I can exclusively reveal who they will be and why.

In goal

In reverse order, building from the back as all England teams do, Capello already knew who his three goalkeepers would be.

David James, who has made something of a career littered with often hilarious yet calamitous mistakes (which must give hope for the future to Ben Foster), was first choice until his injury at Portsmouth allowed Rob Green, who seems to be compiling his own personal back catalogue of often hilarious yet calamitous mistakes, to take over.

Ironically, the best of the lot could be the young but inexperienced third choice Joe Hart.

While I think Capello must have been tempted by James’s much greater experience, I think he will stick with Rob Green to start knowing that he has capable back up if needed due to loss of form, injury or suspension.

1 Robert GREEN

At the back

Lazily rolling the ball out to the defence, Capello knows his preferred back four of Glen Johnson, captain Rio Ferdinand, John Terry and Ashley Cole, the two Chelsea players competing for the role of Johnny Rotten.

The question is, how does he balance the ideal of having like-for-like back up while making sure he has enough options to cover for lack of form and fitness after injury?

That will depend to some extent on Gareth Barry’s injury as he would be the natural choice to cover for Ashley Cole and a better option, if fit, than the specialist left back Leighton Baines, who has looked out of his depth at this level.

2 Glen JOHNSON 3 Ashley COLE 4 Gareth BARRY 5 Rio FERDINAND 6 John TERRY

In the middle

Calmly passing the ball out to the midfield, again Capello knows his first choice is for Frank Lampard to partner Gareth Barry in the middle, with Steven Gerrard and Theo Walcott out wide.
With Barry’s injury it’s likely that Gerrard will be asked to fill in centrally in preference to an out-of-sorts Michael Carrick or the impressive but still inexperienced James Milner, who will be trusted to take Gerrard’s starting place on the left in England’s first game against the USA.

7 Theo WALCOTT 8 Frank LAMPARD

Up front

Desperately hoofing the ball up to the forwards now and giving the ball away, bizarrely we once again have the lovely Emile Heskey as our first choice centre forward.

It’s like being back in 2002 all over again, except that back then Heskey was just a lumbering hulk of long-ball fodder who couldn’t score a goal even if you put it in front of him and offered him £50,000 a week.

Heskey’s England career, like Gareth Barry’s of course, was reconstructed by former England manager and still object of derision (mostly for being so wet, despite sensibly opting for an umbrella to keep the rain off while his England team failed not to lose their must-not-lose game against Croatia) Steve McClaren.

Even so, Heskey is believed to be Rooney’s preferred strike partner, presumably because he makes him look even better.

9 Emile HESKEY 10 Wayne ROONEY 11 Steven GERRARD

Left back at home

I think Capello must have been tempted to take only three specialist, but versatile central defenders as cover - King (who can also play a holding role in midfield), Jamie Carragher (who can cover both full-back roles as just as badly as centre back) and Matt Upson (who could conceivably cover at left-back if needed).

The advantage of taking Baines as well is that even if we had three players out with injury or suspension we would still have a defender on the bench.

But Capello must surely think that better options, in the unlikely event they are even needed, are the versatility of Michael Carrick, who has played a central defensive role a couple of times for United and James Milner, who can fill in on either flank as a full-back. Christ, I’d rather have Gerrard and Rooney at full back than Baines.

Stephen Warnock and Michael Dawson are untested alternatives, and I don’t see the point of Leighton Baines, so I don’t see how Capello can either.

12 David JAMES 13 Jamie CARRAGHER 14 Ledley KING 15 Matt UPSON

Passed out

The other benefit of not taking Leighton Baines is that it frees up a place for a more attack-minded player.

While Capello has a had a good look at Tom Huddlestone, who has played well for Spurs this season, I think he will miss out along with Scott Parker who was the injury reserve, and stick with the experience of Michael Carrick, despite his fairly miserable recent run of form.

Aaron Lennon is the preferred like-for-like replacement for Walcott.

16 Aaron LENNON 17 Michael CARRICK 18 James MILNER

Bent over

Peter Crouch and Jermain Defoe were always certainties to go and Darren Bent never really had a chance.

19 Peter CROUCH 20 Jermain DEFOE

Tossed off

Joe Cole, who must think he looks more and more like a fat Joe Cole with every pie he eats, offers experienced and creative cover in any attacking midfield role.

That leaves exciting new boy Adam Johnson fighting for a place with his little big-club team-mate Shaun Wright-Phillips, who, like Glenn Matlock, can feel a little hard done by.

Just like at City, expect Johnson, who can genuinely play on either wing, to get the nod in the potential-matchwinner-who-won’t-even-get-on role.

21 Joe COLE 22 Adam JOHNSON 23 Joe HART

So there you have it, to put you out of your misery two days early.

Thank me in the comments.

Waterboarding on the NHS

Tue, 25 May 2010 09:00:00 +0100

Abstract: Gagging for it. Tags: waterboarding, NHS, bronchoscopy, torture, worklessness, Nazi, psychotherapy, banana, splat

On Another Planet this week: controversial new government plans to tackle ever increasing worklessness using waterboarding.

Techniques refined and perfected by secret military personnel known only by their codename ‘Our Boys’ are being piloted by the NHS in an effort to ‘encourage and empower’ people claiming statutory sick pay to return to work.

One persistent malingerer, who asked not to be identified, claimed that he was subjected to an horrific ordeal at the hands of his torturers and says he was tricked into believing he was just playing a game of ‘doctors and nurses’.

‘I always liked playing doctors and nurses when I was a kid,’ said Roger (not his real name).

Over to Roger to tell the rest of his story.

Nazi

I received a phone call from my local hospital telling me I had an appointment with the chest consultant I’d seen before. I thought it was a bit odd, because I’d seen the surgeon who operated on me only the previous day, but I went in anyway. I felt I could trust these people after they did such a great job of fixing my lung. Anyway, when I got there, they made me wait for an hour as usual, then a pretty young student doctor asked if I minded if she sat in on my appointment? How could I say no? I could barely speak with my tongue hanging out like that. So I just nodded and wiped the dribble from the side of my mouth hoping she hadn’t noticed. When I got to see the consultant himself I thought it was a bit odd that he was wearing full Nazi regalia, but he seemed like a nice guy and to know his stuff.

‘Don’t rush back to work", he said.

‘Now, about this bronchoscopy. Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will be OK. I’m 90% sure everything’s fine. People say it tickles a little bit, but you’ll have a sedative and some local anaesthetic that they put up your nose and on the back of your throat. That will make you cough, but it’s really nothing to worry about.’

‘Fine, I’ll do it,’ I told him.

So this week I went in for my ‘bronchoscopy’. After waiting the requisite hour, I was hurried into the day surgery operating theatre by a pretty young nurse and ignored by the doctor. Another nurse made small talk with me to reassure me. I clambered on to the operating table so that I was sat upright with my legs outstretched. The second nurse put a bib on me to deal with my dribbling while the doctor chatted with his friend on his mobile.

‘Hi, I’m Dr Heydrich,’ he said to me finally.

Although I had been feeling relaxed, at this point I suddenly felt a twinge of anxiety.

‘I’m going to put some anaesthetic gel up your nose,’ he said, as he squirted anaesthetic gel up my nose.

The second nurse then stuffed a tube up my left nostril, saying, ‘Don’t worry, it’s only oxygen.’

Banana splat

I looked at her and she had donned what looked like a welder’s visor. ‘You look like you’re about to do some welding,’ I said.

‘It’s just to protect myself from any splatter,’ she replied.

Another twinge.

‘OK, open your mouth, please,’ barked Heydrich. ‘I’m going to spray some anaesthetic on the back of your throat. It tastes very strongly of bananas,’ he added, as he sprayed what tasted like banana flavoured liqueur on to the back of my throat, making me cough. ‘Just a little bit more,’ he said.

‘UURRRGGHHH!!!’ I splattered.

‘UURRRGGHHH!!! UURRRGGHHH!!!’ I repeated.

‘It’s OK,’ said the second nurse, holding my head down with her hand. ‘It makes you feel like there’s a ball in your throat and you can’t swallow.’

‘UURRRGGHHH!!! UURRRGGHHH!!!’ I repeated, desperately.

Heydrich then took what I had thought was a stethoscope and zoomed towards me with the bright flashing end of it and shoved it up my right nostril.

AARRRGGHHH!!!" I said.

‘Let’s try the other one," said Heydrich.

They swapped the oxygen for the stethoscope, which then dropped out of my traumatised right nostril.

‘AARRRGGHHH!!! AARRRGGHHH!!!’ I repeated.

That hurt even more than the right one did. The second nurse (I don’t know what the first nurse was doing, but she was there afterwards) then pushed something into my mouth, saying, ‘Open your mouth and hold it with your teeth.’

Heydrich zoomed back into view.

‘We’ll try it through the mouth’, he said, as he pushed the thick black fibre-optic tube down my throat.

‘UURRRGGHHH!!! UURRRGGHHH!!!’

I tried to cough and splutter, but my throat was numb and I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was drowning.

‘UURRRGGHHH!!! AARRRGGHHH!!!’

I panicked and pulled the tube out, gasping for breath.

‘I can’t do it!’ I cried, literally, tears rolling down my cheeks.

‘I can’t do it. I’ll go back to work. I promise!’

Over. Roger and out.

Another Planet understands that if this pilot is successful, then the procedure will be rolled out to the rest of the UK in the coming months.

As Nick Clegg-Hess, Deputy Prime Minister, said:

‘What we need is strong, stable government. That means we must weaken and destabilise people who are not working for whatever reason and by any means necessary to get them to conform and work to pay our taxes. This is about control and maintenance of the status quo. Anyone who thinks otherwise is sadly deluded and will be dealt with accordingly. Waterboarding is an effective and reliable means of manipulating even the craziest of people to do what we want them to do. It’s in the national interest to get people off benefits and into work and we will do whatever it takes to make that happen, even if it means torturing people after they have already confessed."

On a more serious note, I’m open to suggestions for other medical procedures you’d like me to blog about. Let me know your ideas in the comments!

Confessions of a thoracotomy patient

Sat, 24 Apr 2010 08:55:00 +0100

Abstract: Lung-form blogging at its cheesiest.

Tags: thoracotomy, empyema, decortication, cheese, collapsed lung, chest infection, pleurisy, NHS,

Last week I met a beautiful young Hispanic woman and we spent the night together. She cared for me deeply and carefully, and I gazed upon her lovingly as the morphine (d)ripped through my veins. She checked me out and made sure that everything seemed to be in working order.

‘Hi, I’m Sofia,’ she said.

‘I’m going to be looking after you tonight.’

Thanks to the morphine, I carried on smiling and Sofia carried on with her job of nursing me through my first night after my thoracotomy on the high dependency unit of the five star NHS hospital I was staying in.

I had quite a good time despite drinking nothing but water the entire evening. We shared a few bottles together - Sofia would hand me an empty one, pull the covers around me and I would half-fill it and hand it back to her so she could measure and record, discard and disinfect. She checked my tubes and drains to make sure they weren’t getting clogged up with ‘cheese’ or any other unwanted dairy products. She made sure that my drains were working properly and that I was getting enough suction (stop it!). In the morning, she washed my back. My only regret is that half-way through the night somebody much more ~~attractive~~ ill than me was trolleyed through and Sofia spent more time with him than she did with me.

A good swing

So, Sofia had taken over from Gilbert, a beautiful young Chinese-looking man who I woke up with after my general anaesthetic. Gilbert was every bit as diligent and caring as Sofia and I don’t think this is just the drugs talking. I was amazed by the level of care I received throughout my stay, with one or two relatively minor exceptions, which I’ll come to later. And it’s not just because I was probably quite a good patient - I was calm, polite, not in any great pain or discomfort, doing well - eating, drinking, breathing, coughing and I had a ‘good swing’. Most of the other patients around me appeared to be quite a lot older than me and if not older then certainly in more pain or experiencing more problems after their operations. They were cared for with equal if not more time and attention as far as I could see and hear.

Who else do I need to thank for treating me so well? On admission to the hospital at 7 am on Friday morning I was met by nurse Martin, who seemed more nervous than me, but who handed me over to the highly organised Lindsay. Lyndsay wasted no time in getting me half-naked on to the bed so that she could attach clips and cables to my chest and stomach to run an ECG. Then she made me strip completely and wear a flowery dress. To complete my humiliation, she had me walk down to the diagnostic testing department in full public view where I had an x-ray. When I got back she wanted me to wear some thigh-high stockings, too. How could I resist her helping hands to put them on for me? Thank you Lyndsay!

Thanks also to Rick, the porter, for your sense of humour in wheeling me up and down and up and down again to the operating theatre where I’m sure everyone had a good laugh at me in drag. No doubt the pictures are all over the internet by now. And thanks to Dorcas, the clinical nurse specialist who spoke to me on the phone before I went in to tell me how bad it was going to be and who greeted me in the hospital before the operation with her hands - literally a nice touch, and one repeated by Lyndsay, Rick, Gilbert and Sofia later. A quick, simple touch to the hand, the shoulder, arm or elbow is extremely reassuring I find. Thanks for your humanity.

The cheese factor

Pre-operation, I also spoke to several doctors/surgeons/registrars or whatever they call themselves. They may even have had first names, but somehow if they did those names haven’t stuck. All I can really remember is being told that the operation would take 90-120 minutes rather than the 30-45 minutes I was expecting. This was due to the fact that they would be doing a conventional ‘large’ incision of about 10 cm rather than the keyhole 2 cm cuts I’d been told I was going to have. The change of modus operandi was because of the ‘cheese’ factor - they needed to scrape the rind off the lung, not simply drain fluid. I signed the consent form. By this time they had me where they wanted me and I had resigned myself to my fate. What else could I do but submit? Yes, there’s a risk with everything, but carrying on with a lung full of cheese didn’t seem like a good bet.

Finally, Rick got me into theatre again after an aborted first attempt because my blood results weren’t back in time. This also meant a delay of an hour and a half, which didn’t affect me too much. I was kind of in a semi-meditational state I reckon. Either that or just frozen with fear. Now it was the turn of the anaesthetists to do things to me. Thanks to Belton (not Ben Elton) for painlessly finding my veins first time and inserting the cannulas that would feed the juice to knock me out and sustain me with fluids. All I can remember is a bit of aimless chit-chat, breathing deeply into the gas mask that was placed over my face and….

Chris the Crafty Cockney

Less than two hours later I woke up on the high dependency unit with Gilbert looking after me. At some point I remember my surgeon coming round to tell me, quite madly in his Chris the Crafty Cockney way:

‘You’re fixed!’

‘Thank you!’ I said.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

After Gilbert and Sofia, I was handed over to Tara, who was a bundle of fun in our short time together. Tara couldn’t wait to get rid of me, though, and pushed the wheelchair herself to get me on to the main ward so that she could go and have lunch or something. I had been looking forward to moving wards actually. The high dependency unit was a bit noisy and a bit dull and now I would have access to my belongings that I brought with me - mp3/video player, internet, email, phone, etc. But when I was shown to my room (it’s on old private hospital bought by the NHS) I felt strangely disheartened and lonely. On the high dependency unit, Gilbert, Sofia and Tara were always within eyesight or earshot, but on the ward my new nurse Nas and everyone else was gone within seconds. I was still attached to two drains and my morphine drip, so I couldn’t go anywhere. I felt as helpless as a baby.

At least I was on the ward in time for the Manchester derby, the most important game since the last one. And my mum and step-dad John were visiting at 2pm. Lunch was forgettable - one of my few complaints is that the food was largely very poor quality. As I discovered on my discharge from the hospital, there is a very good coffee bar and staff/visitors' restaurant in the hospital, which I believe is managed by the same company that provides the patients' meals, yet the comparison is dreadful. I didn’t have much of an appetite due to the morphine, but it doesn’t help when you are served up slop that is worse than school meals of thirty-odd years ago.

Back to the footy. My mum proudly explained that my brother would be texting her with news of any goals.

‘That’s great, Mum. But I’m getting text updates from the BBC every few minutes on my internet tablet.’

BBC text updates on one of the most uneventful ninety minutes in the history of football aren’t much fun, but sustained conversation more than my brother’s updates.

BLEEP!

Crikey, a text from my brother to my mother.

‘15 seconds left. Scholes header. Game over.’

My mum read the text out loud.

‘What does that mean?’ she asked.

Oh, christ.

‘It means,’ explained ever-patient John, who is not a football fan:

‘United have won the game with a last minute winner yet again.’

‘Oh.’

‘What do you think it means?’

This remote victory barely raised a smile on my dry lips and hardly registered an increased pulse according to Nas when she took my blood pressure. It is surely my least celebrated United goal ever, although I did manage a laugh and a cheer the next morning watching the highlight on Match of the Day.

Sunday I had three separate visitors morning, afternoon and evening and I suspect I was fairly grumpy/tired during at least one of those, so apologies certainly to my dad. I have to say, though, that visits are extremely tiring and quite emotional. It’s no wonder hospitals advise no more than two visitors at a time. And when you’re in that state of post-op pain or discomfort, lack of mobility, tiredness, feeling sick etc., you’re really not much company. It’s great to see people, of course, but as a visitor you can’t expect too much from your relative or friend. And thanks, dad, for leaving me with the advice to get a hair cut and a shave so that I don’t look so much like Frank Gallagher!

A quick thanks also at this point to some more lovely nurses - Sarah, Yvonne, Nadia, Esther - sorry if I missed anyone.

Minor complaints

I mentioned earlier a couple of minor exceptions to the high level of care I received while in hospital.

One would be that the cannula on my wrist became loose, swollen red and painful. I asked one of the nurses about it and she said it was ok and bandaged it up (after dropping the bandage on the floor!) to hold it in place. Later another nurse came to use the cannula to inject my antibiotics. Now this can usually feel a little uncomfortable, but nothing more than that. This time I was screaming in agony. I pointed out the problem again and she said that it was ‘unacceptable’, removed the cannula, patched me up and fixed the cannula in my hand so that it could be used for both the morphine drip and the antibiotics, painlessly.

My second minor complaint would be that the same nurse who dropped the bandage came in gloved-up to remove my second drain, then went out again touching the door handle to call for assistance (two nurses are required - one to pull the drain out, one to tie the stitch, the painful bit). I asked her to change her gloves, which she did so willingly and acknowledging that she should do so. The point is that she should be taking the initiative not waiting for patients to prompt her. It’s fairly basic stuff.

My only other quibble is that I was discharged on Tuesday morning (four days after my op), barely able to walk more than a few yards without getting out of breath so basically forced to book a taxi home. They gave me some paracetamol, ibuprofen and dihydrocodeine for the pain, but for three out of the five days I’ve been home so far that hasn’t been enough to control the pain. It’s really been quite distressing for me and for my family to see me in so much pain and to be able to do nothing to help. I’m seeing my GP on Monday so maybe I’ll get some extra help with that.

The drugs didn’t work

I’m not sure how long it’s going to take for me to recover and go back to working full-time. As far as I know, I’m expected to make a full recovery, although I was a more than a little perturbed to read that post-op pain from a thoracotomy can take months or even years to go away.

I’m still not sure how this all happened. In January I had a chest infection and pleuritic pain similar to that which I’d had in March 2009 when I had a really acute episode of shortness of breath, fever and a consolidation on the same lung. That cleared up quickly with antibiotics and an inhaler. This time around, the drugs didn’t work, so my body responded by sealing off the infection in my lung by surrounding the lung with fluid.

Unfortunately I tried to work through this in February, which left me feeling too exhausted to go get an x-ray right away. Once I got the x-ray I was admitted to Accident and Emergency immediately where they did some tests to rule out heart problems, I think, before sending me home. Then I had to wait five weeks before seeing a chest specialist and another week or two before getting the results of fluid samples and a CT scan.

Hard cheese

As luck would have it, all of these tests were negative (ruling out the likes of cancer and smoking as possible causes, as far as I know). But the build up of fluid had continued and I had progressively felt more and more physically and mentally tired. My surgeon was certain that I had what is known as empyema (the hard ‘cheese’ as he called it and that I talked about earlier) and this required decortication (scraping the rind off the lung) via a thoracotomy (an incision along the underside of the shoulder blade).

As it turned out, I was told that the scraping bit wasn’t required, which is great news as that would likely have damaged the tissues of the lung. I’ll be seeing my surgeon again in a week or two I think and the chest specialist next month. I’ve been told it’s still possible that I could have tuberculosis, although there is no evidence of that yet (it takes a while to show up apparently). Meanwhile I’m taking antibiotics for pneumonia - if I don’t breathe deeply and cough well enough I’m at risk of getting a chest infection. And, despite the lovely nurses, I don’t want to go there again!

Why England don't have a hope in hell of winning the football World Cup in 2010

Thu, 25 Feb 2010 01:00:00 +0100

We don’t have any goalkeepers who are not proven to be accidents waiting to happen. James, Green, Foster, Robinson. OK, so there is the untested Joe Hart.

We don’t have any defenders who are fit or in form. Johnson, Ferdinand and Cole all injured. Terry playing like he has his pants down around his ankles half the time. Replacements (based on Capello’s selections so far) would be Brown, Lescott, Upson and Baines (since the useless Bridge has withdrawn). Other possibilities for left back from the squad might include Barry or Milner. Slightly more left of field, literally as well as metaphorically, would be Warnock and Phil Neville.

I’m not convinced by our midfield or our formation and tactics playing two wide players and two central midfielders. Lennon is injured, Walcott is recovering from injury. Beckham is fit only for 15 minute cameos. So, Milner looks like he will start on the right and has shown lots of energy and drive. Gerrard seems to be the notional left-sided midfielder now. Barry is the holding midfielder and he has played well for England in that role over the last two years since Steve McClaren put him there. But he looks a shadow of that player now. Lampard is our ‘creative’ attacking midfielder. The same player who can disappear for an entire 90 minutes despite his massive size.

Although we have one of the best centre forwards in the world in Wayne Rooney, Capello seems to insist on pairing him with one of the worst centre forwards in the world in Emile Heskey. Sorry, but likeable as Emile is - and he tries, I know he tries - he is not up to it. If we are to play with two up front then I’d stick Gerrard in there. Rooney has proved this season beyond any doubt that he can play alone up front provided he has:

Service from wingers who can get to the byline and cross the ball on to his head.
Support of two midfielders who - in addition to their defensive and creative duties - can bomb forward to give Rooney the space he needs.

Unless Capello surprises me and changes his tactics, formation and line-up I just can’t see it happening.

United, born and bred: super glue Macari

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 01:00:00 +0100

The only United match I’ve been to in recent years was last season’s FA Cup tie at home to Spurs, courtesy of E.on’s sponsorship and their Family Football initiative. I went with a couple of my ‘clients’ from work, had a great road trip and fantastic all-round experience. One’s a Spurs fan, and I know he felt a mixture of joy and anxiety sat in amongst all the United fans (even in the Family stand) when Spurs went 1-0 up. But both were amazed by the genuine friendliness and good-natured humour of the locals as we mingled around outside the stadium before kick-off. I’m pleased to say that both are working or about to start work now. I really believe that going to this match (and we also went to Wembley and White Hart Lane) helped to put a bit of the spark back into their lives, to begin to believe and to hope again. The Theatre of Dreams, indeed!

I went to a few games in the ’90s when I was working in Manchester, mostly European nights, which then weren’t that well supported. I remember seeing David Beckham play one of his first games and you could see right away that he was a special talent. Before that, I saw Roy Keane when he was still at Forest. I think he scored a hat-trick at Bolton (where I was studying) and he was another one that you could see was on another level, right away. My favourite game in the 90’s, though, has to be Sheffield United away in a midweek game. We won 3-0, fabulous counter-attacking stuff and fantastic goals from Cantona, Hughes and Sharpe!

Back to the late 70’s again, my dad took me to see United get walloped 4-0 at OT by Cloughie’s Forest and I saw the 3-5 thrashing we received at the hands of West Brom, not to mention the 0-0 versus Wolves with George Berry. We were frigging crap a lot of the time, occasionally brilliant, but never consistently good enough.

I have a lot to thank my dad for. Thanks, Dad! He got me a Subbuteo set one Xmas and meticulously painted on the United colours, numbers and even facial hair of the players. I was gutted when my ickle Lou Macari broke both legs and he was never the same player again despite being able to return for the next match thanks to a tube of superglue!

The best thing about all of this, though, is being able to immediately rebut all the ABUs1 who, when I tell them who I support, start their tired old accusations of glory-hunting, London Reds, etc. I started watching United when they were at their lowest ebb (in terms of league status) since they became popular worldwide. I’ve personally endured almost twenty of the “years of hurt” growing up watching those other reds (funny how so many of the kids I went to school with in Lincolnshire were Liverpool fans) win year after year with just a few crumbs of comfort coming our way in the FA Cup. Both my mum and dad were and still are ardent United supporters and if it wasn’t for them I’d probably be a Mariner or worse!

So, thanks, mum and dad, for uniting and ensuring that I was born in Stretford General!

Fans of ‘Anyone but United’. ↩

Forking* Hell!

Mon, 22 Jun 2009 13:31:00 +0100

Date: 2009-06-22 Title: Forking* Hell! Abstract: Noisy neighbours. Tags: complaints, customer service, forklifts, noise, beeping, reversing, BEEP! BEEP!

March 16

Mr Marsden,

Thank for you email, please accept our apology for the delay in responding to you regarding this complaint. Due to a new complaint system being instigated and problems arising from its application, your complaint was not allocated correctly, hence the delay in response.

We apologise for any inconvenience caused and hope to resolve you complaint at the earliest opportunity.

Is this complaint with regard to Forking Noisy Bastards that you complained about in October last year? When I looked into this originally the company did have a 24hr operating licence, that being said if they are causing a noise disturbance to you we would be able to take some action. I have put a letter in the post to you detailing our service hours and contact numbers, please can you use our response service next time the noise is happening so that an officer can visit and assess the nuisance.

Once again, sorry for the delayed response.

Regards

Noise & Nuisance Officer

May 12

Thanks, Noise & Nuisance Officer.

Please find attached a scan of the Noise Disturbance Diary and a MP3 recording of the noise.

I haven’t been able to get any of our neighbours to witness the noise. I believe that this maybe because our location is unique in that everyone else has some barrier between them and the source of the noise (e.g., the warehouse building itself or the surrounding fence). If you care to view Google maps you can see the view from the entrance to the works site straight through to our flat on the first floor, to the right.

I’d very much appreciate anything you are able to do to bring an end to this disturbance as currently my wife and I are having two or even three nights a week of interrupted sleep thanks to this noise.

Kind regards,

David Marsden

May 28

Dear Noise Nuisance Officer,

Could you please acknowledge receipt of my email of 12 May, below and let me know what the next steps will be.

Many thanks.

June 1

Further to this, please see this video, demonstrating perfectly the noise pollution I am complaining about and a what appears to be a perfect solution:

Note that I am emailing you at 1:54 am after being woken up yet again by this disturbance.

June 3

Noise & Nuisance Officer has not responded to any of my emails, below. Does she still work there?

10 minutes ago

Is there anybody out there?

Having been woken up by these forkers yet again on a Sunday night at 3am - and they are still going, started at 11pm - I am at the point of losing it. I commute for an hour and a half to work meaning I have to be up at 6:30. What are they doing that can only be done in the small hours? Drugs? Bombs? Anyone care?

From a Council Tax paying resident in the forgotten town of Shitton.

Good night, sleep well!

*Thanks to Andy C

Why we're crap: the problem with English football

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 01:00:00 +0100

It’s often the case that what in one sense is an undeniable strength can at the same time also be a real or potential weakness. English football’s great history and tradition raises everyone’s expectations, yet the English football team must compete on an increasingly commercialised and sophisticated international playing field. We have more fans, more money and more foreigners in our game than any other country, so it’s no surprise that when things don’t go to plan, everyone feels quite upset and let down. And the media does its best to blame anyone and everyone.

There’s such a lot at stake, now. It was only sixty years or so ago that the Football Association, which is now grieving over the financial loss of failure to qualify for Euro 2008 and stating that qualification for Euro and World Cup Finals is a minimum requirement of the team manager/coach, actively prevented the national team from taking part. It’s only forty years or so since we won it. As it happens, Sir Alf Ramsey, like Second Choice Steve McClaren also failed to qualify for his first Euro Finals in 1964…. We have a long history and fine tradition of coming up short against the rest of the world, so it’s not as if it’s anything new or that we should be surprised about.

The problem with English football has been documented in the press as being anything from too many foreign players, too much money, expectation of fans not matched with reality, players and coaches not good enough, not enough passion or care, too much passion and not enough technique, too much pressure and fear, too much drinking and not enough team spirit. The reality is probably that all of these factors are important to a lesser or greater degree.

Too many foreign players

As Sven-Goran Erikkson points out, managers often buy overseas players because they are cheaper on average than their English or British counterparts. That’s also why so few of our players play abroad - because there isn’t the money to pay them, not necessarily that they aren’t good enough. Beckham was and arguably still is good enough to play for Real Madrid. That’s why there are too many foreign players.

Too much money

So part of the problem may be that the players get paid too much? But that is not the players’ fault, just market forces, mainly to do with Sky TV money and, er, the FA, who contract with them for Premier League (the same FA which hijacked the Football League) and England rights. What this means is that the very best English players - who are on a par at least, with the very best players in the world - are paid significantly more. This is why Arsene Wenger has so few English players in his squad, not because they aren’t good enough, but because they are too expensive.

The new Scotland

Maybe I’m wrong, but it seems to me that we are repeating what happened in Scotland during the Graeme Souness era at Rangers - he bought lots of foreigners in, Celtic and others later followed suit and the Scottish national team suffered as a result. I’m not the only one who thinks that England are the new Scotland.

The recent Scottish revival has surely been due to Rangers and Celtic developing a core group of home-grown players to complement their foreign signings. And I’m sure that a lot of their England based players can’t wait to get a game for Scotland after watching too many games from the stand or playing for less successful clubs!

Overpaid English players

At club level, Arsenal are successful in part at least because they have a salary structure which prevents them buying overpaid English players, but keeps team spirit up - see how much better they are doing without the overpaid Henry! Same with United to a different extent. Fergie’s discipline is what he buys by paying top wages and Ince, Kanchelskis, Beckham, Van Nistelrooy and Keane are all examples of players who reached their sell-by dates, for the team’s eventual benefit. Chelsea pay everyone top wages, of course, while my guess is that the likes of Liverpool, Newcastle, Spurs and any other under-achievers get the balance wrong between wages and value.

Too much pressure

But there’s more to it than that. Michael Owen says that the players can’t cope with the pressure of playing for England now, not that they don’t care. Although at some point we have to admit that other teams are sometimes better than us, that would certainly explain some lacklustre performances and results. Where does the pressure come from? The fans? The media?

My opinion is that the fans want England to win, or - if they can’t win - to play well, trying. The media just want to sell stories, and their marketing strategy is the time-honoured sensationalism of even the most mundane non-news (Steve McClaren under an umbrella. OK, so he looked a bit daft, but, if he kept dry and we’d won…).

So, we lost to Croatia. What we should all have been saying was congratulations to Croatia on a deserved victory and let’s support McClaren in rebuilding for real this time instead of picking on every little thing and waiting for him to fail. Things looked good against Russia and Israel, he stumbled across a “system” (Gerrard and Barry) that worked. He was unlucky with injuries, but should have been given longer.

A new Scotland? Why England's football team will soon be as shit as Scotland's

Thu, 27 Apr 2006 01:00:00 +0100

Is an all-foreign Arsenal bad for English football?

But if all our top teams are made up of non-Englishmen….

Red missed: how Stewart Houston and Gordon Hill made me angry and depressed

Sun, 12 Feb 2006 01:00:00 +0100

United’s FA Cup tie with Wolves last weekend and Auntie’s ‘flashback’ (Rio Ferdinand?), reminded me to finally get around to posting a few of my own memories, originally prompted by George Best’s sad demise in November.

George had quit United long before I can first remember watching them. But Best remained an important part of my United life - the school chant was “Georgie Best, Superstar, He walks like a woman and he wears a bra!” - and Dad would always remind me that whatever “my” United did they were never as good as Best, Law an Charlton and the rest of Busby’s Babes.

I can see what he meant, now! And he did concede that watching Cantona, Kanchelskis and Giggs at their peak was probably just as exciting.

Anyway, 1974-5 season was my first, when United were in the old League Division Two. I didn’t understand the significance of the different divisions then, just enjoyed the BBC’s and Yorkshire TV’s occasional match coverage when we took on the regional challengers of the time - the big guns of York City, Rotherham United, Hull City and Sheffield Wednesday, if my memory serves me.

That year we won the D2 title and returned to the top division.

We then got to three out of the next four Cup Finals (when that meant something), winning just once (but against Treble-chasing Liverpool).

Six years after we had won the European Cup with Best, Law, Charlton and the rest we had teams comprising (as I remember them):

1 Alex Stepney, then Paddy Roche, then Gary Bailey
2 Alex Forsyth, then Jimmy Nichol
3 Stuart Houston, then Arthur Albiston (who popped up on Five Live recently)
4 Gerry Daly, then Brian Greenhof, then Sammy McIlroy
5 Brian Greenhoff, then Gordon McQueen
6 Martin Buchan (c)
7 Steve Coppell
8 Sammy McIlroy, then Jimmy Greenhoff
9 Stuart Pearson, then Joe Jordan
10 Lou Macari
11 Gordon Hill, then Mickey Thomas
12 David McCreery, then Ashley Grimes

Stepney was a legend, the last of Sir Matt’s European Champions. Bailey was talented - I remember a couple of full-stretch diving saves he made in the 5-3 home defeat by West Brom….Houston was the first person I’d ever heard tell someone else to fuck off. That he did it in response to baiting from a total stranger on the terraces was even more startling to me then.

Ever since I always had a sense that Houston was quite evil. I’m sure he isn’t! It reminds me, too, of the televised live England game when Ray Wilkins told the (Uruguyan?) ball boy to “give me the fucking ball”. Not to mention when Eric jumped into the crowd feet first!

McIlroy was ‘the last of the Busby Babes’ (probably also ‘the new George Best’), but never quite managed to live up to it, despite being a great servant to the club. I was really sad when he had to leave not long after Bryan Robson and Remi Moses arrived a few years later. Not long before he moved on he scored a fantastic solo goal against Wolves.

Buchan was the ever-dependable rock and heartbeat of the team. Scored a couple of last minute
equalisers, drives from outside the penalty area, one at home to Everton?

Coppell had an economics degree apparently. Probably would make a good manager one day…. Career cut short by injury.

Pearson was an up-and-at-them, no fear, old-fashioned centre forward, replaced by Joe Jordan, an up-and-at-them, no fear, old-fashioned centre forward with no front teeth. Wonderful!

Macari was the mischief-maker-in-chief, apparently ran a chip shop outside the ground and provided the role model for free-scoring (Celtic) strikers to sign for United, dry up and move back into midfield….

Gordon Hill’s demise was a source of childhood grief for me, which even now I find difficult to understand. Lee Sharpe followed suit more recently. Thomas was a cheeky-chappy, work-hard, play-hard type with silly hair.

McCreery was our not-so-supersub and Grimes was never a United player, surely?

Which brings me back to the current team/squad. Who are the Ashley Grimeses of today? Van der Sar looks a bit like Paddy Roche, but so did Roy Carroll. We need a world class keeper, still.

Gary Neville will be looking forward to the Liverpool rematch in the Cup, no doubt!

Wes Brown might still come through as genuine class, but realistically he’s always going to be a squaddie. Same applies to Mikael Silvestre. Gabriel Heinze has been missed and I expect he will partner Rio in central defence next season, that’s if Patrice Evra comes through at left back.

Then there’s Vidic, O’Shea, Richardson, Bardsley….

Who will replace Roy Keane? That’s probably the wrong question. Football’s a team game and the best teams don’t rely on one player, but on individuals gelling as units within the team. United at their best could win without Keane (and his central midfield ‘unit’ partner Scholes, as they did in Barcelona) or Cantona or Beckham.

As a TV-highlights-and-live-radio-only kind of fan I’ve seen and heard Alan Smith, Darren Fletcher, John O’Shea all do well in there. Let’s hope Scholesy can return and even that Giggsy is allowed to play out his last years through the middle.

Out wide we have Ronaldo, Park, Solskjaer and Richardson - we need reinforements there, too.

Up front we look strong with Rooney, Ruud, Saha (when fit) and Rossi, although there’s always room for improvement.

What’s our first XI look like now? I don’t think Sir Alex knows, which is half the problem. Mine, assuming everyone is injury-free:

1 Howard - may as well give him his second chance, now
2 Neville - no brainer (the choice, not Gary)
3 Heinze (leave him at full back for now)
4 O’Shea (I’d like to see him given a run in the ‘holding’ role)
5 Ferdinand (with O’Shea holding the defensive cover in midfield this would free up Rio to be more adventurous)
6 Brown (he’s fit, playing well, give him a run)
7 Ronaldo (just stick with him)
8 Rooney (start him wide left, but let him play wherever he sees fit like Eric did)
9 Saha (start as central striker)
10 Van Nistelrooy
11 Giggs (central midfield role, playmaker, can swap with Rooney and Saha
12 Scholes (back up for Wayne or swap with Saha or Ruud for a less gung-ho approach!)

2nd XI:
1 Van der Sar
2 Bardsley
3 Evra
4 Fortune
5 Vidic
6 Silvestre
7 Park
8 Fletcher
9 Smith
10 Rossi
11 Richardson
12 Solskjaer
13 Pique

Did I miss anyone?

Bangers 'n' Mash

Sat, 19 Feb 2005 11:46:00 +0100

I guess one reason I’m able to maintain my weight is all the healthy eating I’ve been doing lately. So I thought I’d share with the one or two people who come here some of my culinary creations. Who knows where it will lead?

For Valentine’s Day I came up with the original and undoubtedly passionate meal idea of… sausages. Really it’s a sausage casserole (I looked at the back of a packet of Colman’s casserole mix in Tesco for the ingredients and just left out the cancer-causing stuff - not that I’m feeling superior in any way as I’m sure I’ve eaten plenty of it in the past), but I like to call it:

Bangers ‘n’ Mash:

olive oil
chilli oil
garlic paste
herbs and spices: dried sage, parsley, oregano, - paprika, black pepper, sea salt
baby onions
green pepper
mushrooms
tinned, chopped plum tomatoes
instant onion gravy
tomato ketchup
cooked Lincolnshire sausages
potatoes
butter
milk

This is a nice way to use up some leftover sausages - you don’t have to use Lincolnshire sausages, any will do, same with most of the ingredients. I just use what’s available to me. This will make enough for four servings.

Get a large pan for your peeled and, washed and finely chopped potatoes, adding a drop of olive oil and some sea salt and covering with water. Put it on a high heat until it comes to the boil, then simmer for fifteen to twenty minutes or until the potatoes are soft enough to mash easily.

Assuming you have some pre-cooked sausages and you’ve prepared all the veg, heat up your wok or large frying pan, add a good shake of olive oil, chilli oil to suit your taste and a little butter to stop the oil from burning. When it’s hot, add a teaspoon of garlic paste, a shake of the herbs and spices followed quickly by the onions, peppers and mushrooms and stir-fry on a high heat for a few minutes.

The longer you do it, the softer and smaller the peppers and mushrooms will be, so do it as you like it. Add the tomatoes, make up half a pint of instant onion gravy and stir it in. Add a teaspoon of ketchup (or use lemon juice, vinegar and sugar) and the pre-cooked sausages.

Leave to simmer for at least twenty minutes. When the potatoes are ready, drain and mash with a dollop of butter and a little milk.

Serve.

Like most foods, it will taste even better the following night re-heated.

The Colorado Trail

Mon, 04 Dec 1989 15:01:00 +0100

I am rapt. Tight and warm in my sleeping bag, I stare out at the night sky. It is perfectly clear. My fellow hikers are nearby, and in the distance we can hear the sound of coyotes. They are neither barking nor howling, but something between the two, as if they are calling to one another. Their calls become louder.

In the corner of my eye I can see our food, in white plastic bags, hanging from a tree. The coyotes are running, beating a path towards us. My heart races and pounds, with excitement and apprehension, and the effects of ascending so quickly to nine thousand feet. My head aches and I feel sick. Tomorrow, we go higher.

The conifers which shelter us are twenty feet tall. Their tops dance in the wind against a backdrop of stars on a moonlit stage. There goes a shooting star! It is too much. My head spins.

Sleep is not easy. There is a low rumbling, like distant thunder. Then, as if the whole mountain is collapsing, a gust of wind sweeps through the trees, passing us by. It sounds like a train. The gusts become stronger and more frequent; and we are lying on the tracks of the main line. This is a ghost train! The trees bend while I lie rigid, waiting for the crash.

I rise with the sun.

The hike up, the next day, is long and arduous in driving winds. “Wail winds wail/ All along, along, along/ The Colorado Trail” (“The Colorado Trail” lines 5-8). The wisps of cloud in the morning sky have become huge and dark. Powdery snow swirls around us, then bites into our faces, as we struggle with freezing hands to set up the tents. The slightest effort saps all our strength and leaves us gasping for air. This, in turn, increases our loss of water with sweat and exhalation.

Once inside, we attempt to melt snow for drinking and cooking food: It takes about two hours to produce one litre. (We had estimated that each person–four in all–needed four litres per day. Even with two stoves, it would be impossible.)

I have no appetite, but manage to eat something. My legs and feet are cold.

We try to get some sleep. Although it is warm in our bags, the fierce wind outside makes it impossible. My throat, mouth and lips are dry while the insides of the tent are wet with condensation; as this freezes, it is spat back into our faces by the slapping canvas which seems about to be hoisted away from us at any moment.

The night is endless. I am waiting for a train to take me out of here, but I know they will not stop to pick up passengers. They are expresses, and their speed is urgent. They are delivering the news: And the news is History. We will not climb the peak. We will go down.

Works Cited

Anonymous. “The Colorado Trail.” In S. Barnet, M. Burman, & W. Berto (Eds), An Introduction to Literature (9th ed.). Boston: Scott, Foresman & Company. (1989). p.411.

Multi-Cultural Societies

Thu, 09 Nov 1989 14:50:00 +0100

Mark Twain once informed a preacher visiting Hartford that every word of a sermon the latter had just delivered was in a book at Twain’s home. Concerned about the apparent plagiarism, the preacher was only too grateful to receive the book in a parcel at his hotel. It was a dictionary (Wister ziii).

As one of Twain’s characters, Huckleberry Finn, said of his creator, he told the truth, mainly (Twain 441). Twain’s practical joke could be thought of as a compliment. The preacher expressed his thoughts in a symbolic code which Twain and others could comprehend; by sharing a common language they were able to share ideas.

Although words are defined objectively, often their use is subjective. People learn language not from dictionary definitions, but from their experience of situations in which it is used. Generally, the words first learnt by a child are nouns describing concrete objects (the meaning of the word is obvious). The understanding of abstractions is more difficult, and, perhaps because of this, its value is emphasized in Western culture. In other societies, it may be of greater importance correctly to describe a feature of the environment. Similarly, a person-oriented approach may be more civilized than one that is materialistic.

Just as cultural values differ, so do languages. But, whereas languages can be translated into other tongues, values remain unaltered. It could be argued, therefore, that true translation is impossible; at best, authenticity is compromised. Ideally, it seems, a language is needed which is common to all.

The modern reality, of different ethnic groups within one society (but speaking different languages and living separate lives), is a problem not only of intolerance, but also of ignorance. It is not enough simply to be aware of differences. They must be understood in terms of the beliefs they represent. This can be achieved only through experience, preferably personal, of that way of life, and its language from which it is inseparable.

That it is the speakers of minority languages who must learn the language of the majority is a matter of practicality. That they should suffer educationally or socially in relation to their peers is due to cultural biases against them, the effects of which often are compounded by financial poverty. But if such minorities were to decide to opt out they would surely become the objects of greater hostility than that which they already face; the difference from the norm which they represent is proportional to the fear and hatred they induce in others. Alternatively, intregration with the mainstream would further dilute their tradition.

It is possible, and it is certainly necessary, to live in a multi-cultural society. But as the differences become greater so do the problems that come with them. In choosing between separation and homogeneity of cultures, people usually do not have the advantage that Huck Finn has: Faced with the prospect of adoption and “sivilization” by Aunt Sally, Huck knows that he must move on, he can’t stand it. But then, he’s been there before (Twain 650).

Works Cited

Twain, M. “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” In The Family Mark Twain. (1988). New York: Dorset Press. pp. 441-650.

Wister, O. “In Homage to Mark Twain.” In The Family Mark Twain. (1988). New York: Dorset Press. pp. xiii-xxiv.

Works Consulted Bloom, A. D. (1987). The Closing of the American Mind. New York: Simon and Schuster.

Big (in America)

Thu, 09 Nov 1989 09:48:00 +0100

A mass twiddling of thumbs and looking at the ceiling prompted me: “It’s Big,” I said. They laughed.

Little did they know.

All were there, as I was, to find out more about exchange programmes to America. The speaker, Rick, was an American from student services. Rick wanted to know what were our preconceptions of his country? I told him.

Impressions gained from film, television and literature ensured I was right about the houses, the cars and the roads. But to me, then and now, Big describes attitudes, personalities and lifestyles; the vastness of the American landscape is matched only by the number and diversity of cultures within its population.

Despite this variation, the stereotypical American who emerges is white, middle-class and male, much like his English counterpart. As a member of a minority group (an Englishman in America), I know how frustrating it is to be denied my regional dialect and prejudices (which now are mostly redundant) in favour of simpler English ones. But being English does have its benefits–it’s cool, awesome, and, “I love that accent, say G’day mate for me.” That I can be mistaken for an Australian might be explained by the American educational priority given to quantity of knowledge, as opposed to its quality–they know that I am foreign, but not from which hemisphere I come–but more likely by the success of Paul Hogan’s “Crocodile Dundee.”

A similar set of values seems to determine television standards, although some shows are so bad they require compulsive viewing: Examples are breakfast time chat with local serial-killers, and the macho violence of American Gladiators. American comedy, however, has always been intelligently written (Taxi, Cheers, Moonlighting and Cosby), in spite of some of its moralizing content. English comedy is appreciated, albeit somewhat indiscriminately; Benny Hill is not the same thing as Monty Python.

National character undoubtedly is shaped by a country’s history and environment. America’s history, compared with England’s, is short. While the two countries have experienced both hardship and prosperity, the continued arrival of immigrants has maintained Americans' sense of hope for the future, and the unrelenting effects of nature have created a need for organization (with which Americans now seem obsessed). By contrast, the stability of the English way of life has led to cynicism: Nothing will change. People are content, perhaps too much so, to muddle through their lives.

Coming to America has helped me to see both countries in more favourable lights. When the time comes, I will be sorry to leave, but glad to be going home.