Category: Trees
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The Last Screw
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
“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”
The Magic Faraway Tree
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.
Big Kid and the Umbrella
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.
The streets of Southall and the road to hell…
Jack Frost visited overnight and left some beautiful souvenirs on car windscreens this morning.
The pavements, however, are treacherous.
I saw a number of little kids slide and tumble on the way into school. As we climbed up and over the canal footbridge and approached the invisibly icy downward steps to the school side, we all received a text message from the headteacher asking us to be mindful of the slippery conditions. Distracted by the beeps and buzzes in our hands, on our wrists and in our pockets, we all reflexively reached out, shifted our focus and fell like lemmings over the edge of the top step and down into a crumpled, groaning heap of legs and arms, shouts and cries. Well… Not really. We all carried on like the battle-hardened school-runners we are and dragged, coerced, danced and sang our recalcitrant little ones into class as usual. It could have been worse.
Quite a contrast to yesterday morning.
Seems like a long time since I felt able to enjoy a morning walk. Almost three months to the day since I had my last COPD exacerbation.
