Trees on David Marsden

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”

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.

Wed, 14 Jan 2026 12:05:37 +0100

Little kid’s shadow.

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.

Wed, 07 Jan 2026 10:40:20 +0100

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.

Tue, 06 Jan 2026 10:51:12 +0100

Wife took these stunning photos this morning.

I arrived three minutes later, late to the show.

Wed, 03 Dec 2025 20:39:08 +0100

Quite a contrast to yesterday morning.

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 15:04:11 +0100

Wet and windy.

Mon, 10 Nov 2025 11:24:15 +0100

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.

Thu, 07 Aug 2025 19:17:25 +0100

Bastard Service Tree.

Fri, 11 Jul 2025 20:28:19 +0100

📷 Dense foliage at the Gravel Pits.

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!

Sat, 05 Jul 2025 13:51:43 +0100

📷 Fragments. I imagine this is what the inside of knee looks like now.

Thu, 03 Jul 2025 19:33:13 +0100

Outside the school offices. Little kid runs through here excitedly every morning. It looked especially magical today.

Thu, 03 Jul 2025 17:59:58 +0100

Kitchen garden at kids' school.

Thu, 03 Jul 2025 14:50:17 +0100

Q) When is a door not a door?

A) When it’s floating in the canal.

Thu, 03 Jul 2025 14:44:50 +0100

Almost autumnal here.

Tue, 01 Jul 2025 19:01:56 +0100

Magical scene at after school clubs pick-up time. Excellent drama teacher had the little kids outside under the shade of the trees in front of the kitchen garden doing their thing. I’m sure those kids will remember it forever.

Fri, 20 Jun 2025 13:16:43 +0100

Algae gather 📷

Tue, 17 Jun 2025 13:02:27 +0100

These algae swarms remind me of nebulae.

Fri, 13 Jun 2025 13:31:10 +0100

📷 pathway

Thu, 12 Jun 2025 14:49:13 +0100

These ducklings are growing up fast.

Tue, 03 Jun 2025 17:08:27 +0100

We did get a little sunshine in the end.

The AI generated alt-text mistakes my shadow for the reflection of a chilled-out lamp post in the rain.

📷

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 19:15:18 +0100

Not trees.

Sun, 01 Jun 2025 19:02:04 +0100

These trees outside our home provide beautiful cover for the ugly industrial warehouse they built shortly after we bought our flat. They make up for the loss of horizon view (in reality a derelict wasteland) making our close cozy and private. They provide shelter from the afternoon sun in summer allowing the kids to play outside freely.

Big kid decided each tree symbolises one of us, according to size. That’s me on the right. My neighbour wants to have me chopped down because I leave a mess on her car when she parks underneath.

Occasionally I like to lie on a blanket in our communal garden and just watch the trees swaying in the wind. During lockdown it was incredibly peaceful and calming watching the trees and the birds - crows, parakeets, pigeons, starlings, magpies, and red kites, geese and egrets flying by overhead.

📷

Thu, 29 May 2025 14:25:08 +0100

Humberston light railway station, no longer in use, sadly.

Thu, 22 May 2025 15:18:04 +0100

I didn’t notice these little ducks until I was right on top of them. If they noticed me, they didn’t seem bothered.

Mother duck was standing guard.

Thu, 22 May 2025 15:15:59 +0100

Cootlings have lost their red fluff.

Mon, 12 May 2025 12:00:24 +0100

This morning’s walk.

Filling up the lock (not me, I just observed). Very noisy.

So peaceful just a few yards further on.

Colourful rust bucket.

My old friend the heron.

Thu, 08 May 2025 15:45:36 +0100

Seven little ducks?

Only eleven this morning.

Twelve little ducks.

David Marsden https://davidmarsden.info/2025/04/30/twelve-little-ducks.html

David Marsden https://davidmarsden.info/2025/05/01/only-eleven-this-morning-twelve.html

Fri, 02 May 2025 10:23:48 +0100

AI alt-text generator “thought” this was a crocodile.

Lovely weather for ducks. Still eleven babies.

David Marsden https://davidmarsden.info/2025/05/02/lovely-weather-for-ducks-still.html

Fri, 02 May 2025 10:22:11 +0100

Lovely weather for ducks. Still eleven babies.

Fri, 02 May 2025 10:09:06 +0100

Secret garden.

Thu, 01 May 2025 09:51:19 +0100

Only eleven this morning.

Twelve little ducks.

David Marsden https://davidmarsden.info/2025/04/30/twelve-little-ducks.html

Wed, 30 Apr 2025 10:05:10 +0100

Twelve little ducks.

Sat, 19 Apr 2025 14:55:36 +0100

Lovely afternoon just to sit in the garden and feel the warm sun and breeze on your skin.

Sun, 13 Apr 2025 14:10:51 +0100

This has gone semi-viral on Threads. Weird.

Mum gave me £40 to buy two haddock, one chips, and three peas from the chippy. I gave her £20 back and said, “don’t be daft.”

£20.40!!!

David Marsden https://davidmarsden.info/2025/04/12/mum-gave-me-to-buy.html

Sun, 13 Apr 2025 12:29:05 +0100

Five minute walk from our caravan.

Sun, 13 Apr 2025 12:26:45 +0100

We’ll keep the Red Flag flying here.

And the Pirate flag.

Sun, 13 Apr 2025 12:25:03 +0100

Nice little seating area right by our caravan.

Unfortunately it’s mostly used as a pigeon toilet.

Sun, 13 Apr 2025 12:22:38 +0100

I was here yesterday evening.

Sat, 12 Apr 2025 20:15:57 +0100

Mum gave me £40 to buy two haddock, one chips, and three peas from the chippy. I gave her £20 back and said, “don’t be daft.”

£20.40!!!

Sat, 12 Apr 2025 12:22:23 +0100

Full moon tomorrow night?

Sun, 06 Apr 2025 10:22:22 +0100

Bunged up, constantly sneezing, sore itchy eyes…

Wed, 02 Apr 2025 09:38:16 +0100

Every outdoor seating area in the public realm is littered with beer bottles and cans, laughing gas canisters and other drug paraphernalia.

Probably not what local homebuyers here signed up for with the marketing lure of “canalside living”.

Wed, 02 Apr 2025 09:30:53 +0100

Morning walk.

Sat on a tree stump for a few minutes enjoying the sunshine, breeze, and sights and sounds by the canal.

Thu, 27 Mar 2025 15:49:50 +0100

What a load of rubbish.

Wed, 19 Mar 2025 12:37:46 +0100

Morning walk.

The canal was unusually clean and calm in the sun.

I hadn’t noticed the little outhouse in the trees before.

This Egyptian Goose wasn’t thrilled to see me and looked terrified as it waddled off giving me the beady eye.

It’s a boat.

Tue, 18 Mar 2025 11:57:39 +0100

Morning walk on the school run.

Wed, 12 Mar 2025 23:03:46 +0100

My boy got his picture taken for the local council propaganda rag when they opened the school street this week.

Sat, 08 Mar 2025 15:22:24 +0100

Trees at Osterley Park.

Sat, 08 Mar 2025 15:20:01 +0100

Osterley Park this morning.

Tue, 04 Mar 2025 13:32:45 +0100

This morning’s walk.

I don’t know why this area is fenced off, but it has the effect of creating a private space for local alcoholics, drug users and homeless people to relax.

Water flowing through the gates into the lock.

I took a few moments to enjoy the sound of the flowing water.

Mon, 03 Mar 2025 11:51:13 +0100

This morning’s walk.

Tue, 25 Feb 2025 20:59:47 +0100

This morning’s tree.

Mon, 24 Feb 2025 22:43:56 +0100

How it was.

How it’s going.

Sat, 22 Feb 2025 18:35:54 +0100

Bit of a muddy walk around Osterley Park.

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.

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.

Fri, 07 Feb 2025 15:39:01 +0100

Goose stepped out of line.

Fri, 07 Feb 2025 15:37:49 +0100

Some more trees for the collection.

Never noticed this cabin before. I must have walked past it hundreds of times.

Never noticed this weeping willow (?) before either.

Fri, 07 Feb 2025 15:32:12 +0100

Liked the colours of the weathered old narrowboats in these first two pics, and the sky in the third.

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.

Mon, 03 Feb 2025 20:30:31 +0100

Love the light of the setting sun on this tree.

Fri, 17 Jan 2025 12:58:53 +0100

More than two years after I suggested this should be a priority, my sons' school will have a school street during the school run times.

Mon, 13 Jan 2025 12:04:36 +0100

Highlights from this morning’s walk.

New wetland wellbeing walk by the canal.

Sat, 11 Jan 2025 13:28:00 +0100

This morning’s trees.

Fri, 10 Jan 2025 11:20:53 +0100

A tree would have been nice, and I still think it was more effective how it was.

Tue, 07 Jan 2025 11:25:47 +0100

Exciting first day back at school as the skies suddenly opened up and dropped huge, fat flakes of snow on the kids as they waited to go into their classrooms.

Sat, 04 Jan 2025 15:12:17 +0100

This parking advice signpost is much more effective now.

Sat, 04 Jan 2025 15:10:01 +0100

Half-time oranges at the cricket. 🏏

Sat, 04 Jan 2025 15:08:00 +0100

This tree, as big kid says, is sus.

Sat, 04 Jan 2025 15:04:51 +0100

Today’s trees.

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.

Fri, 20 Dec 2024 22:55:22 +0100

Nice tree, but it makes walking on the pavement almost impossible if you’re over five feet tall.

Mon, 16 Dec 2024 20:33:57 +0100

This morning’s trees.

Sun, 15 Dec 2024 12:14:08 +0100

Cricket match well underway in my local park at 9:30 this morning.

Thu, 05 Dec 2024 12:38:24 +0100

Luxury flats newly built by the canal.

The absence of windows on the sides of the blocks is presumably so that the residents don’t have to see the people in the poor houses next door.

Sun, 01 Dec 2024 20:02:18 +0100

Our little tree now has lights.

Kids were excited but chilling out now to carols.

Sat, 30 Nov 2024 17:39:09 +0100

Kids decorated our little xmas tree, but I left the batteries in the lights all year, so they’re ruined.

I think I might have binned the star lights I usually hang in the window - a relief as they cause a disproportionate amount of stress untangling and hanging them.

Fri, 22 Nov 2024 10:28:09 +0100

This lovely tree by the bridge over the canal near my kids' school at Toplocks is gone.

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.

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.

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.

Mon, 13 Nov 2023 10:10:49 +0100

Bit of a damp squib today, but eleven years ago these were the scenes the morning after Diwali.

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.

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!

Sun, 11 Jun 2023 16:01:27 +0100

Morning walk, ostensibly to source the kids' favourite ice lollies. Mission unaccomplished.

Tue, 24 Jan 2023 18:52:29 +0100

Big kid with the tree he planted at his school.

Sat, 21 Jan 2023 00:27:59 +0100

I hadn’t realised until today that they are building a new park with “viewing mounds” (similar to those at Northala Fields?) beyond Glade Lane park.

Mon, 16 Jan 2023 14:09:35 +0100

Big kid woke up with a sore throat and didn’t want to go to school. Gave him paracetamol and told him he should spend the day in bed to recover. Half an hour later he bounced back into the living room with “I’m back”.

Tue, 20 Dec 2022 19:03:49 +0100

Man carrying straw on a pitchfork?

Tue, 06 Dec 2022 18:09:04 +0100

Love this tree.

Tue, 29 Nov 2022 20:04:26 +0100

Christmas tree and lights up. Boys did most of the tree decorating. Much quicker and less stressful than previous years.

Sat, 19 Nov 2022 15:00:40 +0100

Wife is eating fish and chips while watching Korean soap on her tablet, while our little one sits on my knee eating chips and watching Sesame Street on TV.

Big one is fully immersed in Minecraft.

Tue, 15 Nov 2022 11:01:38 +0100

This tree is broken and falling into the water.

Tue, 15 Nov 2022 10:56:45 +0100

Glad I don’t have to decorate this tree.

Mon, 14 Nov 2022 18:03:49 +0100

Some beautiful trees at my son’s school.