"Only Old On The Outside!"

On the Twentieth-Eighth of October in the Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Twenty, I celebrated my seventieth birthday. I woke up with, "Phew! I've made it!" My allocated lifespan is complete, I am content. I feel that if I had died younger,  the cosmos would have cheated me somewhat.

Regular readers of this blog will be aware of my goal of living to be 106. This apparently random number, is the result of the calculation that I made that I needed to live to be 106 to get back the seven years worth of monthly contributions I put into an investment plan that pays me twenty pounds a month. I will not go into the ins and outs of my foolishness, time has blunted the edge of my wrath, and left me a lot less inclined to stick around to the over-ripe age of 106, given the state the world is in, and the fact that I do not wish to outlive my friends.

i had a typical coronovirus-aware day. 11am I went to church (Our Lady of Lourdes, Newent) to check the mail, sort out the Track and Trace Register for attendees, open the windows, refill the sanitisers, all the things "who-would have-ever-dreamed-we'd-be-doing-a-year-ago." Mass is at midday, celebrated by Fr Barnabas Page, who could not help himself but inform the gathered faithful that the 28th October as well as being my birthday, is the feast of St Simon and St Jude. You may not be aware that St Jude is the patron saint of hopeless causes ... I dutifully laugh.

After Mass, the privilege of taking Holy Communion to Ann and Lawson, who live close to by. It's the whole, mask-distance-sanitise routine all over again, but the solemn moment of giving and receiving the Body of Christ loses nothing of it's sacred beauty.

So, I'm home before three for a gin and a nap. Well, I'm seventy, I reason, and perfectly entitled to both!

I have a new top to wear out in the evening. I like it. It's pink and grey and a bit sparkly. I think it looks just fine.

"Reminds me of Manchester City's away strip." remarks my somewhat- less -than -better- half (on this occasion). He has been taking lessons on gallantry from his sons-in-law, but sometimes, he flunks the course.

I posh myself up, and at 4:30pm we head off with eldest daughter, Jen, through Gloucester, up the Cotswold escarpment, into autumn's blazing woods, to The Royal William, in the village of Cranham.

When the girls were growing up, we lived twenty minutes away, on the outskirts of the city, and came here for many celebrations. Hannah graduated from the children's menu, to steak, over there, Jen celebrated her 18th birthday in the next room, Kate recalled the occasion we carefully made our way down the poorly-lit steps from the car park and saw a glow worm by the path. I brought my staff here for lunch when I was appointed their headteacher. We sat at this very table.  I decorously recounted  'walking' in the woods with boyfriends, and, as a child, exploring every rise and hollow of this ancient Holt's Wood with my brother Adrian.

it was a wonderful meal. Gifts were offered and gratefully received. There was cake.

Coming home, I reflected on how lucky I am: I have a wonderful family, seven amazing grandchildren, loyal friends, and a lifetime of amazing adventures to look back on, and be thankful for.

Final thought: I have many adventures to look forward to as well. As I never tire of telling anyone who stops to listen, "I'm only old on the outside!"

Oysters With My Father

"I'd like to see Paris and die," my father announced, rather unexpectedly one day. 

My mother had travelled no further than the Isle of Sheppey in her entire lifetime, and made no secret of the fact that she had no interest in going anywhere more exotic. So, after her death in 2002, dad had taken stock, and decided to take off.

He got himself a passport and applied to join a trip organised by The Gloucester Citizen, to Berlin, but that was cancelled for lack of numbers, and dad set his sights on the city that never sleeps (Or is that Chicago? I don't know, but I like it.)

For some inexplicable reason, I can't actually remember how we got there: but my money's on Eurostar, as my father was a railwayman, in one o his iterations, and remained a great fan of the iron horse. 

My sister and her family came too. we budged up in a budget hotel not too far from the Gare du Nord and set about exploring.

Versailles was extravagent, but exhausting. I remember queuing on the stairs, with a rest stop in an alcove, and glitz. I don't remember dad being particularly impressed.

Inevitably, we got lost, but for a reason that no-one could have anticipated. We were on the Metro when an an urgent announcement sounded and everyone started to leave. I stretched my utterly inadequate French to its limits,and dug deep.

"You know what people, I think 'incederie' is, 'bomb', and I think we should follow these guys ... "

The Metro then closed down for a spell, and after  a fruitless search for our hotel, during which Dad became very tired, we piled into taxis.

Dad insisted we stop at a wall that was pocked with bullet holes, where Resistance fighters had been executed, to have his photo taken. I thought this a rather macabre request, but then realised, the Second World War was HIS history, and THIS was his homage, to men and women whose heroic stories he'd heard as a teen, and who died fighting for him, too.

Ray and I took him for a meal at a restaurant, where dad was treated as a hero. it was so special. I ordered a table and exchanged greetings in the same inadequate French that had spotted a bomb, but the attention of the waiters was entirely on my father. They welcomed him in English, helped him choose his food and drink, and made him feel like an honoured guest: he revelled in it. It gladdened my heart to witness it.

We did all the other things, too, The Louvre, boat trip down the Seine, but the outstanding moment for me was the trip up the Eiffel Tower. 

I had one of those moments when I stopped time. I took in every detail of being with my father, who unknown to me, WAS to see Paris and die, ravaged by cancer and gone within two years.

There was something so beautiful, so incongruous about sitting opposite my father in a restaurant half-way up one of the most iconic structures in the world, slurping down oysters. 

The six-inch model dad bought to take home is mine now. It sits on my window sill and carries me beyond the mundane to the hour when time stood still, and I ate oysters with my father.

Night Post

I read on Twitter that tonight I would, along  with everyone else, be passing through a meteor shower. This seemed reason enough to execute a plan I’d been hatching since the purchase of a rather fancy hammock in March  - to sleep out under the stars.

So here I am.

 

I have spotted five meteors so far, and I’m thrilled. 

Things haven’t gone entirely to plan. A fabulous lightning storm to the north-east has been quite a distraction, visually, and a monster combine harvester less than a mile away has provided  a very noisy backdrop to what should have been a quiet night. 

It’s 11:42 now and relative silence has descended, clouds that appeared about fifteen minutes ago have floated on, and I’m about to resume my stargazing. 

Goodnight! 

“Left Bereft”

The Labour Party and I have come to a mutual agreement. I won’t pay for dodgy legal settlements, and they’ll stop taking my money.. We’ve split up. And it’s painful. 

I don’t feel anything but relief for not worrying about when my lifetime commitment to combating  hate-speech and discrimination would suddenly morph into rabid anti-semitism. I won’t miss being labelled a trot for wanting a decent standard of living for everyone. But I’ll miss the amazing buzz of the Party Conference alive with the excitement of being in a hall full of engaged people set alight by the radical policies introduced by Jeremy Corbyn 

Most of all, I’ll miss chairing my local branch with its dozen or so activists, that turned out for two elections doorstepping reluctant voters, cheerfully manning the Party Stall at the Oniin Fayre, blissfully unaware that back in Labour HQ the money we were paying in, was funding bureaucrats not only actively sabotaging our efforts, but willing to go on television and lie about their own. What mugs we were! 

The Labour Party is sensible now.They don’t do excitement. The poor are back in the box, the hungry relegated once more to food banks. And I’m gone 

Have you?

Do you want to connect with other “Lefties Who’ve Left”? Let’s do it! But first some rules. Just two to start. Others may evolve. 

We’re a support group. If you want to fight, go do it elsewhere. 

No hate-speech. 

EVERYONE from the left is welcome. 

How to get involved:

If you’re on Twitter, send me a direct message @maryeffrancis If you’re not, leave a comment here.

If you choose to be confrontational or rude, I’ll ignore you. 

Payback. 

Going Viral

Three months into the New Normal, and I'm stocktaking.

My Covid19 test result came through today within 36 hours of collection. I do not have the virus.I knew I didn't have it: but faithfully recording every symptom on the App supplied by the research team at King's College, London, has got me tested twice in three weeks. In research, a negative result is as useful as a positive one, as eny fule no.* 

The kit arrives from Amazon: a small flat-pack box, two plastic bags, one bio-sealed, a piece of absorbent material a long swab, a return label and a few bar-coded labels for identification purposes, a book of instructions, and a small test tube with about 10ml of fluid in it. 

The testing ballet involves a deep poke at the back of the throat, a swipe round both tonsils, and a nose-gouging that goes so far up, I think I reached my brain. Hands are ritually washed on two occasions. 

The challenge is in assembling the flat-pack box. The directions for the folding and tucking of it, which are more challenging than you can possibly imagine, are helpfully printed on the bottom of it. I have not mastered the art of holding a box at eye-level to read and fold simultaneously. I suspect I might.

As an introvert, missing out on the socialising has not been especially painful, though it will be a relief to get SOME back. There are meetings I chair that absolutely nobody appears to be missing, which is a lesson well-learned, and I get the Church all to myself, as I do the Health and Safety Checks, which is great, though I am mourning the loss of fellowship and Holy Communion. 

The biggest sacrifice for the benefit of staying alive, is missing my family. I don't even want to write about it, except to say how amazing the reunions will be!

I have achieved many small things. I fixed my old Singer sewing machine, if temporarily, as the tension's gone to pot again. I made a banner for Church, I set up a website for Newent Labour Party, sort of paying it forward, as I haven't posted anything on it for weeks ..., I finished a baby jacket I started decades ago, and abandoned on dropping a stitch, and I have begun a new hobby:making sweets.

I spend fine days in the garden. I have grown rhubarb from seed, peppers (from shop-bought ones) and sunflowers (from birdseed) are coming on too. The experiment of growing potatoes in a bucket isn't doing too well, as the plants are 'going home'as my dear mum used to say of artefacts that are not going to make it. My bramble patch is doing well, ie growing through the honeysuckle, and the perennial alpine strawberries are thriving too. I miss the strawberry hunts I had with Sam last year, and two years before that. Next year.

Wet days, I binge-watch stuff on the tv. Ray and I have worked our way through Wallender, Doc Martin and Belgravia. 

i am rather ashamed of the fact that I haven't made a better fist of recording, 'What I Did During The Pandemic', in the manner of Samuel Pepys. (Did he ever get to dig up the Parmesan Cheese he buried in his garden whilst fleeing the Fire of London? I must Google it ...) 

like all bad things, this too will pass.  In 1954 Gary Salisbury, my playmate and next-door neighbour, died of polio. I have to remind myself, in the midst of this, that mine is the first generation that have lived,until now, without a plague. People lived, people died, then some kind of normality returned until the pestilence returned. So be it.

* Nigel Molesworth. Gold star if you placed it.

A Poem: Midsummer Moon

God's Free Gifts

I set myself the goal at the beginning of the lockdown of blogging every day. Why do I do this to myself? Like that was ever going to happen! Anyway, here I am six weeks in, on my third post, trying to shape the experience for posterity. 

I admit, at the start, I didn't expect to survive it. You may be surprised to hear this didn't worry me too much for myself:the thought of death fills me with curiosity, a touch of excitement, even. What's the point of faith if it doesn't kick in now? I grieve for the suffering my demise will bring to everyone who loves me, and that's it. 

I stopped worrying about a lot of stupid things, which in the face of  catastrophe, didn't seem worth the energy: I stopped weighing myself. I don't wear a watch, I go to bed and get up when I want to, and I no  longer feel guilty when eating chocolate. The human-inflicted crises to come - Brexit and climate change - receded as the imminent threat of this global pandemic took centre-stage.

There are no compensations, though for the separation from my family, I miss my children and grandchildren continually, and their absence is the most powerful motivator to keep the curfew: to play with the kids again.

When I worked in Lower Kroza, my African friends would say goodbye with,"Go well!" I leave you with the response;

"Stay Well." 

I intend to.

The clamour  to re-engage with society is growing. A few hours ago, a friend sent round a petition to reopen the churches. I replied with latest data on infection rates. at R=0.7 in the South West, the bishops won't countenance it, and I guess are content to take the blame for their insistence on caution. God doesn't follow the science:he invented it.

I would say some of the favourite readings in the bible amongst Christians, are the letters of St Paul referencing the gifts and fruits of the Spirit. Love, Peace and Joy have their place, but in these troubled times, Hope Patience and Perseverance top my list.

 

God Awakening

God Awakening

I will celebrate the victory of my God in silence, and in song. 

I will gaze upon the likeness

Of the one-who-was pierced.

I will touch the mystery

Of the dead-one-living.

I will trace his signature over my heart: North to South

East to West:

King of Kings Lord of Lords.

I will open my mouth to sing the serenade of the stars, 

The song of the angels before the throne of God.

I will shout into the sunrise, a canticle for my King: 

‘Rejoice! Rejoice!

The Lord is Risen -

Alleluia!’

I will bury myself in his joy, And, with laughter,

I will rise again.

The King Sleeps

The King Sleep

I will mine the agony of my God with a pick and a lamp. I will hew the stones and teach them to cry ‘Hosanna!’

I will fashion a tomb to bloom in a garden

I will fracture the face of Israel with a blow

That will become an earthquake 

To awaken the dead.

I will set my lamp beneath a splintered tree

I will close my ears against the forsaken cries of the Holy One 

I will seal my mouth against the acrid taste of blood

I will shut my eyes to hide the corpse that hangs above me. 

His eyes, not -closed. His body, not-clothed.

‘IT IS FINISHED!’

It’s over. 

God -

Adored, outpoured - passes over.

Numbed, beyond fear, I whisper a lullaby into the dark: 

‘Be still. Be still.

Night dawns.

Death dies -

The King sleeps.’

Holy Week

“ Let nothing disturb you...”

Today’s invitation to stillness is particularly challenging these days. How is it possible to be ‘undisturbed”  when death, quite literally, stalks the land, and I am locked away

inside my home to keep out of his way?

With my Catholic brothers and sisters all over the world,,  I enter the  sacred  Easter Triduum.

For three days, I will be in two places at once.

As the sun goes down, a candle will be set in my window, as a prayer for the people who are suffering right here and now - and for the many amazing people who are literally laying their lives on the line for me: health workers, public service workers, everyone who must carry on despite the danger.

First place, then,: United in prayer with the saints, living and dead, for the suffering world, suffering which Jesus takes physically into his body on the Cross. The Cross has always spoken to me in this way: as far as I cause suffering to others in this world, I bear responsibility for the Crucifixion. Christ hangs there dying. His message: “This is what sin does. Be free of it!” 

Second place: Here, now. Living my ordinary day in an extraordinary way. Quietly joyful, Quietly sorrowful - both are present, both are true.

Letting nothing disturb me is a devotion, learned surprisingly  perhaps, from Buddhists, who practice “equanimity’ as a step on the path to  enlightenment. Yes, it has to be practised. 

Be here now, for sure, but be too, in that extraordinary place between worlds:  join the eternal dance where suffering and death is overcome by resurrection and renewal. Always.

“Save us Saviour  of the world, for by your cross  and resurrection, you have set us free.’

https://youtu.be/fYrl60N0Qb8

 

The Chimney Sweep And The Pig

My church friends are circulating funny stories to keep us smiling. Here’s mine. A bit of ‘Matson Nostalgia’ 

                    ***********

Here’s my favourite story from growing up at Matson, a large Council  Estate under Robinswod Hill, in Gloucester. It’s at least 90% true!

Mr Green, the chimney sweep lived at No 1Beacon Rd , his work was seasonal, and on at least one occasion,  extraordinary measures had to be taken  to feed his family. 

My father was a Special Constable for many years, and this is the story of his encounter with Mr Green and Farmer Peacey’s pig. 

One day, probably in early Spring, when fires were still in the grates, the local Bobby on the Beat called for my dad on his way to Peacey’s farm, to investigate the theft of a pig.

It did not take the resources of the forensics department - were there such a body back in 1957 - to piece together the crime scene, and apprehend the perpetrator, because Mr Green had inadvertently left his spectacle  case, with his name and address neatly printed inside, on the spot formerly occupied by the pig. 

It was a short walk from the farm to No 1Beacon Rd, and as the two officers of the law approached the door of the house, it was evident from the dying screech of the victim, and the general uproar, that for Mr Green, the game was well and truly UP. 

The door was eventually opened by a very small Green, who like the rest of the crime scene, was liberally splattered with blood.

(A pig, my father discovered, does not shuffle off this mortal coil without putting up a fight. )

Before the hapless sweep could get himself any deeper into hot water, my father remarked,

“Stan, that ‘ould better be a pig lying on your kitchen table, or you’re in SERIOUS trouble.” 

! !

Stay safe, everyone! 

Mary

Poet’s Think They’re It

First, you take a twinkle in God's eye.

I don't know, perhaps being the Only One was

Too lonely, even for a Deity. So ...

In an explosion of imagination, it all kicked off.

Did She have to think about, for, like,

Eons? Imagining the juxtaposition of quarks

The spin of electrons and

The mass of a boson?

I doubt it.

I'm alert to the possibility that

God thought, one day, of Me.

"Now THERE'S a thing!" He cried. 

"Let's do this!"

And out it came!

The firmament -

The waters above and below -

Stars, bears, whales and flowers -

(I am especially fond of flowers)

!

I don't expect that God had to gather, chop and stir

I'm Old School. 

I think They said,

"Let there be Light,"

And there was light.

And at the end of it all,

There

Was

ME! 

Grandma School

This is a multiage, multidisciplinary project for my grandchildren aged 12. 8 and 5 years. . It comprises Geography, Orienteering, Observation, English language and literature, mathematics and science. It’s here for them, but might give  others some ideas too. 

1. Here’s a walk in Newent. It is less than 2km from your home. Find it on the map of the town:

2. Park outside Granparents house and make a lot of noise until they come to the window! Wave! 
3. Look at the compass at the top of the map. Head south until: HERE! 

3. Follow the footpath marked on the map. Spot where grandad was at these locations. They are in order:

4. When you get HERE, head south again towards Highfield Cottage. Without cheating, time how many steps you take in one minute. Count them. 

Sam count in ones. Abigail shout , “Buzz” on every multiple nine, Rosie, record the number of steps taken by Dad and Sam, and work out the ratio when you get home. 




5. On your walk you will see these plants. Find them on the internet before you leave and put a cross on the map where  you see them: 

Viola raviniana 

Narcissus pseudonarcissus

Arum maculatum

Ficaria verna 

Taraxacum officianale

Which one of these is also called pis-a-lit in French: what does that mean in English? 

6.  Find and read the Greek myth of Echo and Narcissus.

7. Find and read William Wordsworth’s poem, ‘The  Daffodils’ as dramatically as you can. Then in a very silly voice. 

8. Wordsworth lived in the Lake District find how many miles away that is and Rosie, convert the total to km. 

9. What does the word, “Dove” have to do with Wordsworth, and what was his Sister’s name? 

10. Make a video about your walk and put on your family web page! 

Most of all. Have fun! 

Love, Grandma. 

Grandma’s Bio: Retired headteacher of a small multi age village primary school. Millennium Award recipient, designated a ‘Global Teacher’ Former Head Teacher of the only state Primary in the south of England that was authorised to teach the International Baccalaureate (Primary Years) Missing the kids. 

Apocalypse Now?

A verse in the bible that caught my eye, oh, so long ago, is this one:" As in the days of Noah people will be going about their business, then, Wham! It's all over! No-one will see it coming ..." (You may not recognise this as word for word, from Matt 24, , but believe me, I've caught the gist.) 

There is a myth in the bible about a righteous man, Noah, who built an enormous boat and saved himself and his family from a worldwide flood. It goes like this:Everyone else went about harming themselves and killing others, so God called, "Time!" and sent a flood to wipe everybody out except the good guys, and two, or five, of every animal, who went into self-isolation in that very, very, big boat. The naughty people,meanwhile,  had been going to the market and hiring wedding venues, just as they always did, entirely oblivious to their impending doom. Noah had seen it coming, and bought gopher wood.

 

I little care about offending bible literalists who shy away in disbelief at my use of the word, "myth" . A story can be a myth, and still carry an essential truth. Myths usually do... Bhuddists call it Karma, when bad things happen as a consequence of terrible behaviour. "You plant a peach tree, you get peaches ..." That's how it is. The idea of a vengeful deity who can create flawed people in the first place, then drown them for their flaws, doesn't do it for me.

 

Moving on ..

So, this isn't the end of the world then. The pandemic isn't an unforeseen event, the virus won't discriminate between the goodies and the baddies, but nevertheless, this DOES feel a bit apocalyptic, I think because the world as we knew it on 1January 2020, will not be the world that it is unfolding.

 

Imagine what it could become. There's the world of the low-life who mugged the nurse for her ID, and stole the grocery-shop from the boot of the car of the man in a wheelchair, there's always that option. Those would be the people who will eventually drown in the flood of their own inhumanity. Then there are my people, your people, who are responding to this worldwide emergency with an outpouring of goodness and compassion.

 

Let's work on that one. The ark that we have built is our ordinary everyday good-heartedness that will not see a neighbour go hungry, or a homeless man die on the streets. Threats too big for us to imagine, change the world, but first, they change us.

 

Stay well.

 

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Progress!

The Indoor Bucket List is making some progress, though not in the garden:too wet. Making the sourdough starter has met with a couple of setbacks: the floor and water option dried into an unappetising lump, the second go was a ‘nonstarter’ because I bought the wrong sort of yoghurt, which  then ended up as yesterday’s dessert. Today’s attempt will be Betty Crocker’s recipe which requires regular yeast. Wish me luck. 

I’ve picked the banner, and will begin sorting out fabric once I’ve got the starter on the rise. 

I’ve finished the Labour Party Newsletter and it’s ready for approval by the Exec Committee, so I’m ahead of the game. Eleven weeks five days to go. 

I’m writing this whilst watching Silent Witness.series 16 Episode 2, 

My Awakened Heart

I'm not a terribly religious person. My prayer life is erratic, my behaviour pretty much indistinguishable from that of every normal grandmother with a comfortable lifestyle, just follow me on Twitter if you need proof of my utter normality... .

 

But it's Lent, and as the memorial of the death of the Beloved approaches, I make a bit of an effort. By a series of almost random events, I find myself this year making the most of the Mystics .I hadn't thought them to be so grounded, so loving and humble. I like them.

 

It's probably an advantage being a poet, to begin to make sense of the language of a mystic, because they have to resort to metaphor and imagery to try to express what is beyond knowing or to make sense of what cannot even be known, that can only be experienced. Frankly, boxing Experience into the word, 'God', doesn't work so well any longer, and may be evidenced in our failure to attract people to our faith and religious practices. Maybe drawing people into the experience of unconditional love, makes more sense than trying to get them into a church?

 

I'm at the end of what I know, which is so little, but this I have learned. I was known and loved from before the cosmos took shape, and every breath I take is a gift. This is my truth, which will seem delusional to most of you who read this, but as Thomas Merton writes:

 

"I will not break faith with my awakened heart."

 

And so, Thomas Merton, by James Finley:

 

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/turning-to-the-mystics-with-james-finley/id1494041647?i=468517468

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Well, Isn’t This Fun?

As one of The 'Loved Ones' scheduled for possible elimination, I'm in an apocalyptic state of mind. “What? “ I'm asking myself. “Would I like to be my ' last post'? What would be my final message from the gallows? The final cry before going under the wheels of that bus?”

I have a cold. Is it a cold? My temperature’s at 36.2C Is that good news  or bad? Yesterday it was 35.6C . What’s THAT all about?

Despite the rather gloomy opening, I'm fine. Absolutely fine. I'm rather looking forward to being a shut-in. I have composed a  " Self-Isolator Indoor Bucket List" and this is it:

1. Clear my large unruly garden of ground elder.
2. Perfect the art of making sourdough bread.
3. Journal on this Blog every day.
4. Write a discussion paper for the Labour Party Branch that I'm Cnair of, to keep the red flag flying here.
5. Finish at least two of the unread books sitting on my Kindle
6. Make a Banner for Church
7. Taxt or call my daughters every day.
8. Call my friends
9. Binge Watch 'Silent Witness' on Iplayer
10. Perfect the habit of no-waste home-catering
11. Get seriously into National Poetry Month this year.
12. Work on the Parish Plan

So, this isn't my last post by any means. Hopefully

:)

What’s up?

Writing to a friend,  Alix, a journalist who escaped a fate worse than death in Uganda,  when I just couldn't find the word, 'shameless'. The sentence wanted to be, "The children went to bed with just a few bribes, I'm .... " I had to substitute, "without compunction" but I was curious. Where had the word gone? How many more have vanished without trace and I don't  even know it yet?

I decided it was useless to worry about it: instead I chose to make a game of it .. Reckless ?
Lacking in moral fibre?

I went all around the houses. Or kept fishing. Both.

As is the way of these things the word came back in a eureka moment in the bath. Now there's another thing:some autonomous programme deep beneath my consciousness was bevearing  away until, BINGO! I wrote a poem about it.

Shameless

I put my hand in the sack and
Realised some of my words were missing!
What now? I thought, observing this
Peculiar phenonemum with
Concern and curiosity.

Phew! How reassuring!
The ones I wanted for this
Particular poem
Are STILL HERE.

Ode To Joy

Today I formally cease to be a citizen of the European Union, and this fills me with great sadnessThe arguments rage backwards and forwards on the merits of being in or out of the EU, and I am not going to rehearse them here. Time will tell. I comfort myself with the belief that that which truly unites people across international boundaries, goodwill, friendship, willingness to work for the common good, cannot be negated by a single act of folly.

And my very last act as an EU citizen is one of splendid defiance. Take it away Beethoven!

https://youtu.be/kbJcQYVtZMo

Y

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OK, We’re Stuffed!

Do you know that projections on the economic  effects of climate change are predicted on the assumption that 87% of industry won’t be effected by it because it “takes place indoors”?? 

And this includes mining. 

Professor Steve Keen tells it likes it is: you have to engage your brain, because he explains the science, and he says, “fucking” once. As his home town is now on fire, I’m inclined to forgive him that. 

https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/macro-n-cheese/id1453085489?i=1000462989017

Keeping Calm And Carrying On

On occasion I write a title with no idea what I'm going to say, knowing from experience that once I'm, "in the flow!" Something of interest will emerge, at least of interest TO ME.  Oh yes.

I fought alongside socialist friends for the Labour Party in last month's election, and am still saddened by the result. That we lost, is a deep wound. Fighting for the homeless, the hungry, the stranger, for redistributing wealth so that working families are raised above the poverty line, protecting workers rights and universal healthcare was important to me. I console myself with the thought that I stood with the good guys, and I have no regrets for doing so. A deeply conservative neoliberal administration has been given an unassailable majority and will take it as permission to continue the process of ripping apart the social fabric of this nation. But not with my consent. 

How then do I deal with disappointment verging on despair? To acknowledge it, and to make something of lasting significance, if possible, I suppose. 

Maybe the worst won't happen. (It won't happen to ME, at least ...) I hope not. But if catastrophe is to be avoided,  everyone of good will is going to have to step up. When you have elected  a government that will withdraw from caring for its citizens, you need to choose. Are you prepared to watch more people die from broken services and the removal of a welfare safety net, or will will put the energy you mustered for  a political fight into a humanitarian one? 

The omens are not good. 

So, "Keep Calm And Carry On"? Not there yet. I'll keep you posted. 

Election Reflection

Twitter Thread 02/01/2020

I’m taking my head out of the sand. The Labour Party in not fit for purpose. It cannot be an effective opposition while it’s ideologically riven by irreconcilable worldviews.

We on the left watched in fascinated horror, as RW Party members continually undermined Corbyn.

Just to enumerate a few examples: the leadership challenge, the amplification of antisemitism, the disgraceful treatment of left-wingers expelled from the party, the endless media appearances attacking the party leadership, and now, the insistence that people like me be purged.

And now the gleeful assertion that the left is responsible for the GE defeat, and the insistence that to become, ‘electable’ we return to the policies and mindset that led to a decline in vote share before the 2017 election, which Corbyn, to the shock of the right, halted.

I’m not going to submit to this. I’m not going to rally round Andrew Adonis, I’ll not be voting or supporting anyone who wants to take the party back to some mythical centre where we are acceptable to Murdoch, and palatable to the comfortably well-off:who will vote LDem anyway

The defining issue of our age is the impending climate catastrophe. Does anyone believe that the neoliberal free-market free-for-all that brought us to the brink of the sixth mass extinction, is capable of mitigating the effects? Conservatism and Liberalism have no solutions.

When society begins to break down, and WAKE UP PEOPLE, it WILL, who do you want deciding your grandchildren’s future? A fake-Labour ‘Trust us, we’re not really socialist, honestly... “ faction, or true socialists committed to a just society that works for all?

This coming leadership election will be one of the most important votes I have ever cast. Whichever, ‘side’ wins, be sure of one thing:,there will be no truce. There will be open warfare, and you know what, I WELCOME it. I’m tired of putting up with being vilified.

@UKLabour simply cannot go on with influential RW members constantly subverting what was a popular revolution in 2015. This was never about a man, it was a massive call for radical change.

We must vote in a socialist as our party leader. And bugger the consequences.

And finally: Modetn Monetary Theorist Bill Mitchell explaining how Labour lost the North and Midlands, and why we deserved to:

https://podcasts.apple.com/gb/podcast/macro-n-cheese/id1453085489?i=1000459589014