Beware of the "new"sixties...

"An era of deluded self indulgent toxic liberalism". Sez I. I have little pleasure in remembering those times. Remember them I truly do. Folk talk a lot about the "sex, drugs rock and roll", side of the new freedom that pervaded post war Britain. Few took the promotion of a national austerity program seriously. When rationing ended I was deliberately conceived as a little bit of affordable extra. Britain had signed the European convention of the Declaration of Human Rights and Fundemental freedom. I was born in 1951. The signing was a signal that it was safe to bring kids into the world without the risk of war ruining all familial progress. Theresa May wants to abandon the Human Rights Act, a very recent confirmation that Britain actually believed in the Declaration at all. "I didn't think they meant human rights for them as well as us sarg," the point doesn't seem to have percolated down to the dominant home team .
the high table P.C. front men did a wonderful job of promoting Britain's post colonial image. the mistakes of Empire were foolishly ignored, whilst the survivors of the "Winning side" dipped their bread in as many of the licentious excesses that the new found "disposable incomes" could buy. Most of Britain is now in the grip of the hangover residual from those times. Being surrounded by the New Age of First World compulsive consumerism , did next to nothing to improve my last worlder reality. As a child of first generation immigrants I got a chance to taste and try but without the opportunity to buy into the new prosperity. For now I will keep my own counsel as to why that should be so.
The new Era of which Gandhi spoke is a global reality but the media promotion of the concept of the "New World Order" seems to have displaced the bourgeoning hope that that his vision embued. Gandhi is dead, so too Martin Luther King, John Lennon is an airport now,(I don't know how he did it). The wet knickered hysteria of the age of Beatle mania did nothing for me the first time round. The regurgitated carambis of nostalgia for what in retrospect may be regarded as a popular psychosis, a mental illness in fact.
My journey away from what I regard as "the big mistake" has been a difficult one. I am Sixty now. My sixties will be utilised in a way that have a greater chance for lasting success than any of the popular promotions to date. The children of the last Babylonian Empire are in desperate need of guidance away from the funnel traps that lead to cyclical repeat of the historic folly.

The journeyman's pen...

With tales that may not yet be told until the noble cause is won,whilst juggernauts leave deserts in their wake. The pen describes a word unsoiled by mortal tongue. The hoe, now guides us on the path that we must take.
A tick, a sign confirming all correct.It steers a course away from certain doom,the price of Man's neglect. A key, a note. transcending symphony, aspires to sainted harmony and opens gates to our true destiny.

To St. Malo Ferry Terminal Port Police...

We arrived early, some fifteen minutes or so before our expected visitor was due to disembark. Preoccupied, excited in anticipation. Not on the look out for entertainment,I couldn't help but notice a tired looking young couple fumbling with each others buttons. Both parties being oblivious of anything but each other without consideration of the effect their display may have on the sensibilities of others. We were in a public place. The witnessed action was not what I regarded as discrete .
I made a comment , "I hope they don't start breeding." Within earshot of the couple, at which the young woman volunteered to ask me how I dared to say such a thing. Given that the subject matter of our mutual interest had been diverted to something more acceptable in a public forum I was happy to discuss how I, anyone in fact ought to be able to dare to speak without inhibition. The couple lost interest in the conversation ? their behaviour modified , perhaps their spirits somewhat dampened. I was content to pace around a while longer,unaware of the consequences my brief encounter may have had. My choice of words may have been more acceptable if I had suggested they got a room.
Without warning I found myself surrounded by five police persons one woman and four men. The sergeant of the group seemed a little agitated. He asked for I.D. I complied as politely as one may , in looking for my passport I exposed a flute which I habitually carry in my inside pocket. The sergeant asked me what it was. I told him , little satisfied he told me to take it out "Slowly". I took out the instrument explaining once more that it was a flute and proceeded to play a short bar of music , a mere three second burst of not unpleasant sound. The sergeant seemed incensed that I should play. I wasn't aware that there was any reason to be agressive or too serious.
The policeman engaged with Anne-Sophie making an issue of the fact that I am English. Intimating that I could be sent back to Britain. Anne-Sophie an articulate woman informed the sergeant that I was her husband and a permanent resident of France. That I was acting within my constitutional rights. Taking issue with the sergeant assuming wrongly that I had commited any offence at all. whether I was native to France or a foreign national I was acting within my rights. No right at all for the police sergeant , a man of some North African lineage,if I am not mistakened to suggest , imply at least that I would be sent back to the place from whence I came. In retrospect I hope the irony doesn't escape him. A hollow threat with no right in law to implement. The sergeant made a big play of not wanting to be delayed from going home to his family, as though my action was causing him the inconvenience. We asked all the police present what was the nature of the complaint and who if anyone had made it.
None of the officers knew what complaint had been and were unable even if they wanted to identify. Prepared to deport me against my rights as a citizen and against interntional law without legitimate cause to a country which for several years has not been my home, without charge and without trial??? The sergeant was making himself and his colleagues look foolish. The sergeant complained to Anne-Sophie that I had played my flute,(the three second burst) and that HE was a policeman. He did need to be told twice after request what the object was.
All but sergeant appeared to want a swift end to a minor but growing embarrasment. He then asked who was I waiting for, I told him, "My son."
Sergeant of port police then asked me if he was English. Not seeing the point , I volunteered that he is. "Good then we can send him back instead".
One wonders what problems the sergeant hoped to solve by his provocative posturing. I indicated to the policeman That for all his officious , none productive and ill conceived bluster it was I who was being tolerant. His colleagues were nearer by their manner to having views more closely in accord with mine. A point worthy of note is that in my passport there is no address. The only verification was Anne-Sophies verbal confirmation that I was telling the truth. She was not asked for identification. How could they know that she wasn't lying. There was no objective investigation of any complaint, neither civil nor criminal. The younger policemen behaved well enough, standing "at ease" in a state of readiness but still sociably responsive and rightfully non partisan. My passport was taken away by the policewoman to be photocopied and presumably for security checks to be made. The sergeant then made the "offer", that we should be taken into a backroom. and for formal charges to be drawn up. Still no indication of what if any offence had given cause for complaint. We declined the"offer" to be interviewed in private, prefering to have all procedure publicly transparent. We had up to this point been co-operative and civil. I did comment on the Sergeants grossly uneconomic use of resources was not justified by effective result. Five police personnel deployed without cause. overmanning to say the least , but a distraction from observing any real potential security risk. The sergeant was insistant that matters should be taken further (What matters?) blessed we were that the plain clothes policeman had the initiative to calm the sergeant and insisted that due proceedures had been followed ,no legitimate reason to escalate the incident. The police sergeant lends the lie that he wanted to get home early to his family. A spot security check in the full public view of the open lounge was acceptable, further action unwarranted , had we been coerced further, to the backroom, the police action would be considered an unlawful detention.
The police sergeant appeared to be motivated by personal prejudice alone. He presents the the port with an unacceptable risk. His attitudes were observed to be overtly xenophobic. the sergeant was attempting to incite acts against the Public Order, by insiduously implied threats citing immediate deportation and / or my visitor may be harassed, beyond the lawful authourity of his office. Given the passive circumstance the presence of five police officers may be considered a bullying threat. Grateful I am for my own objective self control. Grateful too for the presence of Madame Godden to bear witness. An international ferry terminal is hardly the best placement for a person of the sergeant's irrational xenophobic disposition. There are over 50 thousand families resident in northern France with legitimate interests on both sides of the channel, European citizens. Why should ones nationality be considered grounds for suspicion or targeted persecution. Would the sergeant consider it to be just if on the grounds of his own cultural origin to be subject to the same unmandated treatment. If the boot were on the other foot,sergeant, how comfortably would you stand?
A review is in order, an audit if you will, of the aproprietness of,and the effectiveness of police security procedures. Views implicitly expressed by the sergeant need to be addressed as an issue of some international concern. Not in the public interest to ignore. The integrity of the other officers is put at risk, the hard won good will enjoyed by the Police force is compromised.
Whilst hoping that a response would be civilly volunteered by the police sergeant, publicly or privately however as he may, I have no wish to go further with formal complaint. My open communication is by way of feedback, that some practical intelligence be gleaned that would in some way justify the otherwise extreme waste of public resources. I.Wazir.

Pioneers...

Silver birch seedlings , they will be trees when they grow up.

Pear blossom and aubrieta

Browned off with the corporate "Green"...To Oliver Tickell

Academic waffle, arguments and key board chatterbox distraction. I keep bumping into articles and references to Mr. Tickell's active interest in climate change. Just something he has learned to do the clever speak about. "Must be his dad's influence rubbing off", thinks I.It don't sit well with me Ollie.
At the risk of mounding heaps more trouble on my already over full plate.It struck me that the F.A.R.C. have done more for the ecology of the planet than all the corporate sponsored think tanks and propaganda agents within the Oxford ring road. Why so? 60% of Colombia has been asset stripped and denuded of trees.Slave driven plantations and mineral prospecting have over a few centuries reduced the land to near desert, kept productive with chemicals. The baddies in the real life movie want to strip the rest of the available forest land , that 40% is within the control of the F.A.R.C.
We were there fact finding on the ground. Assuredly not a holiday.Not indulging in the white powder made us very popular in the poor quarter.We were engaged in making kitchen gardens. During our stay we were offered land at a low price by a displaced man, who although he still owned the land was afraid to return to continue farming his small holding. He had bought the land with a view to making a quick cash return by cutting down his major trees by clear felling and slash and burn. The trees would have been sold for timber.The F.A.R.C. sectretariat visited him, to advise at first on the inappropriateness of his methods, not in the best long term interests of his small holding, his region, the country or the planet. The messenger explained about the forest being the lungs of the world and whatever else was good reasoning for him to desist. "It is my land, I own it, they can't, stop me ". He continued to abuse the privilege of his custodianship. A second visit from the secretariat followed the warning delivered, that if he caused them to visit him a third time they would shoot him. pragmatic man ,Eduardo left the region, he still owns the land. The F.A.R.C.were not opposing his right of ownership or any sustainable development. He would have sold the cleared land later to cattle men or biofuel exploiters. The erosion has to stop somewhere, they nipped it in the bud. A small example of real world activism.
I am not condoning armed struggle as the first course of action to gain equitable political change. In extremis as per our inviolable right Oliver someone has to stand on their hind legs and oppose the tyranny of unrestrained capitalist exploitation. No one got hurt and the trees were left standing. Eduardo couldn't sell the land as he could find no one able to cultivate and maintain by sustainable methods. Anyone wishing to buy the land for asset stripping would be deterred by the threat of violence or death.
The rest us of may be grateful in our more reflective moments to breath a small oxygenated sigh of relief for the principled stand the handful of outlawed ideologues are prepared to make.
Years ago you were commissioned to go to Peru at a time of a major cholera epidemic,to compile data that would encourage "eco-tourism". Who could avail themselves of that but the rich. With the proceeds of your working holiday you were able to buy your computer, the beginning of the end of your real time "green" credentials. Friend or FoE Oxford place men block all grassroots progress.
Time for a change, "Yes you can". You were better placed to have been opposing the colossal waste of resources that have been poured into the J.E.T. project in Culham. Perhaps you would not have been so popular with your privileged high table peers. You might however have displaced the coalman's son in Henley.At the very least you may have won one Ecology Party seat in the local council election.
Please don't talk patronising neo colonial bollocks in your proposed solutions to the world crisis Oliver. Don't speak of "Rich countries" owing a debt, speak of rich families.
I have just discovered your April fool joke to the world on the Youtube. Much piss and wind with little of inspiring substance. A disgraceful presentation. On your behalf given that I knew you over years I felt ashamed and embarrassed. Not a little angry Oliver.
You really think we should shove desperate working people back in the redundant car factories making wind turbines ??? You obviously have no idea of the sacrifice that good people have to endure to bear that drudgery week in year out.Bringing up family paying mortgage, you advocate a new age of industrialized slavery . Don't speak of a labour force as a resource to be exploited. And buy your book, visit your web site.
You haven't done enough real work yet to pay for the house you occupy. The glitch ridden lip waggling does not promote confidence in yoyur cause. Even sadder is the fact that as it is a cause commonly shared it proves to be a real obstacle on this side of the academic divide.
Yes we have known about the problem for years. Come and talk about the doing something practical. The several times I have invited you, you have hidden behind the excuse of having a family now. Plenty of time for self promotion. The book Oliver was out of date as a means to an end before you licked the data off the screen.
I challenge you Oliver to get your lazy lip service down here and start again or face being pilloried well into your retirement years.Your children will not thank you for being used as your defensive shield.
Look what you made me write. If I didn't care I wouldn't dare. Your dad sponsored your easy life beginning. You capitalised, ended up owning two houses designed to accommodate working class families. A nice little earner hey what.
And how is your good friend David Chapman, You spoke of the sad demise of the mother of his child and the sad effect disfunctional parenting may have had, you kept his name well out of the picture. The common background you shared perhaps encouraged the oversight. I moved out of Oxford because I couldn't get social housing Oliver it was all being bought up by entrepreneurs and property speculators. You had two, I lived in a mobile home. Easy to point the finger in every direction but yours. Address the emissions that are coming from your own pants. Hells bells man when I knew you, you were ten years younger than me now you look ten years older. Tell me with your mouth, in person ,what are you doing right?
I ask you Oliver, what kind of iconic example is that. Industrial Green soap (blue with a streak of yellow or yellow with a streak of blue) is nothing to do with ecology It is ruining your skin and doesn't make you look any cleaner ,nearer in your promotion to attempting to justify your royalty share of your father's investments. The real life progress is not academic. I may not retire ever as long as I have the strength to breath. There is too much work needs doing. We need greater inspiration in working class homes than garbled incoherent megaphone theatre. Wake up bhai you are letting your own side down. I'll get back to you.

That Teresa May...

And God help you all if she does... Human Rights for all not just her gombeen team.

Where iz this going???

I would rather look first at where was it before man got his hands on it. The wall is no higher than the substrate of our field. By rights it isn't even to ground level yet. Natural erosion and the action of mans agriculture has caused what was once topsoil, to slide down hill. The yard at the north side of the field was further degraded scraped down to the rock. That is the site for the wall in the picture. I tried to envisage how the land was before the village was built. My naive Idea that to be heading towards a state of grace the loss of the ecological infrastructure would need to be compensated for, hence my phrase reverse spillage. Our site is the bottom end of a ridge of schist, the thin end of the wedge. There is not a lot of mineral left. the active layer is now in the process of being improved. We will be at it years from now no doubt. On our arrival five years ago the seasonal deluge of rain caused the surface water to leave the land too fast with little time to penetrate to the aquifer below ground. The construction of the building in the yard serves two main purposes. It will provide a resistant porous barrier that will slow down the out flow of rain water to the ditches and streams.. Within the "block" of the stone barrier will be space a degree of modest traditional comfort and utility, workshop space play space. At present we dwell in a modernised building that has been rationalised to the point where the economics of maintaining it is not sustainable; We bought it, it is our problem. We did it with our eyes open. The building is "sick". I was shocked to discover that it was "upgraded" from once being a stable then a store room for potatoes, to a government approved standard. Happen that is an issue needing to be addressed at some future date. To overcome the negative effect the building has on our health , our economy and our overall comfort, we are creating a route away from a solely cash dependent life style. "The future was way back then, if it exists at all ," sez I. Beyond the watchtowers gaze and the dominant influence of vested commercial interest. It may be regarded as a grandiose plan, we don't think so, to regard our work here as a key to our own liberation and salvation.
Salvation from what? How about bills? It's a start. We are designing our future lives around the idea that we will have less capital expenditure less waste and a greater degree of creative freedom , a foreseeable end to the burden of modern wage slavery.
As the land the base of our terrestrial support, improves,towards a stable permanent culture, so too will our prosperity increase. Granted our little cottage has all "mod cons". It is a modern confidence trick for sure. It presents us with the dilemna of never being in control of our finances. We use the water from a system that seems to encourage waste. The Heating when we arrived was solely electric, nuclear powered air burners, drying the throat distributing dust by convection , the heaters all have fans. They don't heat the stone of the old house,as soon as we turned the heat down the air immediately chilled. Space heaters don't heat buildings. We don't have control of the weather so we are likely to be unable to predict in our household budgetting just how much money we would need when the electricity bill comes in. The cost per unit increases beyond the ability to pay without the sacrifice of other essential needs.The price rises are unpredictable, but we are contractually bound to pay. Our wood stove obviates the need for electric heating bills.The french government sponsors 50% of the stove price encouraging the use of renewable resources.
The floors in the cottage were once wood . A good insulator, comfortable to the naked foot they are now concrete. After a working lifetime suffering the damage caused by being forced to stand on concrete floors in industrial units as well as the city streets, one needs the comfort of at least neutral ambient temperature . We don't demand underfloor central heating, not the modern concept at any rate.
We cut the wood for the stove in advance of our needs, more than a two year reserve. We grow the wood , manage it for our future utility. As time goes by we will plant more. The floor timbers for the yard space are recycled posts from an old barn.. We are determined to consolidate our domestic resources and economic utilities, bring everything that is our life support back in,to our home domain. The little money we earn is put towards tools and materials that would empower us further. We don't want to go abroad nor anywhere else for our holidays. I want to be at home. I want to work at home. Live at home without the constraint of our familial energy being exploited for undue capital gain by entrepreneurs.
In this modernised building the shower room and the w.c. closet have a ventilation fan, so too the kitchen. It is permanently on. We have no choice, minimum or maximum. Moving air is important for health but we put ourselves in unecessary hardship working away from home to pay the energy bill.
We have been led by the nose for centuries in the wrong direction. The working man aspires to gain the perceived luxury of the historic master's unearned choice. Privilege borne of slavery."Disposable" incomes seduced to be squandered on the decadent facade of riches.
Our biggest outgoing at present is water. Not at all to our liking.We are gardeners, if we are to spend good money on water it would be justifiable to keep our potager alive.
The water that goes through the toilet and kitchen is pumped through a waste system(an electric pump), the solids settle and a contractor then must be paid to remove it. The overflow is channeled into the ditch nearby.. It is inevitable that we will establish a dry compost toilet in the field. Most of our working time is spent in the garden. We use no products that would be harmful to soil or once degraded and recycled would be harmful to our health. The solid waste then becomes a profitable utility, food for our crops. At present it is a continual source of expenditure. Until we can make a well in the field we will be dependent on water from the tap. Sad to say it isn't practical in our location to collect the water for use in the garden. We are separated from the field by a public road, the amount of work needed to carry saved waste water to the top of the garden is prohibitive in both time and human effort. Our aim is to stop wasting it so we will use the water clean.
Our contruction still looks like an interesting pile of rubble in most of the photo images. Rest assured progress is ongoing.
This years schedule should see the building of an interior wall to the circular enclosure. Lime mortar matrix holding millstone grit and schist rock from one angle, the outside of a soil retaining wall. Soil levels growing with each season. From another perspective the wall is the exterior of roundhouse . A working bothie.
The work in hand has been slow in getting moving. The heavy stuff always is. Once materials are brought to the gate all is then moved into position manually. For the garden to regenerate we must keep the tractor out. So we do.
The holding tank for the waste solids is contained in the ground above our construction. It is vulnerable, prone to being broken if the ground ,at present a poor piece of "lawn",is subjected to heavy weight or impact. Wasted space barely worth looking at. In the fullness of time I hope we may build a wooden platform that will fly over the space . I had to move rock to the top of the hill for want of a more convenient place to avoid the weight of rock from destroying the tank. I now have to bring a lot of it back to complete the round retaining wall. Our manorial pile is destined to be upwardly mobile. Progress is going somewhere,it is not to be wasted in the excesses of the commercial pleasure domes. If I have to sing dance party and fall on my back it is more economical to do it at home. We don't do a lot of falling down as it happens. No need to stupify to forget the drudge of weekly wage slavery.
At present there is a path around the building work to make wheel barrow accessible. Once the walls are complete I foresee the space (to the left in the picture ) being filled with soil, levelled to the height of the oak posts .and the purple stone slab beside the young walnut tree. True ground level. It's uphill all the way, no time off for good behaviour. Not something I can feel good about rushing at. I'll plod on.
The basic ground work is near done, It'll get easier.
Yep, progress is going somewhere. Home is where it starts and finishes. If all folk can do is gawp at the screen I will try and give them something worth gawping at. Watch this space.

Thanks to Toby,...

Ooblee Dooblee and Blessed Merry Be part one and two are back. You'll have to rummage around to find them amongst my other rubbish . You'll find it if you've a will. Liking it is optional.

When the moon was young and I was just a lad...

Shaw wood supporters are trying to save a small pond and a footpath. The council wanted feedback regarding the use of the path through Hagwood to Wheatley hills they got a small number of replies, thirty something I think. Enough to establish it as an official right of way. I was surprised that so few had responded. It was the route from the early sixties onwards to Wheatley Hills Boating lake, a favourite sunny Sunday promenade as I recall. I don't believe that many hard pressed mining families were not grateful for the short cut to the social security office when push came to shove. When cash was short the bus fare would have found better use.In those days cars were rare amongst the working population. A poor response to a call for support sez I. Fair play to those who care enough to make a righteous fuss.
Shaw Wood, Basil Wood as I fondly remember it, was my old playground. The gateway to unlimited adventure that took me miles across open fields to the banks of the River Don. There wasn't the fearful perception of potential risk not in my family household at any rate. You can't get run over by a car in hedgerows and fields. I preferred falling into mossy bank when I took a tumble , picking grit out of a grazed knee streetside is not my most favoured of childhood memory.
I searched for references to the wild life in the Shaw Wood and Three Fields pond area (not Sainsbury's pond, please...) Some reference to bird life in the wood but little sign that anyone had spent much time languishing round the pond. Calling it a site of "Special Scientific Interest" hardly endears the place to anyone but scientists hearts. There's many a site that has been trashed that bore the title.
It was my haven a sanctuary from the heat of long hot summers, I rarely saw other people there. If I did I would often hide in bushes or detour around in fantasy adventures till they were gone. The route to the pond was usually across the field. From my back yard in Basil Avenue through silver birch wood we were often pulled up in surprise by partridges scattering to distract from their nests being discovered. I often fancied to eat the eggs but was put of by the prospect of finding half formed chicks inside . We just looked. Sky larks, were the sound of my childhood summers languishing in meadow grass on my back after a long spell of chasing throwing arrows , flighted arrows we made in our little bowery den.Roasting scrumped apples in an old baked bean can. Talking the all important Kids stuff a law unto ourselves, when coal was King the parents the hard pressed subjects we at least were freemen in our natural domain. There were hawks ,owls and woodpeckers , linnets and jays. We were always coming across nests and then sussing out what they were. some kids were into collecting eggs for display at home, I never took to that. The Three Fields pond life was fantastic. Stickle backs, some littler fish that looked like catfish, tiny things they call "penbwla" in Wales, crested and smooth newts , frogs and toads. Water cress and angelica spearmint to my recall. Many's the peaceful afternoon spent lying on a fallen tree above the water observing the insects. Water boatmen, diving beetles cadis fly larvae. Several kinds of dragon fly , their larvae (eating machines) being the "Dragon root of their popular name. Fierce looking bugs.Little creatures called hydra.. Midges and gnats didn't seem to myther me when absorbed in the pond life. There were grass snakes slow worms and vipers. . The sphagnum was most abundant. a veritable ark to all the indigenous wild life that included me. I found little joy in the industrialized village life. They weren't happy times that side of the chainlink fence. A troubled marginalised poor single parent family, I was "the blacky's kid" to many. The natural haven was a place where I felt unconditionally at home. At peace. Learning to relate to the living environment developed into a life time love that till my dying day will not leave me.We live in the wake of an asset stripping juggernaut. In the wasteland discarded as no longer commercially exploitable. My little field of interest is in a foreign land, Brittany. I have often longed to return to my old stamping ground , I have much working experience I might share. Chancing to browse Google map I was dismayed by the change, so much more covered with concrete . More concessions by each passing year to industry and commerce. The word "ecology" was coined in the seventees. It has taken a long struggle for folk to get the point. We are a far cry from a state of grace with the surrounding environment. As I say, "fair play" to those few who try to make a difference. But bear in mind all that lovely caring green chatter isn't going to regrade many ditches or fix the drainage sluice. Surface water run off from the nearby fields since the hedges have been grubbed up (Grange Farm?) is not improved by talking the talk in committee meetings. If the water table isn't lowered the trees will inevitably die. Lesson learned in Big Radley, Oxford. Several acres of silver birch died in one hot summer. Nuff sed for now.

They 'aven't got an 'ope in 'ell...

Knife crime or fear of it has provoked a stern reaction.By the time a person gets one of their own here in France most kids have learned of what a lot else a body may do with a knife besides stabbing others.They never banned bovver boots, sez it all. Someone somewhere in the blighted Isle must surely have heard of lawful excuse.
My interest in woodwork started with an opinel knife. Useful in my garden, the kitchen, on picnics a multitude of other practical uses. Inexpensive working kit a boon in any tool bag.
Twice now I have visited U.K. they allowed me through without search. On the way out they confiscated my Opinel. "It is a crime to carry a knife". How on earth does one get them to the kitchen. Dumbed down Britain seems oblivious of the syntax glitch. Euro star then forced me under duress to sign a piece of paper which states that I waive all rights of property. I asked for a receipt, with a view to having my property sent on to France, I was then told to just sign the waiver or the police would be called. I would then not be able to use my ticket home. When checking through airport customs and immigration in the past my "sharps" were always handed in and wrapped with a security sticker. Always returned on reaching my destination. A knife is primarily a tool, not a weapon. Banning the carrying of knives will not reduce the amount of violent crime in Britain. I have been hospitalised on six occassions in U.K. in unprovoked attack against my rights and my person by bad policing. They weren't carrying knives and I was self disciplined enough to not retaliate in kind.
They laughed when I was in hospital with half my body paralysed from attack by a group of youths armed with an iron lantern hook picked off the road works in London. The police told me they would have done the job properly. Ah the good old days.
I have an opinel once more, serves me well it does. That is more than I may say of the semi literate "jobswoths" that attempt to maintain peace and public order in the land.
Happen someone will introduce kids to alternate uses for knives, like peeling potatoes for the family meal. Armthorpe has 38 takeaways, I still haven't got over it.
Mind you don't slip and cut yourself on the aluminium foil.
I live next door to a n artisan blacksmith. He makes his living making knives.I bet you are all scared now. Best you stay inside the quarantine moat until the media driven viral paranoia has been cured . It is a mental illness. Irrational fear. Get well soon.

Ordinary nooz from the Izdom of Iz...

A sprig of bergamot brightens up the door step. A form of citrus.Spiky plant reminiscent of the crown of thorns. the scent of the flowers and the little oranges is divine We will try to grow some of this from cuttings later in the year. All's well in iz garden.
How's yours?

We get a better idea of what we are looking at when the sun is at our back...

Just trying to make a bit of good of a life in ruins. This is the entrance to the garden. At present it may not be regarded as much more than tidy pile of rubble. There's nowt on this earth that wasn't made of summat else. Wait till it's finished, you'll not see much sense in it for staring intensely at the light. It is only a picture from my notebook. a past time allusion to the epic poetry contained within an ever changing landscape.
I am now resolved to incorporate a wheelchair access. I wont be doing it out of kindness, the way I'm feeling some days it's more than likely I'll be needing it myself.
This season's temporary facade is getting on my nerves already. We try hard to keep the yard looking as pretty as a building site may. I will be sticking some stone down this coming year much of the structure will remain hungry. The voids will eventually be filled with tonnes of good soil and compost.
Today is an uncomfortable one. Wanting to get to grips with the heavy is obstructed by a broken toe.If that was all I would have little to moan about. Me back is way beyond it's best , my knees keep me in the standing position only by a conscious effort of will somedays.Even when I am sitting down they nag me to do something else. My arthritis keeps reminding me of the many canings they received from a fat arsed insensitive deputy head, Marjoram by name,Added to that the work they have done over the years , stone isn't a laugh when your knuckles feel as though they are on fire.
This chapter of the journey looks like being a painful one.I'm still standing on my hind legs. Hoping that the proposed wheelchair access will be utilised by visiting guests only. I will blog stuff when there is nothing else I can do. A fat lot of good it has done me or anyone else so far. A man told me that a blogs allright if you have something to say. The printed word is not speech. Most of the time I am silent. That is the time I mean the most. Who'd get that?
I could have done without the news that the children of the former Beatles were proposing to dip their bread in some of their parents glory. I hope they stay well out of hearshot . I would be more impressed if they decided to get work on the shovel. One wonders how much more of the debt ridden nation's disposable income they rightly deserve.
I couldn't afford records back in the days of my youth when the Beatles were getting famous got sick of being force fed the racket they made and the news of their antics via the media. I am not nostalgic for those times. The real sixtees for me started in October . This is only the beginning. I have some tunes of my own that will need airing before I drop off the perch. At fourteen I resolved to learn to play my flute first. I reckon it is about time it came out of the closet. The two blog postings of musicon the side bar are early days recording mutated by inappropriate engineering. An experiment. Upload it from the Internet Archive if you want. There's no accounting for taste.

ARMTHORPE has 38 takeaways, there's summat wrong there...

It was hard times for me as a youth, back in the day in Basil avenue. We couldn't even afford chips. Ever grateful I am for learning to cook from my dad, at home.
The tomato and aubergine seedlings are looking really robust and we have a tray of lettuce seedlings rearing to go. They will go out once the risk of frost is passed. We still have spuds in store.Marie Terese and Emilesowed this seasons crop in their bottom field. We have planted a row of shallots and more Garlic. We got into the habit of sowing garlic from the supermarket to use as sets but I think we got some irradiated ones. they have been in the ground for ages but they just didn't budge. Got some more , I think they are allright.We'll see.
There is a good rake of blossom out now, peach, plum and pear. The kale is coming into flower. I will leave two plants, one purple and one green for seed.. I will eat the last of the good leaves, freeze some for later.Then feed. the ground. We still have plenty of leeks. They aren't threatening to flower yet. Time to freeze a bag or two for mid season also. The flush of spring green is stunning.I'd better leave this and do some more. I am beginning to feel deprived.

Not completely clueless...

There's few that get the point o' me. Sometimes it causes me to lose my temper.I am not about pressing other peoples buttons to see what I can get out of them . I was brought up to survive well beyond the strand line of the privileged officer's mess.
Some folk might think I need anger management counselling. I don't need it here.
They backed the wrong horse, sad to say. The popular favourite, the sure fire winnner fell at the first hurdle. "Never gamble with your luck." Sez I. Count your blessings . I could pour out platitudes all day, it would make little difference. I am not a gambler. Learned to draw with loser's pencil's picked up outside the bookies as a kid.Learned to steal potatoes and cabbage from the fields to feed my dad and my brothers. Sold some to neighbours to pay off a bit of the debt at the local shop. The hard won miner's wage squandered on booze and horses. I didn't blame my dad for the hardship and poverty our family endured in my youth. My childhood ended at seven years old. Previous tenants of the N.C.B. house had sold off the good topsoil in our garden. Me dad was a prisoner in Markham Main without a choice but to maintain a holding pattern to keep a roof over our heads. He was a damaged man. Even at seven years old I understood that well enough. I tried to talk to "grown ups " back in the day. They didn't get it then nether it would seem do they get it now. "The ignorati ", I call them. "Clever Monkey's" cultivated by patronage to regard themselves as the leaders of men.
I will be hammering the point home soon enough. perhaps they'll understand wassda matteaux wi' me in the fullness of time. First I'll need to re-temper.
I think my toe is broken, fractured at least. Serves me right. I kicked a chair when I ought to have kicked someone's arse. Folk teks a big risk that habitually press stranger's buttons just to see what happens . They can count themselves lucky that I am disciplined enough to keep my powder dry and hold my fire till I can properly see the target. It has been the habit of my adult lifetime to take the pains upon meself in order to avoid the unacceptable risk of collateral damage.
"Iz he angry?", the question posed the next day. Insensitive little wazzuck didn't have the balls to speak directly to me.
It is not as if he didn't speak English, when he did he spoke of trying to shift English girls, then comparing with Scottish then Irish girls. his wife was sitting next to him , I guess she doesn't speak English well enough herself.
On the plus side, it appears that during his two year adventure in,Britain the English girls managed to keep their Rizla packets clamped firmly between their knees.
To hell wi' crying, "God for Harry". The man had better do the headwork , he has been fairly warned. I am not well pleased.
I can speak and understand some French. I learn it the way a child would learn. I am grateful for that small gift. I have just answered the phone, the bhai understood me well enough. Active working intelligence is most times a non vocal mechanism. None academic.
Where was I? My broken toe.
I don't wear the trappings of material success by the common standard. Having been wholly cheated robbed and deceived throughout my former marriage,even if I had a want I couldn't. From the age of seven I knew there was a lot more to life than money and self indulgent shopping. I have seen what folk do with theirs long enough. An old Breton worker in his melancholy cups once told me "The young are not free, they only have money." With him I wholly concur.
Academic success may be a useful and desirable add-on.Life however is not academic.
I would rather remain an unqualified success by my own definition. The objective detached over view on the ground can turn the whole world upside down, and so it does. There's too many by half that underestimate the singular intelligence of the working man. Hard won experience is not something that can be licked off the pages of a book or inducted by screen side programming. We can't afford to up grade our hardware. Most people don't use the technology to compute, deluded fools don't even use the sense they were born with once they plug into the crenulated logic of the electronic P.C. world. I would be content enough if the plug was pulled on all of it.
One million 16-24 year olds in U.K.are not merely unemployed and unhappy. They are unemployable and toxic with undeserved self indulgence sponsored by the ignorance of neglectful parents. It is only the tip of the iceberg.The malaise is a world wide problem, no nearer being put to rights by the faceless button pressers.
What would I know? The imported labour force, post war is now becoming resented.
Unjust congenital jealousy, happen.
I left home at 14, I put myself in care, I wanted to complete my education. You can only do that when you are alive. Orphan Alley I called it. A lot of folk felt sorry for me.
I put up with it. Little treats were arranged to "enlighten" the savage from the pit village, "Blacky's Kid" as I'd often heard spoken whilst in Armthorpe. The introduction to the politically correct middle class and upper class houses was an eye opener.
I had long time learned to keep me big gob shut till I knew a bit o' summat worth speaking rightly about. Things iz sed. Well enough I heard as I crammed me face with petit fours. I was taught to be polite in "mixed company" well dressed patrons of the arts were attempting to "Cultivate" , "civilise" me. I never did take to liking the symbolic significance of Steinway grand pianos since those days . "you ought to be grateful". Half a dozen canapés chewed silently with my big mouth shut opened my ears to ideas mostly not to my best liking.
"Grown up" discussion of how to control the "new servant population" politely spoken educated privileged people. Indian people being regarded as the best was a most enlightening view. With so many lost in the war, and the mass exodus to what then was refered to in some quarters as the "White Commonwealth" the big houses were in crisis as to how to maintain a grip on the vestigal post Empire legacy, of power and influence. What with the famous, "Give us the tools, and we'll finish the job". "Tools" had a different meaning for those brought up to keeping their fingernails clean. I got them , they didn't get me. I'd sed nowt. Cottoned on right bloody Sharpe- ish. A right bunch of Burkes they seemed to my way of thinking, arrogant and patronising in the extreme.
I am nobody's fool and nobody's tool. As far from "User friendly" as it is possible to be.
My former life in Armthorpe wasn't all bad It was just hard. I still cherish the valuable lessons I absorbed there. Bill Godden being number one guru in his more lucid and mellow periods before he had been destroyed completely. Many others coached me in the real often unsung history of the working class struggle,world wide, whilst me dad was in the bookies,in conversation with his mates or doing a double in the mine, old boys spoke of the International Brigade, and much else besides. Benign indoctrination, LEST WE FORGET. There's no such thing as history, past or future.
The resurgence of the pre-war liberalism, "The Liberalism that dare not speak it's name" as it was unfondly called, had not up to then re-estabished as a popular mass movement. I was brought up to be ever vigilant.
I remain grateful for the extra curricula schooling and will be for my mortal lifetime. I am not likely to forget.
A recent survey of British children found that one in two people interviewed had never heard of the death camps in Nazi Germany. "About time they introduced modern politics into primary school education" sez I. They have been taught about condoms before they can tie their own shoe laces. "The Velcro Generation". I call it.
Self righteous old fart aren't I? Some 'd say so. They are welcome to their perceptions.
To get back: The bloke tried to impress me that as I was living in France I should forget about politics. He obviously had never been brought up to learn first time around. Came over as a sociopathic manipulator, Fruedian slips evacuating from his mouth like projectile vomit. I heard him, didn't over react. I kicked the chair when I got home. "Vive la Resistance" thinks I.
Somethings a man can't forget. those too timid to learn first hand had better learn by relating to the sensitivities of those who take the pains on their behalf. Perhaps he should try running the gauntlet I have had to endure. I doubt that he would have survived.
I was iron barred to paralysis by neo Nazi xenophobes in the good old days of your in London. I was a homeless youth . In Greece I was herded into the sea drowned then dragged out of the water and kicked back to consciousness by fascist junta supporters.. I'm still standing. by the blessing of the Great Divinity my recall and nominal physical repair was good. Damage is permanent but I compensate. Some scars I can show most are invisible to the eye.
The man couldn't get the point even when it was explained the next day in French over the phone. I will be coming back his way as I have business in the region. He had best keep his head down for now at least his mouth firmly closed till there is a formal reconciliation. He has in effect slapped me around the face in challenge. Knowingly or not. I feel rightly or wrongly that his intellectual arrogance must be stopped from virally spreading into the greater population. My Dharma. I have no choice.
The how of it is yet to be seen and heard. There is a rake more to this story han meets the eye.For the record I will dutifully recount all transparently. The complete tale will be relayed without prejudice though with little confidence that the man may ever understand.
I will assuredly act by every moral and constitutional means. Doesn't mean he wont get the larruping he deserves. I accept the challenge. The bloke is a Burke, I'd rather be a Paine. More later.
See the picture above... It's a clou. A big one.