Prior to the enforced quarantine rules made necessary by the global pandemic of Covid-19, I was not exactly known as a social butterfly. In fact, quite the opposite. More an antisocial moth, according to my Daughters. However, since this very necessary safety measure has come into affect, I find myself growing increasingly frustrated with the 4 walls of my own home.

Frustrated that I suddenly have to share that space with people who are not usually here during the day. Frustrated by the fact that I can’t just pop up to my local shopping centre for a single item, and have a browse at everything else while I happen to be there. Frustrated that previously underused public spaces like parks and woodlands are now populated by people seeking out places in which to take their government approved daily exercise, at the correct socially distanced pace.

In short, what I’m actually frustrated with is my sudden lack of freedom. The sudden curtailment of those things that I have always taken for granted.

It has come as no great surprise to me, therefore, that the #blacklivesmatter campaign has skyrocketed into public consciousness in the way that it has since the cruel, brutal & entirely unlawful murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis on May 25th.

Yes. The BLM movement has been an ongoing call to arms for many, many years. And quite rightly so.

Yes. People have stood in solidarity with its core essence in the past. And again, quite rightly so.

Yes. A lot of the peaceful protests and social media engagements we are now seeing are due – in part – to the fact that quarantine rules mean most if us now have more time in our hands to actively investigate the history behind this campaign, and the proper ways in which to legally turn the tide.

However, it’s my own personal belief that the sudden prohibition in our own circumstances has forced the realisation that people of colour live with this reality Every. Single. Day.

And in realizing that, we must also see that, while circumstances can & will change for us when quarantine measures are lifted, POC – for whom these issues are actually a matter of life and death – have no such assurances.

Imagine being afraid to venture into certain areas of the town where you live.

Imagine knowing that, no matter how hard you study, your longed for place at a university may be given to someone else, purely because of racial bias.

Imagine being told that the position you hold within a company is only yours because of a legal requirement to employ POC.

Imagine being stopped by the Police while driving your own car, not because you where speeding, or there us a problem with the vehicle, but because of the colour of your skin.

Now imagine that all of these social injustices, be they conscious or so deeply ingrained they are entirely subconscious, and many others like them, are being perpetrated against Caucasians.

If you can imagine that, and your reaction is ‘ that’s so unfair. I can’t help the colour of my skin. It doesn’t change who I am as a person!’, then your response to the #BLM campaign should NOT be ‘but ALL lives matter!’ It should be ‘ but NO ONE should ever have to campaign for the same rights and freedoms as those afforded to their neighbours!’

If you have the imagination to see that, then you certainly have the imagination to envisage a world where ANY kind of human rights campaign should NOT be necessary.

This is the 21st Century after all, and we should be past all of that.

But maybe this very necessary movement is designed to bring us all that level of understanding. That 20/20 clarity of vision.

For further information, please see

http://blacklivesmatter.com

And

http://stophateuk.org

MLKs Nightmare

Blame is

Liable to

Actualize within

Collective

Klans.

He said

She said

They said.

Leading to

Literal

Invocations of

Vitriolic violence and hatred. No

Ethical morality nor

Sympathy for our fellow

Man. We should be

Ashamed of such

Treacherous actions! Let’s us stand

Together in a glorious rainbow of

Empathy, and

Raise our voices and our hearts

Against those who seek to oppress

And turn a blind eye.

If You Cut One, We All Bleed

Welcome

Empathy.

Assert

Love &

Loyalty.

Become a

Leader, fueled with

Empathy &

Efficacious

Decree.

Refuse to

Exist in a monotone

Dictatorship!

The End of Me and Eu

So. Here we are then.

Divorce day.

It’s been a long time coming.

We’ve been an item for as long as I can remember.

Almost 50 years.

These should be our golden years, starry eyed and memory filled.

Instead we have reached the point of no return.

Finally.

The kids are – naturally – stuck in the middle.

 

Some of them sided with Mother.

Father is a bad influence, belittles Mother in all that she does.

Allowing no autonomous opinion or actions.

Fathers rule is an absolute dictatorship.

It has to be ended.

 

Some of the kids – inevitably –  sided with Father.

 

Reasoned that Mother had as much say in things as he did.

Said they did not want to become estranged from the family.

Would miss Aunts, Uncles, Cousins.

Those large, and boisterously noisy, family get togethers.

 

Now they’re all confused, and slightly bitter.

Rows have broken out, but that’s OK.

Families fight.

It happens all the time.

I guess we can only hope that we have made the right decision.

The best outcome for all concerned us, the kids, the extended family.

We held off for as long as we could, but I, for one, am sick of the fighting.

Today has almost come as a relief …

I know that others have found their relationship improves after divorce.

When all the upheaval and recriminations die away, and they are left with stark truths.

When they can see that neither side is really to blame.

Life.

Circumstances got in the way.

I hope when all is said and done, we can still take time to look back on our younger days with fondness.

And learn to deal with each other – if not in unity – then at least with a spirit of solidarity and harmony.

 

 

 

The Nightmare Before A Christmas Carol

I once read – though I don’t remember where – that the blame for the early meltdown that a lot of us endure during the run up to Christmas should be placed firmly on the shoulders of none other than Charles Dickens.

By this, I mean that we have all idealized the largest of the Christian festivals in one of two ways.

Firstly, the “we may not have a lot, but we have each other and we have love” ideal, as characterized by Bob Cratchit and his family.

Secondly, the bountiful ideal of “we have far more than we could possibly need, and we wish to share it all with our friends, and maybe make a suitable donation to a local charity”, as shown by the munificence of Nephew Fred and his wife.

The meltdowns, of course, occur when we all strive for the second ideal rather than embracing the first.

We’ve no doubt all read the 1843 novel, or at least seen a movie adaptation. All felt the warming glow of “good will to all men” as Scrooge is shown the error of his miserly ways, and is moved enough to completely change his personality overnight. All blinked back joyful tears as Tiny Tim cries out the final line of “God Bless Us. Every one!”

I’ve watched at least four movie adaptions of the novel in the past few weeks, and given the current climate in British politics, could  not help but make comparisons on a “then and now” basis; and also on a “them and us” level. To my mind, in the 176 years since Dickens classic tale was published, very little has changed.

In 1843, over 25% of the population were said to be living in poverty, under the Conservative government led by Robert Peel. A study in 2016, showed figures to be at 21%. A fifth of the population living below means of decent human comfort and basic care. In the 21st Century.

As there was in Dickens time, there are levels to this poverty. In fact, it could be argued that Cratchits’ family were not that poor at all. He was paid 15 shillings a week, according to the novel. Above the average 11 shillings and 6 pence wage of a clerk elsewhere. He could afford to house his family in a building that had two floors, however small it was. His family were clothed, and fed, and had coal for warmth and cooking.

He was definitely better off than those who were sent to the workhouse, or thrown in debtors prison (as Dickens Father had been). And sadly, they themselves were better off than those who found themselves out on the streets, with nowhere else to go.

However, he couldn’t afford basic healthcare and medical attention for his youngest child. Whilst Dickens doesn’t actually say what Tiny Tims health issues are, rickets has long been proposed. This is of course, caused by lack of Vitamin D (during the Mothers pregnancy, and then in early childhood, because of lack of access to the right foods), causing the bones to be malformed and weakened. It was rife in Dickensian England, and although treatable, often led to death, as the working classes simply couldn’t afford the necessary Drs visits.

Unfortunately, all of these issues are still relevant in todays society. Low wages not in line with the cost of living. High rents, and rising fuel costs, forcing people to leave the heating off in their homes whatever the temperature outside. Stories of children wearing coats to bed hit the headlines everyday. Alongside stories of girls not attending school once a month, due to what has been dubbed “period poverty”. And whilst we do have access to free GP visits right now, many are not collecting prescribed medications because they earn just enough to be unable to qualify for benefit help, but simply can’t justify the cost of a packet of pills when that money could be used to put a meal on the table.

And on that note, the NHS. A wonderful institution, brought into being on the ideal that good healthcare should be available to all, regardless of wealth. An NHS which is now at threat from a US trade deal, and the Brexit fiasco, which has already seen medical supplies depleted or halted altogether as pharmaceutical companies we have previously relied on wait to see what the future holds in terms of further trade with the UK. An NHS which was brought into being by Clement Attlees Labour government, despite protests from the Conservative opposition, and that despite having being initially proposed to Parliament by a Conservative minister! An NHS, which has been under the control of a Conservative government for the last 9 years, and which has seen closure after closure of hospitals and clinics, and had resources cut to breaking point under their “guidance”. An NHS, which now allows you to jump the queue to see your own GP, provided you have the funds to do so! Mr Johnson may not be selling it off as a whole concern, but privatizing it service by service will give the same result. There will no longer be any NHS!

And so we’ll all be forced into the Cratchits’ situation of having to balance healthcare and medical attention for one family member, against food and everyday necessities for the whole family. Unless of course, we are lucky enough to earn enough to be able to afford what is essentially private healthcare. And I myself am under no illusions, that those who have forced this situation on the public, are already using private healthcare when it is necessary. Them and us …

However, having stepped away from this for the morning, I have now decided that brooding on the outcome of last nights results is not the way to go. Like Tiny Tim, I’m going to try to find any light that breaks through the chinks of doom. I am still grateful that we live in a democratic society, and that we all get to speak our piece by casting our vote as we see fit. I’m grateful that dialogues can and have been opened between people on either side of the political fence. I’m hopeful that we can all ask each other how we voted, and why, without things dissolving into arguments and derision. And, against his prior track record, I am also hopeful that – like Ebeneezer Scrooge – the Prime Minister can have a change of heart, and actually keep those promises that he has been making in the effort to keep his position, because if they come to pass, most of them are actually valid and necessary.  That would be the best Christmas present for the country as a whole right now.

Until such time as this may happen, I’ll repeat Tiny Tims’ message of eternal love and hope, and simply say :

GOD BLESS US; EVERY ONE!

 

 

 

The Oxbridge Book of British Politics

That’s not my PM!

It’s hair is too floppy

It doesn’t speak properly

The words are too sloppy;

That’s not my PM!

It’s smug & it’s greedy

Signed against help

For the sick & the needy.

That’s not my PM!

It’s full of confusion

Tries to get it’s own way

With it’s constant delusions;

That’s not my PM!

Told lies to force Brexit

But I can see through

This PM full of bullshit!

 

More than a little peeved at the results of this mornings press conference. Not surprised though. Very much resigned to things sliding further downhill now, and at a much quicker pace than before.  So this happened, in the style of all of those wonderful board books from Osborne Press for parliament (pre-schoolers! I meant pre – schoolers!)

 

EDIT : my lovely friend Kirstie (https://crystallisingdream.wordpress.com/), just read this as “Bullshit Politics”. I think she has the right of it to be honest … 

 

 

Lady Libertys’ Shame

Life, liberty and justice for all

Except for those that 45 wants behind a wall

Bring me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses

I’ll keep them dirty and sick, confiscate all their assets

Locked in the dark, ripped from Sons and Daughters

Deny all their right to food and to water

Lady liberty does not stand for this

She sees you and she’s tired of all your bullshit

Freedom from the Crown was fought for in your history

So how can you persecute these people? It’s a mystery

Mr President you do not get to pick and choose

Those that you deem worthy to raise the Red, White and Blue

So choose to make your mark as the President unkind

While Liberty joins her sister Justice, and wishes she was blind.

 

 

This was written on July 4th – American Independence Day. I hung off posting it because I didn’t want to cause offense. However, I think whatever we write, whatever we post always has to be personal and relevant to us as writers. And that in itself makes it likely to cause upset to someone else who may not share our own views, regardless of the subject matter.  Also, I have had some quite upsetting news regarding a family member this morning, which has brought the message home that life is too short to spend time worrying about other peoples perceptions. 

LIFE IS SHORT.

We each need to live it in our own way, and if we see something that goes against all human decency and morality, we should most definitely stand and raise our voices against it!

 

 

Apollo 11 Means Nothing to 45

“That’s one small step for man – one giant leap for mankind”

And yet nothing really seems to change, man has become so blind

To poverty and racist Tweets, lets keep Women in their place

In the bedroom, not the boardroom – it would help us to save face

And your body is not yours to own, you must know that by now

Dominion over you  is ours, we’ll achieve it anyhow

By taking away medicare, so you can’t afford the pill

We’ll close down all the womens’ clinics, there will be no “voice for Jill”

And if your skin isn’t purest white, or a neon shade of orange

Beware that all words in your ears will truly sound abhorrent

“Go back to where you came from!” will pour forth from every lip

Be thankful that 1865 took away our whips

For we would use them, given half a chance, on backs of every colour

We wouldn’t mind if you were someones’ child or someones’ Mother

Make America Great Again resounds across the land

Pennsylvania Avenue home to a TV businessman

Climate change means rivers run drier than they have in years

But don’t worry (he thinks it isn’t real) we’ll refill them with the tears

Of those who had such hopes , to live the American Dream

Those dreams have fast turned nightmare – now all we hear are screams

 

this one was inspired by todays’ Google Doodle, in honour of the 50th Anniversary of the Apollo 11 mission which landed man on the lunar surface for the first time.  I have always loved Neil Armstrongs’ sound byte – as used here in the opening line. But lately, each time I hear it, something in me screams. “Man” kind! One small step for “man”.  Yes – I know that it is meant as a species epithet, not as a gender based one – but with the news headlines screaming out the way they do on a daily basis, my mind has picked out the word and segregated it! 

BTW – the line “voice for Jill” is a subtle nod to Amanda Palmers “voicemail for Jill”, her song about the thoughts surrounding abortion. If you haven’t heard it, I would recommend that you check it out. It’s heartbreaking and thought provoking. And completely wonderful …

 

 

Caught In A Web Of Our Own Creation

We held the world in the palm of our hands.

The Universe in our arms when it cried out for solace.

We carried the oceans in our wombs, and gave birth to stardust formed galaxies and nebulae.

 

We were vessels of creation.

Succour and comfort ran through our veins.

We designed and built platforms for a better tomorrow for all.

 

The palms of our hands did not know their own strength.

The Universe does not exist only for mankind.

We share our planet, our home, with all creatures – great and small.

 

Our vessels are set to self-destruct.

Technological greed and financial gain have made us feel stronger, better.

The platforms that we designed have clogged the oceans and turned forests to dust-bowls.

 

Those oceans and forests used to be our home too.

Now our actions have destroyed the tender ecosystems within.

Without those microcosms the Earth becomes a giant uncompletable jigsaw puzzle.

 

The Mother Ship, so corroded, so beaten.

Her carefully constructed shell now fragile, a filigreed Spiders Web – glowing with the energy of a billion trillion electric lights.

We have become flies, food for the ever growing Spider of political industry.

 

A many-eyed yet poorly sighted hunter, tracking the mass produced chemical scent of its’ victims panic response.

A cannibalistic creation of our own making.

We are in danger of being devoured.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Churchills’ Lament at the End of May

Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States fell into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we did not flag or fail.

We fought on to the end.

We fought in France, we fought on the seas and the oceans, we fought with growing confidence and growing strength in the air.

We defended our island, our values and our democracy.

 

And now we allow the bodies of refugees to wash up on those beaches, we set up tent city slums on the landing grounds, we set fire to the fields and we persecute those of other faces and religions in the streets.

We watch as they flee in terror to the hills; we have surrendered all of our values and democracy, which was hard fought and hard won.

We are in danger of becoming that which we so vehemently fought against 75 years ago, and I am ashamed and embarrassed to say that there is very little Great left in Britain.

 

 

This came about yesterday, after a week of growing unease that resulted with me actively fighting off  a panic attack last night.  Winston Churchills’ name was floating around my head, probably as a result of me choosing to watch the 75th Anniversary of D-Day Remembrance Service on TV.  

Making the mistake of watch the news shortly after it finished had me shaking my head, and wondering what Mr Churchill would have made of life in the 21st Century.