Update: A Turkey Hunt
…Read More…: Update: A Turkey HuntI have no potatoes. I have tomatoes lumbagos tornados and excuses instead. My new novel, the Ragazzo (working title until I Google it and find some illiterate bastard has stolen it years ago) is happening, a few sentences at a time. Ok, I think it’s a blinding idea but I can see some blustering popinjay…
Screw you? And me!
…Read More…: Screw you? And me!Every day in every way we are being screwed! There lurk greedy beings galore/ behind every door/ whose job is to keep me and you/ POOR! Here is my Top 10. Rank the ways YOU are being screwed in order of importance and maybe do something about it? If, of course, you are not…
A Haircut
…Read More…: A HaircutWe did the Theresa moan then I said “well today is a celebration day for you” “Why so” he said, scissors flying. I am pretty vulnerable here I thought and it’s often not a good idea to bring up Syria in this place. All the barbers in this shop are Syrian, mostly Alawites and supporters…
Perfidious Chelsea!
…Read More…: Perfidious Chelsea!How did the Royal Borough go from nice to the nasty mean Local Authority which ignored the needs of the victims of the Grenville fire? Having lived in the Borough for more than twenty years, I watched it change. I saw the seeds sewn. I left. I wept. I moved into Burnaby Street, Chelsea SW10…
Election Diary 4: The Apocalypse
…Read More…: Election Diary 4: The ApocalypseThursday The Last Day, the Day of the Apocalypse. Scudding clouds, patches of dribbling rain, ignored. Absolutely no relevance. This is between me and you, God, whoever you are. The Labour party office in the great Victorian mansion on the corner has no ghosts. They were scoured out and hung to dry by determined renovators…
Election Diary 3: Here comes the Storm….
…Read More…: Election Diary 3: Here comes the Storm….Saturday I plunged into Bristol West like a dragonfly doesn’t dive into a Barbadian swimming pool. With circumspection tinged with hope. From the Green Hub on Chichester Road, transported by a suitably modest and beaten up red car with only 3 operable doors, driven by the charmingly matronly M. She’s the sort of woman one…
Election Diary 2: The Whore of the Hustings
…Read More…: Election Diary 2: The Whore of the HustingsIn this most sudden and crucial election it behoves a bloke or a bird to pick sides. The agonising on Social Media rises up to the heavens causing cherubs to fall off their clouds and the very gods themselves to clap their hands over their ears to cut out the cries of anguished confusion as…
ELECTION DIARY – Translations!
…Read More…: ELECTION DIARY – Translations!What does it all MEAN, fa f-sake! Mourning for Manchester Every blogger in the world is writing about Manchester. Rather than repeat all the horror we feel, the sense of desperation in the face of the senseless slaughter of innocents, I want to look at the why. Why do we all have to write about…
What will Kill Me? Decisions decisions…
…Read More…: What will Kill Me? Decisions decisions…When I was young and dumb, before AIDS was invented – or rather before we knew about it – I wrote this very stupid poem: (To be recited in a posh Chelsea Sloane-Ranger voice) “Eau! For a terminal Illness! Nothing too painful of course. Just something to give me a pale set look…