Establishment Manifesto

Put more sugar in their diet, put more lard on the arse, feed ‘em breed ‘em.

Keep ‘em plugged in and switched on,let them consume ,consume consume.

Don’t forget to tell ‘em this is paradise and that they are happy, give ‘em whacky DJ’s and feel good tunes, give ‘em Adele and Coldplay for the sad days, pour it in pour it in. 

Just keep ‘em occupied, occupy their brain, no time for pain, keep ‘em running, keep ‘em scared.

Zero hours contract and zero hours truth. 

Give ‘em sport, give ‘em a flag, give ‘em an enemy within and another without. Let ‘em worry ,worry worry ...........and fridays give ‘em a curry.

Free Credit for all.

Life expectancy is your free credit,
The only free credit you'll get to see,
It's interest free, in fact of interest to nobody.
So use it ,get on with it, just remember
there is no re-finance, there is no government funding, there is no
emergency bail out
Life insurance is that you use it and get out
God isn't your Saviour just a bailiff,
Move over, roll over,get out.
Next please!

Struggle.

I've never been a fighter,
yet everyday I fight, my opponent is always me.
Usually he wins, but sometimes I catch him
with a sucker punch, and set us both free,
for a while.

Starting a story.

It started out ok, the alarm went off as usual three minutes before six a.m. time enough to gather the senses and prepare for the day to start, waiting for the usual tid bits of information called ‘the news’. ‘Who is it that decides what’s news and what’s not?’ Steve thought. ‘I mean there must be millions and millions of ‘things going on’ all over the world, so who chooses what we Brits get to hear as being ‘the news’? There must be some person somewhere filtering it, or is it a commitee that meets at the dead of night somewhere in Broadcasting house, or wherever it is that the BBC now resides.’ ‘how come we never get to hear about what goes on in Canada for example? I mean although it’s more peace loving than it’s southern neighbour, something must go on there surely?’ ‘Whatever’ he sighed and rolled on his side, hand hovering above the off button ready to press when the news got too tedious or in his eyes downright Tory propaganda.

The newsreader just had time to say ‘The Prime Minister’... and was cut off by Steve’s thumb coming down full force on the off button. He liked to do it this way, pretending to be a Roman Emperor, condemning the news item and reader to be some imaginary lions breakfast. ‘Not today beeb, not today’.

Steve sat upright, feet on the cold linoleum floor of his bedsit in Horfield, an area of Bristol that was ‘ok’ ,not yet completely taken over by newcomers fleeing the renting nightmare known as London. ‘Here they go’ he mumbled to himself as the couple upstairs started their morning ritual of what Steve called ‘The Fook Fighters’ - a short squeeking of bed springs, followed by a couple of grunts, an even shorter silence and then an argument.

Deirdre and Liam the duelling psychos upstairs had decided to bless the world with the produce of their loins, but it wasn’t working, try as they may no pregnancy followed their  weekly ‘shagfest’ as Deirdre liked to call their Saturday night marathon. Deirdre was nice enough, but a bit too graphic in her descriptions of her and Liams love life.  Determined as she was, she decided that the shagfest should be less about enjoyment and more about repetition, she had Liam on a daily morning routine of ‘Kurt Cobain’ her way of saying ‘come as you are’. The shortened daily version of the weekend ‘shagfest’ invariably ended in a shouting match between the two of them, Liams ‘morning glory’ not having the stamina necessary  for Deirdres needs. 

‘If she doesn’t get pregnant soon I’ll shag her myself’ Steve thought, although he recoiled at the thought of sharing a bed with Deirdre, a nice enough girl but a bit too dirty, literally , when they passed in the hall she left a distinctive odor of ‘blood,sweat and tears’ Steve laughed to himself. 

“Oh Fuck!” Steve realised that there was no bread, no bread means no toast and no toast means a really shitty start to the day, ‘I could go upstairs and ask the mad shaggers’ he thought, ‘but there again would  I eat anything coming from their flat? -no I wouldn’t ,so that’s it, a quick shower and brekkie at the café just off the centre , near the office’. 

This is where day one starts, breakfast at Toni’s café.

Never Scorn the Scone.

It's all very 'bon'
to call it a Scone,
But I've always known
You should call it a Scone.

But I wouldn't moan
when eating the Scone
If the cream's not gone
feel free to say Scone

what holidays are for.

I often wonder why it is we like so much to go on holidays to 'other places', places we love to brag about to our friends and family when we're back home in the day to day and the nine to five existence. I mean, if we love these places so much why don't we just go live there? Then they would become the 'normal and the boring, and going on holiday would probably mean going back to where we started.
The going 'on holiday' is not so much about the place we go, it's more about the change we allow ourselves to have. On holiday you see folk suddenly become different people, more energetic, or just more laid back, more book reading or more dangerous sports. We wear different clothes, the stupid t-shirts sold at holiday destinations aren't there by accident. You'll see dads embarrass their children by suddenly wearing a weird hat, mothers that suddenly become beach divas, reliving the dreams of their youth (long forgotten). On holiday we get the feeling of freedom to become who ever we want, a freedom that's not that easy in the rut we've created for ourselves back in the 'day to day'.
Playfulness returns, a natural human trait. A couple of weeks a year of being just whoever you want to be, you can stroll along a beach and in your mind you are a mysterious strong type of guy, in your mind you see people wondering who you are, freedom, freedom freedom- that soon becomes boring and you yearn for the day to day and the safety of the nine to five. You realize that where you are and what you've got is probably what you need. A holiday is the suspension of reality, a reminder that there is a way out of the mundane, but also the realization that you are more or less happy where you are.

The confused sexist.

Today I went for a walk in town, just as I was entering a shop I realised there was a lady behind me ,so as I was taught when young I opened the door and let her in first. For this I received short sharp abuse, she told me she was capable of opening a door herself and that I shouldn't 'belittle' her.
Totally confused, I went home and wrote this verse. No offence intended.

Well hello girls, Ladies and Dames. 

I don’t want to intrude 

be offensive or rude,

but I’ve lost my way in the gender game,  

pleasing and teasing is what evolution has made 

me accept as the way a man should  behave, 

Please tell me, if I misbehave 

When and where I’m playing the sexist charade? 

Is opening a door for a Lady now bad? 

Does it mean I just want her, and she’s right to get mad

Does standing for a dame on a overfull train 

disrespect her  please tell, I need you to explain, 

the do’s and the don’ts in this gender game. 

Pray tell, what should I do? 

do I talk first or wait until I hear from you? 

do I ignore you and cast my gaze away 

when obviously you’ve worked on that look all day. 

I mean you look good, and I mean foxy, 

but I don’t want to be sexist even by proxy.

The discussion is raging, I get it, it’s mad 

that in this age some guys are still oh so sad. 

But what should I do?  not knowing right from strong.

If everything I do makes me look like kong.

Are there rules to the game? ‘cos I used to get beat,

for not standing for a lady and giving up my seat.

To open a door for a lady ,said mom,is what made me a man.

“you should show some respect whenever you can.

You see, my mom was the first lady for me,

so what she said was the rules for how I should be. 

She was a lady that’s all that I’m saying,

so following her rules means I’m not straying. 

 Please take my seat, I mean you no disrespect,

a Lady once taught me  this is what she’d expect.