tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51376827209157667882024-02-19T05:14:50.032+00:00The trouser PressThe Hösen fewtrousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.comBlogger475125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-61624592401463799582014-04-06T16:25:00.000+01:002014-04-06T16:25:17.400+01:00Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEili1BsDMaynpwAHRXWT_-nPUgNchfCgCkdk_F_VTHp2jA6axQ6mmWBKl4NYPpyu1fVSO7Y3fn3IxLBurxHF6Ds8m-twA8XHmdVUtqScY8hwS6wXgEv0yuW53DYo31zf1MNvv353MgbrTs/s1600/DSCF0573.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEili1BsDMaynpwAHRXWT_-nPUgNchfCgCkdk_F_VTHp2jA6axQ6mmWBKl4NYPpyu1fVSO7Y3fn3IxLBurxHF6Ds8m-twA8XHmdVUtqScY8hwS6wXgEv0yuW53DYo31zf1MNvv353MgbrTs/s1600/DSCF0573.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-3920335828175089702013-12-03T19:08:00.000+00:002013-12-03T19:09:27.739+00:00Conditions<span style="color: #990000;">Heart Attack.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Deep Vein Thrombosis.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Throat Cancer.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Diabetes.</span><br />
<span style="color: #990000;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Stroke.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #990000;"></span>
<span style="color: #990000;"></span>
<span style="color: #990000;">Car Crash.</span><br />
<br />
The list above contains events or conditions which have stricken friends of mine in the last 12 months: all, to some degree, life-changing. It's very VERY scary - each individual case, in its own right, for obvious reasons: one doesn't ever wish to see such ailments, and their potentially devastating effects, visited upon peers, loved ones...anyone in fact. But what gives additional pause for thought is that all of those conditions (apart from the last one on the list - hardly a condition, but I'll come to that in a moment) have hit people of a similar age to me. In some cases slightly older (throat cancer, heart attack, diabetes). In the remainder, people younger than me.<br />
<br />
That shocks me in all sorts of ways. Too close to home. A recognition that I've (we've) reached the age where these things are starting to make themselves known.<br />
<br />
The last one in the list is something which I was involved in, earlier this year. In the event, I consider myself lucky: I escaped practically (if not completely) unscathed. I have a few slight residual problems to contend with, but they're fading, minor, little more than an inconvenience. Less than two weeks off work. A few seconds or a few inches either way, and it could have been a very different story. But in the event, I was very, VERY lucky.<br />
<br />
I don't take that outcome for granted, and the uncertainties that some of my friends are now facing make me feel that nothing should ever be taken for granted, as such.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-27197275451685050912013-05-01T22:19:00.002+01:002013-05-01T22:38:58.035+01:00The Drowning Of Arthur BraxtonYes, yes, it's been a while, I <i>know</i>. <br />
<br />
Well, amongst other things, I've been doing lots of reading. Latterly, this has been <i>The Drowning Of Arthur Braxton</i>, by <a href="http://www.carolinesmailes.co.uk/blog">Caroline Smailes</a>. Regular visitors to this blog (denoting use of the past tense, namely, when there was something on this blog to actually visit with any kind of regularity) may remember me reviewing her previous novels - mainly because they've been bloody good, but also <i>just a little bit</i> because she's been one of my bloggy friends since before I first set up this place.<br />
<br />
So, true to form, I thought I'd write a review of this latest offering. Which means I need to try and remember how I might write a review. Well, before that even, it means I need to remember how I might actually <i>write</i>. <br />
<br />
Here goes, anyway. I don't <i>think </i>this contains spoilers. <br />
<br />
The story revolves around a local swimming baths, apparently built over a spring with special healing properties. Having lain derelict for a while, the baths are taken over by three individuals calling themselves 'water-healers', reopened, and renamed The Oracle. Its reputation soon spreads: paying visitors queue up as tales abound that all sorts of ailments have been cured by the waters within. As talk of the place grows, scepticism amongst many in the local community turns to curiosity and, in some cases, to a certain desperation that their ills and misfortunes - and the wayward turns their lives have taken - might be miraculously put right.<br />
<br />
Perhaps inevitably, altogether darker, more troubling rumours about the goings-on at the swimming baths circulate and persist, and these turn out not to be without justification.<br />
<br />
This fantastic-sounding setting becomes the stage for a number of all-too-human dramas to be played out: firstly that of Laurel, coerced into applying for the job of receptionist by her mother. It suits them both - Laurel for the chance to get some time away from looking after all her siblings, and her mother for the opportunity to have extra money coming into the house. As time passes, she becomes drawn into the peculiar happenings at The Oracle, and its water-healers, far more than she would have expected or wanted.<br />
<br />
The central character, Arthur Braxton, makes his first appearance in the story at the expense of a cruel and humiliating joke at the hands of school bullies. The very nature of this humiliation is heightened thanks to the now-ubiquitous sharing of (too much) information on social media: feeling totally rejected by his peers and having long been ignored by his family, he seeks solace in the esoteric confines of The Oracle since finding he has nowhere else to turn. His story becomes woven into that of Laurel's, and others besides.<br />
<br />
The weirdness of the setting, as it is steadily revealed (and which draws on Greek myth, though lightly and wryly) is in sharp, almost binary contrast to the lives of the protagonists, with their so-very-earthy concerns. An already-noted skill of the author is her ability to make her characters vividly tangible and real: imperfect and blemished, and always believable enough that I can wince or rejoice at their reactions to the situations and decisions they face. These two contrasting elements, deftly melded together, are what gives <i>The Drowning Of Arthur Braxton</i> its dynamism, not to mention its poignancy.<br />
<br />
Throughout, a number of themes prevail, in sometimes bleak circumstances. Big themes: love, hope, acceptance, expectation, disappointment and, ultimately, redemption (as well as a hefty dollop of the sometimes extreme steps people take when self-preservation is their only concern). From the irrational, collective 'fear of the other' which eventually leads to its desperate embrace, to the delicate agonies (painfully detailed) of teenage love: all combine into a narrative as poignant and powerful as it is mischievous.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, if you got this far, I would recommend it. <br />
<br />
<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-89376485808770017132012-07-07T09:31:00.000+01:002012-07-07T09:41:27.589+01:00Four score years and sixteenA week and a day ago I was at a motorway service station, of all places, when I got a call from my mother, who told me in plain and simple terms that my grandmother had died.<br />
<br />
I wasn't particularly expecting such news, yet in some ways I've been preparing for it - consciously and otherwise - for some years. She was a stubborn old thing, how she clung on to life and retained some ferocity of spirit which shone through in her last years perhaps because of, rather than despite, the compromises to her independence, her health and her clarity of thought. <br />
<br />
I don't feel sad, as such, that she's died. 96 is a fine age and, I think, it's a fine achievement in life for anyone to have lived in their own house and manage most of their affairs (regularly catching the bus to go to the shops several miles away) up until the beginning of their tenth decade.<br />
<br />
Sadness and grief, whilst they overlap in significant ways at particular times, aren't entirely the same thing, though. I believe I've been carrying the grief around with me, relatively lightly these last few days, but that it may gain greater potency over time. Perhaps finding an outlet next week at the funeral. I'm not sure how much that grief is about the death of someone whose time had very much come, and how much it relates to those of us remaining in our family. Precious few of us, and my mother having to manage more assaults on her health than I would wish anyone to ever bear.<br />
<br />
Still, I think my grandmother has been passing for the last 3 years, at least. I hadn't seen her for a while, but she would no longer recognise me anyway: in her mind she now almost exclusively was situated in a time anywhere between 30 and 50 years before I was born. The unfamiliarity of her surroundings in these last couple of years - though in the village she had always lived - gave her a sense of disorientation on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
Yet it's perhaps during one of her frailest times that I have my favourite memory of her. Looking impossibly tiny and lost in a hospital ward late in 2009 after a severe bout of double-pneumonia (the decisive blow to her health that meant she could never return home again), she was yet full of life when she was helped to sit up in her bed, and her only talk was of getting out and going home: the nurse told us that she'd actually been writing notes and passing them to other people on the ward asking if they wanted to plan to escape with her.<br />
<br />
At that point, she was 94. I'd consider it an achievement to get anywhere near that age, let alone show such grit and determination.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-71830650787164592582012-06-13T20:51:00.001+01:002012-06-13T20:51:37.610+01:00Two LinksCompare and contrast...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/20100919110641/http://programmeforgovernment.hmg.gov.uk/civil-liberties/index.html">The Coalition's Programme For Government: Civil Liberties</a><br />
<br />
Sample quote: "We will end the storage of internet and email records without good reason."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/jun/13/online-privacy-legislation-internet-phone-data">Today's front-page headlines</a><br />
<br />
Sample quote: "The government is to offer a blank cheque to <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/internet" title="More from guardian.co.uk on Internet">internet</a> and phone firms that will be required to track everyone's <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/technology/email" title="More from guardian.co.uk on Email">email</a>, Twitter, Facebook and other internet use under legislation to be published on Thursday."trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-23331309621953291012012-05-03T17:45:00.003+01:002012-05-03T19:39:42.809+01:00BallotToday is one of those rare days in which I do something which makes me feel like a proper grown-up. I went to the local polling booth and voted in the local elections.<br />
<br />
I have my doubts about just how democratic the process is anymore (a discussion for another post, maybe), but nonetheless that feeling is dwarfed by the sense of importance attached to voting itself. It's a hard-fought-for right, after all, and we're seeing enough of those being eroded (legal aid for those on welfare benefits; a health service free at the point of use thanks to NI contributions, etc) by the smash-and-grab tactics of the coalition government.<br />
<br />
I'm well aware of the difference between local elections and the general election, yet it's hard not to want to vote according to my view of the political situation nationally.<br />
<br />
So I looked at the ballot paper.<br />
<br />
Conservative? Never. Never have, never will. I couldn't ever, and my levels of sheer disgust at Conservative policy - their attacks on the poor and less fortunate, their elevation of monetary value above that of society, their use of austerity as an ideological lever - are higher than they've ever been.<br />
<br />
Lib Dem? Before the last general election, they seemed like one of the few remotely credible choices. Untainted by any association with the recent interventionist policies (i.e. wars) of the last decade or so - but then, untainted by any association with office. Seemingly left of centre, and certainly left of New Labour. Obviously since the election it's been a totally different story and they are forever tainted as the enablers in the coalition government, over and above any restraints they claim to have brought to bear on the Conservatives.<br />
<br />
Labour? No. See above in terms of interventionist policies. Also, I always considered myself a "natural" Labour voter, if not necessarily a tribal one. Left of centre, from a working class background, and hence feeling all the more betrayed by the last Labour administration in its abandonment of the working classes and social democratic principles to the extent that so many of their policies are barely distinguishable from those of the Conservative.<br />
<br />
UKIP? Don't make me laugh.<br />
<br />
Any others on the ballot paper I confess to remaining ignorant of, and therefore don't consider it a good use of my vote.<br />
<br />
So, for the first time in my life, I spoiled the ballot paper. I'd rather not have, but I didn't feel I had any choice. Again, what the respective parties offer on a local level does not do enough to deviate from my thoughts about them in principle and I couldn't vote for a local candidate if I have such strong feelings about their party on a national level.<br />
<br />
So today I rendered my vote invalid, as an expression of my sheer disgust. I'm not happy about it, but I felt I had no alternative.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-74718577934370659032012-04-07T10:47:00.001+01:002012-04-07T10:47:54.453+01:00Misreading the signsI had to make a sudden and unexpected journey yesterday. As I did so I saw a sign next to a building plot, which I read as<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Open Sausage Land</span></b></div>
<br />
Conjures up some strange images, certainly. The actual wording was, as you might expect, much less interesting - "open storage land".<br />
<br />
I've also started reading the book by Caroline Smailes that I mentioned in the previous post. I had a certain amount of trepidation as I began reading <a href="http://thetrouserpress.blogspot.co.uk/2012/03/99-reasons-why.html">99 Reasons Why</a> yesterday - not due to anything about the book itself, might I add. Just that the last couple of times I read her novels, I had to put them down and return to them at a much later date since they coincided with some rather challenging times that I was facing. So yesterday, as I travelled across the country to visit a loved one who'd had a sudden admission to hospital, I wondered, "what could possibly happen this time?"trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-44252359317038932872012-03-19T12:00:00.000+00:002012-03-19T12:00:07.688+00:0099 Reasons WhyI had great fun, a couple of years ago, <a href="http://thetrouserpress.blogspot.co.uk/2010/05/like-bees-to-honey.html">hosting a chapter</a> of <i>Like Bees To Honey, </i>a rather fabulous novel by author and fellow blogger <a href="http://www.carolinesmailes.co.uk/blog">Caroline Smailes</a>. As part of its launch, each chapter was hosted online by a different blog site, so if you wished you could read the novel in its entirety by skipping from one site to another. I <i>strongly </i>recommend that you do get yourself a copy and read it. <br />
<br />
Now, I gather that Caroline has been creating a bit of a stir with her new novel, <i>99 Reasons Why, </i>published today. I'm pleased, once again, to be hosting some of her words to mark the occasion. However, before I go any further, I should add a spoiler alert:<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #990000;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Spoiler Alert - the ending to <i>99 Reasons Why</i> is contained in this blog post.</span> </div>
<br />
Or rather, <i>an </i>ending. There are actually several, all different, of which the text further below is just one. Basically, <i>99 Reasons Why</i> is being published as an ebook (in <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/99-Reasons-Why-ebook/dp/B006KWAI2W/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1331652988&sr=1-1">Kindle </a>and <a href="http://itunes.apple.com/gb/book/99-reasons-why/id510349347?mt=11">iBook </a>editions), and actually has nine possible outcomes which are navigable by your e-reader. There are two further endings to be found (along with lots of other background information on how she came to write the book, and the resultant publicity) via <a href="http://www.carolinesmailes.co.uk/blog">Caroline's own site</a>.<br />
<br />
I should add that it's delightfully odd to be doing this, given that I've managed to avoid any details of the content of the book so far (I'm waiting until I read it). Still, without any further ado, here it is. I hope it whets your appetite.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJYeEwV6KyLuZSaG5aVxXIKYcGPkL900JbtmAv-gE5yqz8ld8kOZxJzxOCN4ZVxBFAlV0OgXWK1-qW-BNDUA5hpnQQUVLF7zdwv_vHwPTiqTdUyoF4oVg9BdRGlCfnXNy1uvq_qBrS5Y/s1600/99+REASONS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJYeEwV6KyLuZSaG5aVxXIKYcGPkL900JbtmAv-gE5yqz8ld8kOZxJzxOCN4ZVxBFAlV0OgXWK1-qW-BNDUA5hpnQQUVLF7zdwv_vHwPTiqTdUyoF4oVg9BdRGlCfnXNy1uvq_qBrS5Y/s320/99+REASONS.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>99: the reason why I was only worth ninety-nine quid </b><br />
It’s been six days since the little girl in the pink coat went missing and me Uncle Phil’s in me bedroom. <br />
<br />
We’ve been watching the little girl in the pink coat’s mam on the news. She was appealing to the public for witnesses. <br />
<br />
‘Didn’t realise she had a mam,’ I says, looking at me telly. <br />
<br />
‘Everyone’s got a mam, pet,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
‘She sold her story to<i> The Sun</i>,’ I says, looking at me telly. <br />
<br />
‘Got a few quid,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
I nod. <br />
<br />
‘She wanted nowt to do with that bairn before all this,’ me Uncle Phil says, looking at me telly. <br />
<br />
‘Do you know where she is?’ I asks me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘Belle?’ me Uncle Phil asks me. <br />
<br />
I nod. <br />
<br />
‘She’s safe,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. ‘Your mam’s keeping an eye on her.’ <br />
<br />
‘Can I be her mam?’ I asks me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘No, pet, you’re a filthy whore,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
I nod. <br />
<br />
‘Can you make Andy Douglas come back, Uncle Phil?’ I asks me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
Me Uncle Phil shakes his head. <br />
<br />
‘I love him,’ I tell me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘Andy Douglas is your brother, pet. You didn’t seriously think Princess Di was your mam, did you?’ me Uncle Phil asks me. <br />
<br />
I nod. <br />
<br />
‘You’re a cradle snatcher just like your mam,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
I nod. <br />
<br />
‘Your mam miscarried when she found out I’d been banging Betty Douglas. Betty was expecting you,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
I don’t speak. <br />
<br />
‘When you was born, your mam went mad and I ended up buying you from Betty Douglas for ninety-nine quid,’ me Uncle Phil says. <br />
<br />
‘Ninety-nine quid?’ I asks me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘I paid a hundred but got a quid change for some chips for your mam and dad’s tea,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
‘You bought me?’ I asks me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
I’m a little bit sick in me mouth. <br />
<br />
‘It was the right thing to do,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. ‘I got Betty Douglas pregnant straight away with Andy.’ <br />
<br />
‘I’m pregnant,’ I says to me Uncle Phil. ‘I’m pregnant with me brother’s baby,’ I says, and then I throws up on me purple carpet. <br />
<br />
‘You’re a filthy whore,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
‘What am I going to do?’ I asks me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘You’re going to have the baby,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
‘Have me brother’s baby?’ I asks me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘Then I’m giving it to Betty Douglas to bring up,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
‘You what?’ I says to me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘It’s the right thing to do,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
‘I can’t—’ I says to me Uncle Phil. <br />
<br />
‘It’s either that or I’ll make you disappear,’ me Uncle Phil says to me. <br />
<br />
I don’t speak. <br />
<br />
I’m thinking, <i>they’re all a bunch of nutters</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-26097032782463784662012-03-14T08:35:00.001+00:002012-03-14T18:23:48.972+00:00In a China ShopSo the coalition Government walks into a china shop, armed with a big bag full of padding, and a baseball bat. They wander the shop carefully, with much scrutiny, and after a while they take the best vases, bowls, crockery etc from each section, and keep them for themselves. Despite the fact that these items are supposed to be available to the public, and despite the fact that the government never said they would take the best bits and keep them. They put them in their bag carefully, to be taken to be sold off to their mates who will sell them at a much inflated price.<br />
<br />
They then look at the now-depleted selection of China on display - there's not a huge amount left. Taking the baseball bat, they gleefully and systematically smash the rest of the goods into tiny pieces.<br />
<br />
"What are you complaining for? There are now <i>more </i>pieces of China for everybody."<br />
<br />
<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-21371030765447412542012-03-11T21:53:00.001+00:002012-03-11T21:53:56.965+00:00Candles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluq68iseYBTX8F0J7EnM_8CtdTtVqB-j5saXvyFHPLizJAsVJ_vnrIHN18P67xeAfE8WgUL28r6VopnUTnJKsfd2J-1rDmTe-HU0_lgdW8MeeZsYgHMlnFBZY0vYazEY2zuPs6U4am80/s1600/DSCF8203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluq68iseYBTX8F0J7EnM_8CtdTtVqB-j5saXvyFHPLizJAsVJ_vnrIHN18P67xeAfE8WgUL28r6VopnUTnJKsfd2J-1rDmTe-HU0_lgdW8MeeZsYgHMlnFBZY0vYazEY2zuPs6U4am80/s320/DSCF8203.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
I've been away, and am in the process of adjusting to being back. Only a week or so away, and yet the normal, everyday stuff still seems odd, somehow secondary. Especially when compared to being cocooned in an atmospheric place such as the one above: places where life feels slow, and yet time passes so very quickly. <br />
<br />
Just saying.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-74298711417629398902012-02-19T21:58:00.001+00:002012-02-19T22:01:08.416+00:00On bodily fluidsI was in very pleasant company today, and circumstances were solicitous to me <a href="http://trousers-longstories.blogspot.com/2007/09/favourite-piss.html">telling this story.</a> I'm glad to have revisited it actually: I love the expression on people's faces when I tell them about someone asking me "what's your favourite piss?" - sheer, initial incomprehension, followed later by curiosity, then the acceptance of what was a very odd situation. Finally, said company being able if not downright eager to supply me with their own answers to the same question...the beauty being the narrative arc which ensues. <br />
<br />
No, that won't make any sense whatsoever unless you read the story I've linked to. Sorry. For what it's worth, I think it's one of the better pieces of writing that I've done, and one of the reasons I started blogging in the first place was because I wanted to recount this tale.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-50274997144761848892012-02-18T11:16:00.002+00:002012-02-18T11:25:01.379+00:00In angerI cannot believe what the government of this country are doing, and for which they have no mandate. If, as is often said, you can judge a society on how they treat the most vulnerable, <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/society/2012/feb/16/disabled-unpaid-work-benefit-cuts">then our society is currently failing very, very badly. </a><br />
<br />
It's not just the government, in fact - sections of the media are essentially acting, as one might expect, as the government's propagandists. Yet when a right-wing, normally pro-(conservative) government paper like the Daily Mail publishes <a href="http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2102484/This-wartime-Nazi-Germany-Camerons-attacks-vulnerable-needy-stopped.html">articles like this</a>, it shows just how far - and rapidly - we've travelled in a very worrying direction. <br />
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I know I don't often speak out on here about political issues, but increasingly over recent weeks and months I've had a growing sense of unease, which is now developing into rage and despair. <a href="http://diaryofabenefitscrounger.blogspot.com/2012/02/eternal-slavery-for-sick-and-disabled.html?spref=tw">We ignore issues like this at our peril.</a> Legislation like this doesn't affect me, you might say, since I don't have a disability. No I'm not disabled, but it's hardly a stretch of the imagination to consider that I might be at some point in the future. I hope not, of course, but if I were I would hope to be treated with a basic level of decency and understanding. At the moment, that appears to be <a href="http://www.latentexistence.me.uk/government-taps-sick-and-disabled-people-as-source-of-free-labour/#comments">too much to ask</a>. <br />
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Combined with the ever-more-punitive treatment of anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/feb/16/work-free-tesco-job-advert">out of work</a> (thankfully, some of which is starting to get the <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/business/2012/feb/18/tesco-jobless-scheme-work-experience?CMP=twt_gu">response </a>it deserves), it appears that there is a concerted attempt to change attitudes. It would be wrong-headed to say that because someone has a disability, they have a problem - however what's even worse is reaching a state of affairs in which if someone has a disability, they are seen to <b><i>be</i></b> a problem. <br />
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How did we get here, and how is this even considered to be acceptable?<br />
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<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-28705098106001764012012-02-15T17:32:00.000+00:002012-02-15T17:32:00.483+00:00Misreading the signs<div style="color: #990000;">
<span style="font-size: x-large;">Shitting blood when you brush your teeth?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">They must be making toothbrushes much sturdier these days, if that's the case. </span> </span></div>
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<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-90511823618735543812012-01-29T20:44:00.002+00:002012-01-29T20:44:43.586+00:00Mist<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHD_-BITaZKFjOHyX-oeAd5aqOUkSpn-h-fNIVpdCMnvAps5_XW3zh5lsm0fXF_shOWjLCHuOZAUTSo6VFgIItSZEv40xuTLBhJZlNTkZdcqkkwGjze1sK2jvRz9YGZ7QDzYQH263lLnQ/s1600/DSCF8073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHD_-BITaZKFjOHyX-oeAd5aqOUkSpn-h-fNIVpdCMnvAps5_XW3zh5lsm0fXF_shOWjLCHuOZAUTSo6VFgIItSZEv40xuTLBhJZlNTkZdcqkkwGjze1sK2jvRz9YGZ7QDzYQH263lLnQ/s320/DSCF8073.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-WiKUHsKFh-xF3du8ySveZKMpd2LsAniClV-7mdGm6poLYVO_kc4BW3NvVbHw_bzF1ENUWadpuW6xYgPSVV07nB6LCa4zwjgeytjRmOhdfwrilwHF6W0z7OUgc1y_02G37cBHqBIVrU/s1600/DSCF8068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-WiKUHsKFh-xF3du8ySveZKMpd2LsAniClV-7mdGm6poLYVO_kc4BW3NvVbHw_bzF1ENUWadpuW6xYgPSVV07nB6LCa4zwjgeytjRmOhdfwrilwHF6W0z7OUgc1y_02G37cBHqBIVrU/s320/DSCF8068.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-37504453888979769582012-01-27T17:22:00.003+00:002012-01-27T23:42:25.645+00:00Misreading the signsMisread at the main office at work today:<br />
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<span style="color: #990000; font-size: x-large;">Please mock before you enter</span><br />
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(there, that one's rather more straightforward, no?)trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-18850219359905669642012-01-22T13:49:00.002+00:002012-01-22T13:49:29.554+00:00Contains swearing<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6Z0ZH6TXe8">Here is one of a number of very sweary but amazing rants</a> delivered in fine style by a guy who has posted a whole series of them up on youtube. Kind of an unfettered "thought for the day" delivered by an angry taxi driver.<br />
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They're incredibly entertaining and of every one of them I've watched so far, I've barely disagreed with a single word. <br />
<br />trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-88299555944629850212012-01-18T19:04:00.002+00:002012-01-18T19:04:11.660+00:00Misreading the signs<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="color: #990000;">Soviet Toilet Tissue</span></span><br />
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I'm sure I don't need to tell you what it actually reads as - it's hardly rocket science (whether of the Soyuz variety or otherwise).trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-58600874562932227242012-01-15T18:29:00.003+00:002012-01-15T19:25:41.810+00:00A Polite RequestI know I haven't been the most sociable blogger these last few months, and apart from my posts being few and far between, I haven't exactly been active in terms of replying to comments or visiting other people's blogs (still, I greatly appreciate that people still stop by here and leave comments - thank you). Life has just had different things which I've needed to focus on.<br /><br />Well it may, as a result, sound a bit rich for me to request that you <a href="http://diaryofabenefitscrounger.blogspot.com/2012/01/start-of-my-campaigning-nowhere-to-turn.html">go and read a blog post that I'm linking to</a> - but I'm requesting it all the same. It isn't about me. It's posted on the excellent - and increasingly crucial - <a href="http://diaryofabenefitscrounger.blogspot.com/">Diary Of A Benefit Scrounger</a> blog. I just think that it, and other posts on that site, need to be read. I feel very strongly about this stuff, but such posts say it far better than I ever could.<br /><br />Please, would you? Thanks, in anticipation.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-26699835990955134802012-01-11T17:58:00.004+00:002012-01-11T18:12:13.047+00:00Pictures not words<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8p20Ns2AIf4dw0K7edFfM0f5HZ7G_xlAoMuSBC1w2Hzmn0jNvhS44-YxmQh1tdKCBhBq9GXKkRtLRDUdiPsptjkZ4SMrWHt4mBEyA7SQubiT_3sFZRXniBR1hyiPXVgJdiiDCFoqPJU/s1600/DSCF7932.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8p20Ns2AIf4dw0K7edFfM0f5HZ7G_xlAoMuSBC1w2Hzmn0jNvhS44-YxmQh1tdKCBhBq9GXKkRtLRDUdiPsptjkZ4SMrWHt4mBEyA7SQubiT_3sFZRXniBR1hyiPXVgJdiiDCFoqPJU/s400/DSCF7932.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696438754995341122" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62SSwUrxJXkQ25G-f2b_dnalIBEKVEartebibuyBvDbTYMmBNIAgYWpFYxQidYEZz_v0-Wbu1Ppx2dGBsA2fZtR429kmVU_rpKrokMfTYcSTLutaA0LnLeBSJvBsaZaTFHgESPwsufNE/s1600/DSCF7924.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62SSwUrxJXkQ25G-f2b_dnalIBEKVEartebibuyBvDbTYMmBNIAgYWpFYxQidYEZz_v0-Wbu1Ppx2dGBsA2fZtR429kmVU_rpKrokMfTYcSTLutaA0LnLeBSJvBsaZaTFHgESPwsufNE/s400/DSCF7924.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696438749117271154" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4Db6ZP_LvPJ9xXlGcu-9j82HYzCTjdbnvPcqwVh7GkWVPpTd9SAOnBQmS2GqOMl03lJibTYAFGQk_EBjSmoXbm8RSkg28UhwUfZRG3j-HYFKEH8B0awX2jJtqV48lsmP1zPbFoj5pQs/s1600/DSCF7898.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit4Db6ZP_LvPJ9xXlGcu-9j82HYzCTjdbnvPcqwVh7GkWVPpTd9SAOnBQmS2GqOMl03lJibTYAFGQk_EBjSmoXbm8RSkg28UhwUfZRG3j-HYFKEH8B0awX2jJtqV48lsmP1zPbFoj5pQs/s400/DSCF7898.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696438246660579458" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRv0N62pH5hg1pCltp-3YLoto3b9QTCoWKO46J0T2SoRJsMs1aAoCXSQ5UJI4LBD3Jm8R4m_ka5V5C4LboIJ8Djjk24lbYdSMArJWP7OwmQAOWjmhadmj3l7YtTGJyu1xHEET-uiRMSY/s1600/DSCF7887.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzRv0N62pH5hg1pCltp-3YLoto3b9QTCoWKO46J0T2SoRJsMs1aAoCXSQ5UJI4LBD3Jm8R4m_ka5V5C4LboIJ8Djjk24lbYdSMArJWP7OwmQAOWjmhadmj3l7YtTGJyu1xHEET-uiRMSY/s400/DSCF7887.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696438232425768050" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpZfSegwVbJ3Iyxax1On1e5yBmDQyCG2mKzIe-Q5jjRHT7zq82pH7xnDl28ojPq2WYcCC_REqnXVXtsUtNX2IqiUS5p1gvCHQqVmJbNmSCaTRRg7mFId3db2N0OokqOKwO6_V5elUQaU/s1600/DSCF7857.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBpZfSegwVbJ3Iyxax1On1e5yBmDQyCG2mKzIe-Q5jjRHT7zq82pH7xnDl28ojPq2WYcCC_REqnXVXtsUtNX2IqiUS5p1gvCHQqVmJbNmSCaTRRg7mFId3db2N0OokqOKwO6_V5elUQaU/s400/DSCF7857.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696438217200126866" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yz62Vnrp6CI41DALpZvMRj40BSdRZ_ra3XeAC9Z8DQMXLm8D2Z0wLw3Imvm_gvNtTACXalCS7eON5wngUQK7z8mmkraei5kGhF5KgivzQhcCVJs1Qounh-63GTjtKHsSytaa0sXsnhM/s1600/DSCF7854.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2yz62Vnrp6CI41DALpZvMRj40BSdRZ_ra3XeAC9Z8DQMXLm8D2Z0wLw3Imvm_gvNtTACXalCS7eON5wngUQK7z8mmkraei5kGhF5KgivzQhcCVJs1Qounh-63GTjtKHsSytaa0sXsnhM/s400/DSCF7854.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696438212445749266" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqhtIoWJ6p82M21djgDPN-AF27Gc4aTYlsABMs7LrJuODx8-FQS5-w6JSUq45IHU5R_6N-lct3LqUIvehK6FE8hJbJS8syQC5TONihD9p3n5xy3pGnFKcTHlNN0gjCKTUDqlhGjIS5cI/s1600/DSCF7919.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqhtIoWJ6p82M21djgDPN-AF27Gc4aTYlsABMs7LrJuODx8-FQS5-w6JSUq45IHU5R_6N-lct3LqUIvehK6FE8hJbJS8syQC5TONihD9p3n5xy3pGnFKcTHlNN0gjCKTUDqlhGjIS5cI/s400/DSCF7919.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696438260016653586" border="0" /></a>trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-44379007870725924932011-12-27T18:32:00.002+00:002011-12-27T18:34:48.136+00:00Misreading the signsAs I left the pub after a rather lovely Boxing Day Carvery, here's what I misread on the exit door:<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Thanks for nothing!</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It took a moment to realise that it actually said, "Thanks for calling!"trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-30046692699011493562011-11-10T17:48:00.002+00:002011-11-10T17:58:28.077+00:00Today I want to hold a black catFor some reason the shift keys have decided not to work. no idea why, but sod the idea of pressing 'caps lock' every time i want a capital letter. so i will have to remain resolutely lower-case for the sake of this post. a post - from me - what a novelty.. i can't even use parentheses or exclamation marks, which the last couple of sentences would clearly have benefited from.<br /><br />anyway, all day i've had this feeling that i want to hold a black cat. i had a dream last night. nothing different to any given night over the last few weeks, in that respect - most nights have been punctuated by extremely vivid dreams - sometimes genuinely entertaining/intriguing, other times unsettling/disquieting, often a mixture of all three. or four.<br /><br />well last night's dream saw me at the top of a very high tower, with a close friend and his family. we were on a little circular balcony which went around the top of the tower, with railings and lots of gaps in the ironwork to see the vast distance to the ground below. the other people all seemed comfortable and relaxed, whereas i felt rather precarious and nervous. with me was a black cat which was exploring, and i was terrified - as unconcerned as it appeared to be - that it was going to lose its footing - or pawing - and fall.<br /><br />the dream has stayed with me all day, as has this feeling of wanting to hold a black cat - to comfort it, or more likely to comfort myself.<br /><br />that's without even mentioning the later part of the dream where i was safe on the ground and had gone for a meal in a lovely pub/restaurant, but the toilets were in full view of everyone. they consisted of a seat with a hole in it, underneath which hung an empty plant pot. i decided i ought to complain.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-21754327634002103062011-10-08T15:31:00.002+01:002011-10-08T15:41:20.346+01:00Woo-hoo!I've been a busy bee today, but here was a strange interlude a little earlier on..<br /><br />I was out on the high street, drawing my life savings out of the nearest ATM so that I could afford a coffee before hyperinflation really kicks in (including emergency savings so that I could afford a shot of vanilla with it), when suddenly I heard what sounded like an expression of absolute glee.<br /><br />"WooHOOO!!"<br /><br />I turned round, eyebrow raised, to see a little old lady walking past. Must have been her, I thought, there was no-one else nearby. She eyed me with a look of vague melancholy, and I turned back to stuff my wallet with the increasingly-devalued paper money spewing its way out of the ATM.<br /><br />Hang on, I thought? WTF? Why would an old lady be whooping for joy like that? I wondered if I'd imagined it, when suddenly -<br /><br />"WOO<span style="font-size:130%;">HOOOO</span>!!!"<br /><br />I spun round to see the same old lady walking a little further past, but still close enough for her to have caught my reaction. She looked at me with that same hint of melancholy, stopped, fished a handkerchief out of her pocket and blew her nose.<br /><br />I was wondering whether I should tell her she had the most joyful, life-affirming sneeze I had ever heard. I thought better of it though, for fear of it sounding a little weird.<br /><br />She shuffled on, and I went for my barely-affordable coffee.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-42441796950043331452011-09-22T09:02:00.001+01:002011-09-22T09:03:57.502+01:00Brilliant Bonkers<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=rtyeXkdJD9I">I love this.</a> I wish I could dance like that.<br /><br />Actually, after a few drinks, I often can.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-58429083776852634102011-09-07T21:41:00.002+01:002011-09-07T21:46:15.578+01:00FlooredI know the last few posts I've done have been pretty minimal: this one will be no exception, at least in terms of the word count. I'm tired tonight but I've forced myself to be busy working on musical things. During a few online searches to find some particular source material to play around with (my search terms being choirs/drones), I came across <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qefK3SUQ6Yo">this, and was - am - stunned</a>. <br /><br />Haunting and beautiful in abundance, and I'm glad I've packed up my work for the night, since this has left me utterly floored.trousershttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12879862280895772283noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5137682720915766788.post-54148880422327955802011-09-02T21:32:00.001+01:002011-09-02T21:32:30.309+01:00I think I see a pattern emerging..<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfGt03VNQcNueRY7Y97FDob67EJroWFZcDO9_xbdjgXPDcJYAqNiTc7JIrnn_yg3-fPW2Q1DdGnIBUxdz93c3mse2l79cq4hnlN-JsyYU3axm5deQcSJZWtDeHsgj5S6dYzIoeqa3IDM/s1600/Edinburgh+Feb+09+159.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfGt03VNQcNueRY7Y97FDob67EJroWFZcDO9_xbdjgXPDcJYAqNiTc7JIrnn_yg3-fPW2Q1DdGnIBUxdz93c3mse2l79cq4hnlN-JsyYU3axm5deQcSJZWtDeHsgj5S6dYzIoeqa3IDM/s320/Edinburgh+Feb+09+159.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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