Wednesday 11th May

As a teenager The Beatles were my favourite group, but I really liked The Searchers and Gerry and The Hollies amongst others.  The Hollies came out of Manchester and like many bands following The Fabs example started writing their own songs.  The band had been created by Alan Clarke and Graham Nash, and in 1968 Graham left, despite the band being incredibly successful.   He left England too and travelled to California and the loving arms of Joni, and the musical pull of David Crosby and Stephen Stills.  They formed the incredibly successful Crosby, Stills and Nash and then Neil Young joined and they became mega-superstars.  Graham was liberated from writing ‘pop’ songs and began writing songs straight from the heart; too many for CSNY albums so he released his solo album “Songs for Beginners”.

I actually bought this before the CSN records and fell in love with it.  It is truly one of my essential records; from the opening bars of ‘Military Madness’ (In an upstairs room in Blackpool, the army had my father, my mother was having me) to the Political song Chicago which segues into the chorus of “We can change the World”.  Graham epitomized the Hippy Dream for me and as I was in love with all the singer-songwriters releasing wonderful records from the West Coast this record almost became the one I measured all else by.  1971 was the best year ever for brilliant albums and though Graham made many more records with CSN and a few lovely ones with David Crosby his solo records never quite lived up to this record.  Every song is a winner but especially the wondrous ‘Sleep Song’, an ode to Joni who had just left him (while you were asleep I was kissing your forehead, you gave a sigh so I kissed you again), wistful and yearning and beautiful all in one song.

I advise everyone wondering what on earth all those singer-songwriters in the early seventies were all about to listen to this one record.  It is wonderful, you might even get hooked like I did.

Tuesday 10th May

I have just returned from a lightning quick visit to England, where, though the weather was lovely, I barely had time to notice it.  To be honest it all passed by me in a blur, a flurry of dashing about on trains and tubes and processing invoices as I tried to cram too much into my too short visit.  To tell the truth I felt awful on Friday and travelling back Saturday too.  I put this down to a lack of decent sleep; worrying about getting up on time and going to bed too late, but also waking too many times in the night needing the loo or just checking the time before falling back into a fitful sleep.  And on the plane, though I felt shattered I didn’t manage to relax and sleep.  Yesterday (Sunday) was a bit of a rush too, working in the café in the morning and then painting the kitchen radiator, a long and tedious job, then back to the café for the latest Artist’s vernissage.  It was a bit quieter than usual, for some reason we only had about twenty people attending, but some good conversations, mostly in French.  I got a take-away pizza and sitting watching telly about nine I felt shattered, all adrenaline gone and I was falling asleep on the sofa.  I hauled myself to bed at ten and slept badly again.  I seem to remember waking almost every hour, and then about three in the morning I realized I had quite a headache.  I had only drunk two or three small glasses of wine at the vernissage but I felt almost hungover.  I made tea and had two paracetomol and fell back to sleep. I knew I had to get into the café early to tidy and wash up after the vernissage and was up at 6.30.

And then as i woke up it hit me, like a brick thrown through the window by a vindictive neighbour; I had a cold.  In fact I was streaming with a cold and a slightly sore throat and still a thumping headache.  Or rather my head felt wrapped in a blanket, almost all sensory perception blurred.  I stumbled through early morning tasks; washing up from last night, feeding the dogs, shaving and showering, walking the dogs and opening up the café.  And now I am sitting here dabbing my dripping tap of a nose and feeling slightly sorry for myself.  Another wretched cold, though the first one this year.  I know I just have to go through a few days of runny nose, sore throat and that it will gradually improve but that moment you wake up and realise you have a cold is quite depressing.

Monday 9th May

“The Suitcase or the Coffin” was a rather black catchphrase used by Algerians at the time of the Independence struggle in the Fifties, where protracted fighting went on with vicious reprisals from both sides.  France of course lost, as she lost all of her empire and indeed as Britain did at around the same time; mostly we avoided Civil wars by granting Independence, especially in Africa – but this was rarely a smooth transition, even if the creation of the Commonwealth was a stroke of genius.

And now as Europe is besieged by wave after wave of refugees from the war-torn Middle East and North Africa that phrase comes back to haunt us.  The suitcase or the coffin; and just as many Jews in Germany, Czechoslovakia and Austria and then Poland, France and the Low Countries discovered  – the suitcase, even empty of most of your possessions is the only real choice.  Britain welcomed thousands and thousands of Jewish people in the years just preceding World War Two.  And I am sure there were voices, and not only Mosley, who were calling for them to be refused entry then – just as now UKIP is, maybe using subtler language, issuing warnings against Immigration – the new euphemism for racist nods and winks.  In America Donald Trump is not so subtle, and his message is being received enthusiastically by a largely uneducated public.  His promises to, not only build a wall along the Mexican border, but to refuse entry to Muslims coming to America, is just the first step down the Nazi road.  And just as in the Thirties we welcomed the Jews, so we should welcome the Syrians and Libyans.

And on this day when we celebrate the election of the first Muslim Mayor of a major city anywhere in Europe we should give thanks to the waves of immigrants who have contributed so wonderfully to our culture and way of life; the Irish, the Scots, the Jews, the Afro-Carribeans, those from the Indian Sub-Continent, the Eastern Europeans and even now the Chinese.  Welcome, you have all enriched our lives wonderfully.  And though many of you did not have to choose between ‘the suitcase or the coffin’ we still welcome you.

Sunday 8th May

So, after all the furore, what do the local election results tell us?  Hardly anything we didn’t already know; local election results rarely do.  I can remember during the eighties how each year Kinnock would pile up local election successes year by year, only to be smashed by the Tories at the General Elections.  The truth is that only a few of the general public are that interested in Politics until the General Election, and that local elections are no predictor of the eventual result.  For one thing the turnout is usually low, except strangely this time in London which saw an increase of 7% in those turning out to vote.  Secondly, local issues may well be of more concern than national ones; if the local council, of whatever complexion, is doing a reasonably good job there seems no point in changing (only in General Election years when local and national elections are on the same day do we see big changes).   And thirdly, it is only one year since the last General Election and four years to the next one – so whatever the result it would bear little influence on the big one.

Having said that, here is my analysis.  Firstly Scotland, where Labour suffered again at the hands of the SNP, and a resurgent Tory party led by the formidable and strongly Unionist Ruth Davidson.  Labour have a huge problem and can only hope that gradually the Independence question will settle down and normal politics can be resumed; however I suspect that at the next General Election it still be a huge issue and Labour will struggle to improve on their sole M.P. north of the border.  Wales was much the same but Labour suffered incursions form both UKIP and Plaid but are still strongly in control.  England was much the same with only a handful of small changes; both Labour and the Tories losing around 30 councillors each.  London was predominantly Labour in 2015 and will probably remain so, especially now that Sadiq is Mayor; this was the one real victory for Labour, but London is far more progressive than the rest of the country. What we must also remember was that the last time these seats were fought was in 2012, when Ed Milliband (remember him) was riding high and won hundreds of seats back from the Tories.  So, compared to that this was a decent Labour performance.  I don’t think all the negative press about Jeremy has had much effect, not that that means in won’t at the General Election.  The real trouble for Labour is that they have no-one with the charisma or the drive to enthuse the general public and may well muddle along with Jeremy until 2020.  But politics is a funny old game and four years is a long time.  What could well happen then is that nothing much changes, except that the Tories lose a few more seats and no longer have a majority.  Then the scenario with which they scared everyone last time could well come true and an unholy alliance between Labour and the SNP takes over; and the price of that could be another Referendum.  But hang on a minute, there is an even more important referendum in seven weeks time and that could change everything.

Saturday 7th May

Record date 20660910

Tomorrow is my first conjoining, but as all days are the same that has no real meaning anymore.  One part of me thinks I should be scared, or at least apprehensive, but like a weary old man I just wave it away.  Apres moi, la deluge.  Who gives a fuck what happens to me?  I am never returning to that state of bored disillusionment my life consisted of for years.  So, almost anything must be an improvement.  And I nearly died anyway, down in that storm drain, or if I hadn’t had the balls to attack that bastard Peter Skinner I might have been killed by his cronies when they had no more use for me.  I felt such a thrill of control when I held that little knife to his throat, and he was so scared he did a little wee-wee in his pants.  I smiled as I saw the wet patch grow on his linen slacks.  Who is up the rope now sonny?

I knew I would be caught, and really I had had enough anyway.  Whether there actually was a ‘reb’ movement out there I didn’t care anymore.  I just wanted surrender, incarceration, clagging or whatever else might ensue.  Even euthen-heaven was better than being fucked so brutally over and over again.  I shudder to think of it now; I try to put that sort of thing out of my mind.  I try to concentrate on better, happier times.  Waking up in a field in France, in a tent, the kids and Cathy are still asleep.  I quietly creep out of my bag and unzip the inflatable tent.  The sun is already high in the sky, but everything is covered in this fine mist of dew.  The tent, our auto, the table and chairs we forgot to bring in last night are all glistening wet and fresh.  And I sit there, in my PJs and make myself a tea on the camping stove; the very one I later hid the laptop in.  I blow the steam off the mug of tea, I can hear birds chirping somewhere above my head, but I cannot see them, too many leaves.  I hear a rustle behind me and Cathy joins me, blinking with the brightness of the morning.  She looks very sexy in those ‘baby-doll’ PJs she wears.  Even after two kids she is really good-looking.  I suddenly want to fuck her, I have a stonking erection.  As she comes towards me, stepping over the guy wires her hair falls in two loose bangs down the side of her face.  Shyly she tucks the loose strands behind her ears.  I point to my dick, sticking up and tenting my PJ bottoms.  She laughs and says ”What are you expecting, Mr Nobby?”  I smile and say “Why you, Miss Pussy-pie.”

But of course we don’t do it.  We haven’t showered, we have no sensitisng lube, the kids are asleep in the tent, we are in a field, there are insects.  Exactly, my dear.    And even though we don’t do it, she just gives my stonker a friendly swipe and I squeeze her tits.  Pumped or not they are superb.  We kiss and I pour her out a tea, and we sit in the early morning sunshine and say nothing, just blowing the steam from our mugs and listening together to the birds. And though we both look for them, there are too many leaves to see them.

That’s all I wanted to say really.  I keep recalling that memory.  So peaceful.  I am ready.   

Friday 6th May

I am writing this around 5 on Thursday afternoon; I am back for a flying visit to U.K.  And today is election day, for the London Mayor and Assembly and for many town councils around the country so I don’t know the results.  And this is the first election since the surprise of Jeremy Corbyn becoming leader of the Labour Party last September.   I say surprise because at the beginning of the contest nobody gave Jeremy a chance; but in retrospect the decision by his predecessor Ed Milliband to open up the decision to every Labour member meant that all predictions counted for naught.  Anyway, whether a good decision or not (by Ed)Jeremy won by a country mile and now these local elections are being seen as some sort of a referendum by the general public on Jeremy himself.

However I suspect that the general public, most of them at any rate, couldn’t give a toss about Jeremy and will stay at home in their droves, as they usually do.  Sadly ‘Apathy’ is the largest growing Political movement in the country.  Those who do go out and vote, the elderly or those with distinct political views, will probably vote as they usually do, along tribal lines.  Except maybe in London, where Labour has been gaining ground over the last few elections.  I expect Sadiq to win and the Assembly to have a Labour Majority; but of course I could be wrong.  As for the rest of the country, it is hard to tell.  I think that Labour will make a few gains and suffer a few losses, but of course the political commentators will see anything other than huge gains as a setback and the public’s rejection of Jeremy.   And in a way it is, Jeremy has not set the country alight, it is way too early in the electoral cycle to do that, in fact this modern habit of defeated party leaders resigning on election night is a bit stupid, it gives the party no time to recover and choose a leader sensibly.

Anyway, I expect and especially after the latest anti-semitism row, that there will be renewed dissent from a few Blairite Labour M.P.s.  But I expect this to be shortlived.  The big one will be the Euro referendum, which still shows no signs of being decided either way.  If the vote is to leave, Mr. Cameron may not be the only party leader in trouble; if Labour voters appear to vote leave against Jeremy’s advice this could be a much bigger problem for Labour and I predict a Leadership challenge soon after.  And I actually doubt whether Jeremy will want to stand again – enter Andy Burnham….

You read it here first.

Thursday 5th May

We seem to be moving faster and faster into an instant world.  Companies now compete on the internet to see who has the fastest delivery times, and Amazon are even offering same day delivery if you go with Amazon Prime.  Everyone expects instant service; if we have to wait a few weeks we often prefer to go elsewhere.  “Is it in stock?” “No, but we have it in another store” – and so you go there to pick it up.  Even if we have to wait in line at Starbucks or Pret we get agitated.  Instant gratification is the name of the game.  Most large stores now work on a minimum stock system; their computers estimate the minimum shelf-life of products, the tills collect sales data and stock is automatically ordered to reach the minimum level, most stores have six or even seven deliveries of the same item every week.

I had a Managing Director a few years ago who would organize same day meetings by e-mail, last minute-ism I am afraid.  It never seemed to bother her that the people called to the meeting might have other arrangements, or even that they might be planning to be elsewhere at another meeting; her last minute decision to call a meeting would take precedence.  And with e-mail there is no hiding place, one is expected to have ones e-mail open at all times and to respond immediately.  I often received e-mails late at night asking for reports to be sent first thing in the morning, which would mean staying up late or waking early to do them.  Of course I do realise that my reading my e-mails and responding simply added to the culture of last-minute-ism.  But why can we not think ahead, plan, give people a bit of notice – we used to do it; I can remember receiving typed correspondence, delivered by hand, giving notice of meetings or requests for information and asking me when I thought this might be completed.  But as we rely more and more on computers we (or at least those in charge) cannot see why it should take us any time at all to press a button and produce information and e-mail it back.  I was actually quite busy at work with never any “spare time” and yet I was constantly asked to make emergency payments to suppliers when, with a little forethought, this could have been scheduled along with the regular payment run.

And none of us are immune, we all leave things to the last minute; and then often panic because we cannot find our credit cards or our keys or our phone.  Slow down and try to plan ahead a bit and life will go much smoother.

Wednesday 4th May

What a fabulous achievement, which the whole country can celebrate, except maybe for a handful of die-hard Spurs fans.  Leicester City have won the Premier League.  That means that over the course of 38 games (and only 36 played so far) they have amassed more points than any other team.  And we are talking here about such giants as Chelsea, Manchester United, Manchester City and Arsenal, not to forget perennial hopefuls Tottenham and Liverpool.  All these sides have larger Stadiums, larger squads of players, higher wage bills for their expensive stars and more fans – but still Leicester has beaten them all.  And to think that last season they only just escaped relegation.

Well, it was a strange old season.  Chelsea, who had won in 2015 with an eight point margin, imploded; Jose Mourinho, their star manager was forced out (for a second time) and they were almost in the relegation zone themselves, and even under a new manager they hardly sparkled.  Manchester United, the once invincible, seem to be incapable of throwing off the gloom of losing Sir Alec Ferguson and having discarded Moyes were not much more successful with Louis Van Gaal.  Manchester City started off well, but somehow managed to under-perform despite their expensive squad; the announcement that Pep Guardioli would be taking over this Autumn I am sure did not help team morale.  And Arsenal? Well, as usual Arsenal were Arsenal, flattering to deceive – every year they are looking good and tipped for the top but slip up in March and April, the future of their long-term manager Arsene Wenger is now really in the balance.

Tottenham were excellent but as usual managed to draw too many games, but they are looking very promising for next year.  But somehow Leicester, with a new manager just hung in there and kept winning. The very best news is that the stupid Bookmakers were offering 5000/1 odds of Leicester lifting the trophy last August and now stand to be caned severely by those few foolish Leicester fans who took them on when no-one gave their team a hope in hell.  It has really brought a smile to my face.  Come on you foxes.

Tuesday 3rd May

Apologies for those of you still back in blighted blighty, I understand you had a wet Bank Holiday yesterday, but it was lovely and sunny here in Eymet and we felt that Summer was on the way. Yesterday was Mayday here, again a holiday – but not, as in the U.K., deferred until the first Monday of the month. So, Supermarches were closed and quite a few Restaurants and Cafes didn’t open either.  There were the obligatory riots in Paris, but here in sleepy SouthWest France there were no such disturbances.  There used to be a custom that in the early hours of the first of May everything portable; plants, chairs, barrels etc., outside people’s houses would be removed by youngsters and taken to the square as some sort of memory of the confiscation of property during the French Revolution, but nothing happens these days.  Instead we had several sellers of little sprigs of Lily of the Valley.  Men are supposed to present their loved ones with these tiny bouquets on Mayday.  And of course the day would not be complete without Garlic Omelettes.

These are cooked not with the pungent bulb of the garlic but with the green stalks of new fresh garlic which are a bit like spring onion stems.  The meal consisted of a hors d’oeuvre of pate, salami and salad, garlic omelette with salad and bread, and apple flan for dessert.  There was also wine and Sangria (which while advertised we didn’t actually find).  The Salle Polyvalente was full of French people all indulging and meeting and greeting, and a handful of us English.  There was quite a jolly atmosphere and I was surprisingly hungry, the food though basic was really tasty.  And it felt like Summer, the sun shining after several weeks of rain, the trees now losing their blossom and new bright green leaves emerging.  Ah, this is what we came to France for; eating shared meals with friends and the occasional glass of chilled rose.  As I returned and switched on the news I was totally uninterested, so I switched over for bit of Snooker, a snooze and then back to decorating ( a never-ending task).

Monday 2nd May

Ken Livingstone has put his foot in it, yet again; he does have a habit of saying things which some people take offence at.  Or maybe it is the way he says it, I am really not sure.  There always seems to be an immediate furore, and then when the dust settles and we examine what was actually said it is often not that bad, and sometimes simply truthful.  But there does seem to be some sort of campaign against Ken.  It is almost as if certain commentators (many in the Labour party itself) are just waiting for him to open his mouth so that they can immediately launch a campaign against him.  And of course, Ken being Ken, he frequently obliges.

But what of the current issue; that there is an Anti-Semitic group of senior Labour figures, Jeremy Corbyn in fact may be included, which needs to be exposed and apologies demanded.  But apologies for what exactly?   The trouble is that if, as Jeremy, Ken and many others, myself included, dare to criticize the actions of the state of Israel, we are immediately accused of Anti-Semitism.   When State and Religion co-incide there can always be misunderstandings, and of course Muslims are often tarred with the brush of the actions of the state they may live in.  Having been born shortly after the horrors of the Second World War, and having read quite a few books about the Nazi regime I am a dedicated anti-fascist.  But I don’t accept that while having Jewish friends (and Muslims and even a few Christians) I should be excluded from having, and indeed expressing, opinions about certain Governments.

And as we are talking here about Israel, we should not forget that the modern state of Israel was created largely as a result of the genocide of six million Jews.  And because of that collective experience of the Jewish people, which must have touched so many Jewish families, I find it hard to reconcile the attitude of the Israeli state towards some of its own citizens who happen to be Palestinians.  And I understand but do not condone the actions of some Palestinians who are so frustrated that their attempts to seek some sort of State for themselves are met with such obstruction from the state of Israel that they resort to violence, which is met with often brutal retaliation, making any sort of reconciliation harder than ever.

I know that in writing this piece I may well be incurring the very wrath I have described, and I may well be labelled Anti-Semitic myself.  If so, read what I have actually written, and it will only prove my argument.