Taking back control

Oh isn’t a week a really long time?! So here’s the recap from part I. Orange buttons, buffoons, garden of eden, and thanks for reading. Finally, a part ii which has made it out of the fervid recesses. So before this destructs, let’s take a gentle gander back through time and across the spinning globe, before it bursts into a gargantuan nuclear flower...

Trubrexaggedon - part ii

USA

Ah the american dream. Where not pouring an endless stream of money into advertising, nor having 2,868,691 less people vote for you than your opponent by dint of an electoral college, ensures you win an election? Land of the free? More land of the extremely malleable - and you won't believe how long it took before that description replaced the far less charitable one!

A land where the carrot of wealth fights alongside the pendant of superficiality, and the entire balloon is periodically pricked by an underclass of consciousness. Once that pesky thing is firmly flung back in to its box before any serious damage can be done, and the balloon is fully patched, the citizenry can safely be returned to their mewling senses. Just in time to see the president tuck into an opponent with a carving knife, live on air, whilst dementedly screaming the presidency is mine for life.

That might just be the intensity of smacked realism needed for the moderately minded to finally see where the horror of electoral inactivity could truly lead. Hopefully that'll occur before they head to the polls in their droves, so turfing out the power hungry, small government (unless it involves getting hands over and into your private parts - especially if virginal offerings, sex optional) minded, power-crazed, empathically devoid dingbats.

Talking of manipulated carrots. The current potus (the 45th) allegedly suffers from partial cushing’s syndrome; and wherever there’s a troubling hotspot with temperatures in excess of 50 degrees, apparently leans towards placing a palatial edifice within striking distance of said trouble-spots. Strategically placed icbms dotted inside the gargantuan name overlooking the rubble, and any rabble with the temerity to cause a ruffled combover to slightly flop in a force 0.0015 breeze. So helping to ensure stocks continue to maintain their healthy defense payouts.

President thin skin is the undisputed leader of the free world. His administration of multi-billionaires studiously looking out for the little guy, and concentrating on the important things. Such as: cutting inheritance tax for all those people living wage packet to wage packet, but who have at least 14 plus million dollars they can squirrel away to their offspring, should they shuffle off this pie mud. Visiting the poor, the misfortunate, the stereotyped and downtroddenly maligned; providing them all with vhs copies of history programmes showing a better time in history, when workers were all hard at work, and the underprivileged knew their place.

Austria

Electing a non-fascist as president. Then slamming the brakes on, before pitching the pendulum fiercely into reverse.

UK

The sphincters charter, taking back control; and soon, fresh from across the pond... best before the end of the apocalypse re-packaged chlorinated gmo chickens.

Yes the empire's better days of bringing the rule of slaughter, divide and conquer, appear to be well behind it. Now leaders seem submerged by the alternatives of fear. No longer able to distinguish one mad max future from another, believing the only thing preventing a descent into sure madness is by monitoring, storing, and archiving everything everyone does should in-depth analysis years down the line be required. Should citizens dare think, let alone do anything mildly stimulatingly subversive. Protest over fair pay, or another duck pond not fit for a gnat? Tough. The checkbox for your permanent monitoring has been automatically checked and everything you do from now on will be stored for the safety and security of the nation, until the end of time.

Such moves are only a boon to nationalists everywhere. Who utilise them as affirmative signs the others shouldn’t be allowed in to their particular patches of twisted reality - let alone interbreed with pure stock. Whilst so many of their fellow compatriots (for whatever reason) fall on less than stellar times, their goto pissing post is always the same: it’s everybody else who’s different from us fault, and should be blamed for our ills. Usually though, if you spare more than two seconds to read the headlines before skipping to the next click-bait piece, the others (most of them at any rate) are usually escaping something: bombs being dropped, markets been blown up, beheadings for not believing in whichever sky fairy is the most popular in the region at the time. Economic systems decimated from pilfering politicians, bribing global corporations, small-minded henchmen, or possibly years of drought leading to pictures that usually depict a malnourished african child in a woollen jumper who's forgotten how to use his hands when the film crew are there, whilst the flies treat him as an aircraft carrier.

People drink in the nonsense spouted by most of the billionaire owned press, either not knowing or not caring enough to ensure their mental goalposts are sufficiently robust to view the material with a major helping of suspicion. But when reports of people with a more conservative frame of mind, indicate that they believe most people are guilty until otherwise proven innocent, then why on earth would the billionaire owning class do anything that would jepordise the status quo that ensures their billions remain untouched, by the trolls further down the ladder?

Perhaps if the top 0.001% of the people didn’t own more than the lowest 60%, and instead turned from fluffing their own nests into attempting to understand why so many parts of the world are, for so many, such steaming piles of dung heaps. Then just maybe, we could have a world where more people were able to reach their potential, and who knows, perhaps society as whole might just feel a little bit better off for it.

And before this continues in part iii somewhere around the corner, i hope you all had a wonderful christmas and a very happy new year.

One day, we'll wake up

Technology (that bridling beast, laconically thrashing before breaking loose from its  maddened masters maws, and devouring everything planet-side), was supposedly enabling the groundwork for massive improvement in the lives of inhabitants within advancing 21st century nations: increased leisure times, moments for citizens to think and ponder - which it does for those clever enough, lucky enough, hard-working to be successful enough, or inherited enough; however, each year a substantive population are forced into heedless servitude, forced to work harder to produce more, forced to work longer for less: to bolster the artificial economic reality, as they work competing with those elsewhere who have to work longer, for slightly more so they can compete with... whilst those nibbling away at the edges, wonder exactly what to do with those many figure bank balance assets - whilst hundreds of millions around the world starve, or die, from preventable diseases.

Time and major catastrophe permitting, the laconically padding surly beast will cure our ills; but the current road'll ensure those who can't afford it (law of the jungle/the market - take your pick) will fall by the wayside, leaving those who can (first paragraph provisions permitting) working harder each year to pay for it, or briefly bypassing introduced regulatory hurdles stopping the manufacturing of nothing, wrapping it in nothing and promulgating it as first class investments, as another artificial construct means you take home less than you did the year before, and more of what you buy is just that little bit more expensive than the month before, (unless you live in a hyper-inflating construct, then every second's more expensive) until something's tweaked stopping people realising they're playing with loaded dice, suddenly noticing every-thing's really nought, except a pile of doings.

Until that day, happy snoozing. 

Yay,how appropriate this is the 300th iffy post of tripe, just need to flick through those brochures for something nice and new and shi- oh dear, computer says no.

Glorious day

Yesterday was such a glorious moment: blue sky, a light breeze, smiling people. I even managed to take the camera out for a little spin; after the flatmate's inner ear required the attention of a doctor.

Living in one of the noisiest parts of town, you get used to inserting earplugs on a nightly basis. But on this occasion, it would seem the plug insertion was carried out a little bit too forcefully. Personally I put it down to a simple case of the flatmate overstressing the body the week before. 

The options were:

1. going to the local gp as emergency and waiting nearly four hours to get seen, or
2. trying out the nhs walk-in clinic tucked away just off the main road in victoria. 

Luckily there's a direct bus (which on this occasion looked as if it hadn't been cleaned since it was introduced) route.  Twenty minutes later we walked in to a practically deserted, modern, clean, fresh smelling reception, with (and this caused a little stumble) an actual smiling receptionist; who took down the details and said the flatmate should be seen in about 15 minutes. It took ten. Ten minutes on the NHS to walk-in and be seen. People came, people left and the doctors and nurses quietly, efficiently, went about their duties.

Even heard one person upon leaving, congratulating the receptionist, "I didn't know you were here, but I'll be using you in future."

And there's the rub.

It's currently good, efficient, with a relaxing - almost healing - atmosphere because it's not stretched to capacity. Once that happens, it will end up like any other gp's surgery. Everyone bad tempered, cursing the day they set foot in, and with a two week plus waiting list.

But the pictures. Not of the surgery but of a couple of other lines that caught my eye...

         

Which ended in a glorious moon...

Dickens would be so proud of our brave new world - a rambling missive

Forcing people back to work, if they are unable to find work or are incapacitated, sounds like a return to Charles Dicken's country.  You could see the great man himself flicking through the pages of today's papers with depressed resignation at the direction the current government, opposition party and general populace are seemingly headed. 

With the ban on smoking, kill joys are now working on drinking, no doubt after that we'll all have to wear the correct type of clothing otherwise we'll be sent to the gallows.

Soon to, no doubt, as too many people will be perceived to be enjoying themselves, the holiday periods will be rolled back and working hours increased under the guise of research showing that if people didn't have so much free time they wouldn't:

1. get drunk so often,
2. have enough time to be obese eating all that balanced food

Whilst those who had too much free time on their hands would be made to work a 50 hour week for the benefit of the community, ensuring they are no longer:

1. idly unemployed and going around robbing people,
2. have time to smoke and so become less of a drain on the health service - eventually,
3. need to live in deprived areas and having offspring turn into feral beasts - through boredom and nothing else better to do.

Yes, it's mainly those who are poor, whom the political chatterers and right of Stalin editors seem to have it in for.  If you're rich and wealthy then you can ensure your offspring are suitably taken care of by the chauffeur and bodyguards, even if they would rather be rogering the missus.

It's could, perhaps, be also true that there are shirkers out there who find the problem of moving to pick up a remote control, to much effort.  But the vast majority do want to work. Meaningful work.  Work, that at the end of the day makes them feel like they have made a difference. Work that is more than the means to a basic existence. 

Unlike, investment bankers, whose idea of making a difference is knowing they've pushed a few million more people further into poverty or destroyed the meager savings of another bunch of pensioners.  For this group, the government should barrel down with increased legislation.  Raise taxes so many of them actually pay proper taxes.  But will they? No. As the government is in fear they will up sticks and leave for easier climes.  Not realising that in reality, easier climes could only be had at the beach house.

A spineless government that believes this group will simply up sticks and leave, creating chaos and plunging the country into ruin. Perhaps.  but with the bloodsuckers gone, ramping up inflation (especially housing), then the vast majority will be able to manage on the average meager wage, and anyhow they will have to learn how to, once China and India truly begin their inexorable climb to burgeoning middle-class hood and their respective Bourses surpass the london stock exchange.  Then the redistribution of traders will begin as the lse fades into the distant horizon, overtaken by the far east and a new european financial exchange, the last dreams of empire finally fading into the mists.

Been at work is bad for your health, especially in this day age; unless you work for google or apple and perhaps - at a push - ibm. 

In london on any working day just - if you can bear it - travel on london underground and look at your fellow travellers.  Rarely will you see anyone smiling or laughing. If they are, it's a firm bet they are tourists, or passing through, or have only lived in the capital for 6 months and not yet had the happiness and love for life beaten out of them.  But just look at the people going to work. It's a chore, the majority don't enjoy it, but they keep doing it.  For they know if they don't, that they could be that grubby beggar pestering everyone for 10 pence or is it now £50, to help buy a cup of tea.  Heaven forbid they end up like that, so away they beaver and work. 

To be fair there are people who have lived in the capital for 10 or more years and are still happy. But then they have homes overseas, holiday 20 times a year, worked hard and don't have to endure more than they need to.

But for those stuck within the boundaries of the M25 and its lofty green fields, the constant grind has the subtleness of your own personal pneumatic drill.

Security vetoes blood soaked hands?

Amazed at the shocks revereberating around the "developed" world that two permanent members of the security council vetoed the implementation of sanctions against Zimbabwe...

Let's see now?

Russia! Oh yes, a poster child for democracy. Not poisioning ex-spies it disagrees with, nor grabbing assets that under a different premier would have been sold off for cheap trinkets - like a tantrum child. Nor showing how manly and muscular it can be by posing with upper torso exposed whilst fishing. With a tenuous, almost Mugabgiesque view of what democracy should be, that's permanent member security veto number 1.

Then there's China, sigh. Ivory back on the market, promoting quiet diploamcy whilst buying up the "developing" - as if the entire world is not in a continual state of developemnt - world's resources, but unlike the Mugabe regimie more likely to imprision for decades as opposed to have the army or ex-army go around and kill them. Duff them up a bit yes. Kill them? No! Well, if you don't take into account Tibet, or the Tiananmen Square massacres (nearly 20 years ago - strange that it still feels like yesterday), or the Falun Gong 'sect', or "AIDS activists have been followed by police and beggars rounded up." And there we have permanent member security veto number 2.

So with all that and China soon to be in bed with Russia over oil & gas, supply and demand, then it should come as no surprise at all ,that things went the way they did in the UN security vote.

And there's obvioulsy going to be no surprise when the 1920's recession clips our chirpy wings, bringing us down from the heady clouds of the never-never we (oh so seemingly briefly) inhabited, to the scrabbling scorched earth of the never-never again.

IndyMac Bank, with perhaps Freddie Mac and Fannie Mae going the same way and destroying 50% of the US mortgage backed guarantees, the green back is looking, as each day passes, more the sick puppy that will soon be on its back in the advanced stages of rigor mortis; with everyone saying 'how did it happen?'

Well those who wouldn't be giving thanks that the great satan has been laid low.

Ranting checks

There's nothing more gratifying (well not for me at this moment), than doing a post.  In the firm knowledge I have thoroughly relieved my chronic-over active constipated mind, from another stray bit of arrant nonsense clogging up its ability to accurately: co-ordinate, move, breathe and effectively harmonise all areas of discordant chi's.

Until of course, that submit button's been pressed. 

But on a good note, my less than insightful insights(sic), haven't yet removed me from the list of "socially acceptables".

So it is, that friends make polite points about the odd few spelling errors and even greater glaring grammatical inconsistencies.

What did Douglas Adams id say.... "with a brain the size of a planet!"

Clarity

Well it's nice some people make the effort.

"In a moment of clarity, like a snake it hits.
Its not the fact you're big or strong, they only see fear.
The colour, the shade, your skin.
And the fact its cold, no hair on your bald pate,
in need of that cap or floppy hat.
Is blocked from blinkered eyes.
You are out with only one intent;
to molest, rape, kill!
Their sub/conscious thoughts repositions and tugs.
As a hastened whisper and protective move,
lashes fear across adjudged surfaces!
After all, you only want what is their's!

In a moment of clarity, it strikes and hurts.
As you're walking to work,
meeting a friend - to view the latest release,
making your way to the local shop.
No doubt just to lift the goods,
if security's stare's to be believed.
Buying a book, booking a flight,
chatting with a friend on the phone...

But in a moment of clarity this is all lost."
© 2006 Nacnud

Regurgitating Interwebties.

Apart from the high flying academics, hob-nobs of the Interwebty, the soon to be regurgitatives - this year's graduates. I'm not sure how many of us are able to get our heads around the rapid change in technology occurring all around us and in so many fields.

Perhaps that is why an increasing number are taking solace in the blandness of reality shows, binge drinking or heading off to new less busy pastures to enjoy the fruits of their labour.

How many of us want to spend hours after a long hard day/evening or night in the office, once home, to start digesting information we haven't had to think about since leaving the last term/semester of school, college or university?

Even so, all the current crop of wonderful new gadgets which are wonderful and fantastic, will be paling in comparison to those around the corner and actively in the pipeline. But we'll be understanding less and less about their intricate insides. And the only way of fixing something that goes wrong, will simply mean throwing the item away and buying a new one, until we run out of resources that is!

Ghosts in the shell

Sometimes as we meander our way through life, with some experiencing a harder time of it than others. We come across and meet up with people that stop us in our tracks. Who actually make us sit up, and actively think!

They have a selfless abundance of goodness that is remarkable for its sheer pugnacious disregard for reciprocation. A wealth of untrammelled energy which is utterly astounding.

Then on the flip-side you have the Stalin's, Pol Pot's, Mugabe's, Bush, Bin Laden's and now the one from Kenya, whose entire existence appears to be that of making everyone else's hell.

Don't get me wrong, I'm as humanist-atheistic leaning as the next sensible person. But with the number of atrocities jumping by the day and, of course, impending (again) global calamities around the corner, perhaps there is something more than just electrons whizzing through grey spongy soup which makes those few people, special.

PT cough jackers and the Norovirus

Oh, things are looking bad!

Two differing neighbours have so far been laid low by the dreaded 24 - 48hr norovirus and its associated symptoms: heartily throwing up, experiencing severe diarrhea whilst vehemently refusing the offer of a full English breakfast. I ask you, how could anyone refuse?

But they have been sensible, staying in, and eschewing all contact with the outside world, even gone to the extreme of taking a couple of days off work!

In this day and age, when taking more than 30 seconds for a toilet break automatically makes you the number one office "slacker", most people will vainly struggle into their workplace. Thus continuing the effective spread of the virus. Unless, they work from home.

Now, I am a great proponent of public transportation. Use it on a regular basis, travelling up and down the country. Swear by it. When it works!

But there is nothing worse than been on an empty (it does happen on occasion) tube train, or a normal train, when it pulls into a station and someone enters the exact same carriage. Not sure if it is a homing instinct the chronically ill have as part of their genes, or that some memes have taken control, forcing them to sit directly opposite and start coughing all over me; doing their weepy impressions of frog swallowing fly's, mouths wide open, all the way down to their stomachs. But it sure feels like it.

So I end up been fully sprayed with whatever this years version of influenza happens to be! And as the little pests take the option of hurtling across the carriage and down into my passageways, I just know that in a couple of days time, it will be me doing those very same weepy impressions.

Makes me hanker after the Tokyoites very healthy respect for mask wearing when in ill-health, or if anyone else around them is ill, or if they are an anime character!

Sale madness, food waste, holiday's end

Sales should normally be coming to an end! But credit-crunch vampires, recession worries and lower than average spending, have - like naughty St. Trinian's - ganged up and put paid to that. So each day since the season of shoplifting and goodwill upped on its downers, the Hydraverts (many-headed advertising monster) mercilessly batters, the poor beleaguered cashless shopper!

Considering that over the holiday period and on Christmas day itself, a fair portion of shops in the capital were open. From the evidence of people shopping until the last of Christmas Eve however, you would have thought there was going to be imminent global rationing, or at the very least major shortages. People were packing trolleys to overflowing, and pushing each other out of the way to get those turkeys.

Now a 20lb turkey to feed 8 people is more than acceptable, but to feed only 4? Gluttony and wastefulness are terms that spring to mind. How much of the Christmas fare have we - and yes I include myself as part of the herd - been waiting for more than six months to enjoy, simply ended up in a landfill? How many presents have we all brought that people have ungratefully responded with, "don't know why you bothered! Wouldn't wear," and why is it always clothes, "that load of shite if they paid me!" Although saying that, I have been guilty of ingratitude once or twice in my lifetime, but never quite like that. Just once, or twice mind!

But it's a never-ending merry-go-round of what we really need and greed. We can't really afford - well the planet can't really afford - our wasteful over exuberance. So next Christmas I'm not going to buy, give or receive any pressies or cards. Just my way of giving a gift, to the environment!

Alas poor Midlands Mainline mugged by East Midlands Trains.

Part I - outward bound

It's not often the delights of first class travel are dangled within the grasp of my greedy paws. But when they are, with both legs, I jump at the chance; especially after having an oil painted picture of linen clothed tables, table lights, serviced tables with complimentary refreshments (including the wine), wider seats with reclining chairs... you bet I jumped at it.

However, unbeknown to either of us. The franchise from London St. Pancras to Nottingham, had been lost by Midlands Mainline to East Midlands Train. And as soon as the journey from London towards the northern territories began, a series of events brought a coruscating tear of laughter gently cascading down my right cheek.

For the travelling occasion I turned out in a pair of chinos - with matching trainers, a nice snazzy but label free jumper, and a shaved head replete of any markings. Now, not been a veteran seasoned first class traveller, perhaps it was the way that I sat, or maybe my jib was incorrectly hoisted or even folded. Either way when other, obviously seasoned first class travellers embarked and started tuttling aloud whether, "is this first class?" whilst glaring at me before moving on, I began to wonder whether it's my attire or just my second head.

But if that wasn't bad enough, then had the train skivvy, I mean guard, sorry train manager; pop along hovering by the table clearing his throat and harrumphing. We both simultaneously deigned to hand over our tickets, forcing him to actually speak. Remarkably he brusquely finally manages to get out "tickets," without spitting. Yet when he sails further down the carriage, and comes across more customers, can clearly be heard asking them "tickets Sir" or "tickets Madam". However, the sickly smile he gave us after receiving our pristine first class tickets provided a scintilla of contended gratification.

Perhaps I have been watching too many black & white films, and those days of courtesy, service, and servitude have long disappeared. Either that or my non-Russian-billionaire status, is finally starting to work against me.


Part II - inward hell

Well the return trip on the inglorious East Midlands Trains train; complete with rude staff that suck, started off with the train been diverted without warning ten minutes after pulling out from the station. The buffet car with 1.5 hours remaining of the journey promptly closed, again without any warning. No skivvy, sorry guard, no, train manager popping along to clip, sorry inspect tickets - so first class was packed and riotous.

From boarding until half way into the journey, only one member of staff was seen.

Then the odd announcement, which held verbal longings for the last days of empire. A hankering for the old days of the blessed Midlands Mainline, quivered over tinny tannoy's. The whole sorry saga made me wonder whether the train manager was also the buffet bar manager, guard, and obviously in line with the new stakeholder's ideas of general cost cutting, also the driver.

I would recommend making the trip from London to Nottingham, if you eschew this particular train company, in a Trabant! It would be far more comfortable and you'd arrive refreshed, even if without style.