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The First Post. Not the Last…

I suppose it starts here….

Can we close the circus, and open the club?

— Brian Potter.

New blog innit. I don’t wanna put this vitriol on my business site (which incidentally is www.coedmynyddglas.co.uk).That’s gonna be for nice sweet things like trees and fluffy chums and loveliness, where charm sells, and a perfect life can be pretended at. This, my little chickadees, is where I say what I really think.

I’m sure some will make the link between nice site and nasty site, especially now that I’ve linked the buggers. Perhaps I’m setting myself up wrongly. Ok.. it’s not gonna be THAT nasty, but I’m gonna have a good moan. Think the flustered irritation of Karl Pilkington, the cynicism of Jane Austen, the bleak hope of Thomas Hardy and the ridicularity of the least literate of the Marx brothers, (which is probably Chico, the gambling thief) and you’ll be prepared for what’s to come.

Disclaimer. I might say some nice, positive stuff. It depends.

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This is Jodrell, and she’s a bit pissed off. Probably.


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Ain’t No Onesies Anymore…

 Ok. So let’s get this clear. What you’re saying is that it was ok to allow hordes of grockles into the area when we had low infection rates and the rest of the country didn’t. So they all came here on their jollies. And now because of that, the whole of Pembs has to lock down, along with the rest of Wales, even though we still have pretty low rates. But then who would know the rates? Because some people with symptoms are testing negative and others are testing positive. Some with no symptoms are testing positive. So it all seems a bit batty to me.

A friend of mine who works on a holiday site told me that when Caerphilly locked down, a load of caravan owners from that area turned up and refused to leave, preferring to hide in their second homes in Pembs and wait for it all to blow over. Another friend who works at Bluestone, has told me that people from safe areas in England have been booking holidays, only for their buddies from Liverpool or the North, the so called high risk areas, to turn up and honour the booking that was made under someone else’s address. Humans are very inventive. They will always find away around anything. You can’t blame the Scousers. It’s not their fault someone has decided that they’re plague victims.

Wouldn’t it make more sense, for the areas like Pembs that are low infection areas, to perhaps close down to visitors for a little while, but allow locals to do their own thing freely? It seems more than a bit crazy to let the whole world in, only to throw them out again when it suits us and then punish the locals that have been behaving themselves all this time by stopping them from seeing their grandkids?

Even the people who usually seem to have a bit of faith in their government seem to be losing that faith. I see people not able to get routine doctor’s appointments, or not be able to get their car fixed because they’re not a key worker, or their businesses suffer when they’ve had successful businesses up until now that have never had to worry like this before.

The old poor, those who have always been skint, are used to having nothing, to living on the breadline and worrying about the future. But there are certain sections of society who have never had to think like that, yet now, here they are in the same boat as everyone else, and they’re seeing what it’s like down here.

It strikes me that this is the first time I’ve seen it getting this dire. I’ve never seen the haves and the have nots all sitting in the same vessel before. And as we sink like the Titanic, the class divide gets ever smaller, where survival tends to depend not so much on what you have, but on how well you can swim and endure the cold.

I heard of a family member this morning who won’t be getting his new work contract renewed, after months previously of looking for work, because of this latest lockdown, and the uncertainty surrounding his job. He works at one of the more affluent camp sites in south Pembs, one that has holiday home caravans on it for sale for a quarter of a million quid. This is not a little business, but they’re laying off their most handy employee, because they think they’re not going to survive.

They’ve really overcooked this now. Non-essential items? There’s clingfilm all over the books in Tesco. This is apparently to protect smaller shops. Shops that are closed. So where will people buy? Amazon.

My friend’s boiler broke down the other day. She was stuck at home with the two little kids on Friday, trying to contact one of her bigger kids to try and make it to the shops before six to get onesies for everyone, cos the guy can’t come out to fix the boiler ‘til Tuesday, cos he’s really busy, cos of lockdown.

Last night at ten to six the roads were rammed with cars, and the shop at Clunderwen was busier than I’ve ever seen it, everyone stocking up on Stella and crisps. They should have had the foresight to get a tin opener, because apparently you can’t get one today. However, you can get fireworks. I’d say fireworks are pretty essential mind, cos surely in a minute we’re gonna need the gunpowder? Reverse engineer Guy Fawkes? It’s a thought.

Is it time for the revolution yet? Let me know. I’ll put the kettle one. Oh.. look.. the supply lines have completely dried up. There are no teabags anymore. You can only get potatoes and a small meat ration.

Now what do we do?

Get in the Bin

I was at the lights in Broadmoor earlier and a van drove past with the side emblazoned with yet another company who will take your rubbish away. And it occurred to me – they’re privatising the rubbish.

Think about it. We’re forced into the use of all this packaging.. campaign after campaign to use less fails, and companies continue to wrap toys up in twenty layers of cardboard with fifty million metal tags holding the toy into position. We have individually wrapped bananas, which have skin already on them. We have ready peeled oranges, wrapped in clingfilm – and then, you get all this packaging home, and the new rules instruct you to sort all of this out into relevant piles, wash every dog food can, be disciplined, take up your whole kitchen, and then, you end up left with all the stuff that is actually rubbish, because they will only take one black bag per three weeks, and woe betide you if there is an inappropriate item in that see-through black bag. You will be tagged with the tag of shame which declares that your rubbish bag is too contaminated to take away.

Later, you’ll see an article online from The Guardian or something, that tells you all about how this stuff you spent so long sorting out and recycling, gets shipped off to some other country and left on a beach, or gets incinerated, but don’t you dare burn it at home. Why not? Because the particulates are different. We burn stuff better than you can. You will burn it bad, we will burn it good, so give it here, and make sure your shineys aren’t in with your mattes, or you’ll be in big trouble.

Since the new recycling rules came in, a glut of new companies seem to be advertising on facebook to come and take your rubbish away. For a few quid of course. You can’t get to the tip if you don’t have a motor, and you can’t get there now even if you do have a motor, cos they’re closed… cos of Covid. However, there’s a geezer on facebook who can go to the tip for you. Or he can go somewhere. Who cares where he goes, quite frankly? If those bags that have been clogging up your 6 foot by 6 foot outside space, you’ll be very happy to give the fella £2.50 a bag to make it all go away.

And now it’s not just some guy, but it’s big companies, with really smart vans, clearly part of a fleet, new companies cashing in on this priceless opportunity. Remember the old advert? “People will always need plates, Adrian”? – well here’s the 21st century equivalent. People will always generate shit, Adrian. Especially when they’re forced into accepting unreasonable amounts of packaging on every single item they buy.

Look how sneaky this is. The state is supposed to collect the refuse. It’s always been that way. But now, slowly, surely, in the same way that they snipped away at the NHS and hoped no-one would notice, they’re passing this most basic of needs into the hands of private enterprise, and pretty soon, as well as us all having bad teeth, because there are no longer any dentists, we’ll be dealing with piles of trash everywhere and it’ll look like the binman strike, because no one will be able to afford the refuse guys.

There are surely a few wide boys taking liberties at the moment, but once it’s regulated, and becomes a service that is monitored, in the same way the gypsies now have to make you fill in forms when they come for your scrap, there will be beurocracy all over the place, and the service will become expensive, and then the class divide will become evident just not by some with nice houses and some with rubbish houses, but by the amount of black bags there are piling up outside.

Fly tipping is getting out of hand for this reason – all around the country people are dumping their stuff. Roads all over Wales are covered in litter, and at a time where we’re surely supposed to be tidying our act up, we’re making more difficult than ever for normal people to just do something as simple as put something in the bin.

It’s a new saying isn’t it? Get in the bin? Well, get in the bin capitalism. We’ve had enough now.

Just Another Manic Monday (Tuesday, Wednesday, etc…)

You know I went to Brum a couple of weeks back? And I stayed in a hotel? With indoor facilities and a heater? Well, after a rather pleasant drive home to the hills of Wales in the fading sunlight and reaching home as dark fell.. I switched on the light, only to find that the dog sitter had been charging his phone. The light went off after about a minute and half, and I was in the dark. The caravan had been empty since Friday, and so things were damp, as well as dogs taking liberties with the place and the goose having had visited.

There was a bit of charge left on my phone so I watched about half of the MOATS on Sputnik, and then all went dark. And I thought to myself. Bollocks to this.

The next day I looked at the price of flats in Brum while the kettle boiled and now the sun was up. I had driven down road after road of for sale signs, and getting all estate agenty I had a look. Some cheap stuff up there if you go to auction. Shall I move to Brum? Do goats like the city?

So, I carried on looking, and then looked again at places locally, and saw one I’d liked before, but ignored because these things were not concrete in my mind yet. Suddenly, after two nights on dry land, they were. I mailed the agent. Next day I viewed. Next day I offered. Next day it was accepted. Then I had a week or so of paperwork hassles to secure a mortgage and then suddenly. Today, in the nick of time before lockdown as I write this the contracts were sent. And stuff will start happening from…. Now.

You know what they say about light at the end of the tunnel? Well, there finally is some. I’ve been wondering for a long time what to do, and suddenly it all became clear. The kid approves. Two chippies in town and an Indian takeaway? Are you kidding me? The very town where I went to school and where some of my oldest and bestist buddies live, and where there’s a co-op over the road from the place I’m buying and they have cake.

Big kid lives up the road, the folks live five minutes’ drive away, there’s a fair there every October, and there’s swans outside. I know every pub in the town intimately, although not for a very long time. Nostalgia will be the main feeling I’m guessing, along with the glee of pavements when it’s raining and a chemist just up the road. People. Lights. Electricity. Wonderment. I’ve been living like a 17th century peasant, wandering around my land with my led lamp like some 21st century Bronte sister, Tess of the D’Urbervilles, just slightly less tragic, almost to the point of picking a tree, fearful that some being old willow, the rest having ash die back, that the bough will break and you’ll be explaining away two broken legs and a big bruised neck.

I’m not serious. Ok. A little. We’ve perhaps all been to those dark places. But you can’t carry it out when there’s kids and goats involved. You can be frustrated or glad about that. It depends. I think the last two weeks may be what mania looks like. I’ve done it many times. It’s always fun. I’ve never recognised it for what it is before. But ho hum, if it gets stuff done.

I’m beginning to think the whole opd off-grid thing has been one giant nervous breakdown. Where did it begin? When I left Jameston? When I left Narberth? When I split from ‘im indoors? When Gelf dog died? When I lost the shop? When I got stupid horses? I don’t know. Life takes so many turns, it’s hard to know which one brought you to where. Any decision could have changed everything along the way. It’s a lot to contemplate as I drive the miles to my land that I have to drive until other things take over up there. Never let it be said that I didn’t try, and never let it be said that I haven’t lived a thousand lives, and that there’s not room for a thousand more.

Yes, there are plans for my land. For now, that’s classified, but it’s good, and happy, and everyone is catered for. All the Delismurfs are going to be ok. Don’t worry about a thing.

You may have guessed the town. Those close to me already know. Locals will guess. My enemies won’t recognise the clues, and so they can wonder. I wonder if they will still stalk me when I’m gone? I think they may have other things to do.

I’m going home, peeps.

Kulaks vs Kolkhoz

Yesterday, a friend of mine sent me a photo that she had seen on social media. It was my neighbours, raising their glasses, in front of the stable block that one of them built without planning permission. Their glee was to celebrate their victory in stopping me achieving planning permission to live on my land. If you didn’t see the story here in the Herald as it unfolded, you might be interested to read my book – NoPD – How to Epically Fail at One Planet Development.

What interested me about this picture that I was sent, is that someone can be so smug about such a victory. Ok, you stopped me living on my land. Well done. Congratulations. But by doing that you made me homeless. Who celebrates making someone homeless? I guess, the kind of person that makes it their life’s work to ensure that you can never live on your land and start the tree nursery that you wanted to grow.

It’s a weird old thing, homelessness. You feel really lost. I’m still on my land at present; I have until February before they come and bulldoze me away. I’m in an 18 foot caravan that is cold. Really cold. And damp. I have plans to go, of course. I really can’t be bothered with court. But It’s interesting that this seems to be the way of things in this capitalist nightmare that they like to trap us all in.

There are no individual solutions to social problems. But in a world full of individualism, you’d think that was the only path available. People of a certain age, who grew up as baby boomers, who had good healthcare, decent schooling, affordable housing, they’re the ones who get angry when they feel that someone else may be able to get on despite all the odds. They’re into their pensions, which were sorted out back when there was such a thing, and they live comfortably, and they are able to do whatever they like, in that they build stables, houses, rental properties on their land, yet the council turn a blind eye, instead preferring to concentrate on those that have nothing. A farmhouse up the road sold recently to an English couple. They have filled the fields with cabins, vehicles, tents, buildings – all visible from the road, all making a visual impact, yet that’s ok, because they already have a house. And if you have a house you can have lots of other stuff and you can get away with it.

It strikes me that if I was in the position of my neighbours, in that I owned my property outright, had luxuries like land, stables, disposable income etc etc, that I wouldn’t begrudge someone trying to build something for themselves. Is the world really that selfish? Are people really that cripplingly cruel? It’s one thing to object to a planning application. It’s quite another to make it your life’s work to make someone fail, and then gloat over it.

During the Russian Revolution, the rich landowners, the Kulaks, were eventually beaten down by the peasant farmers, the Kolkhoz. With the help of the proletariat, they were able to rise up above the moneyed classes, the flag of the USSR signifying the union of the workers and the peasants. I feel that this may need to be a situation that arises again.

My neighbours, the Kulaks, aren’t being asked to share anything, to give anything, to contribute anything. But still they can’t bear to see the peasant class rise up. They can’t even bear seeing them safe with somewhere to live. And even though these objectors of mine are women, they show no solidarity with another woman, indicating that feminism was always a class issue, and the ones with the dolla will stick together, chink their glasses and celebrate the fall of the peasant.

My one trump card is that as a Kolkhoz, I’m on the side of the workers. The proletariat. We’re a much bigger group than they are. And when the revolution happens, it will be nice to see how they fare. Not many people know that most of the stories about the Soviet Union and Stalin were lies spread by the Nazis by their association with a certain newspaper magnate in America, but that’s another story. All we need to understand for our purposes, is that though there were a lot of lies about the Gulags, the Gulags did exist. And that’s where the Kulaks ended up.

Just sayin’.

Danger? Just Capitalism, Darling.

I’ve seen some anti Covid vaccination people online today, declaring that they’re going to get their flu jab. On the other hand. I’ve seen people also stating that all vaccinations are bad. I talk about eradicating smallpox, and that makes me a government stooge. Everyone has a stance on the Covid conspiracy. But there’s no conspiracy other than that which is obvious.

I was in Birmingham at the weekend on business. Three days of going in and out of all sorts of establishments; hotels, conference buildings, shops, pubs, takeaways, offices; not once was I asked to download any type of app whatsoever, but I see people all day long freaking out because they can’t get into McDonalds without downloading the track and trace app. Firstly, if you’re in McDonalds, then, well, sorry bro, you’ve already lost the game. Secondly, the fact that you’re using your smart phone to tell us all this also implies that you’ve lost the game. The app that you’re using, that social media platform, asked you for all sorts of permissions when you joined. Don’t you remember? And now you’re saying that the new vaccine will become compulsory and they’re gonna track us all?

In the queue outside the pub in central Birmingham last Friday night, we were asked if we had the app. We said no. So, the guy gave us a form to sign, that lots of people had touched, presumably, in that there were lots of signatures on it. I wrote my real name, and real phone number, but that’s all they wanted. I write like a blind child, so my information is safe, without even having to be on a blag. I could have written anything.

There was a book in the conference room we went in, but no one made anyone sign it. The only time I got asked to put a mask on was in the station, by two unmasked coppers, a station so vast that to me it felt like I was outside, but I wasn’t, so I had to put my mask on, that had been in my bag, because you don’t need it on in the street, and you need it to go into the pub, but not to sit in it. So it’s in and out of my bag and pocket, getting covered in fluff and dry tobacco.

In the pub you had to use an app to order food and drinks, but my colleagues already had the app, being that they live in Brum, and use this kind of magical technology all the time. No one was at the bar, the tables were waited on, it was actually much better than your usual inner-city public house experience. The staff looked too busy, and they needed more people working than they had, but apart from that, it worked fine. There were automatic hand sanitiser dispensers everywhere, making loads more sense than the ones in establishments where you have to press the lid to use it, which defeats the entire object.

I think what I’m trying to say, is that I’m confused. Either it’s dangerous, this Covid, or it’s not. Either you can have streets full of people in the city, or you can’t. Putting a mask on every time you visit the toilet after you’ve touched every surface in the vicinity seems a bit nuts. The fact that we had to stay on a table together, as we were a group, even though we had met up earlier that day from every corner of the country, didn’t matter. We were a bubble, as far as they were concerned. When a seventh buddy turned up, three of us had to sit on the next table to make us into two groups. However, when we left, we all left together, sandwiched in between every other pub leaver at bang on ten when we were booted out. The thing that worried me more, as we waited at the station afterwards for our other colleague to arrive, was that the police who told us to mask up, wouldn’t allow an elderly gent on the train because they made him admit he’d had a drink, so they wouldn’t let him on the platform, because it was dangerous. Leaving him alone in town and not able to get home, was not.

The following night, sharing a taxi with drunk people after an evening event, they had to be told to put their masks on by the poor driver, who clearly was sick of this already. They were drunk, so they put them on, but not properly. Of course not. They’re drunk. So, it’s either safe to let drunk people out, or it’s not. Which is it?

And back to the vaccination thing. Without a trace of irony, people who are up in arms about the Covid vaccine are proving they’re not anti vax per-se, by toddling off for their flu jabs, the research for which is being funded by Bill Gates, the guy they’re all terrified is gonna squirt them with a tracker or a sterilisation bug in a Covid vaccine, when he could have easily done it by administering it to every kid who has their TB jab at thirteen, or with the childhood vaccines that everyone has, or that tetanus that  you have when you tread on a nail or your cat bites you, or indeed, the flu vaccine, which they’re choosing to have. Their argument seems to be that they’ll be forced into a compulsory vaccine. Firstly, our government could never organise anything that efficiently, and secondly, why force you to have a vaccine when you’re happy to have one by choice?

The whole thing is chaos, and everyone is missing the point that as long as profit is in charge of everything that happens, nothing is going to make sense. And so you may as well stop arguing about the wrong things and consider a new society.  

Calm down. The answer is more obvious than you think.

Cancel Christmas? Go On Then.

Word is they’re on about cancelling Christmas. For fear of sounding like the Grinch, good. Bring it on. I bloody hate Christmas.

Kids of a certain age, as in my age, are probably feeling the same way as I am. And that’s because we’re eighties kids, born in the seventies, with all the memories of those eighties christmasses looming over you every year to remind you just how crap Christmas has become in this post-post-post-modern world.

Years ago it was all about watching Top of the Pops for all the Christmas number 1s, and we could console ourselves in later years that Christmas was almost as good, by putting  on Top of the Pops Two, a re-run of all those magical times, where you could listen to those hits and be happy in your memories. Now, we can’t even do that. The world has got so messed up that those old shows have now been banned, due to the fact that they were largely presented by paedophiles. All the old Christmas names have been wiped out. Ok not all, but you get the idea. Nearly all.

I remember going to see a youth theatre production that my son was in in Narberth, where the kids had written their own pieces. The one that stands out for me is these little kids in a group presenting their “Expectation versus Reality” turn. It was spot on. All the magical promises in the adverts get completely destroyed by the reality of the actual day, and not just the day, the lead up, the shopping, the credit card debt, the pressure, and everything else that goes with it.

Christmas used to be charity week in school and me and my mates sending each other the crappest, flimsiest cards in the cheapy Christmas card box for funsies; the cards with the candle on, the ones that were always the last in the box, because they were so bad.

Now Christmas is families desperately trying to get together, when the families are all so split that it’s a logistical impossibility to have everyone together at the same time, meaning that someone always misses out on seeing the kids, or the grandkids, on that special, allocated day, and have to make concessions to boxing day, to sharing people out fairly, so that everyone feels stressed out and a little bit disappointed in one way or another.

Everyone feels like they’ve got to buy loads of presents, and so they get themselves into debt. I got my first ever credit card because it was Christmas. You spend all year saving up a bit of dosh, and then you end up blowing it all on Christmas. And no matter how much you tell yourself that this year you’re not gonna go hotty-potty, you get to the 20 somethingth of December and suddenly have a crisis that you haven’t bought enough and off you go, to buy more stuff, that never looks enough once it’s unwrapped, and that no-one ever really likes, because it’s from Tesco.

And all that paper. Yes, I know there are ladies on Pinterest making recycled wrapping paper, but if you have kids, with 20 million stocking fillers, then that’s hardly appropriate. How many times have you bought little bits of random tat just so that such and such will have “more to open”? I hate shops and avoid them all year, but at Christmas I turn into this mad shop monster that feels the need to go into every single shop with a decoration in the window just in case it contains that elusive present for two adult sons that are completely impossible to buy for.

So anyway. I think it’s a great idea. Ban it forever. Make a new festival to do with the shortest day, the solstice, that lasts a week so that you can see everyone within the allocated time period and no one gets left out and then no one feels that wistful melancholy so usually associated with our current spangle fest. Bin the present thing, bring back the Christmas song number one thing with all proceeds to Macmillan Nurses every year, and make Christmas good again. Because if it stays this crap, Covid or no Covid, I’m super happy to stop the whole thing forever.

Innocent White Boys

From what I can see there’s not much good to come out of this Penally situation. The county is completely divided down the middle. I’m pretty shocked at some of the things I’ve heard people say, people that I thought were ok. I’ve noticed a lot of Tory voters getting very angry indeed. Most of the Labour voters seem to be the ones baking cakes and collecting clothes. A generalisation of course, but I think it shows that in general, the people on the left are a bit more switched on about the factors that have resulted in so many refugees appearing in the UK.

There have been soldiers based at Penally over the years, and Brawdy, and Castlemartin, that have gone over to places like Iraq, and bombed the shit out of the families of these people that are now being housed in these very barracks. How many of these young men witnessed their Dads getting bombed by the UK and the US? If you were one of those boys turning up the other night and you had witnessed those scenes outside the camp, where the Little Veteran, or whatever he calls himself, was brandishing a whip and instructing teenagers and young men to fight with police, you’d be forgiven for hating the west even more. Luckily, Little Racist has been arrested, and hopefully will be sent back to whatever hole he crawled out of. Perhaps he’ll join his buddy Tommy Robinson who ironically now lives as an immigrant in Spain, having to flee for the safety of his family, having turned himself steadily into a figure of hate.

Folks, I hate to tell you this, but the veterans that you’re all so enamoured of, who fought for their country, are the very ones that went to Iraq in an illegal war led by Blair and Bush. So the Labour voters can bake as many cakes as they like, but it won’t square the circle that it was their leader who started this.

How many illegal, imperialist wars have we conned our uneducated youth with no future into getting involved in? A friend of mine joined the marines at 19 because he couldn’t get a job and was desperate. He came out and then went to work for the council. All of sudden, he gets called up, in his 30s, and within days is running around Basra with a 40-pound pack on his back. I asked him if he shot anyone. No, he said, but I probably mortared quite a few.

Do we really have to be so proud of a bunch of people that choose to go and be turned into trained killers, just to go and fight the wars for the rich? Because of oil or other resources? Because of land, because of flags? Territory? Slave acquisition? It’s not WW1. No one’s getting drafted here. It’s a career choice. If you actually research the history of Iraq, a history that I don’t have the word count for here, then you would see that you’ve been completely lied to, and that all your righteous protestations are just pure wrong. But that kind of learning takes effort, and because government and media propaganda tell you otherwise, and it’s quicker and easier for you to just believe what they say, then that’s what you believe. It’s not your fault. You’ve been conned. But until you realise that, we’re not going to get anywhere.

All I can say, is that everyone who has been cruel about the Penally camp residents, not the ones who are slightly concerned that they weren’t consulted, but the actual, cruel comments that I’m seeing every day, seem to slowly be coming to the realisation that the government, the system, the status quo that they’re always so keen to maintain, has absolutely no care for them. Not even a little bit. They don’t care about your concerns. They’ll do what they want. Perhaps once you realise that, then you’ll start to see that your real fears should be the privatisation of the NHS, or the fact that 9million people in the country are furloughed, which is ending soon, and half of them won’t get their jobs back, marking the most massive unemployment numbers that this country has ever seen. All the while the retirement age is being raised, pensions are being robbed, and you’re all screwed anyway. The least of your problems is some lads at the camp.

When I was a teenager and young woman, it was terrifying to be in Tenby when the squaddies were around, and Pembroke, and Harford. They were everywhere. They were rude and abusive. I should know. I married one. The mindset of any army veteran is not the mindset of a normal person. I got told stories of atrocities acted upon Iraqi people with zip ties and torture instruments, I won’t tell you the details, I’ll just leave you with the knowledge that my Corporal in the Royal Signals ex-husband knew all about it, as did my ex-marine buddy.

You either join the army because you’re a bit of a hardcase, because you fancy yourself as a hero, or because you have no other alternative. Just because you chose, for whatever reason, to kill people for a living, to fight imperialist wars for a living, to loot other countries and destroy their democracies for a living, it doesn’t automatically turn you into a god that should be homed above other homeless people. The irony being, if they hadn’t been out mortaring and zip-tying people in Iraq, then the sons of Iraq wouldn’t need to come to Wales.

You reap what you sow. You stand by your actions. Your live by the sword and die by the sword. Those innocent white army boys that you never worried about – even though they were actually abusing your daughters, you just didn’t know about it -ended up being the very ones to dislodge another country, steal their resources, topple their elected leaders and replace with US and UK imperialist backed ones, thus condemning you to the Iraqis next door.

Think on’t.

The Penally Camp Massacre

Well. We had Dowsongate. We had Kraussgate. Now, ladies and gents, if indeed, I’m still allowed to address you that way, welcome to Penallygate.

I’m still in shock from reading the comments. Literally, shock. I knew that Pembrokeshire was, how you say, sheltered, a little misinformed, a little behind the times, a little bit set in their ways, but nothing could have really prepared for me for what I’ve been reading this morning.

The government plan to turn everyone against everyone else is complete. Not only do we now have to grass up our neighbours if their mates come round, even though they’re all at liberty to gather in Wetherspoons, but now Pembrokeshire has a whole new game to play. You’d think the curtain twitching would be enough fun, but no, here we are, with a protest that’s had every entitled racist in the county turn up and feel they’re doing something good.

It can’t just be coincidence that as I’m reading their views all about how the Syrians like to murder each other and they should stay in their own country to fight, like we did in two world wars, the misspelling of simple words is evident and the use of proper grammar is absent. This deliberate lack of education, gradually fed to us over the last forty years, the deliberate dumbing down of a nation, the deliberate disinformation and propaganda fed to the populace by the Sun and the Express and the Mail, is starting to show. The mainstream media combined with the lack of any decent schooling has resulted in an uneducated rabble filling our towns, just ready and waiting to be told what to think and how to react.

Education for the masses was originally invented in order to bring workers into line. To train the masses to do the jobs that were needed to run a country. Now they don’t need all of us, so they don’t bother so much. The private school kids will run the show, so they get proper schooling. The rest of us make do with what we’re given by whatever curriculum is in vogue at whatever point in time. Usually, the cheapest one.

Once education became too expensive to spread around, and once cuts had been introduced and then introduced some more, and departments stripped of funding and lessons dumbed down to accommodate huge class sizes and lack of resources, and higher education came with a giant price tag, then a never-ending freefall was inevitable. When I was a teacher in the 2000s, I could see that, bad as school had been when I attended as a pupil myself, it was already much, much worse. Quite often my classes weren’t even allocated a room, and we spent half the lesson wandering corridors to find an empty one. The class sizes were enormous. I saw my year 7s, 8s and 9s once a fortnight; there was barely time to get to know the class, let alone tech them anything useful.

But this systemic racism that exists, spread by media fearmongering, as someone to blame for all the faults of a country that has been destroying itself since the late 70s, is even shocking in this context. You’d think this vogue for BLM et al would get everyone thinking the other way, but it doesn’t. These people at Penally are the same ones complaining about the Diversity dance routine. The lefty type protests turn everyone off. The right negate it all with their All Lives Matter stance. They argue on social media. But now it’s on the doorstep, the county has properly lost the plot.

Fear is a funny thing. But fear is a learned response. Everyone has been learning from the Goebbels playbook though it would seem. Fear everything you do not know or understand. Listen to your media tell you that these people are evil en masse, with no individual characteristics at all.

They’re all young men I hear you cry. My sons are 28 and 18. Are they then, natural murderers and dissenters? Are they out to get you and steal your daughters? No? Why? Because they’re Welsh? If my sons had to go to another country to be safe, I’d send them in a heartbeat, because they’re my baby boysies, even though they’re giants with beards. It matters not to me how old they are. If they need to be kept safe, then why shouldn’t they be? Because they’re the wrong age?

I’m genuinely sad today. I wanted to get into politics to help people. But when actually confronted with the people of the county that I would be helping, I’m not sure I really want to. They look beyond help to me. It’s a simple case of education, but it’s too late, because this lot already know it all.

What is to be done? Is there anything that can be done at this late stage? I’m starting to wonder if it’s worth it.

Mythbuster

I keep seeing stuff online about the Workers Party, and it’s quite frustrating, as a member of the party, to see this stuff bandied around willy-nilly. Even some pretty good people, that you think are ok, that you seem to largely agree with, seem to have this really weird mental block about our party.

Since joining the party last December, pretty much the minute that Corbyn lost, I have never felt such a sense of camaraderie. The party was tiny when I joined, and the benefit of that was that you got to know pretty much everyone in it. Now, as new people join, it’s harder to keep track, but I love seeing a new person with a little target logo on their profile and seeing that we’ve got new bods rocking up all the time. It’s like collecting Pokemon, but more fun, and slightly less cute.

I’m gonna tackle a few myths, because they’re irritating me. Firstly, we’re not bankrolled by anyone. We have membership fee and that’s it. If you can’t afford to pay that fee, which is only £1 a week, then you can join as an affiliate member, which is free. You can also join up the whole family and have membership for everyone for the price of one.

Secondly. Just because we’re called the workers party, doesn’t meant that we’re anti-disabled, anti-unemployed etc. That’s ridiculous. If you are of working age and you rely on your income from selling your labour, you’re a worker. If you’re disabled and can’t work, you’re still a worker. It’s just capitalism decides you’re not productive enough and puts you on some benefit or another. We don’t see it like that. We believe that everyone has a place and a right to enjoyable and fulfilling work, and we see you as workers, not disabled people. If you used to be a worker and are now retired, you’re a worker. Whether you were a surgeon or a bin man. It makes no difference. If you trade your time for a wage, no matter how big that wage is, you’re a worker. If you’re self employed and have staff, but you still work for your firm yourself as manager or director or whatever, then you’re a worker. You’re what they’d call petit bourgeois, years ago, but you’re still a worker. You’re only not a worker if you can live from the labour of others without having to do any yourself. If you exploit workers for profit and live off their efforts, then you are not a worker. So. How many of the people that diss us for being called the workers party are actually in that position? Not many, mush. You reckon Bill Gates and Bezos are quibbling over what a worker is? They know full well, that they used to be workers, and now they’re the exploiting capitalist class. They’ve shifted, but calm down, mister camp site owner or small-ish building firm owner dude… you haven’t, I’m afraid. You’re a petit bourgeois worker. Sorry, but you are. You ain’t the middle class. There’s no such thing. You’re as much at their mercy as we are.

Is that what it’s all about? The status game of becoming middle class? That people like to think that they’re step up? And that they imagine all workers look like Fred Dibnah and work up a chimney or down a mine?

Thirdly. People often go on about our links to the CPGBML – The Marxist Leninists. But wait. Socialism came from Marxism, and Leninism. All the main ideas that Engels and Marx came up with on political economy, the arts, humanities, etc, are what made socialism a thing. So to try and distance your self from those guys because they’re from a long time ago and because you believed all the cold war propaganda you got fed all your life, then reject them, is counter intuitive. People seem to think that fake news is something new, like it got made up when Trump got in, and before that everything was wonderful and true and wholesome. Well, sorry, me old muckas, but a lot of what you got told was exaggerated bullshit. When I learned this, I learned the true meaning of blue pill/red pill. The woke think they’re woke, but you ain’t woke ‘til you appreciate the full scale of cold war propaganda that shaped your life and your mind by osmosis. It’s truly incredible when you realise the lies that have been told, it’s almost incomprehensible. I’m watching comrades in the party go through the same stages of learning, as we do quite a bit of studying in our party, I’m afraid to tell you. We like to learn about what we’re talking about. There’s enough vacuous nonsense going around without us adding to it. We take this seriously. And when you start to do that, and really take notice of what’s going on, it’s more than shocking. It’s frankly, disturbing. But don’t take my word for it, there’s plenty to go and watch and read. But don’t come on twitter and diss our acknowledgement of the importance of history and theory to bringing about socialism. Unless you understand where you came from, there’s no way you’re gonna get any further than arguing for a piece of kindly capitalism to promenade as socialism just to make the masses feel slightly better about themselves and to stave off the revolution for another little while longer, which is incidentally what they’re trying to do with UBI, another thing that people like to slate our party for, because we don’t agree with the imperialist plan to pull the wool over your eyes by bunging you a few quid and everyone feels dead grateful because they’ve been starving on Universal Credit for the last couple of years.

They take, they give, like they’re gods. They’re not even in charge. The shareholders are. They’ve got you all determined to kick out the Tories like getting Labour in is actually going to change anything. It’s not, and I think the main reason we get so much flack is because we’re the only party who are willing to acknowledge that. We don’t spend our meetings talking about where to set up the next soup kitchen or to shout about how bad the Tories are. We spend our time discussing and planning the inevitable fall of capitalism and the rise of its natural successor, socialism. Not identity politics, not UBI, not sticking plasters or concessions or reformist ways, but changing the entire system, from the ground up and from the top down. Talking of top down, this is the bit that irritates me the most. The shit that people give our leader, the inimitable Mister G.

George is Marmite, everyone knows that. You don’t spend fifty years in politics and say the right thing every single day, although to be fair, he’s come pretty close. Which is all the more reason why his detractors seem to pick up the three things they can hold against him, or that they think they can, and go on and on and on and on about it. Yes. He wanted Brexit. So did Tony Benn, so did Jeremy Corbyn. So did all the socialist greats. Just because the Farage wanted it, for different reasons, doesn’t mean it’s bad.

Next he was on big brother. So? He had a good laugh AND RAISED CASH FOR PALESTINE.

Next, he’s working with Tories. No. He’s showing the Tories up, because they’re refusing to work with him, showing clearly that their title of Conservative and unionist party in Scotland is a complete misnomer on every conceivable level, and that all they’re actually interested is keeping their own party strong, not what they’re supposed to believe is best for Scotland. They’re standing by, while George and his buddies do their job for them. And that’s bad, why?

Next, he’s transphobic. Jesus wept. I don’t even know where to begin with this one, as the whole point of that statement, is that it’s so indicative of how identity politics is talking over politics that it’s almost too ironic to comment upon. At the workers party, you can be a twenty stone monkey in a dress and call yourself a giraffe if you want, as long as you broadly agree with the ten-point programme, and don’t go on too long with the showtunes. You can be a one-legged, bearded trapeze artist with three breasts and a tail like a donkey. We don’t give a shit. It’s irrelevant. We don’t agree with people picking on each other for what they are. We don’t even like to be too mean to gammons. We understand that they’re mostly uninformed, lost, disenfranchised people that see the world in a certain way, the way in which it’s always been presented to them, and this new woke world is just too much for them to comprehend, so they lash out for the right to think how they’ve always thunk. There are a generation, of mostly men, that are never going to understand that you want to be called Sindy and wear lipstick. They just don’t get it. The tragedy is when men of that age are Trans, and they have to deal with the people in their own generation, and most of them probably hid all their lives, causing themselves immense pain in the process. They’ve all seen Billy Elliot. They know how it works. They knew they shit they’d get. You young uns should think yourselves lucky that you can more or less do what you want. Nobody really gives a crap. We don’t. Are you a worker that wants the best for yourself and your family and your community? Do you want to live in a society where all have meaningful work, homes, jobs, freedoms, less work hours, more fun stuff, more rewarding friendships and camaraderie, no billionaires fleecing us all, no big businesses making all the decision, but workers making the decisions on what’s best for their localities? Where the people get to choose whether or not the call centre stays in town and provides jobs or it moves to India instead? Where our industries are rebuilt using green technologies that are green for green sake and not for the sake of profit? Where our country can rebuild itself, provide for its people, give everyone a comfortable safe home, a meaningful life, less seclusion, less loneliness, more hope? Isn’t that what you all want?

That’s what we want. So please, if you’re gonna diss our party, or our leader, or our members, know that what you’re doing is holding up all the stuff that needs to happen before you can get what you’re saying you want. While you’re causing these big chasms of personality versus personality, then you’re completely missing the point. These people spend all day whining about being politically homeless, yet the answers are staring them in the face, and they’re too proud to even look up and put the key in the front door. Just come in, for God’s sake. Kettle’s on.

Woke. The New Sleep.

Ok I don’t wanna generalise. But I’m gonna.

All the people I know personally, as in, in real life, that are Covid deniers, are also flat earthers. And they’re moon landing deniers. And antic vaxxers.

That protest in London over the weekend, where there were 35k people, apparently, all without masks, is gonna present a problem if they’re wrong. Not for them. They’ll be back in the provinces. The people of London will be privy to their germs. Similarly, back in their provinces, and on their travels home, the proles will be taking their germs with them. They will argue that VE day and the other protests didn’t cause a spike. And ok, they didn’t. But isn’t it all just a little bit playing with fire and running with scissors?

Belief is a funny thing. And we should all be allowed to believe what we want. But when your belief affects others then that’s probably not ok. And those All Lives Matter people that were dissing the BLM protests had a point too. Protests can lose their lustre if used too often, and Covid presented a perfect opportunity to learn new ways of protest. But here they are, in the streets, asserting their rights, whilst ignoring the rights and beliefs of other, led by none other than David Icke, who should have stuck to A Question of Sport as far as I’m concerned.

The scary thing is, because Icke manages to sneak his madness into rhetoric that appeals to the masses, and words like freedom are bandied around when they don’t know the meaning of the word, a huge swathe of believers, who are into reptiles and the illuminati, will be following him like a God, insisting that if the lizard thing is true, then the Covid hoax must be too, or vice versa.

I know that thousands of years ago peoples all over the world developed certain beliefs in order to make sense of the world around them. Jesus wept. Imagine if they’d had youtube. Can you imagine the videos that would be out there? Hey everyone, the Sun God is part of a paedophile ring and Jesus is a lizard.

But come on. There’s no need for all that now. The people who believe this stuff choose to. Why? Because the CIA put it out there and they’re bored, and need something to believe? Because they see the other lies and that’s the only way they can make sense of it? To make up stuff that is no worse than what is actually happening, to distract themselves from what is actually happening?

Chemtrails, for instance. Yes, this lot love chemtrails. They’re left by aeroplanes to poison us, dontcha know. You can see them in the sky. What you can see, is contrails, from aeroplanes, and the reason that they look different at different times is to do with altitude and temperature and air moisture and all kinds of other things. This stuff is left because thousands of litres of fuel is being burned and sent out of the exhausts, gathering little bits and particles as it goes, which form nuclei, which form rain clouds, which warm the earth. Jet planes are the biggest polluter and contributor to global warming that there is. But that’s not enough for the flat earth crew. They have to make up that there’s poison being sprayed on us, and completely deny what’s actually happening, which is that there’s poison being sprayed on us.

The people that I know personally, who believe this stuff, are no longer friends, barely acquaintances, because I hold them directly responsible for turning attention away from the real problems with their fake quasi academia where they watch youtube and think they’re the learned classes. The point of an education, is learning to differentiate between the bullshit information and the good stuff, and come to your own conclusions. Not watch one video about giants and then tell everyone there are giants. And once they have decided that they are woke, then that’s it, they fall asleep completely, and at that point, like Sleeping Beauty, you may as well just let the brambles grow up around them, for all the good they’ll do. They cause trouble, they argue the toss, they conspire to undermine proper radical action, and they piss me off. And I ain’t kissing them, cos they’ve probably got Covid.

There are enough worthy causes without this sixth form mentality having to make shit up. Flat earth? Two words. Navigation. That’s one. But it’s enough. Now get a grip.