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Showing posts from October, 2011

MEDITATATION IN THE BATH TUB

I enjoy a good soak but am not a great ‘wallower,’ I am too impatient to be getting on with whatever it is that I am getting on with, bath times, invariably in the morning are time for listening to the news, radio 4, the Today programme. The BBC is one of the joys of living in England, though with the Internet I have, rather surreally, listened to the Today programme in south eastern Bulgaria. With its lack of political affiliation and heavy cultural punch, all for next to nothing, it is hated by all its commercial rivals in general and by the Murdoch press in particular, the latter having launched, through its allies in the Tory party, an attempt, with some success, to nobble the organisation financially. The news is dominated by the Euro zone crisis a by product of the crisis of the banking system in particular and of capitalism in general, this is followed by the sports news. I am struck by the example set by the Premier League, for if you wanted an example of the consequences cre

BEYOND SATIRE

From the Stop the War website:- ‘The killing of Muammar Gadaffi in Sirte has been marked by a round of celebration by western governments over their intervention in Libya. As with the capture of Saddam Hussein in Iraq and the killing of Osama bin Laden in Pakistan, it will be described as a turning point and a further victory in the seemingly endless 'war on terror'. There is little reason for the triumphal. Nato's war on Libya was not a 'humanitarian intervention' but a war for regime change -- illegal under international law. It was about the western powers attempting to regain control of the region in the face of the Arab uprisings across the Middle East. Yet despite its overthrow of the regime in Libya imperialism faces many problems in the region. In Libya itself it is already clear that there are many divisions between the different elements in the new government, and not at all clear that a stable regime will emerge. Even if it does, th

NO COMMENT

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I keep a regular watch on my stats and though my readership is not large it is not insignificant, more gratifying it international and widespread, though the majority of visitors are from the UK, closely followed by the US, i have received 'hits' from as far afield as China, Iran, Australia and Iran, to name but a few. However what I do not get is comments. So wherever you are reading this please make a comment, if only to say hi, since it is always gratifying to get some feedback.  

THROUGH THE KEYHOLE

A gathering of the comrades We peek into a meeting between Muslims Against Crusades and Aids, Respectu and the Socialist Workers Alliance, this is being held at The Centre for the Propagation of Jihad, otherwise known as Mustafa’s flat. The meeting is to agree a joint strategy prior to the forthcoming Block the War Coalition rally. Those Present:- Mustafa Stoning. Muslims against Crusades and Aids. (Mustafa is a new convert to Islam). Anita B Correct. Respectu, (Anita B to her friends). Les Ruck .Socialist Workers Alliance. Mustafa is holding forth. “There must be no platform for blasphemers and apostates.” “Yes”…..Anita hesitates, and then regains her confidence, “certainly no platform for Christian bigots, misogynists and homophobes.” She stops in her tracks, and then nervously turns to Mustafa, “though unlike the cultural imperialists and Christian bigots we understand the cultural sensitivities of the Muslim communities.” Mustafa remains stone faced; Les sensing the u

THE HITCH

A few days ago a package arrived from Amazon containing a huge doorstop of a book, ‘ Arguably ,’ by Christopher Hitchens. Any new book by Hitchens is a treat, but this, meaty doesn’t quite do it justice, tome surpassed expectations, though I confess I received it with strong feelings of sadness, for ‘the Hitch’ is dying. News of his diagnosis with oesophageal cancer last year hit me as a form of personal tragedy, made all the more poignant by the timing of the news, just as I was finishing his autobiography Hitch 22. We needed the Hitch. I have tried to write about Christopher Hitchens before but gave up on every occasion, somehow I could never get the tone right, either too fawning or too coldly detached. Christopher Hitchens is not only the public intellectual for whom I have the greatest admiration but also someone who has time and time again warmed my spirit with his passion, commitment, pugnacity and his life affirming engagement with the enemies of free speech, democracy and

BULGARIA AND I

I n 2003 I set out to write a novel, initially under the working title Bulgaria but which later became Nostalgia for Darkness an unfinished and possibly un-finishable work. Re-reading the introduction it now feels grandiose and inflated. 'What follows represents an attempt to tell the truth; that most difficult, most improbable, of all tasks. However there are a few things I need to clarify. Call these the facts if you like. Firstly I do not intend to write about Bulgaria, this adventure is set in Bulgaria, but it is not the Bulgaria, it is an inner Bulgaria, a Bulgaria, if you will, of the heart. If you try to seek out this country, you will not find it. Secondly the people, about whom I write, including of course my self, all exist or have existed, which, given that these are my reflections alone, is to say they are all essentially fictional. The events I describe all happened; which, given that they are my memories of things now passed are therefore all fundamentally invent

AUTUMN JOURNAL

The weather is now more seasonal; though still mild, light sweater weather. I walk to Portobello and find that my old candle shop has closed. I call it my candle shop but it sold a mass of other items, bric-a-brac, masses of rugs and cushions, multi coloured wraps and incense, which gave the shop a wonderful aroma, rather like I imagine Aladdin’s cave to have smelt. And it sold candles, candles in a multitude of colours, shapes and sizes, along with a similarly exotic display of candle holders. I always purchased my candles from here and now it has gone. I don’t think I can stand any more loss at this rate. These stores are invariably owned by the Indian or Pakistani community, whose contribution to this city in particular and the country in general is inestimable. The mass immigration from the 1950’s onwards, despite some of the problems it created has undoubtedly resulted in a richer and much more vibrant culture and I for one continue to rejoice in this reality. The political conf

INDIAN SUMMER

I have been walking to Portobello in shorts and T shirt in temperatures hovering around 28 degrees centigrade, today it is forecast to reach 29 degrees, as I write this the sun is rising over the city, a great orange ball, this at the end of September! There is something rather wonderful about all this, a sudden surprise package, a defiant dying burst from a summer that did little to entertain during the summer months. It has stirred in me memories of an Indian summer long ago, producing in me, leaving to one side joy and certain kinds of happiness, one of my favourite emotions, always accessible in autumn, a reflective melancholy. Melancholy a wonderful old English word, possibly popularised by Robert Burton in his wonderful book ‘The Anatomy of Melancholy’ published in 1621. Despite numerous attempts to capture it for the pseudo sciences of psychology and psychotherapy melancholy continues to exist, free and independent despite the best efforts of the DSM IV.* Melancholy is not to

GIRL ON THE ROOF

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Pretty girl up upon the roof           smokes Crouches like some strange bird Unaware of my gaze and the insolence of distance.