Facing Up To The Fact

Several years back we made the flawed decision to move to Aylsham. It was far more of a locational flaw, than specifically a town-based flaw, but the short term experience of living there did little to warm us to the place.

Almost immediately upon moving in to our new house (circumstances swiftly decreed that it was never to become a home) the builder buggered off, and so our new-building guarantee was effectively torn up overnight. Anyone who, at any point, has had their own home's welfare 'covered' by NHBC will no doubt concur; verging, as NHBC are wont to do, upon the utterly useless! It's a governmental insurance package, for Heaven's sake! This 'transference' of 'responsibilities' was deemed perfectly acceptable by some faceless political minion. The builder had done this before, he'll probably do it again. Some other faceless political minion will undoubtedly be able continue to 'endorse' the builder's right so to do. Our rights to anything were immediately deemed expendable!

Absolutely perfect,  Lewis Martin 

After moving in, the adjacent land was bulldozed for so-called 'development.' The planned extension to the doctor's surgery, that the land search had highlighted, was immediately abandoned, thus rendering our paid-for land search redundant. Probably the surgery extension was mere subterfuge, in order to hasten along the sale of (what was to become) our house. Some faceless political minion had deemed this to be acceptable practice. Our house, along with five others in the same 'development,' substantially depreciated in value, almost overnight. Broadland District Council were keen to proceed with more monetary business. Our rights to anything were again quickly deemed expendable. Another faceless political minion!

The adjacent new homes were to be sold, described as 'starter homes.' This convenient label served to hurry along the planning process. Four homes were erected, where perhaps even two might have been a tad restrictive. All four were instead sold as investment purchases. This was deemed fine by some faceless political minion. Nobody appeared to have any rights to object; 'starter homes,' was merely another subterfuge. Any first time buyers would have to lump it, some faceless political minion had decreed.

Prior to the building of these adjacent rabbit hutches we were required to sign a 'party wall agreement,' as foundations for the hutches were to be excavated within a stipulated distance of our house. It transpired that this agreement was far more to protect the builder from unscrupulous claims by us, than to safeguard against any damage to our foundations. When our fences were duly damaged by the builders we soon discovered the actual worth of this agreement. Yet another faceless political minion had decreed that this was to be nil. 

Upon the eventual completion of the rabbit homes we took down the damaged fences, thus enabling maintenance access to the adjacent walls of the new-build hutches. Consequently a twenty-five centimetre thick strip of 'dead' land- a place of discarded and forgotten building materials, clumps of wayward concrete and broken bricks- was utilised to the optimum. Thus we had improved the area for both dwellings. A faceless political minion, from Broadland District Council, duly visited the site and signed the requisite papers, deeming the build satisfactorily complete, and hastening the flow of resultant monies.

And again, Kevin Dooley

A couple of years later we moved away to Norwich, happy to have left this sorry history of political subversion behind us.

More recently, we have learned that the oft 'absentee' landlord of said hutches has pretended to have just noted the absence of the damaged fence. He is no longer grateful that the maintenance of his boxes is now possible. He is no longer grateful that the no-man's land detritus strip has been enhanced. Instead, he is looking to cash in upon the sale of this dead land that was inaccessible and unusable. Some faceless solicitor has jumped on board. Another faceless political minion at the Land Registry Department is preparing to move one tiny line on one tiny map, but mainly also to cash in.

The new owner of our old house is appalled at the landlord's behaviour, the moral bankruptcy of both him and his solicitor. All of the moral arguments are neatly aligned, upon her side. Yet faceless political minions have decreed that she will still have to pay. She is thus eager that we dip into our pockets, on her behalf. But our ties with Aylsham are thankfully well and truly severed. 

Exactly, psyberartist

Is this not a perfect microcosm of the values that are held most dear in modern day England?

Ten? Are we, when?

Tinariwen were performing at the Norwich Arts Centre, on Tuesday night. I had acquired a ticket early, in order to avoid disappointments, arrived at the venue early, and prepared for the enthralment. "Standing only?" my body objected, "Here, grab this handrail!" I was prepared to die defending my chosen vantage!

Forty minutes in arrears of the scheduled start a sleepwalking roadie sauntered onto the stage. He set about tweaking guitars that had already been tweaked. Had someone offered me a chair at this point, I might have cried with gratitude. I can't have been the only one thinking, "These chaps usually set up stage in The Sahara, leaky car-battery powered amps, sand-blasted instruments, chords ripped away upon the wind!"

Almost precisely an hour into expectations, the lights dimmed, the World Music intro had long since run its course. "I've spun cars off the road, and still been more punctual," I was thinking. It's entirely an age thing... entirely an age and related health thing. Upon a later inspection of the tour dates, I was somewhat humbled.

Many thanks indeed, to Zach Dischner

But, the younger me was already smiling. Tinariwen ghosted in, from backstage, sliding from the shadows. Since my last visit I'd been to other concerts. The Theatre Royal has pretty much nailed the timing issues, the sound is pin-drop perfect, the air invariably laden with expensive perfume, white wine and steam-pressed seams. The Arts Centre is more well-heeled ale, last year's clothes and other people's beards. The sound system competes with the rafters and four rather intrusive concrete pillars. But, recycling the same carbon dioxide as the band is priceless! A toss of a head and sand is bouncing up into the eyes of the eighth row.

There were six of them, and the closest we came to a conversation was, "S'okay? Comment ça va?" repeated at intervals throughout, and, "Sank'ou." The songs were delivered through sand-blasted throats, in a Tuareg tongue (Tamasheq) known only to the band, but most present already knew this. It wasn't why we were there.

Zach Dischner thank you again.

Nearly an hour in I became acutely aware of the bass, the player had drifted to the fore. Perhaps the thrum had snuck up on me, perhaps it was by design. But the dust on the rafters was a dancing, the resultant fug had afforded everything a golden shimmering halo of grungy sound. The driving pulse of the band was surging up through the floor and everybody was swaying in hypnotic rhythm. Centre stage, the visual fulcrum of the group, arms embracing an imagined wind, was weaving a perfect weft to the band's warp. We were virtually there in The Sahara! Old hips and arthritic knees were creaking behind a stiff Sirocco breeze.

Tomorrow morning was preparing to count the cost, but nobody much seemed  to care...  

The Health of the Nation.

Clearly the lady was struggling! A veritable tidal surge of pedestrians was exiting Chapelfield Mall, and the lady in question was swimming against the tide. Not actually making any headway, merely holding her own.

Adrift in the current, I was about to exit, when I noticed her, laden with child in buggy and an armful of uncertain paper and plastic bound items. So I opted instead, to hold the door ajar. Whereupon, entirely like so much unthinking river water, the current sought out the path of least resistance and duly upped its tempo. First a couple of young women, followed by a perhaps mother, a very tall gentleman, a young boy. None had acknowledged the waiting woman. None had acknowledged the fool at the door! None had missed a beat, Hell intent upon arrival at the next shop, the next cafe, the next, market stall. The woman gave up and steered her charge, to the side. The older man behind me laughed; embarrassment or simply acknowledging the severe downturn in the nation's heath? The river flowed onward!

Hoping to pick up a repeat prescription, I diverted to the local pharmacy. The prescription wasn't ready; I'd sensed that it might not be, I'd only handed in the script six days previously. So I stepped into the adjacent surgery, in order to hasten things along.

Working very much in tempo with the current climate, the young receptionist relayed the words of the doctor. "This is the one you've run out of," he clarified. "This one is nearly due, but this one won't be due for a month or so yet," he went on to elaborate.

I frowned, peering up, quizzically into his face.

"You have three packets of these, so they should last another couple of months," the man elaborated.

I was able to reassure the receptionist that the reason for having three packets of that particular item was because the doctor had prescribed three packets, thus three rather than one tablet daily. Should the dose, at any point in the future, require altering, it will most certainly not be in a downwardly direction. My objective of acquiring my long-standing repeat prescription was duly achieved in approximately thirty-five minutes, some thirty minutes longer than hoped for. The deep fingernail indentations are still clearly visible upon the packaging.

Back home to the news and the latest BBC entertainment bonanza version of the Scottish debate. Alex Salmon and Alistair Darling before a packed audience. Heaven help us!

I'm not Scottish, so will not be consulted on the issue of independence. Unlike some people that I know I have formed fond attachments to our northern cousins. I love the country and have always found the people charming; often passionate about things that matter, in a way that sometimes seems to have eluded many of their English counterparts. I don't share the misguided jingoism that seems to surface at every England Scotland football or rugby match.

I want them to stay as part of The Union. This post cannot accurately relay the full and many reasons for my wishing them to remain; let it suffice to say that mine are long held beliefs, formed over time and through personal experience and much information gleaned from various sources. I have not been swayed by either Alex Salmond, nor Alistair Darling. I might add that, should anyone feel swayed by either side of last night's argument, that then these people should perhaps not be entrusted with a vote. But, all the same, I'm not at all sure that I'm right! I think I am, but I'm just not sure!

I can understand the scepticism with which many Scots look upon the UK government. Hell, a lot of us share this mistrust! We view the decisions made by the Scottish Parliament, often with a sense of envy. Frequently, we share an anger at those decisions made in the south. But yet I cannot be persuaded to think that Salmond is right, in his desire to break the Union.

That is, until he intimated that the NHS was not safe in the hands of the British Government.

Prior to setting off this morning I renewed my NHS prepayment certificate. I had to go through the NHS Business Services Authority. Apparently it is not enough that The Coalition is privatising the NHS; they also need to push the proof into our faces. Alex Salmond is, I fear, entirely correct about the safety of our NHS, it's not safe in the hands of the British government, sliced up and served to the PFIs, contracted and sub-contracted, trussed up, repackaged and sold to the highest bidder.

The health of the nation is not looking remotely rosy!

Angels and Demons

Angels and Demons: are they amongst us, what do they represent, and can we really tell the two apart? Often I'm far from certain on any of these points.

'Demons' is more succinct, but a few of 'my' images are probably gargoyles, or, more often, chimera, even just bosses. The former is from the French, 'gargouille,' the word simply (almost) translates as throat, perhaps suggestive of the oft functional aspect of these 'creatures,' the bubbling, gurgling sounds of running water as it is voluminously jettisoned from a building. Historically, gargoyles and their cousins have featured in the church's long and dubious history of misinformation to the illiterate masses, representative of evil, but obviously not that that might be perpetrated by the church itself. They may quite literally have hearts of stone- the gargoyles, obviously not the church- thus rendering them harmless, yet are they not also curiously aesthetically pleasing?

And Angels? Well we all think we know what Angels might represent, but wasn't The Devil himself a fallen Angel? So what about the fallen ones, and fallen whence? Were they somehow better, before they fell and became so much worse? Even at such heady heights, clearly they are not infallible.

The BBC covertly raised the question(s) for me, on Friday morning (22nd August) on Breakfast TV. Two news items juxtaposed, within the blink of an eye.

First: "Hospitals are admitting more malnutrition cases than ever before." I have paraphrased the headline, but this news is still being widely reported. "Malnutrition soars by more than 70% since Coalition came to power," is the Mirror's take on the same story. "Malnutrition cases in English hospitals almost double in five years," would be the headline in the Independent. The latter two don't quite tally, but the gist is there; namely that things have got a lot worse for some of the population. And let's not forget that 'we' are the sixth richest nation on the planet.

Second: "The Weather!" Well, I realise that these two 'stories' don't quite appear to impact in the way I was intending. So let me just contextualise "The Weather," for those who were already off to work or otherwise occupied. Carol was delivering as usual; all smiles and kind thoughts for those who might be suffering under the more inclement of our weatherly options. During the faultless delivery of this update, an intrusive revving could be heard. I'd thought it might be one of Norwich's intellectually challenged males- I live in the fine city- but not! 'Twas an idiot upon the screen; why Carol was effectively killing two birds. In the field behind 'our' presenter a petrol-head was pointlessly spinning some sort of car in a field, advertising no less! Round and round, and round he went... Angel or Demon?

The weather forecast was being delivered from Jody Scheckter's Laverstoke Park Farm in Hampshire, where a weekend Chris Evans's CarFest was scheduled to be taking place. Let's hope the weather held! So whilst the viewer was still pondering the immense inequality that might cause a (let's just say) significant rise in hospitalised malnourished patients, he/she could also be reassured that there was an upside to things, a rosier side to life in the UK!

Compartmentalisation! That convenient 'art' of perceiving items or issues separately, as if mysteriously totally disconnected from all others. Thus permitting unthinkable decisions to be made in isolation, pretending (as it were) that one self-serving choice will not have an adverse affect upon another (already covertly demoted) issue. Breakfast TV had done this through juxtaposing serious-faced reportage of the UK's rising health issues and smiley Carol with the weather. "These two items are not in any way connected!" the BBC was stating, albeit subliminally. Angel or Demon?

Not true! Britain's much-talked-about debt is entirely peculiar to certain institutions, businesses, departments, impoverished individuals, whatever. In much the same manner as the less-talked-about beneficiaries of this debt are also peculiar to other institutions, trusts, organisations, money-rich individuals etc, etc. But to pretend, for 'convenience' sake that 'our' whole country is suddenly in debt is, at its very best, disingenuous. Just as it would be duplicitous to imply that the two sides are not inextricably linked. The global market is such that the idea of whole countries owing other countries is highly misleading and simplistic, yet 'convenient.' The global market, as it currently 'operates,' has moved well beyond respecting those vague, often abstract, borders. Hidden in full sight, there will be the huge beneficiaries of this vague debt (recession), living in (but not in any way beholden to) the UK, just as there will be the victims. The UK government is just one of these 'affected' units, currently presented as being on the 'victim' side of the divide. Angels or Demons?

It is simply the case that Chris Evan's mates' rights to 'play' have been deemed more worthy than your right to peace and quiet, because the former will have paid £1,999 + VAT, in order to modify his exhaust, whereas you have not paid anything in excess, in order to remain unaffected by the same. Chris's mates will also have paid quite substantially, to live well away from the consequences of their own ego-centric behaviours.

Highly 'curious' is the overbearing reluctance to openly discuss the economic fact, that monetarism heavily relies upon borrowing, thus debt. Without such the whole system starts to look very shaky! Even for the major beneficiaries! Most of us have been encouraged to embrace debt, it suits the system, it's the means by which most of those with a home managed to acquire it. It also perfectly illustrates that monetarist relationship of borrower and lender.

Oz the Great and Powerful is ignobly exposed! If Toto can spot the ruse, why are not more pertinent questions being asked by 'our' TV news teams?

Instead, it appears that we are to muddle on. 'Muddle' hardly hints at a state of affairs whereby government ministers, who feature largely on the beneficiaries side of the divide, are to make significant national decisions, in the guise of political representatives of 'our' government, portrayed as being on the side of the current losers. Indeed, what could possibly go wrong? An economically thriving (benefiting) minister, operating behind the screen of a national debt... Angels or Demons?

Thank the Lord above that they will always be operating in the 'best' interests of the UK population. Otherwise, Heaven alone knows what might result.

A tightly related issue would be the recent dismissal of the role of food banks, by one Edwina Currie. "Are you telling me that some people in this country are going hungry? Seriously? Seriously?" she disdainfully spat.

Rolled out, entirely like merely an expendable foot soldier, dear ol' Edwina appears eager to exploit her portrayed eccentricities, that might 'permit' her bumptious dismissal of the yawning economic chasm that has opened up in 'our' society. We know, with an unbending certainty into which category we'd lump Edwina, but it is the constructed apparently bullet-proof environment within which she resides that should cause far greater concern. That societal tumours, of the ilk of Edwina and Ann Widdecombe, might be repackaged as celebrity 'characters,' should be raising far wider concerns. More of the sordid work of the recently discredited publicist Max Clifford?

"Idi, in this series of Strictly Come Dancing, you're going to be dancing with..." Cue round of applause, cut to now standing members of the audience. Angels or Demons?

Finally, presented, predominantly by themselves, as being on the side of the Angels we have Norfolk County Council (@ your service).

Upon a recent trip to one of the county's refuse tips I was astounded to learn that paint, correctly categorised as a hazardous waste, is no longer accepted at any refuse disposal point. I had been planning to travel out to Mayton Wood Recycling Centre, but as usual had not sensed Norfolk County Council's covert agenda, thus effectively 'missed the boat.' The County Site is eager to clarify that the, "disposing of hazardous waste incorrectly is illegal, and may harm the environment." Angels or Demons?

Ever eager to (pretend to) regain the upper ground Norfolk is offering a two day amnesty at this site, after which the cash registers will begin to chime. Responsible ol' Norfolk County Council, @ our service!

If I were less concerned with the ever-depreciating state of the environment, I might opt for the growing trend for transference of responsibility- that would be fly tipping. Of course, I cannot!

But if I did, whose crime would really be the greater? Mine, at least, would only have caused five half tins' worth of damage. Angels or demons?

Brace yourself for a subtle change to the verge-side litter, adjacent to your local hedgerows.

                                                                                                                   

Reality Check

When I was just a school boy, around the age of nine or ten, with a friend or two, I'd often venture over to the local corner shop. We were just children, all we really wanted to do was to waste our pocket money upon alarming quantities of sweets. I can still recall how importantly we viewed our respective purchases. Should anybody's tuck fall even a half penny short of the entire sum, then instant 'advice' would be ready on hand; where to 'invest' that last  ha'penny?

We came away with our respective feasts, paper-bagged up, and set about scoffing the lot, before we should return home. Upon reflection, I wonder now whether perhaps the low cost was brought about through subsidy by the local dentist, a man who's sole relationship with me was driven by a rabid desire to substitute the entirety of my mouth with metal.

At that time rationing would still have been a recent memory for our parents, and so sugar was very much in the ascendancy, yet to be recognised for the slow poison it actually was. A minor deity!

Beautiful, Paul Townsend

The shop was there from my earliest memories of the street, and it was there when I eventually upped sticks and set sail for pastures anew. In my childlike memories I want to believe that the same chap, mysteriously unchanged throughout, ran the place for the entirety of my childhood and beyond. He provided tooth-rot for the kids, newspapers and cancer sticks for their parents and all manner of minor convenience items for the locals. What more could one require from a corner shop? Perfect!

He wasn't forever wandering the streets, searching out a second or a larger premises, in order to expand. At the end of the week he duly considered his lot and settled for more of the same, much to the satisfaction of many a school child. I don't suppose the concept of 'sustainable growth' ever troubled his contented little mind. And why should it have?

He lived in a finite neighbourhood, within a finite space, in a finite country, upon a finite planet, within a finite solar system... You get the idea, I'm sure.

Each and every return to the town of my youth, has slightly sullied the memory. The shop is there, still I think, but the town has grown, the volume of traffic has exploded, there's more litter, the neighbourhood looks curiously run down, everything's noisier! There's a monstrous Tesco 'super' store, 'nuff said.

Still beautiful, Paul Townsend

On Thursday I 'learned' that the Eurozone's economy had, "stalled in the second quarter," 0% growth, raising, "the ugly prospect that the region's meagre recovery (had) lost momentum." For some curious reason it reminded me of my old corner haunt. Surely, I was given to consider, this childhood place had existed in a contented, "stalled" state for decades. What could it be that the proprietor of that tiny shop doesn't understand, that Europe's great leaders might? Or are things really that black and white?

Perhaps we should contemplate things from the smaller perspective.

That is unless those big and 'important' leaders, with all of their resources and advisers, know something that we don't, about sustainability. For example, perhaps the reasoning behind the cessation of manned trips to the Moon is based upon the fact that just behind our heavenly companion there is secreted another Earth, ripe and ready for the pillaging. They're hoping to keep it a secret, in order to throw a huge, "Of course we haven't buggered everything up!" party. "Look, just around that corner are the answers to all of our woes. The cupboard really isn't nearly empty after all."

Or perhaps they're just deluded, or lying to us, or incompetent, or far too much concerned with self-serving. Who can possibly say?

Also on the news, I watched the handsomely remunerated Professor Lesley Dobree, Deputy Vice Chancellor of Anglia Ruskin University, talking 'frankly' about this year's clamour for University places. Lesley and co. had invested heavily in 'sustainable' expansion and were looking to shovel in the maximum number of new students. Sweeteners (bribes) on offer at this particular University were thousand pound book vouchers. Other universities were offering the likes of gym memberships.

Ever beautiful, Paul Townsend

Is Lesley also privy to unspoken inside information, regarding the whereabouts of a massive cache of global resources? Or is it very much a case of, "Wakey, wakey, Lesley!" This isn't about education, this is just another huge financial transaction. All of those potential students are merely resources, much like coal, oil and gas.

And there was the far from N.I.C.E. news that another drug has been deemed too expensive for the NHS. Abiraterone (Zytiga), it has been deemed, is not to be used prior to chemotherapy. It is, "not cost effective at its current price," the nation has been informed. Which sort of begs the question, what is the point of developing life-sustaining or lengthening drugs, if they are not to be made available to those who require them?

Spot on, Susana Fernandez

That, of course, would be a valid question until one factors in that highly topical term, 'sustainable growth,' then suddenly the scales fall away and everything makes 'perfect sense.' The Institute of Cancer Research has clearly also been making its bid for greater 'sustainable growth,' looking to 'grow' those share values for its top investors, never mind the lost causes- or indeed patients- that might occur en route.

So, 'sustainable growth,' upon a planet with absolutely nothing that is truly sustainable, least of all its resources. But, hang on one cotton picking moment! Unless that blossoming human population could be regarded as nothing more than another exploitable resource. Cooking on gas!

Perhaps, purely as a very last resort you must understand, we could consider human fuel in order to keep those generators a burning.

A Blurring of Lines

Should your vision begin to slacken, should those crisp lines slide towards an uncertain softness- decidedly more Renoir than Millais- the words upon the page appear to dissolve and waver, then your local high street will probably be able to offer a solution, one of the 'competetive' many! Correcting the nation's eyesight is not dissimilar to being granted a license to print one's own money. My Lord, health related and virtually entirely privately funded, surely this is a scene from a Jeremy C Hunt wet dream!

We may not be able to afford the most desirable of options, but at least we know where to locate an access point. Should those blurred lines elect to venture rather more behind the eyes, however, then your local high street is far more likely to have a invested interest in maintaining the status quo, hoping instead to perpetuate the fug.

Thanks must go to Arielle Kristina

It's entirely a travesty of gargantuan proportions that the correction of all such blurred lines cannot be more efficiently dealt with. Allow me to elucidate. 

It's already old news but let's just briefly reflect upon a fairly recent BBC headline. "Foreign drivers owe 'millions in unpaid fines," was such a 'perfect' summary, tapping in, as it did, to so many of the blurred perceptions of the working British tabloid-reading tax-payer. Just to clarify, the issue was one of unpaid parking fines.

Clever old BBC, using the tried and tested tools of the established propagandist. I would merely like to widen the debate by pointing out that, whilst there may indeed be citable examples of gross disregard by some foreign drivers, the issue of the dubious validity of many parking fines on Britain's streets remains a highly controversial one. The alarming ease with which an illicit fine may be escalated into an instance of 'demanding monies with menaces,' can be truly alarming. In the case of, 'elderly driver threatened by debt collectors, over failure to follow deliberately convoluted parking system,' I know where my sympathies are going to lie, regardless of the nationality of the transgressor. And these lines have been blurred for a reason.

Thanks again, Arielle Kristina

Also, should you be able to stomach the antics of Nick Knowles of a Saturday evening, constantly parroting the 'virtues' of, "money to 'good causes," you might understand exactly what I mean by the BBC's perpetuation of blurred perceptions. Nick- and he is merely one of the many- has happily sold his soul to the 'British' cause of furthering the inequality of the tax-funding of vital and public services. So, what the rictus-wearing Nick will not be reminding us is that many/most of these, "good causes," were once far more justly funded, through a more progressive tax system, rather than the regressive one with which we are presently saddled. The National Lottery simply offers a means by which a 'desperation tax' upon the poorer sections of society may be used in order to offset tax savings for our 'hard-working' million-and-billionaires. Notice those distortions creeping in!

Lord Coe, casher-in-upon the Olympic legacy, would no doubt offer an alternative viewpoint, and his argument would be far better funded than mine, perhaps care of The National Lottery. Lord Coe is of course understandably delighted with the real Olympic Legacy, that of feathering the nests of certain advertising-industry-ambassadors. The actual sport is merely the vehicle! This in much the same vein as Tony Blair was delighted by the personal remuneration afforded him as a consequence of his part in instigating the ongoing Middle Eastern genocide. More fuzziness? BAE Systems may beg to differ.

Thanks also to Jack

Which leads me on to the thrust of my post; that would be the issue of Remembrance, specifically for those who fought in either World War, "Lest we should forget."

And, how precisely to word this highly emotive issue? 

Undoubtedly, we shouldn't permit the sacrifices of those who served in either of the World Wars to diminish in the eyes and hearts of the nation. Some thirty years since his passing, the thought that my gentle grandfather's contribution should in any way be diminished would still, to me, be an affront. His generation's charge was one of creating a better world, regardless of the misdeeds of so many of those absentee generals. 

Yet, for neigh on a decade and a half now, the wearing of a poppy, "with pride," has become ever more of a difficult issue. "Lest we should forget," maybe, but also, "Lest we should notice," the slackening of the argument. For my part, the problem now is, precisely who are we commemorating, and to what purpose are those funds being used? Harry Patch and his many brave colleagues continue to deserve our respect, their cause should not be forgotten, yet neither should it be permitted to become a smokescreen for more recent and decidedly less honourable conflicts. 

So, when the guns sound, to mark the end of the Armistice two minute silence, what do we suppose those at BAE Systems are thinking?

WoMD? Certainly, Prime Minister, which models and how many will you be requiring? Hardly twenty-twenty vision, is it?

"The synapses are going out all over Europe, we shall not see them spark again in our life-time."

20,000!

When I heard that it is estimated that there are currently around 20,000 modern day slaves working in the UK I reached for the red wine and nodded sagely. Like many other listeners, I had assumed that these figures were merely a rejig, a relabelling if you like, little more than a recent addendum to today's unemployment figures. I had assumed that perhaps those Tesco et al workers struggling below the living wage, all of those interns, might have been lumped together into yet another created statistic.

But no, these 20,000 souls were in addition to the aforementioned. Mmmmm! Twenty thousand, that many? One wonders how it might be, that quite so many actual slaves might have been permitted to accumulate, in a modern day 'democracy?' Human rights, benign employment contracts, the roundly supported minimum wage, "all in it together Britain;" what could possibly have gone so terribly wrong?

Let's just sketch out a rough picture of the UK's working environment, see if we can't spot a tiny loophole, one through which a few slaves might have been permitted to slip, shall we?

Lovely links. Thanks Haya Benitez

Given that governments traditionally (that would be always these days) are far more (entirely) beholden to the wealthy business man- and it invariably is men- than the general population it's interesting to note that there are those still in denial over the issues of the minimum wage. Less interesting, or surprising, is the fact that these reality-deniers are invariably drawn from the more comfortably-off types, or otherwise the alarmingly gullible (Daily Mail reader).

Charles Orton-Jones (23rd August 2011) made the 'interesting' point that, "wages are a cost, not a benefit to firms." Already- and I have no prior knowledge regarding the 'credentials' of this man- I feel able to hazard a guess as to where young Orton-Jones slots into 'our' society. Mr Orton-Jones goes on to argue that, "wages must reflect productivity."Oh, thank the Lord above, for the insights of the 'neutral' businessman! Are you listening, George? Of course he is!

In order to counter this argument I'm going to create an imaginary scenario, one whereby I manufacture picture frames for a living; not a great living, but a get-by form of a living. Should I wish to expand the business, by upping production it would either have to be because the market for picture frames is known to be ripe for expansion, or because I have sorely misjudged the same. If it's the former then my new workforce will be helping me to tap into a viable market, and should consequently be earning a viable wage, because we will all be working towards the same goals. If the latter then the business isn't there anyway; if I still wish to employ new workers and to offset the poor market returns by underpaying my workers then it could, indeed should, be argued that there are no realistic employment opportunities on offer.

Also, Sandra Gonzalez

If I want to exploit the workforce entirely to my own ends, then outsiders should be permitted (even encouraged) to accuse me of treating my workforce little better than 'slaves.'

Of course, those in the current government-thinking camp have often been heard to argue that this tiny step 'up' from unemployment is, "the first rung on the ladder." But never are they heard to concede the fact that the market influences of high unemployment upon the job sector will often ensure that the, "first" and the last rungs might transpire to be entirely one and the same thing.

Whilst you and I are undoubtedly of the opinion that payday loan companies are entirely the work of Beelzebub- how could they not be?- George Osborne recently expressed the 'opinion' that there was, "a place for the payday loan company." The Internet may since have virtually esponged this comment from view, but we all remember watching him saying this. Also highly significant is the fact that many payday loan companies are significant contributors to Tory coffers. Why, a conspiracy theorist could have a field day; one could almost draw a convenient parallel between an economy in enforced recession and that of jolly fine business opportunities for Wonga and the likes.

Lest working individuals existing at the unacknowledged lower end of the employment spectrum should still have manufactured some sort of living standards for themselves, 'your' government has fully utilised the smoke-screen of the 'recession' in order to deter such complacency. Had we, "all been in this together," there was the option of reigning in some of those excessive rents that have been permitted to spiral, under thirty-five years of jack-bootingly rightwardly-leaning government(s).

And finally to Wendell

Sadly, Tory landlords were given priority. So instead, housing benefits were tampered with. Nobody was made homeless overnight, but benefits were capped, creating the ludicrous scenario whereby families and individuals were permitted to stay put by making up the difference between that of the newly capped housing benefit and that of rent. Thus thousands of living-below-even-the-government's-calculated-minimum-standards families were almost instantly created.

What to do? To carry on living below this adjusted poverty level or to search out new accommodation, that might not actually anyway exist?

So, slaves now, is it? As if conjured from the very aether itself...