Once Upon A Time...

… there was a magical world where nothing was quite as it appeared. 'Twas the stuff of fairy tales, and everyone was jolly happy. Nobody died!

But, if they did IDS was going to do everything in his power to ensure that at least some of the people lived happily ever after, and that the rest lived in 'blissful' ignorance of the facts.

Imagine a situation whereby one organisation pretends to assist the police with an also-pretend 'investigation' into their own activities, whilst 'journalistic' reportage pretends that the ongoing scenario is some sort of unearthed revelation. Throw a local MP into the mix- he'll pretend that "this has come as something of a shock"- and all that's left is for the general public to pretend that this is an unexpected outrage, and we're effectively done! Imagine living here!

But, let's see if we can't flesh it out a bit, shall we, see if we can't lend this 'fabricated' world a tad more credibility? Let's refer to 'the investigated' as, effectively, the 'Middleton Hunt Kennels,' in North Yorkshire, thus making 'the investigators,' the 'North Yorkshire Police.' The local MP might have a name like, 'Kevin Hollindrake. Who knows, he might even regularly fraternise with the upper echelons of the aforementioned same hunt group… allegedly. 

A jolly tricky one to sustain, eh? We'd need to conjure a







Thanks to John Perivolaris

countryside quite literally 'crawling' with problem' foxes, 'necessitating' such comments as, "foxes desperately need to be culled." Curiously, we would still also find a need to covertly supplement this 'bursting' population with released foxes for the hunting of, which is theoretically currently illegal. I would imagine that a spokesperson for the hunters would have to fabricate a 'statement' along the lines of… well, where could one even begin with such a paradox? Best keep the ol' gobs shut and allow a professional team of legal misrepresenters to do the talking. Or, far more likely, to set about intimidating the doubters into compliance. And, of course, there's the ecological contention to consider, the one that argues that, "hunting is an effective way of managing a an over-populated species." Pure fantasy!

But, also much the same sort of skewed 'reality' that the recently deceased Chris Woodhead has just


Thanks to Grant Hutchinson

departed, that is to write one conjured from the pages of a modern fairy tale, or else from the minds of those given to regular misrepresentation of the facts.

The current Education Secretary, one Ms Morgan, described Woodhead as an "immense figure in the world of education," wittering on to 'claim' that, "our education system is better for it." That would be Woodhead's "raised aspirations," her words, not mine! Whilst she was speaking I would imagine that she wore the wide-eyed look someone who disbelieves virtually everything she is saying.

So, let us cast then aside the man's (Woodhead's) ingrained dogma and spiteful methodology, whereby each new and enthusiastic intake of sparkly, fresh, young teachers would be greeted with the words, "The profession is riddled with incompetence, complacence and malpractice!" Not wishing to corrupt this post, I have paraphrased the man. His actual words were invariably couched in far more unpleasant and Third Reichian terms. Even so, I have actually bothered to research the cadaver far more thoroughly than he did the thousands of teachers and support staff that he chose to routinely lambaste.                   

Thanks to Trey Ratcliff

Wilshaw (current Chief Inspector) was quoted as saying that he, "greatly appreciated the courage and bravery he (Woodhead) showed in confronting a complacent education establishment," never, of course, pausing to praise the real workers labouring under this remorseless onslaught of denigration. Blunkett (Blair's Education Secretary), another highly unpleasant character, found it harder to praise the man that he had personally chosen to retain in the role of Chief Inspector. He said that, "behind the scenes we agreed." Perhaps then Blunkett grew to dislike Woodhead because he was rather like himself. Make no mistake, Blunkett rose through the ranks entirely because of his disability, not, as presented, in spite of it!

"Brave to the end, the children's champion who fought useless teachers as hard as he (Woodhead) battled crippling disease." The Daily Mail has of course chosen not to reference the numbers of useless journalists who fester under its own reactionary banner. Increasingly like some sort of rabid dog, The Mail seldom these days bothers to conceal its undemocratic agenda.

"Tributes poured in for the Academic who took on left-wing teaching unions…" The Daily Express was also highly selective, with its own brand of dishonest journalism. There are, of course, just too many useless journalists for the Mail to harbour alone!


Thanks to Anne Worner

So, no mention of the hypocritical actions of the man then? No mentions of the affair with one of his own pupils, surely as clear an example of unprofessional behaviour as ever one is likely to find in these times of 'rampant unprofessionalism.' As the UK tracks ever further towards its own brand of plutocracy, we will, no doubt, find increasing volumes of examples of this, "do as I say, not as I do," behaviour. He may well have abused the trust his pupils miguidedly placed in him, but he was absolutely determined to stamp hard upon many of those with far more honourable goals!

Perhaps some sort of state funeral might yet be in order?  

"And, just who are these people, whose skulls might be so empty as not to see the real world festering away beneath the two-dimensional, sparkly princesses and flag-waving national-pride fabricated one?" one might ask. Well, meet The lads!

There's 'Believer- Long-Odds Douglas,' 'Generous- Team-Sport- John,' 'Mr- Positive at Both Ends- Brightside,' 'The- Calculator with a Beard- Professor,' and there's 'The- When You Know You Know- Gut-Truster!' These are the dreamers, the glory seekers, the back-page philosophers, the Wednesday night warriors, the have-a-go-heroes! Yup, these are the Ladbrokes Lads!

They're not just morons, prepared to gamble away the children's next lunch, the family holiday, the six-year-old's bike! Hell no, these lads are glory-seekers, they're philosophers, warriors, they're heroes! Those t-shirts one sees being worn on the street- Help for Heroes- why they're dedicated to the type of 'man,' who every Wednesday night eyes up the kiddy's piggybank, contemplating heroically winning back the happy family home, whilst pretending not to notice that the Gut-Truster's taken to sleeping rough, under the local railway embankment. 

When you know you know, you know. And, you just know that they didn't 'all live happily ever after.'                                                                           

Granddad!

When I write of the cornucopia of emotions that consumed me upon the birth of my granddaughter many parents and grandparents will already be well ahead of me. Yet, to labour the point further, it was entirely a vast and all-consuming wave of overwhelming love, with flotsamesque smatterings of shear blind panic! Of course, I'd much prefer to dwell in the realm of love but the latter is the inevitable consequence of the former, so in this sense my hands really are well and truly tied. And, it goes without saying that recent election results have done nothing to satisfy the love, feeding instead wholly into the fear.

Taking a keen interest in the fast-declining state of 'our' nation, my voting now is undertaken entirely with future generations in mind. My generation having long since kicked our chances into some sort of excrement-laden canal. Truth be told, I'd completely lost faith in bothering to vote at all, but then the jaded perspectives of an ageing aesthete should not so casually also write off the chances of our yet-to-be-quite-so-disenchanted youth.

So, I duly dragged myself to the local polling station, crossed the proverbial fingers and tried to pretend that others might have been similarly disenchanted, thus were focused upon prospects of something of a brighter hue. Such frail hopes as these lasted for all of two hours. Indeed, should current undemocratic trends continue, I might again put voting to bed, thus at least avoiding that awful feeling of complicitousness and of course that nagging sense of betrayal?

My idea of democracy stubbornly refuses to morph into some kind of Ancient Egyptian allegory, whereby the people slave eternally to erect yet another half-decadly pyramidal temple, always to the same God of austerity and corporate greed.

Earlier in the day, I'd nipped to the shops in order to restock a poorly depleted larder, before devoting the rest of the morning to my delightful granddaughter. The thought of her smiling face was etched into my mind, as I waited at one of Norwich's many 'pedestrian' crossings. In line with the nation's slavish adherence to corporate values, I've long since got used to the fact that any pedestrian now counts for little when scored against any multi-tax-paying-motorist, and I was languishing against the barrier, wondering whether the red Ford, barely visible upon the horizon, would have passed me before my meagre six seconds was to be begrudgingly afforded. The motorist duly passed, and was fast closing upon the opposite horizon before the concessionary beeping signalled that I'd better 'damn well soon cross and be on my way.'

I don't know quite what it was that caused me to pause. My mind wasn't entirely upon the task in hand, but then neither should it need to have been, 'twas a pedestrian crossing after all, in a city where pedestrians and motorists are expected to coexist in some sort of monetarist's 'utopia.' A moment's thought should be able to deduce that, immediately after parking the vehicle, the one anyway becomes the other. But, pause I did, and thank the Heavens so! Thus extending my life by perhaps yet a few more years.

Well aware that the chance to cross is but a fleeting one, I might 'sensibly' have stepped out upon the first sighting of that elusive green man. Which would have been slap up against the grill of the eager First bus, hurrying as it did obliviously through the red. Granddad gone!

The First bus that chose to plough unconcernedly through the red light, had far more 'important' things to do than to hesitate. And, the old guy at the crossing? Why, he didn't even look like a potential customer.

I'd love to pretend that this was an aberration on the part of the driver, but this is actually the third time that a city bus has swept through a red light, just prior to my stepping out. And these are entirely my experiences! So, I'm guessing that this kind of shall-we-call-it-a-mishap(?) is far from infrequent. These are buses, vehicles whose very existence depends upon the very existence of pedestrians. My God, you really couldn't make it up!

The number and variety of other offending vehicles? Well, I've long since given up attempting to keep track! I can recall having been accelerated at whilst correctly using a pedestrian crossing. I can still picture the weaselly face of the youth at the wheel, as he held his onanist-weary fist to the horn. Why, only five days ago I watched a black SUV confidently sail through a beeping crossing, never once pausing from his 'important' telephone conversation. Nobody else seemed to even notice or to care! As a cyclist, I've more than once watched a set of lights complete a full circuit, without even acknowledging the solitary waiting cyclist. Only a conspiracy theorist might suggest that the lights had been calibrated to hasten traffic, by registering the approach of vehicles excepting the non-tax-paying bicycles. I could try writing for clarification to Norfolk County Council, but I'd be wasting paper and time, and I'd be pretending to myself that we operated in some kind of accountable democracy. So I shan't!

The city's bus lanes- also curiously (and wrongly) open to taxis- on the surface might appear to be a good thing. Who, in their right mind, wouldn't think that public transport ought to be somehow advantaged? Yet, as a frequent user of the adjacent narrow footpaths, I am constant witness to juggernaut-like buses thundering down the inside bus lane, mere centimetres from the bustling crowds. Should a misguidedly helpful pedestrian choose the wrong moment to step off the kerb and he-or-she'll end up decorating the clothes of fellow strugglers. I'm sometimes given to thinking that these roads were a great deal safer when the more reckless taxi and oblivious bus drivers were also slowed by the nefarious other road users.

If only there was the occasional police presence! One might be forgiven for almost sympathising with their predicament- how to police when austerity reigns with such malice?- if only they hadn't been quite so vindictive in their attacks upon so many other professions. I suspect that they'll still be able to muster a presence should any Human Rights campaigners elect to challenge the dictatorship! As is often said,
* "One can expect to hear more than the occasional novelty horn these days, but just try finding a novelty policeman, to take issue with this festering imposition."

So, with granddaughter growing up fast, and roads about as corporation-friendly as befits this plutocracy, I'm naturally more than a little concerned for her future. "Green man, go!" she'll happily share with her grandparents. The following few seconds might well prove highly significant, for our small family unit!

Should the worse happen which it surely will yet again, am I so very wrong to hope that the event does not cast its darkest shadow in my granddaughter's direction? Rather, towards some other poor distracted soul?

And, when the inevitable inquest takes place, will the offending driver cry 'actual' crocodile tears, will he cite his own still-living family at home, as evidence of his 'good character?' Will the victim's family be sold short? Will there be a sacrificial lamb, before things continue along much the same lines? I believe that this is invariably the current 'working' model for such eventualities.

 

Would the 'killer' feel violently, as would I, towards the slaughterer of his own child, should roles be reversed? Will The Gove's sinister plans for the rescinding of 'The Human Rights Act,' in any way, shape or form, affect the outcome? Under recent Governments, the answers are invariably to be found by following the money.

I have it on good authority that an as-yet-unnamed Minister for Science plans to get around the issue by linking 'human classification' to collateral 'worth.'

* Try Googling 'novelty car horn issues,' or a suitable variant and marvel at the absence of any acknowledgement. Instead, it's entirely page after page of ads for yet more noise!