Saturday 14 July 2012

Let's Get This Show On The Road!


Lifted straight off the script of a 1960s Western; the idealised world, in which a few true and honest men muster the means, against all the odds, to always save the day. If pushed I really couldn't pinpoint the precise script but then, on the other hand, it's the sort of line that's almost certainly been roughly approximated in a great number of films, Westerns or otherwise.

Ah, the escapism of Hollywood, a place where wrongs are inevitably righted, evil usurped by the forces for good, another day snatched back from the very brink of disaster, by those with an unerring desire to seek out justice for all. Watched thousands of times upon the silver screen, re-enacted thousands of times in the playgrounds of children, over decades. If only life were quite so simple.

Alas, there comes a time when many of us are forced to face a rather more stark reality. Admittedly, it's unlikely to be one in which, for example, cyber-robots have declared war upon humankind, but the flip side of this is that neither is the solution just a conveniently scripted couple of hours away. Our's is a world of accumulated greyness, in which the bold, "hand of history upon my shoulder," and other over-rehearsed speeches are often delivered by characters who appear to be far more representative of the darker forces, where often those who enforce the laws of the land or convey the 'intentions' of god(s) might fit more comfortably within the disingenuous than the saviour's role.

Just the ticket, by Michael Taggart Photography

If only, we might lapse into thinking, whilst watching global forces conspire to do the right thing upon the silver screen, the real world possessed a few of those magnificent specimens. If only there were a few more characters who were prepared to ride roughshod, over the duplicitous rules and regulations that shackle us, goodie mavericks maybe, like the Magnificent Seven, Batman or the characters of the Bullingdon Club.

Then reality drags you back, by the scruff of the neck, and reminds you, in no uncertain terms, that this is all just make-believe; in another thirty-five minutes the world may well be saved upon the silver screen, but the outside world is still going to be sliding, like a recently extruded stool, down the pan. Common sense, as ever, usurps the magic moment. Of course it does, what kind of moron could really believe that a bunch of arrogant blockheads, given enough undeserved power, might be able to drag the country/world up by its bootlaces, and 'back' into prosperity for all? Kids, in a playground, re-enacting last night's sci-fi blockbuster, just maybe, but only until break time's over, obviously not supposedly intelligent adults?

Obviously not! For a start such naivety would, by necessity, exclude a vast chunk of the aforementioned intelligence, wouldn't it? Either that or, heaven forbid, the guys in the superhero outfits would have to be lying through their teeth.

Which brings me conveniently round to The Earth Summit, or The United Nations Conference on Environment and Development. And, of course, given the undeniably finite nature of our planet, in all of its evident fragility, should we correctly choose to define it as a whole item rather than, irresponsibly, as its constituent parts (or 'resources'), this would surely be where our super heroes might be best employed, saving the planet from the forces of destruction. Where better?

Over a hundred Heads of State attended the last Earth Summit, and closer to two hundred nations were represented in one form or another. So, rather a large gathering of 'important' people, as, one would hope, befits such an immensely important topic. Were it possible to question any of the gathering illuminati, prior to a meeting of such gravitas, one would expect to hear of nothing less than a wholehearted commitment to our multifaceted and immeasurably diverse jewel of a home. Go, go Super Heroes!

And again, Michael Taggart Photography

Let us together dream of a world where public transport aspires to address the accumulating gridlock curse of so many cities, where forests and woodlands, together with the seemingly almost infinite diversity that they shelter, will be guaranteed a longterm future, even encouraged to spread, where diversity of habitat and environment can be acknowledged and protected from the pernicious claws of the misnomer 'developer', where societies might function as societies, rather than vastly unequal competitors upon an ever-tilting and uneven playing field, where any species lost is recognised as symptomatic of the far greater threat that it actually is, where 'partial solutions' to these global concerns are more correctly identified as gross failures. Go, go, Super Heroes!

A finite planet? Finite resources, finite (as things currently stand) energy sources, finite means to produce food, finite living spaces? Common sense would suggest that an acceptance of such would have to be the basis of any meaningful discussion; how could it possibly be otherwise?

Alternatively, the collective illuminati might just have overlooked all of this and voted to endorse a global drive towards, 'sustained development.' If it weren't real we could all have a jolly good laugh about the stupidity of it all. But it is real, alarmingly so!

Imagine, if you will, Batman, crashing in upon the Joker's self-serving plans to carve up the riches of Gotham City, entirely for his own consumption. Biff, Bosh, Kapow! The Joker's underlings are carted off to serve their time, but it transpires that the Joker has actually been operating strictly within the letter of the law, thus will certainly be continuing to reap 'his share' of the apparently-not-after-all-ill-gotten gains anyway, no doubt unencumbered by such inconveniences as taxes.

The Gotham City media circus demands that a full and well-remunerated enquiry should ensue, whereby the Mayor, Police Commissioner Gordon, perhaps Bruce Wayne himself, along with a number of equally elevated public figures, will be able to further feather their own nests, and so it carries on, ad infinitum. The Earth Summit simplified for the world, in easy access graphic novel form!

Anyway, must go now; a few old drinking mates are coming round for pizza and a few hands of Bridge. I think I've seriously underestimated with the pizza; one wonders if I shouldn't have ordered three or four times as much.

Perhaps I'll give that Sustained Eating a go; one pizza, six hungry mates, what could possibly go wrong?

Wednesday 4 July 2012

Shame About England.


"It's a real shame that those things don't come with some sort of money-back guarantee, isn't it?" I ventured to the elderly gentleman. His skin had assumed the cankerous hue of a well-weathered, desiccated leaf; all the more reason to remain fully-shirted one might have assumed. Alas the curse of that rare phenomenon, British sunshine!

The gentleman in question was animatedly assuring me that there had been a time, presumably dim and distant, when the tattoo in question had borne a remarkable and almost lifelike resemblance to an actual Blue-collared Lizard. And so, not wishing to deflate the chap further, I dutifully concurred. My own summation, that the poorly 'crafted' 'ink-stain' had assumed the approximation of some kind of disfiguring burn, was definitely not a thought best shared at this juncture.

Thanks to tricky (rick harrison)

Several ales and an undeniable lifetime of limited ambition had seriously depleted the chap's vocabulary whilst, ever-ironically, whetting his appetite for meaningless 'conversation'. I tucked my book away into my rucksack and wrestled my assumed facial expression into one of relative compliance, snatching a further surreptitious glance at the bus timetable.

"Shame about England, isn't it?" he threw into the mix, from somewhere way out of left field. Where to start, I considered.

Shame about England...

The words seemed almost to echo inside my head. Naturally, we'd both been somewhat distracted by the mother and child, also waiting, but demonstrably less patiently, at the same bus stop. I'd hoped, desperately, that their's would transpire to be a different wait. Junior had mastered the oft-witnessed 'skill' of aggressive egocentricity, which the mother seemed misguidedly eager to overindulge. She'd even splashed out on some of those sagging, homage to prison life, jeans. I wiped away a tear of 'genuine' respect for the 'forward-thinking' clothes manufacturer concerned. 'So, they 'design' them for children as young as five, do they,' I thought. I could definitely relate to the old man's comment.

Shame about England...

Or perhaps, I considered, he was alluding to the recently estimated 100,000 multi-millionaires who have been evading income tax, via this newly-unearthed K2 scheme. But it's okay, because apparently they're actually 'avoiding', not 'evading', which would be just plain wrong. Hats off to Gary Barlow, I say; surely he deserves some sort of kick-back after proudly organising all of those queenie birthday celebrations. Or alternatively, it really was a 'shame about England,' I found myself edging, ever more, towards unanimity.

And again to trancedmoogle

Regarding the point of tax evasion, our 'highly representative' government would, I feel most certain, be rabidly over-eager to point out that Britain's growing status as a genuine tax haven for the mega-wealthy is a 'necessary' tweak, concerned with incentivising all of those amorphous 'investors'. Apparently, all we now need to do is to sweep away all of that backed-up regulation and red tape that's stalling our recovery- 'trivia' like minimum housing requirements, protection for sites of special scientific interest, disability rights, all of that sort of 'unnecessary' stuff- and the road to recovery will be laid clear. A few long overdue instances of deregulation are just itching to bribe their way through parliament, and on to the open market. Heads down, everybody else!

Shame about England... 

Or, just maybe, the chappy was expressing his disappointment at the aforementioned queen's begging letter to 'our' government, for access to 'her own' pensioner's winter fuel allowance. The 'poor' old dear, must be absolutely freezing, rattling about in all of those massive, oh-so-expensive-to-heat-properly, palaces. England; indeed it is a bit of a shame, isn't it, I nodded in silent acknowledgement.

Shame about England... 

An honest appraisal? The old guy didn't present as the sort of person who's ears might prick up at such a rumour but, then again, first impressions can often be wildly deceptive. I'm assuming, for example, that even Bob Diamond must have thoroughly impressed someone, at some point, somewhere along the line. Maybe, just maybe, I thought, the elderly gentleman, like myself, had caught wind of the whispered rumour that...

Pens out and eyes to the front, this is a numbers thing. It's not unduly complex but the figures are, should they concur to be true, absolutely staggering! So, here we go; apparently, during the last financial year, the country's thousand richest individuals have increased their relative wealth by (here it is) £30,000,000,000 more than the entire national debt. That's, "more than the entire national debt!" That means that, if true, those thousand individuals could repay all of the national debt, without recourse to bothering the rest of the nation, and still have enough left over to squirrel away £30,000,000 each. And this would be on top of their usual, already disgustingly large 'usual' annual takings.

Shame about England... The echoes were definitely becoming more pronounced.

And finally, thanks to  robswatski

Of course, when we talk about the national debt, we seldom seem to allude to the flip-side of the same coin, do we? To whom might this debt be owed?

Well, this is just a guess but might not at least some of that massive increase in income, that I've just alluded to, be, in some tiny way, connected to the massive debt that is never far from the news headlines? It's just a thought.

And, yes, I realise that it's just a rumour. But it's a big, big numbers rumour, that's leaked out of somewhere, in a country where, essentially, nearly all the means of large scale communication are in 'questionable' hands, so it's unlikely to have the full broadcasting support of, for example, The Financial Times, News Corporation, ITV, any bank, the BBC, almost any politicians, any of the tabloids, or most other larger corporations.

My gut is telling me to go with it. There is no doubt that, if such a rumour reached the wider audience, there would be all manner of denial, and financial counter-expertise at the ready, and all of those 'alternative figures' to conjure with, but, even if it did turn out to be an exaggeration, I bet that's all it would be, an exaggeration. There's no smoke without fire, as they say. Shame about England...


Nodding solemnly, I was teetering upon the very verge of absolute concurrence.

"Bloody penalties again!" he slurred with something akin to passion. Another can of high strength lager had somehow materialised, perhaps from within that sagging mass that might have, in another life, passed as some sort of trouser.

Absolutely, I thought, get behind 'our' boys, 'our' tax evading, self-serving, product-placement mannequins, in their focused task of becoming ever more a symbol of the inequality that is Britain today. "Indeed," I muttered, "Shame about England!"


I declined a swig from the proffered can.