Secret Murmurings

Have you heard the 'secret' murmurs? Those late afternoon whisperings in the etherial towers above the fine city of Norwich? Whatever can it be?

So choreographed that one  could remain completely oblivious to these hushed exchanges. Such susurrations that might remain hidden in full cosmopolitan view, gathering in meteorological impetus as the day draws to its wintery close. Should happenstance chance to find you standing upon St Stephen's Street in the dying embers of the day, pray raise your eyes to the heavens and prepare to be amazed!


22.12.2014 at 15:25

Admittedly it's not one of those Bill Oddiesque moments, whereupon the sky darkens as if in holy portent. The plague-like proportions might be somewhat depleted, numbering into the thousands, rather than the hundreds of thousands. Far more an exquisite miniature than the bolder impasto statement. 

It would have been perhaps mid-October when I first noticed a small murmuration, twisting its multifarious knots upon the wide blue canvass. A flock of a couple of hundred Starlings, whirling in highly synchronised pre-roost anticipation. Then nothing further was noted for a few weeks. The city appeared once again bereft of performance.



Many thanks to Beverley Goodwin

On 28th November the 'returning' aerial spectacular had drawn a small audience. The knots had evolved into something more complex, the writhing rope was more robust. Shortly after 15:10 the mass-complete was sucked from the heavens, with a ferocity that might well have left a gaping vortex above the city. The chattering mass slipped into the vented roof above Poundland, south side of the street. I was there the next day at the same time, and the next. Nothing!


22.12.2014 at 15:26

'Twas 15:30 on the 19th December, before I managed to reconnect. This time the ballooning mass was constantly drawing in smaller parties of thirty, fifty, ninety, two-hundred or so. 'Twould swoop below the city skyline to re-emerge somewhat depleted, then gradually re-establish its mass, as if through some form of inverse centrifugal motion. I think the murmuration is currently maximising at something in the region of 4,500 birds.

I'm planning to keep an eye upon the sunset skies above St Stephen's Street, hoping that this living cloud might yet multiply further.

The Great Divide

I can still vividly recall the the final moments in the life of Karl Wallenda, when he tried to cross that Great Divide in San Juan, Puerto Rico. There came a time when the onslaught became just too much. Overwhelmed, he slowly sat down and slipped from this life and into the great unknown. It was March 22nd 1978 and the divide was then just under 91.5 metres!

Thirty-five years later, it came down to his great grandson to attempt to symbolise a truer crossing of the Great Divide! In sight of 'Utopian' unparallelled inequality, he took his life in his hands and veritably sprinted towards his goal! The Great Divide had grown to 426 metres.

Had the act not been merely a futile gesture, it might well have taken place over The Grand Canyon itself. Instead, Nik Wallenda's feat was demoted to the Little Colorado River Gorge in Navajo National Park. Global leaders had sought to prevent Nik from unveiling the true scale of things. He managed the 426m on the 23rd June 2013.

Analogically writing Sir Michael Wilshaw, at the behest of his puppet-masters, would have been perched upon the far edge, frantically attempting to whip up those angry winds.


The Grand Divide, Duncan Rawlinson

Back in the real world Sir Michael was recently busily condemning the UK's school populations to further lifetimes of underachievement. Sir Michael's words? We, "should be worried about a growing divide..." How closely the billowing arrogance of Sir Michael came to alluding to the truer picture. In his latest round of considered undermining he swiftly swept the mere mortal teachers off the table with a dismissive right forearm, preferring to dig his pearlies into high school management, citing the fact that 56 more schools have been placed in special measures than was the case one year ago. He also 'named and shamed' thirteen local authorities, where he disingenuously 'pointed out' that, "parents will rightly worry about poor performance." It seems that nothing in education is above criticism.

Except, of course, that it is! Assuming that he really is attempting to trace this 'monumental failure' right back to its roots, Sir Michael has naturally forgotten to point his pudgy little finger in precisely the right direction. Perhaps in his red haze of indignation, perhaps as a nod to further self-interest, perhaps following a hidden agenda of immense yet secreted scale, he pointedly refused to accept his own role in this stated failure, or that of a number of particularly spiteful former Education Ministers.


Exquisite, Mark Chadwick

Sir Michael chooses to note, perhaps, where the teacher fails to motivate the pupils but... well, I'm sure you get the drift. Appointed then, we might speculate, to assist with widening rather than healing the rift.

History's pages are bursting with dictators and liars and zealots but, in these times of optimised communication, one is left to ponder a world, or a nation, whereby such people continue to rule the roost. It would almost appear that modernity has mustered only the means by which the Grand Divide might continue to broaden its shoulders, rather than to challenge such abuse. The trickle has ceased to do just that...

... to trickle, as we were once falsely promised, down to the ''less-deserving echelons. Perhaps some form of capillary-monetary-action is afoot, whereby the trickle has finally found a means of defying gravity altogether.

How dire must things be if the IMF itself is prepared to cite inequality- the Great Divide- as a drag on economic growth? Obviously this cannot be seen as any sort of insight, more likely a concern that uber-greed might somehow harm even the uber-greedy- twisted logic or what? But, let's stick with it, shall we, the differing views of coprophagic government and those of one of monetarism's many barbed tools, the IMF?

The International Monetary Fund has picked through the data and concluded that those countries operating with smaller income differentials had expanded their economies more effectively. Thus- setting aside the valid issue that continued sustainable growth is neither universally beneficial, nor sustainable- we find that, even by its own flawed logic, the capitalist world is stalling. Clearly this has merely consolidated the case for working people, yet so bad have things become that we have lurched and juddered to a state of affairs whereby even society's new-age deities are finally peripherally 'affected'- to boot purchasing power at the other end is just too weak to sustain the current growth in inequality. All the same, I'm prepared to predict continued denial for the foreseeable future. One wonders, 'What will that 'nice' Mr Osborne have to say about it all?'


Exactly! NASA's Marshall Space...

Where accelerating inequality is actively sought, as in the UK, the rise in food-bank-and-its -ilk usage has tripled in the last year. "A price worth paying," spat from the mouths of the Champions of Inequality, here is beyond beginning to sound strained. Even were we prepared to regard 'our' politicians as well-intentioned- which I would strongly urge against- we must finally recognise that they are having to battle hard to just pretend that they think otherwise.

So, the perverse position appears to be one of accepting the rise in food-bank usage, whilst appearing to take an opposing stance. Thus we currently have feather-nesting politicians 'stating' that the rise in food-bank usage is merely a consequence of the proliferation in food-banks, whilst continuing to entertain the 'need' for yet further public sector/welfare cuts. Whilst all the evidence implies that if the trickle actually trickled Mr Tony and his ilk would surely have long since ceased accruing at quite such an astronomical rate.

As suggested in recent posts, Sir Bob Geldof would more likely dint Africa's problems if he were instead to devote his half-a-day-a-year to addressing inequality, rather than to asking the minions to dig deep yet again. Except, of course, that Bob also has his own vested interests to first consider.

Standing, as we are- most of us!- at the 'wrong' precipice of the vast and craggy Great Divide, armed also now with the concern that drug-resistant superbugs may well be set to reap annually a further 10 million by 2050, we might afford ourselves a moment to marvel at the stark beauty of it all, the pristine arid perfection of the chasm. The merest concept of bridging the eighteen miles with a suitable cable may instantly be recognised as a feat far beyond the globe's greatest civil engineers. If the air is clear, the haze minimal, we might even steal a furtive peak at those ivory edifices of otherworldly resplendence. Oh, what might have been achieved, if only? And, should the breeze slip round to the east, we might just strain our ears. Carried upon the Divide's lazy thermals, the ghosted sound of Champagne corks may just tease our senses. The antibiotics may yet hold the answer.

91.5 metres to 18 miles in 36 years, allegorically, as well as mathematically perfect!    

Choose-your-ocracy

"Dead president's corpse in the driver's car, the engine runs on glue and tar."

"The minister's daughter's in love with a snake, who lives in a well by the side of the road."

"Blood is the rose of mysterious union."

"Drugs are a bet with your mind."

Jim Morrison  imparted a great deal of wisdom during his oh-so-short twenty-seven years. Amongst a vast array of 'insight,' he's often attributed with the quotation, "Whoever controls the media controls the mind." And, whilst it would probably be fair to point out that the media would have been but one of many things that might have, at some time or other, controlled Jim's mind, he finally might have hit the nail squarely upon the head with this one!

Just to pluck an example from the aether, let's go with TTIP and it's incestuous cousin ISDS, and the manner in which much of the general media have dealt with these innocuous-sounding initialisms. On Wednesday 19th November a Private Members' Bill was voted upon in the Houses of Commons. To flesh out the relevance of this bill/issue, I'll just point out that the vast majority of Private Members' Bills never make it onto the statute book. That is to say that they are seldom promoted to the level where they might eventually be permitted to affect 'our' political system. If an MP objects to any Private Members' Bill it is not uncommon for the MP to 'talk out' the bill, and for the bill to consequently vanish into obscurity. It's one of the very many ways in which democracy might be denied full and fair process in the UK. I think I'm being fair in suggesting that the vast majority of the general public would have been unaware of this vote, or of its immense significance for the future UK.



So, how have the misnomer Free Press been selling the 'virtues' of 'the twins?'
'Online Protest Delays EU Plan To Resolve US Trade Row,' was the Daily Mail take.
Nothing from The Daily Express, The Sun, or The Star.
'David Cameron Hails G20 Plan To Boost World Economy By £2 Trillion,' was The Telegraph's spin on things.
A more well-considered, 'Drop Trade Talks,' was The Times perspective.
Greater credit, as always, must go to The Guardian and The Independent, for their more extensive coverage.
Also opting for the higher moral ground, The Mirror went with, 'David Cameron Denies Claims America Trade Deal Will Allow US Firms To Privatise Our NHS.'
The Evening Standard 'boldly' braved a single reader's response upon its letters page.
'Irrational Fear Risks Depriving Europe Of Benefits Of Trade,' was the FT stance.
Thus, it would appear that some 76% of the UK newspaper readership- this based upon circulation figures- has been presented with arguments which either condone or evade the demise of 'our NHS.

For an age, prior to this buried Member's Bill (The National Health Service [Amended Duties and Powers] Bill) being discussed in the Commons, EU Ministers had been furiously and covertly preparing the ground for these two items to be brought into 'fruitful' practice. Had someone not thought to question the validity of either or both, then TTIP and ISDS might well have quietly become law within the EU, without ever bothering to trouble the democratic processes of any EU state. Perhaps a touch more Oligarchy than Democracy has been afoot.

The aforementioned Private Members' Bill was 'won' by a margin of 241 to 18 votes. Quite a majority, until one considers that 401 MPs didn't bother to turn up to listen or to vote. My informed contention is that the initial vote came down very much in the public interest, but that the absence of so many pretendedly-disinterested MPs should be regarded entirely as an alarming portent of what may yet come to be.



TTIP is a deceptive 'little' incendiary, aimed at ripping the still-beating heart from 'our' NHS; the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership. Ultimately, what TTIP aims to do is to ensure that all areas of the EU market, including health, are open to private 'investment.' Obviously, I have used the term 'investment' in it's blackest sense, that as rabidly sought by profit-first-and-only multinational companies who may soon be able to wreak far more damage upon the remnant NHS than did all of those disastrous PFIs.

ISDS is the means by which 'investors' will be able to sue companies, notably the NHS, should private corporations not be given full business access to the target 'company' or establishment. Both TTIP and ISDS have considerable support from various corporate interests. It's interesting to note that whilst multinational and smaller corporate interests appear to have been kept fully abreast of proceedings, the general public, via it's 'elected' MPs, appears to have been kept largely in the dark! Perhaps then, far more Corporatocracy than Democracy has been employed.

If we should elect to factor in the number of MPs who have vested financial interests with private health care providers- 73 as of February 2013- and those in the 'Upper' Chamber- 147 as of the same date- then we might start to hyperventilate. I think it would not be unreasonable to assume that the number of Parliamentarians seeking to benefit from the impending implementation of TTIP and ISDS is currently significantly in excess of 220... and rising! *

Three days ago David Babbs, of 38 Degrees, sat before the Business Select Committee, in order to relay a growing public concern. In the very short BBC radio report that I've listened to the anger of MPs, that anyone should be impudent enough to challenge their autonomy, is almost palpable. One wonders how many of those on the Business Select Committee might already have their fingers in the 'cookie jar.' I find myself edging now towards Kleptocracy!



Yet again, Mr Cameron has the greatly-resented NHS firmly in his sights, for yet further 'efficiency savings;' £1.5 billion he claims TTIP will 'save' the NHS. And, what better way to 'reinvest' those 'savings' than in tax cuts- the eternal Tory bribe! The UK's lowest paid, we are encouraged to believe, may 'benefit' by up to £9 a week- although Lord alone knows how this will adequately compensate for a complete cessation of affordable healthcare- whereas those on a far more handsome £50,000 per annum will be benefitting by almost three times as much. The costs of these election bribes? Something in the region of £7.2 billion! Perhaps we are sliding from Kleptocracy and into the realms of Plutocracy!

And, at absolutely no point did any of these processes appear to so much as tip a hat in the direction of Democracy! Ultimately, I think I might describe this as living in a Coprophagiocracy!

 * In fairness and in the interests of furthering the democratic cause all links on this post are to the same Social Investigations site, and very informative it is too! Prepare a mug of coffee, pull up a comfy chair and prepare to be informed!

I Also Wish...

"You're full of opinions, but with none of the solutions!"

It's probably been said many times, by many people, often at a particularly 'telling' point in a heated discussion or an argument. It's the sort of statement many of us wish we'd used, instead of the perhaps shouted jumble of expletives that unfortunately burst forth during our last strong disagreement. The aforementioned statement was used again, just the other day, by someone who I deeply admire, aimed forcefully at someone who I really don't. What's more, the comment hit the target, sent the bugger reeling, it did! But, I digress. Like I've already made clear, I wish I'd said it.

I often think that it's the sort of comment that might be levelled at many of my posts. A significant number of them are, after all, far more opinion than solution, the 'directionless' rantings of an angry soul! In my defence, many of my critiques are more than justified, the sentiments are indeed shared by many others, and are far beyond urgent in terms of needing to be addressed. I would also be prepared to concede that many of the issues about which I write may appear to have no obvious 'complete' solution. Some of them 'appear' to have no apparent solution whatsoever... or perhaps it would be fairer to write that stacked up against the clearer solutions are forces so damned powerful as to send shivers down the spine. David Kelly might have elaborated, were he not otherwise... dead! 

In order to even voice a counter-opinion to some of these issues we are first required to brave a vast acreage of thin ice. Vested interests will have us entirely and very much the wrong side of the glassy sheet before we have even drawn breath, starved of oxygen as it were. Remembrance Day and Children in Need are two such verboten issues. So steeped in partial mythology are they now that we are likely to be plunged into the waters before we have even placed both feet tentatively upon the ice.

So, here's another opinion (without a solution?). It was prompted by one Bono, having just emerged from his chauffeured lift, to the recording of another Band Aid song, thirty years on from the first. Upon exiting the vehicle Bono shared his wisdoms with the world. Thanks Bono!

The rock 'giant' was asked, "How do you feel about taking part in this today, of course, thirty years after you did the original Band Aid single?" And the self-important, tax-avoiding deity plastered on a thin veneer of 'sincerity,' before replying, "As I say, I wish we didn't have to do this, and there will come a time when we won't... " Unpalatable on oh-so-many levels!

It's at this point that the chastisement, "You're full of opinions, but with none of the solutions!" might be levelled. Undoubtedly the single will raise piles of money, some of which will undoubtedly find its way to its intended and deserving recipients, those tens of thousands of African Ebola victims. Certainly their situation will be better- some of their positions- with, rather than without another Band Aid single. This much, I do not doubt. Our 'uber-benign' government have even agreed to waive VAT, currently standing at 20%, on sales of the single... but ultimately this effort is entirely akin to Henry VIII having an oh-so-brief flirtation with salving his conscience, before he reverts entirely to type and snatches it all back with interest!

Sounds like the vast sweeping statement of someone, "full of opinions, but with none of the solutions!" And it sort of is, but only sort of, especially when you consider the interconnectedness of the wider global situation.

You see, the problem that I have with this state of affairs concerns a wider and far more real world, wider than the 'convenient' planet that Sir Bob et al like to pretend to themselves that they have opted into. Please permit me to contextualise; I'll be referencing two news items in order so to do.

Property of Geldofoto.com
Registered in the British Virgin Isles.

The first of these concerns modern-day slavery, as recently discussed on the BBC. It's another important and topical issue that absolutely demands airtime. In the UK alone, there was a 47% increase in known cases, from 2012 to 2013. 1,746 cases reported within UK borders! The global problem is absolutely immense, currently standing at almost 30 million slaves! Consider also, that slavery is, by necessity, an underground issue, thus the true scale is completely unknown!

The second news item (barely) concerns the four Russian war ships that were recently stationed off the Australian coast, but solely as a point of access. I have specifically chosen to pluck a single figure from the adjacent G20 Summit, near where the aforementioned war ships were 'anchored,' that of a '2.1% pledge of growth' amongst the 'represented nations.'

So, to meld the two points: in an increasingly international marketplace, upon a finite planet, the G20 leaders have pledged to grow their respective economies by 2.1%, thus- although this is, of course, left unstated- committing their respective workforces to competing, ever more robustly, upon an international stage. The workforces are therefore also committed to salary competition with countries where modern-day slavery is even more prevalent and is almost routinely used as a tool of the wealthy-but-morally-bankrupt.

Property of Bonophoto.com
Registered in Amsterdam.

In the UK slavery is currently (and officially) frowned upon, but the zero-hours culture is established and thriving in the workplace, as is the stubborn refusal of huge multinationals like Amazon, to pay their workforce a living wage. And so the interconnectedness of all things looms, hopefully, into view! A wealthy-nations-dominated world, where downward pressure upon wages will indirectly bring about a proliferation of legally and morally questionable practices in the UK workplace...

... In a world where, interconnectedly, the gluttonous wealth of certain individuals directly affects the lack-thereof of millions of 'lesser' individuals, operating further down the ladder. Thus, 'boss chooses to take home 20% more' equates entirely to workers being expected to absorb this, either as a reduction in pay or as an increase in 'efficiency' for which they will be reaping no reward.

And if the market elects to create more money to compensate for such gluttony we will need to factor in the consequent impact upon the value of this money; create too much and we might conceivably be saddled with hyper-inflation. So Messrs Bono and Geldof, the fact that you have chosen to cut such a fat slice of the cake for yourselves will have a direct impact upon the slices that others may receive. It would of course be, at best naive, in Sir Bob's and Bono's case, disingenuous to attempt to deny the interconnectedness of relative wealth and relative health.

Very much part of the problem for 364 days, and yet but a very small part of the solution for merely part of a single day. Factor in that reluctance to accept taxation as one's fellow citizens do and the skewing is amplified. Sir Bob's response to this? "It's a load of bollocks!" always the refuge of the 'moral high'-grounders.

Here I am, full of opinions but with, perhaps, more than a hint at a viable solution?

Nicer!

The Norfolk and Norwich Hospital presents as a curiously rambling affair, erected as it was upon the disputed intersection of three of Britain's most ancient ley-lines. One can say whatever one likes about these wondrous and deeply misunderstood pathways but they do tend to wreak havoc with one's sense of time.

It's oft been said, where such slippery things as timescales are concerned, that particular sections of the hospital are now so wildly out of kilter with others that the whole structure appears to wink, not unlike the dying embers of some sort of immense bonfire, when viewed from the outer fringes of the Earth's atmosphere. Astronomical sources can be notoriously difficult to pin down on the subject, but simply glimpsing that infamous knowing smile from Alfred Watkins, in his last televised interview on the subject of those, "ancient pathways," can be hauntingly spine tingling!



Truly, there are staff who have been working at the hospital, since almost the turn of the century, who have yet to discover the whereabouts of the oft-whispered-about Shaman(ism)ology Department, despite its well-documented and relatively pellucid referral system. Honest to God, if one stands upon the 'right' corridor junction and squints, somewhat obliquely to the east, it's almost as if the world is washed clean again, and once more free from sin. But, enough of all this nonsense...

... Let it suffice to be written that fully seven hours were duly recorded upon my own peculiar timepiece, despite what other contradictory sources may have implied. And, during my seven hour experience no fewer than three separate departments were visited.



We commenced our stint in the Venous Thromboembolism Department, where a delightful gentleman finally stamped his determined foot and said, "Enough is enough!" Such was his disillusionment with the practice of validating rat poison (Warfarin) as an NHS drug that he duly whisked the decision well out of reach of the NHS accountants. Whilst grinding the patient's remaining tablets under the heel of an angry shoe, he fiercely penned a prescription for a far more viable alternative, something by the name of Rivaroxaban. Yet early in the day and already the 'visit' was bearing impressive fruit.

Altogether far more alarming, one Chloe Smith- the Spirit of Christmas Cancelled- was witnessed to ghost along one corridor, tape measure flapping hungrily in hand. Speculation has it that, if she can tie at least four 'adjacent' departments to the same approximate real estate epoch, she's already identified several interested private 'investors' simply biting-at-the-bit to carve-up the place.



Our second port of call would have been that of the Radiology Department, specifically for yet more X-rays. Should 'we' be able to persuade the technician (at next week's MRI) to incorporate the patient's feet and 'we'll' have a complete composite body set, replete with 3,000 bonus loyalty points; saving up for that replacement knee joint. I swear to God, that at one particularly unsettling moment, I found myself staring open-mouthed along a gently undulating quaking aspen ride, facing towards an altogether brighter and more youthful sun. Had an orderly not punctured the bubble, by enquiring if I was lost, I feel that I'd still be there, adrift somewhere upon the mists of time.

Armed with the shield of truth- no longer its former proud acetate self, now merely a sad ciber-replica- our final port of call was the much-heralded Rheumatology Department, where angry needles were drawn and thrust unlovingly into the very joints of the now waning patient. Staunch and brave she was, whereas I had to excuse myself, under the pretext of fetching the earlier prescribed spoils. In my absence magical steroidal potions were wafted invitingly before the patient's eyes.



Ultimately, stiff as the competition genuinely was, it had to be Rheumatology that won the day and the purse. With sandwiches and several cups of tea on offer- for the patient and her companion- and seats that actually reclined, Rheumatology rightly won this lady's favour.

'Tis to be hoped that frittering away the private 'investor's' spoils, with such cavalier disregard, might perchance one day manage to exorcise the ghosts of such as Ms Smith, that the once mighty (now besieged) NHS might once again soar!

A Big-Dolphin Of A Time!

I've seen more than a few cetaceans, but not for a good few years now. Most of 'mine' were seen in Scottish waters- magnificent country- or Cornwall, either spied from a prominent headland or the deck of a chugging ferry to or from one of the various islands off the west coast. Many of my sightings involved ponderous distant fins and sleek dark backs sliding along a distant sea-line, thus were of uncertain species.

I still recall, with much affection, sailing alongside a pod of half-a-dozen Orcas, when I was travelling out to The Uists some time in the late 1980s. In my excitement, I was eager to share the experience with some of my fellow passengers. "Look, !" I seem to remember shrieking to a party of five or so, "A pod of Killer Whales!" They barely broke stride as they hastened to the bar.

At the time this dismissal seemed unfathomable, but I suppose that's one of the many things that makes wildlife watching so special, that imbued niche intimacy that positively radiates from some, yet it remains curiously alien to most.

Special thanks to Javier Delgado Esteban

On Monday, 10th November, I was finally- eventually- able to reacquaint myself with that indescribable sense of awe that seems sometimes to almost overwhelm the captive observer upon the event of these wonderful chance encounters. The day hadn't started well; I'd contrived to spread my characteristic given-inability to organise, by filling 'young' David's van with a surfeit of furniture whilst at the same time failing to confirm drop-off times with the proposed recipients, thus dragging out a two-hour job into a full day's heel-kicking wait! As David said, "There's never a day that's so bad that it can't get worse!"

Extra special thanks to me ol' mate David Bryant

What else for a couple of tired old bird-watchers to do, other than to trundle coastwards in search of wildlife? A far-away Rough-legged Buzzard, a few now-you-see-me-now-you-don't Red-throated Divers, a shimmering island of Golden Plovers. The Visitors' Centre at Cley, with its seductive whisperings of coffee and cheese scones, upped its appeal and duly sucked us in...

Thirty minutes later, as we gazed meditatively towards a distant horizon, the idea of anyone 'picking out' genuine activity upon the pencil-thin line of ocean had seemed highly improbable. Yet, as whisperings became more animated, we couldn't help but be drawn in. "Pilot Whales... " a chap over at the far end of the centre seemed to be explaining. How can it be possible to know or to see, I'd thought. 'Twas the marvel of science, I was informed, someone on the beach had simply phoned the news to the Visitors' Centre.

And again, to Javier Delgado Esteban

The forgotten furniture was duly subjected to moments of simulated weightlessness, as the vehicle chose to disregard the minor undulations of the coast road. We arrived at Salthouse early and set about waiting. After much searching the sea still remained steadfastly devoid of cetaceans. A boot-sliding march revealing little, bar a cloud of sixty-plus Snow Buntings that tumbled along the shingle bank ne'er to be relocated upon the deck. At this point it had seemed that the chances of a more intimate study of the passing Pilots had perhaps expired. We thought maybe they'd drifted slowly back out into the deeps.

So, to return to Salthouse to discover a single tier of half-a-dozen telescopes trained upon an indeterminate distant line upon the sea was a truly wonderful moment. David and I stood and observed the cork-bobbing party, for perhaps an hour. Estimates gradually climbed from an initial dozen or so, culminating with a total of almost thirty Long-finned Pilot Whales.

Loyal friend and top blogger David Bryant

The creatures appeared not so much concerned with actually feeding, more with simply bouncing upon the swell of the ocean, surveying the world above- spy hopping- much as the local seals might do. Gleaning further information retrospectively, it would appear that there was much concern regarding a potential beaching- the down side to the occasional pleasures we wildlife-chasers prefer not to dwell upon- British Divers Marine Life Rescue were on standby throughout the pod's brief flirtation with the Norfolk coastline. Ultimately, all was well and the gathering crowds were fortunate indeed to have shared such a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Special thanks must go to driver David, also for his lifelong tolerance of his passenger's vagaries. There isn't a day that's so good that it can't get better!

Yussur!

When Private Allen Lambert of The Stody Estate Regiment dutifully (indirectly) injected the latest of his many victims with the slow poison that would cause the body to writhe and contort with agony, the simple foot-soldier was merely following in a long and 'honourable' tradition of self-righteous genocide, in a 'just' and hierarchical cause. He was 'blindly' following his 'just' orders, in order to protect the 'rights' of his 'betters' to undertake ritual and wholesale slaughter, as personal wealth dictates.

General Charles MacNicol- emotionally detached, his mind on higher things- surveyed the scene from afar. His 17th Century Restoration Charles II barley-twist chair afforded the General the optimum vantage point, from which to survey the theatre. His Meerschaum pipe had been optimally loaded prior to the 'operation,' such that it was unlikely to expire and compromise the General's vantage.

So 'twas a dash 'awful' affair of the most outlandish 'outrage' that should happen to see the 'upstartish' RSPB, together with a number of rouge Bobbies, punching well above their weight. Confounded affair has set back the 'honourable' General the best part of a grand, dash it! Man had to call in a few favours merely to keep his foot-soldier in the theatre of war. Damned plebs! "Has the world gone completely mad?" one feels entitled to enquire.


Thank you, sir! jeffrey chan

Had the 'poor' sod been on manoeuvres just north of the border he might even have been thrown into the old clink, perhaps cost General MacNicol his liberty, to boot! Thank the Lord for the 'dear' Ol' English Class System, enduring so obediently through the courts.

Feel it's time to stand up and be counted. Hell, one reckons it's the God-given duty of the Rural Payments Agency to ensure that those taxpayer dollars are suitably rained down in 'justified' and munificently benevolent compensation for such an 'unwarranted outrage.'

Perhaps, in time-honoured tradition, the gunners might afford Private Allen Lambert the 'respect' he has surely 'earned.' Prior to darkening the autumnal air with the usual speckled-array of lead shot, they might first perform some sort of multi-gun salute, in recognition of the undoubted death of English 'justice' as we know it. A boot-licker's honorarium!

Ten-shun!

Nice?

I really don't think so!

I had cause to spend the bulk of Friday afternoon at the hospital- The Norfolk and Norwich- and whilst there I encountered the word, 'nice.' It's often thought of as rather a bland word, out of fashion or favour, so much so that schools, following hot on the heels of yet another educational (here-today-gone-tomorrow) trend, have worked hard at consigning the word to the waste bin.

"Too bland; try replacing this adjective with one of its many synonyms, selected from the 'creative' writing wall." Nice try, as long as we don't become overzealous with this fad. Oops, too late! Is it really true that Ofsted are marking down children's creative writing, based in part upon pupils use of this word? Nice! I think I might start using it more often, start reclaiming it on behalf of the nation as 'twere.

So, the hospital! What had happened was that someone very dear to me had been hastened to the place, in order to have some tests done. 'Twas to be hoped that a serious blood clot had not developed. That's the trouble with using rat poison to treat serious ailments, sometimes it turns out that it's capable of behaving like a poison. Who'd have thought it?


Blood. Thanks Steve Koukoulas

Anyway, it wasn't a clot. It took several hours to be sure, but it wasn't, and the staff -those battling to keep the NHS alive- were wonderful, delightful, very nice!

We still don't know precisely what the trouble was, although we might speculate that warfarin (rat poison) isn't helping matters. The final consultant we saw wouldn't commit, or perhaps he thought it better not to over-enlighten his patient. Otherwise, he was a very nice man, very nice!

But, what he did say was quite interesting, enlightening, damning, depending rather upon one's interpretation of what was actually said/meant.

Hopefully, I've already established that the aforementioned patient is being 'treated' with warfarin. The consultant, in his summarising of what he thought might be causing the problem, referred to warfarin on several occasions, but never overly affectionately. He wondered if it might not be the warfarin that was causing other ongoing, interconnected and frequent concerns; struggling, as it has been, without effect to balance the patient's INR. The International Normalisation Ratio is the measure of necessary anticoagulant in the blood, thus the ability of the blood to a) flow effectively through the body and b) still be able to clot in the event of a bleed. The margin for error is quite fine! The consequences of a miscalculation might be fatal!


More blood. Thanks also, to Erika Julin

The consultant stated that he believed warfarin wasn't fulfilling its appointed role, that of helping to regulate the patient's blood-clotting properties. Thus, he thought it about time that a safer and more suitable alternative was tried; there are several options currently available.

"The National Institute for Clinical Excellence," he stated, "usually 'recommends' the use of warfarin, for the regulating of patient's blood." The words didn't exactly flow confidently from the man's lips. I'd suggest that the word, "excellence," seemed almost to catch in the throat, lodge there temporarily, not unlike a wordy alternative to a fish bone. He coughed, perhaps to dislodge the offending 'item,' before 'volunteering' further 'information.' He talked almost buoyantly about the benefits of the alternatives, their increased safety, their considerably reduced need for constant monitoring. It was around this point that the consultant paused...

One might have been forgiven for thinking that some sort of 'invisible' ear-piece might have been in play, one by which NICE might have been able to refocus the man's thoughts- at least his spoken words. Expectations deftly turned upon the proverbial sixpence. Toning down his enthusiasm he thought that rather than "recommend" any of the anticoagulant alternatives he would "write to" the relevant practice, to inform the GP that "alternatives were available." There was an indeterminate period of waffling readjustment, during which at no point was NICE referred to as a bunch of Governmental Accountants.

But, we all know what NICE's true role is, don't we? George Orwell wrote about these sorts of people; he'd have labelled them as something along the lines of 'The Ministry of Truth.'

Rivaroxaban 'is' somewhat more expensive than Warfarin, at £2.10 compared to 5p per tablet, as of 2013. I don't expect NICE will be factoring in the cost of the constant monitoring of any patient who might be subjected to a life of daily rat poisoning. Short term financial gains trumps long-term benefits- disguise the occasional collateral fatality- that sort of calculation.

Democracy

'Democracy' might be described as the ultimate form of government. Operating at its optimum 'Democracy' should be both highly accountable and highly malleable; it is government by the entire people, for the entire people. 'Democracy' professes to treat all people equally and to invest them with equal rights. True 'Democracy' should also be ever aspirational ever evolving, never complacent, searching ever for the means to better wholly represent the people it purports to serve. And should 'Democracy' ever achieve these towering aspirations, then it should immediately be searching to redefine these aspirations, in order that it might even better serve its people. Sound familiar?

Thought not!

I have never had the dubious privilege of setting foot in either the Democratic Republic of the Congo, nor the Democratic People's Republic of North Korea. As a once very keen traveller, I might (oh-so-very-briefly) have deluded myself that such visits could be spiritually enriching, but only ever from a highly selfish perspective, and this would still have required one Hell of a touch of blind-eye turning.

 Appreciated,  Bradley Gordon 

Factor in the (ex) German Democratic Republic and we might easily concur that democracy is absolutely the last thing on any governmental  minds, within any country that features 'Democratic' in its title. The idea of 'slipping in,' having a bit of a leisurely look around and then 'slipping out again' thus becomes highly problematic. Remove the vital option of 'slipping out again' and the visit might instantly be transformed into the very worst of nightmares. We might thus observe, given enough free rein, that the self-serving nature of the human creature knows no bounds. How we might 'observe' and nod sagely from our 'Democratic' havens. "That's definitely not democracy," we might sadly smile.

It's important, however, not to permit ourselves to feel too smug. I'm guessing that words like 'freedom,' 'choice' and 'democracy' will continue to feature highly in the rhetoric of those respective governmental circles. Casually gathered evidence would seem to suggest that such words actually feature even more where a lack thereof perpetuates.


Ta  Matt Reinbold

So, I'm going to suggest that we all listen, if we can bare the pain, to 'our' political 'servants' a touch more carefully in future, see if we can't detect an alarming increase in words like, 'democracy,' 'choice' and 'freedom.' 'The British taxpayer' is always a bit of a giveaway, when political accountability is about to go out the window.

"It is important that democracy involves real choices." Cameron at PM Questions, 15th October 2014.
  
"But we believe that the better informed the British public is about the issues affecting our society, the easier it is, ultimately, for the British Government to come to sensible decisions and to develop robust policies that command the confidence of our people." Telegraph, 21st October 2014.

"We need to focus more than ever on the building blocks that take countries from poverty to prosperity. The absence of conflict and corruption. The presence of property rights and the rule of law." Cameron's address to United Nations General Assembly, 26th September 2012.

"... it's our values. British values. Fairness. Freedom. Justice. The values that say wherever you are, whoever you are, your life has dignity and worth. The values that say we don't walk on by when people are sick, that don't ask for your credit card in the hospital, that don't turn our backs when you get old and frail..." Cameron's last speech in Scotland, prior to the Independence Referendum.


And also,  Jason 

Meanwhile, the yawning chasm between the most and the least wealthy continues to accelerate, the NHS continues to be sold off to private interests, and education finds itself with ever more unqualified teachers operating at the chalk face. It's been a while since the term, "We're all in this together," has been wheeled out and dusted off...

So, listen up, if you wish to track 'your own' country's slide into the realms of feudal dictatorship. If you've noticed 'our' political masters and their respective string-pullers using the 'D' word and its closer cousins rather more than seems appropriate, then I would suggest that any thoughts of celebration regarding progress should be put on ice... perhaps- on 'your' behalf, please understand- cast into some uber-deep Antarctic bore-hole, ne'er to be retrieved.

Meanwhile, how are things across the pond, in the Land of the Free?

'Klerranty'

Or conceivably a 'Wagg'... or some other such compounded word. Given what the construct might actually represent it really hardly matters anyway.

I would imagine that you, rather like myself, have at some time or other encountered the tiresome 'Warranty' issue; that of seeking some form of redress, via a guarantee-type 'contract' of absolutely no worth whatsoever! Recall, if you will the proffered words. They just kept on spewing out, didn't they?

"Yes sir, the longhold-bumplever is covered, as are the spongal-coverts and the spigot-fastenings. Unfortunately (insert widening grin) the minute neoprene grommet that connects the bumplever to the spongal-covert isn't covered by the warranty, as is 'clearly' stated in the circular-minutiae clause on page thirteen...
... and as parts can only be acquired as a readily-assembled unit from our factory, and not as individual constituent parts, the unit isn't actually covered by our warranty."

"Will sir be wanting to replace the faulty unit? We can book your (insert appliance) in for now, if that would be to your 'satisfaction.' The cost? That'll be £450 with labour, plus VAT at 20%. Shall I go ahead and book you in, sir?"

"We are legally bound to take possession of all otherwise fully functional constituent parts, for safe disposal, in line with our 'Greener Future' commitment to the environment."

'Warranty:' an entirely worthless guarantee. Another compound word!

You'll perhaps recall the 'Warranty-type' 'safeguarding' of customers' 'rights,' in relation to recently purchased 'gift' tokens, shortly after HMV's slide into receivership in 2013. Shareholders who had acquired shares, that were theoretically subject to all of the here listed (liquidity risk, inflationary risk, equity risk, credit risk, volatility risk, market risk, concentration risk, counterparty risk, along with numerous, supposedly less-serious, risks) were curiously deemed more deserving, having gambled their excess monies in the City, than ordinary people who had simply purchased presents for friends and families.


Many thanks to Chris de Rham

To clarify, this meant that the risk-taking shareholders, who were supposed to be aware that, "Shares might also go down in value," were given priority over people who thought that they had simply just purchased an HMV product. A 'Warranty' by any other name!

Deloitte (HMV receivership company) did eventually relent and 'honour' the shoppers' transactions- is 'honour' really the right word in this context?- but only after factoring in the potential costs of an angry public backlash.

So, I'm going to stick the ol' neck out here and assume that Nick Clegg's latest pre-election words will also be falling very much into the 'Warranty,' rather than the 'Guarantee' camp. "Free school meals in primary schools," "Cut price travel for young workers," "Extended paternity leave and free childcare," "A mansion tax," and the electoral king-pin, "A properly funded NHS!"

Ticking all the right boxes! The voters- those with any integrity- will be flocking to the polling stations! At least those with any integrity, yet operating without a fully functioning memory, also without access to someone who remembers what a toadying bunch of opportunists the Lib-Dems turned out to be and whispers a few words in the ol' shell-likes.


Thank you, Jonathan Adami

And, let's not forget that, "A (pseudo) properly funded NHS," is what the soulless Tories continue to pretend to offer. And we all know that this is certainly not happening. Wait and see how the current  'Ebola epidemic' might yet also be exploited in the NHS funding row! Or trust in JC, I don't think so!

So, 'Warranties!' Much closer to home, in the fine city of Norwich, we may have found another example. I'd only just read that the Grapes Hill roundabout is to be once again condemned to the Hell of traffic lights. Yes, after weeks of 'inconveniently' almost free-flowing traffic, we are once again to be 'blessed' with the eternal snarl-up that Grapes Hill had previously become. No more gentle trundles up the hill, instead a forced return to that series of short-stay parking slots and interspersed hill-start practice 'opportunities.' Norwich City Council @ someone's service, but it certainly ain't our's!

The Eastern Daily Press's article on the issue was addended by literally dozens upon dozens of dissatisfied motorists' comments, those who had recently experienced the vast improvements that a lightless roundabout had brought to this section of the city (traffic).


Thanks again, Chris de Rham

Having travelled along this precise route on Saturday (11th October) I was witness to what I can only imagine was Norwich City Council's response to the EDP et al backlash. Perhaps, me thinks, the Council are hoping to pull the wool over our eyes here. I am a self-confessed cynic, I could be wrong, but I think not!

The roundabout in question, and seemingly every conceivably approaching road, had been mysteriously glued up, taped over and generally fouled up, with a massive surfeit of bollards, plastic barriers and strewn high visibility tape. Curiously, none of the aforementioned appeared to be serving any purpose, unless that purpose was to cause all approaching traffic to flow like so much refrigerated treacle.

And then it dawned! As it has no doubt dawned to numerous others, that this 'was' perhaps entirely its purpose. Yes, in order to disguise Norfolk City Council's 'Warranty' of little worth, the Grapes Hill roundabout, I am prepared to contest, has been condemned to a period of downwardly-adjusted direness, purely in order to mislead the driving public regarding the (less) dire effect of those infernal lights!

A 'Norantee' maybe! Entirely safeguarding someone else, who is most definitely not you!

Worst Loathing Question

So, the lies and the false promises and the bribes and the gesturing of the great and mighty money-lenders comes to an undignified and a sweaty halt! Scotland has (not really) decided! But that's usually how it goes with pseudo-democracy in the good old U of K! Panting and slightly tearful, we await a fuller assessment of the damages, and it really didn't take long for the first signs of these to appear...

Such was the depth of feeling that 84.5% of those eligible, turned out to vote on the issue of Scottish independence. Such was the consequent 'concern,' south of the border, that the lie-machine was caused to crank right up through the gears. No longer were the usual falsehoods, as perpetuated by the likes of The Daily Mail, deemed powerful enough. No! Instead, tried-and-tested-and-found-sorely-wanting politicians, of the likes of Brown, Clegg and Darling- I believe that even wanted-war-criminal Blair put in an appearance- were wheeled out, in order to puff-the-smoke, realign the mirrors, muddy the waters, and to generally spread confusion and misinformation. It's rumoured that Cameron managed to squirt out one solitary formulaic acid tear. The stakes were deemed to be that high! 

Darkness, by Roberto Fontana

When the votes were allegedly counted it was 'found' that as much as 55% of the population was either pro-union, or financially-intimidated, or otherwise-uncertain-enough to have placed a mark in the 'No' box, when asked the question, 'Do you agree that Scotland should be an independent country?' Thank the Lord, that all of those landed family estates are to remain safely in the hands of their English masters!

Upon waking, my initial reaction had been one of relief. I'd always hoped that Scotland might stay. I love the country! I like the people (mostly), and the landscape, and I like the fact that those Scots, to whom I have spoken, generally seem to have a rather more egalitarian outlook than their English counterparts. I like the fact that, where the country's politics might differ from 'our's,' that the Scots generally tend to have got it right(er). The Scottish parliament is not so keen to parcel up and sell off the NHS to business buddies of dubious intent, neither are they so keen to allow their education system to be kicked about quite so brutally as is always the case south of the border, neither do they appear to regard their in-need-of-care elderly residents as merely cash cows, being steered relentlessly towards pauper's graves. I could go on. 

I didn't want to see the MPs who had voted counter to the English slice-it-up-and-sell-it-off ways to be yet further removed from the UK's decision making. Sometimes it seems that Scottish and Welsh MPs might just be the remnant conscience that has long since been so brutally cauterised from English politics. So, yes, I was glad they had stayed.

But, had I been Scottish, I'd surely have voted 'Yes,' for entirely the flip-side of the same reasons. The huge cloud of misinformation, that 'The Vote' managed to generate, was undoubtedly significantly added to by both sides, the first casualty was always going to be 'the truth.' They're politicians, for Christ's sake, under the current regime greed and self-serving are always going to win the day! The best that we can do (within the current soul-voided system) is to search for hints of grey amongst all of that charred blackness. And Scotland currently has a lot more of the grey than do we. 

I'm glad they stayed, and yet I'm also sorry they stayed. I'm sorry for Scotland, and I'm sorry to so swiftly see the first signs of the bigoted Tory backlash.

Darkness, by Roberto Fontana

Single acidic tear esponged from the venison-and-game-stuffed-mask, Cameron is already spawning his embittered response. Behind the lies there were far larger lies awaiting the hatching! The West Lothian Question, will yet wreak much collateral damage with England's Health and Education systems. Why, it's almost as if the man only ever felt a loathing for the Scottish people.

I predict celebratory tax cuts for English billionaires, what better way to spread the joy?

Glorious Birds And Mammals...

... and the one slipstreaming reptile.

The Norwich Arts Centre just keeps on giving! For those with a penchant for any of those hugely talented jazz-based ensembles, currently doing the rounds, this was the place to be on Thursday night (11th September).

Two concerts for the price of one! Naturally I'd leapt at the chance to watch Gogo Penguin perform; Mammal Hands, publicising their debut 'album,' were entirely a revelatory bonus! But three hours standing? Recovery, still in progress, may yet take a while.

The night kicked-off on a hugely positive note, punctuality, and never once wavered, from the self-appointed task of delivering an evening's first class entertainment, on time! The double bill is always going to require an element of timing, and so it thankfully was! At the outset I'd determined to make it through to at least the start of the second bill. But three numbers in to the Mammal Hands set and I was well and truly hooked, determined to see it through to eleven. 

Thanks must go to Alan Grinberg

That's the thing with some jazz-ish performers, they have this ability to seriously drop the jaw. Reaction from the gathered crowd suggested that I was not alone, in my swift appraisal of this group. When one is enthralled by the antics of the drummer, something extra special is generally afoot. Jesse Barrett skipped through the genres with the deftness of the magician; calypso, something perhaps oriental, a touch of latinesque skittering and then suddenly we were thrust into an entirely darker, pulsing beat. Absolutely seamless! Undoubtedly, this bunch is swiftly going to increase their following.

But, had it not been for Gogo Penguin, I'd almost certainly have overlooked Mammal Hands; more fool me!

Gogo, replete with their second, replacement double bassist, Nick Blacka, were reason enough to have paid the infinitesimal £7 ticket charge. Cascading piano circuits, that instantly drew comparison to the greatly mourned Esbjorn Svensson, screwed-down tight, almost predatory, percussion, and a rogue double-bassist on a mission, instantly set the stage alight! The band played with a virtual telepathic assuredness- capable of turning upon a sixpence- that, at times, belied belief.

Also, thanks to  -JosephB-

The beating heart of this trio appeared to be the double bassist, with his tumbling cross-cutting riffs and interspersed ethereal bow-work. Chris Illingworth, weaving his sometimes-Glass-like keyboards cascades into the mix, and Rob Turner driving the syncopated tachometer like his very life depended upon it, adding the essential spice. The trio wove the most intricate of tapestries across the airspace, enough to cause the atmosphere to throb! Two albums in, floating effortlessly through the genres, this band have clearly set their sights somewhat celestially. 

And, upon a more reptilian note, you'll please excuse me while I just delete this tat from my iPad... no thanks, Bono! * I'll be giving this one a very wide berth. Apparently it sounds like deceit...

* It's rumoured that he wears those infernal dark glasses, just in case he turns up at one of his (far too) many over-orchestrated re-launches and the room is (appropriately) completely empty; ergo entirely to protect that over-massive ego!

Universally Abhorred Vacuum!

So, if my vacuum cleaner is made half as powerful, will I have to work twice as hard or as long to clean the place? Those with domestic staff have decreed that I, and you, are soon to find out. Replete with their own cleaning staff, the answer to this issue may take rather longer to filter through to those 'serving' in the EU Parliament. Soon to follow, a vote on whether to increase 'our' EU representative's staffing budgets?

And, what do we speculate, might be the motif? Global warming, a genuine bid to save The Planet from its own most acquisitive species? More likely, James Dyson has upset someone higher up the tree, and a point is being made; we're all just collateral damage! "See that line, James? Well, don't step over it again!"

The announcement of an imminent 1600 watt limit has certainly helped to boost the old vacuum cleaner sales, cynics please note.

Many thanks to Tina H

Kettles are also scheduled to follow suite. Use a hob, for Heaven's sake! Most electric kettles, that I've possessed, seemed to generate more noise than a shuttle launch.

On the positive side though, turns out the economy wasn't doing quite so badly after all. Didn't need to force all of those 'spare room' claimants on to the streets as it turned out! Didn't need to cap the wages of of all those Public Sector workers (excepting 'hard-working' MPs), privatise that once great NHS. Oops! Never mind, eh? A bit more collateral damage?

A quick, back-of-a-fag-packet-calculation has shown that, if we factor in monies from illegal drugs, prostitution, and the black market economy in hand guns and other weaponry, that the economy was far more black than it was red. What, 'black,' charred like the soul-voided hearts of Messrs Cameron, Osborne et al?

All of that illegal war weaponry has helped no end! Perhaps, then, you shall be able to write your own glowing legacy, Uncle Tony. Money and beatification!

And finally, also in the peripheral news, the CBI is not altogether thrilled with the public's perceptions of the role of big business, particularly the roles and consequent remunerations of its CEOs. So, what to do? Conundrum!

And to Nick Veitch

They've opted to attempt to 're-educate' us. Apparently we're the ones who've got it all wrong; the values of Digby Jones live on! Expensively speaking at a venue, near to the heart of Europe, so I'm led to believe. More wool over the eyes, seems to be the order of the day, let's realign those jaded public perceptions, shall we?

Well, must rush. There's another vacuum to sort out here. I'm off to investigate a series of local break-ins. Detention centre sorted, curiously over-developed chap at the gym was more than happy to help out, with the loan of his cellar. Strange views on the master race an' all that but Dazza was sure he'd be fine. I've earmarked some dodgy locals for interog... questioning. Dazza assures me that he'll be able to persuade them to co-operate. I already know who I fancy for the crimes; strange chap, keeps himself to himself, bit of a scruff, eyes too close together. I can feel it in me water! It's pretty much a done deal!

Well, we have to operate in a bit of a vacuum these days. Police- private hire- available for royal pageant and public oppression only, in the modern day UK.

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?