And so, dear listener, I was talking to a refugee that I used to work with and who told me a wee bit more of his story. He told me of attending a political meeting in a country in Africa where things the Government did not like were being discussed. He was thrown in prison and after thirty five days his uncle raised enough money to pay the police to let him go (and I don’t think we’re talking ‘pay a fine or face Community Payback’ here). And he made it to this country. And he’s doing okay.
What about his friends? They had not been so lucky. They had no uncle like his. How was his uncle? He had not heard from him for a long time.
And I can’t have been the only one who shivered when I heard that the Christian Hungarian Prime Minister said that there were too many Muslim refugees. And put them on a train. To a camp.
Many migrants are refugees who are seeking refuge and they want to work – to raise money to bring the rest of their family over and then maybe go back to the country that they still love. It ain’t the benefits they come for: a benefits system where, according to the Government’s own figures, 2,380 people died within six weeks of being found ‘fit to work’ between December 2011 and February 2014. I accept that no causal effect can be assumed from these new numbers but why, then, did the so-called IDS initially deny their existence to Parliament?
We used to be such a caring nation. What happened? What f*cking happened? It would be too easy to blame the greed of Tories like Thatcher, Major, Brown, Blair and Cameron……..No. I don’t know what happened. Until one photo of a dead wean appears on our front pages. There have been so many others.
Skippy, do me a favour and scrap this stuff. I’ll be back in a minute or so but I won’t use any of it…….
And so, dear listener, what a great week it’s been. I went back to that dentist I was talking about and not only did he fix my troublesome filling, but he had a really magical chart of my mouth up on his computer screen when I went in and suddenly my faith in being with a dentist was restored. :)
Previously I was beginning to feel my dentist was part-time within the Peppermint Beauty Studios. :(
And I was talking children’s books with J, the blog’s favest philosopher, and I couldn’t help but notice in another publication that Captain Bigglesworth (or Biggles to his ‘close’ friends, Algy and Ginger. Bromance? What bromance?) suffered from such frayed nerves that he downed half a bottle of whisky for Dutch courage before take off. (He was a pilot, in case you were wondering) I’d long suspected that he was not the most politically correct of all my heroes, but he seems to have been a risk to his colleagues as well. Wonder if I was ever a danger to mine?
And then there’s telephones. Yes. I still have a landline and it’s mostly for family and cold calls. But it died on me. And it’s not the batteries or it might be them but anyway I decided to get a new one. I contacted the rainforestriverman’s old emporium and it was with me within hours and I charged it and plugged it in and spoke to people. But yet…..do you know, dear listener, that voicemail is not yet a standard issue in phones. Or maybe no-one’s leaving me messages. :(
But (rather than ‘and’) there are peppers and tomatoes growing in my new porch (or is it an Audi?) but I don’t think there is a dinner party ahead of me. There has not been enough sun. Sometimes we need more than the big sky – we need the sun. :)
And it was with great delight that I posted these words on Friday afternoon on Facebook;
‘And so, after a ten hours night shift with the homeless, including refugees, and two hours sleep, I have finally finished August’s editing and there’s an Out of Hours up on my e-mail advising that I am out of my editing office until 19th September which I hope was read by the twunt (I got that word from Becky Garrett) who asked me how long it would take to check his PhD of 75,000 words for grammar as he only had a couple of days…..’
And finally, it says a lot about the supermarket queue I was in on Friday when the old lady in front of me was complaining about the old lady in front of her. And No. I will never grow old. Not when there are so many disappointments in my life. It must get better one day.
Cya, still wearing that badge and keeping it simple – it’s more straightforward that way.
Johnt850, about to go into a very short period of peace and quiet.
So I still haven’t made my mind up about being a zombie again this year; to be honest the workload of the last five to six weeks has led to me not thinking about much anyway – and there are good memories (the old grit in the eye moment) – but the Zombie end of run rave was good and so was Zoe’s 18th. :)
We danced. :)
We did the Time Warp. Again. :)
We did the Locomotion. :)
And we twisted :)
But we didn’t line dance (I don’t think the conga line counted) :(
Now if you’re in line-dancing mood beware because the BPM for the final track is pretty fast – strong legs are required. (No. I really don’t know what I’m talking about, do I?) It’s the Dixie Chicks who stood side by side with Steve Earle against the second Iraq War and were ostracised by the American media.
‘Tonight the heartache’s on me’ is the name of the song – and the title of my forthcoming autobiography: