Delaying the Inevitable

I want my country back. I want it to be great again; it feels so different now. I hear conversations on the tube I never used to hear, and it makes me uncomfortable. I want my country back I worry that we’ll forget what “British” really means. This isn’t what that generation fought for, not so long ago. What would they think if they saw what we’ve become? I want my country back They’re not like us at all. They don’t fit in. They don’t even try. They’re just out for themselves. They don’t play by the rules. They don’t care about our values. I want my country back. I want to take control. I want things how they were in the good old days. Cold nights, warm beer, drizzle underdogs and queues. Sarcasm, lack of respect for authority. Inclusivity. Diversity. A country that welcomes your contribution to society whoever you are, wherever you’re from, whatever your faith. I want my country back. T...

Here’s another heart-warming childrens’ tale for the little‘uns (Any similarities with Brexit are purely coincidental) A long time ago, in a town far far away, lived a man. He owned a small burgundy car. It was his most prized possession. Sure, it wasn’t the best looking, the fastest or the most practical. But it was his, and he was proud of it.  Time was not kind to his small burgundy car. Although he loved it, he did not take good care of it, and some of the parts needed to be replaced. Every time he took the car to the garage, they would say to him “We’d love to be able to fix this for you, but we can’t. It’s probably those few new parts, they don’t work well with your type of car. And there’s all these regulations you have to comply with when fixing cars. Our hands are tied”. And instead of fixing it for him, they would send him away, chuckling to themselves “What’s the point of fixing it?” they’d say “He pays us anyway. Let’s just do the minimum we can ge...

Here’s a heart-warming childrens’ tale for the little‘uns (Any similarities with the NHS crisis are purely coincidental) The Boy Who Cried Wolf (2018 edition) Once upon a time, in a village on a hillside, there lived a little shepherd boy. He loved looking after sheep, and although he was young, he took his responsibility seriously. He was good at it, and rarely asked for help. But one day he came running down to the village crying “Wolf! Wolf! Wolf!” This was because he’d seen a massive fckn wolf. I mean, you wouldn’t make that kind of thing up would you? No messing about, it’s best to tell people about it right? It was one of the first lessons he’d learned in junior shepherding school. If you see a wolf, tell someone about it. So he rushed down the hill as fast as his little legs could carry him. But when he got down the hill, the Shepherd Council didn’t believe him. “What wolf?” they asked “There’s no wolves here”. They didn’t help him, and he had to go back up the hillside ...

The morning call to prayer drowns out the chatter, the children, the cockerels; at least for a minute. How many pleas will go unanswered today? Five times the Adhan will ring out across the camp, and they will come. Unwaveringly. Resolutely. Religiously. Who are we to judge? Stuck here in the dust between two lands. Unwanted; surrounded by enmity and apathy. Where else can you look but up, when all your terrestrial options are spent? When any solution is mired in the petty politics of race, religion and region whilst we cling to our own part of this insignificant rock, speeding through space at 600 kilometres per second. On the sprawling hilltop opposite, the sun glints off corrugated metal; a shining beacon of inequality in a world that could do better. In a world that hasn’t learned from the past; where our “never again” became “never somewhere close”. And where even that seems less achievable than ever.  So, I too look up. And pick out the ki...

For as long as he could remember, Paul had wanted to travel; to see new sights, to push boundaries, to explore. Don’t get me wrong, he loved his family, he liked his home, but he couldn’t help but feel there was so much more to see out there, far away across the ocean. Life can get a bit repetitive for an Adélie penguin. Waddling down to the water, having a quick snack of krill, waddling back up onto the ice floe. Day in, day out. The same routine. No surprises, no drama, no excitement. Sometimes, at night, while his friends and family were huddled together for warmth, he’d make his way up to the higher ground, and stare at the moon and Southern lights. Occasionally, he’d see shooting stars arcing silently across the sky, and he would look down at his short, stubby wings, and flap them about a bit. “If only I could fly” he thought “the things I could see, the places I could go”. Every now and then, the colony would get a visit from humans. Dressed head to toe in survival gear,...

Special Care Sam do you remember all   your time in Special Care? Would you recognise the  voices of  the nurses working there? Would  you  recognise  a   photo from  your first night in that place -  a   tiny  mass  of wires in   a   huge clear  p lastic case ? Do you have a distant  memory of   that frantic afternoon -  when  you put in an appearance nearly  fourteen weeks too soon? And  Sam do you remember when  I came to visit you?  Your  proud  but  frightened  sister I just didn’t have a clue. “When will his eyes be open?” and  “W hat’s that beeping noise ?” “When will  my baby brother get  to play with baby toys?” Sam, you won’t remember how  I thought I was to blame when  Mum and Dad were crying while  deciding on your name. They answered all my questions but...

Memory Foam Paler patches where pictures used to hang, compacted carpet, footprints slowly fade. Silence fills the rooms where once she'd sang and weeds reclaim the grass on which kids played. The mattress on the bed is memory foam - he hopes that it will still retain her form; but bricks and wood no longer make a home - this house will never get to be so warm. So here he is, he's lying on his side with arms outstretched across the empty space - he never thought the bed could feel so wide without the promise of her love's embrace. With life so short, our time ticks by so fast - how long can our impressions truly last