The Lottery of Life!

My last posting was all about the wonderful hamlet of Batley! Well this posting starts in Batley’s nearest neighbour, Dewsbury.

Everything that I wrote about Batley can easily be used to describe Dewsbury. Except this former mill town has a wonderful market twice a week and is the home of the bargain.

With this in mind, I found myself in the unfortunate position of a shopping trip there this week with my wife, Carol and my son’s partner, Kim. We are all going away on holiday together in a month or so, and my wife and Kim wanted to buy some last minute holiday clothes, toiletries, suitcases, make up, perfumes, shoes, books, hand bags… My family is in fact keeping the whole economy of Dewsbury alive and well.

My son was away working, and their beautiful little daughter, Harleigh was, of course, also along with us. So rather than standing guard outside various shops that sell things we neither need nor want, I decided to take little Harleigh off to see what mischief we could get up to.

We ended up in a pet shop looking at lizards and snakes and all the other pets that were desperately looking for an escape route. We eventually ambled out and wandered down to a small square, where I bought an ice cream for us both to share.

While we sat watching the world go by, licking our frozen treat, a couple wandered over and sat on the bench across from us. They, too, had a small child in a push chair. The child was screaming like a banshee. The couple fitted the description I gave of the people of Batley in my previous blog. The woman was fat, and her hair had been dyed so many times it had the colour and texture of mattress stuffing. Her pallid skin was masked by various do it yourself tattoos. Her partner was small and skinny, and he also had a body full of the obligatory tattoos.

It is often said that if you want to know just how poor a family is look at what size television they own; the bigger the set, the poorer the family! It seems the same can be said of tattoos; the more people have, the poorer they are.

They each sported a lit cigarette in their mouth and had an overwhelming smell of beer about them. It was hard to tell how old they were, as lifestyles have ways of altering your age, but they looked quite old.

The child screamed on, as they argued between themselves, and people looked on: some in amusement, others in self-righteous disgust.

Finally the woman snapped, shouting at the poor unfortunate child, “Yer Granddad will get yer one, now shut the fuck up!”

With that, the man jumped to his feet and moved, somewhat like a ‘Thunderbird’ puppet, in my direction. When he reached the bench that I was sitting on he stopped, looked down into the pushchair where Harleigh sat with a face full of sticky ice cream, and peered at her. He then turned to me and smiled a toothless smile, and, in a voice that had endured forty cigarettes a day for forty years, said, “What a beautiful little girl; you must be so proud!”

I smiled and agreed with him that I was indeed very proud of my family, and thanked him for his kind words as he tottered off. He returned a while later with a huge bag of crisps for his grandchild, which duly shut up screaming once it had a mouth full of fat and e numbers .

I looked over at this family outing and thought to myself that they are really no different to me. I must say that I feel a bit of snobbery coming on here, because I do feel the need to explain that I neither have tattoos, or a fat wife with tattoos.

But this family, like mine, are trying to get by the best they can. They are, like most of us, just victims of life’s lottery. We can’t help where we are born, who are parents are or our social and economic circumstances.

As with all lotteries, there will always be winners and losers, and as with the lottery, there will always be more losers than winners.

Around the world, children are born into poverty and famine. Politics, economics and religion need to keep them that way. Without the developing countries’ suffering, we in the west cannot afford the lives that we have become so used to. We rely on their cheap goods.

I myself am acutely aware that I’m part of the problem, as I buy cheap imported clothes and goods. You cannot make a shirt and export it half way around the world and have a shop sell it for a profit for only £5. Someone somewhere is working long hours in appalling conditions for little pay for this to happen.

It is very difficult to break away from the chains that shackle us to our ideologies and beliefs. Just because the political system has always been the same, it doesn’t make it right, or the only system. Just because you have, and your ancestors have, been fed an ideology as a truth, it doesn’t make it true.

People in the west shout about democracy but whose democracy do they want to defend? The ordinary man in the street has a vote but he is manipulated by the press and the media who are in turn owned by moguls who in turn curry favour with political parties, so whose truth are you buying into?

It’s easy to mock and criticize people like my new Dewsbury friend (I often do) but they are also a product of life’s lottery. They lack the education and support and chances that I have been lucky enough to receive.

I have a working-class background and it would have been very easy for me to turn into a hillbilly baby-making machine, but I wanted something different. I‘m still looking.

I, like these people, have tried to give my family the best start in life, just like my parents did with me. We use what methods we have at our disposal; having lots of money doesn’t make you a better person or parent, it just means that you have a lot of money. Good parents give time and love to their children, and the greatest gift you can give them is the freedom to think and the help to discover who and what they want to be.

I cleaned Harleigh’s face up. Her Mother would kill me if she knew that I was feeding her ice cream in-between meals. I walked over to the couple with the child. They were by now on their third cigarette since sitting down.

I had decided to pay back the lovely comment the man had paid to me about Harleigh.

The child was quite a bruiser it has to be said. He was big and well-built with an unfeasibly large head.

I said to Harliegh, “Say hello to the little boy.” then I turned to the Grandparents and said, “He’s going to be a big lad when he grows up;  it looks like you have a future rugby player there!” to which the Grandma, with a voice like a chainsaw, replied, “It’s a fucking girl!”

I smiled and walked away. The lottery of life can be quite cruel, sometimes!

To Batley and Back!

Leaving the West Yorkshire town of Huddersfield through Kirkheaton, one passes green fields baked by the summer sun. The fields teem with young lambs, gambolling innocently, unaware of the light traffic as it weaves its way out of the town.

Down through Hopton, over the bridge where the cool River Colne bubbles and ambles looking for a way to the coast. On, through the trading post of Ravensthorpe, into the small former mill town of Dewsbury, where humans are gambling seriously with everyday life; a quick left turn before you enter Dewsbury will bring you into the former hamlet of Batley.

It is hard to capture the beauty of this small hamlet, mainly because beauty is the one thing it lacks!

Smoke-blackened rows of squalid terraced houses house so many people that ants would petition against over-crowding if they lived there.

Batley is a place where all men are equal: they are all poor! Batley is where racism and fundamentalism live together in a cauldron of hate. Where one side points out the faults and stupidity of the other side, both oblivious to the pointlessness of it all!

Batley, where fat women dress inappropriately, letting pale white tattooed flesh hang like lard mountains unable to be contained by the skimpy clothing they are nearly wearing. While other women are covered from head to foot in inconspicuous black gowns and veils that make them look very conspicuous.

Batley, where some men pray in mosques hoping for a miracle to change their mundane lives, while other men pray in betting shops for the same outcome.

Batley, where a town has sold its soul to a supermarket chain in the hope of survival, but the cancer has taken hold and killed off the local shops leaving nothing but the tumour called Tesco’s.

But please don’t think that everything about Batley is negative; it does have a positive side as well.

Batley has free parking! Leaving Batley onto the A62 and back down towards Huddersfield, green fields spring into view like mirages in the desert. Smiling faces can be seen greeting each other in warm friendship.

Down through Colne Bridge and back to the safety of Huddersfield where multiculturalism strives to progress and discuss its differences. Huddersfield a melting pot of people, ideas and poetry.

This piece has been written by the Batley tourist board, why not visit us?

Equal Rights for Women! Where?

I have spent my life around strong women; the image of the timid little man and the strong woman is a myth.

My Mother, Grandmother, Aunties and two of my sisters are women that you just don’t mess with unless you can afford expensive dental work.

But though they were strong, they were not bullies, they also encouraged me to also fight for what I believe in.

Because of them, I love female company, preferring it over male company. I have lots of female friends who are also bright and intelligent and not afraid to speak their minds, so why do so many societies have such a problem with women?

Let’s just take my favourite subject to start with, religion. If I were female, I wouldn’t have anything to do with any bigoted misogynistic, small minded devil-dodgers.

The sedate Church of England are discussing this week whether to allow women bishops! Personally I don’t give a toss if they have donkeys as bishops (they do). But why do you need to discuss whether to let half of the human race be part of your organisation? A woman’s point of view is just as valid as a man's; what are you scared of, lads, is it that you might catch girl cooties!?

And as for the Muslim religion, why a woman would want to be part of such an organisation is beyond me.

If your god is so bothered about you showing any flesh, why does he have you born naked?

Don’t give me all that crap that Muslim women are free to dress and behave the way they wish. When we hear so many times about families murdering girls because they want to choose their own way of life. Then they have the nerve to call them ‘Honour Killings’ - where’s the honour in taking a life of one you love?

I was brought up in the Catholic religion, and all the older generation were trapped in loveless marriages, with too many kids because a man who is not allowed to have a relationship with a woman tells them they are not allowed to use contraception. Why do women put up with such rubbish?

Then, when it comes to politics, women have to work harder to achieve any success. With the exception of Mr Thatcher… sorry Mrs Thatcher, most female politicians have quite a good grasp on what is needed in society.

I know that if you live under a politician it’s different to the world view of that person, but Angela Merkel seems to be able to hold the whole of Europe together at the moment.

Aung San Suu Kyi is helping to change the face of Burmese politics. And we even have a young girl, Malala Yousafzai, who courageously stood up to the mindless troglodytes, the Pakistani Taliban, to get what should be a basic human right, an education. She has done more for women’s rights around the world than any bra burning could ever do. (Kids, look up the 60’s and 70’s women’s rights movement).

There are women working behind the scenes the world over to help create a better world for their children to inherit. I know we also have Anne Widdecombe and Edwina Currie, but can we just forget about them for now?

Most men adore their mothers, yet lots of them seem to have little respect for the rest of the females of the world; this seems very odd to me.

My wife is my friend, confidant, partner, lover, and the only person who really knows how to push my buttons to wind my up or calm me down. She is my equal. And where I would use force, she would use gentleness and common sense, and that is what the world seems to be short of at the moment.

But then as the saying goes, ‘Common sense is not very common’.

Remember: it’s not ‘women’s rights’, it’s, Human Rights!

Bad Blood!

Can anyone tell me if Jeremy Kyle has signed to every TV station in the world?

Every time I put the TV on, he seems to be there, sneering back at me! It doesn’t matter what channel or time of day, he’s on somewhere.

It’s all too easy to knock this show and its contestants, so I shall.

P. T. Barnum would have been in awe of this trial by media. Where people whose IQs seem to be somewhat lower than the average carrot, air all their dirty washing for the world to see. They seem to have no shame, and treat the day as a day out at Alton Towers. Now, with my past, I’m on dodgy footings trying to take the moral high ground here, but come on people, show a little decorum.

When it comes to sex, most people have at least a few taboos; no family, children or animals involved, but these people are inventing new categories! 

‘My Grandfather cheated on me with my Mother!’

‘The ginger haired white skinned baby with freckles might not be mine, says Mustapha!

‘My Father is my Granddad's cart horse!’

And what is it about dental hygiene with these people? Do they all have dental phobias?

If you put all the people that had ever been on the show together, you would still have more teeth in the average comb!

But it’s the hate and bile that they spit out when they come flying out of the traps back stage, that I have problems with. They have been whipped up into frenzy as the crowd jeers at the spectacle. Speaking of the ‘crowd’ it seems to be made up of the previous week’s contestants who now seem to be able to stride the moral high ground like mighty Colossuses! Offering monosyllabic advice using only platitudes.

I have in the past been a bit of a bad boy and quite a few of the women that have had the misfortune to be in a relationship with me have had good cause to vent their spleen. But Christ almighty, I’m a pussy cat compared to these toothless hillbillies!

Where do they find these people? And do they ever think of the consequences all this will have on their offspring (the ones that are theirs)?

Kyle and his team claim that this is not abuse, and that they offer help, yeah sure, let me just stop this pig from walking on my ceiling! Who is he trying to fool? Why do you never see a doctor and his lawyer wife discussing who might have had a bit of extra marital with little Tarquin's piano teacher on there then? Why do they never look at the social deprivation that has spawned these people, and discuss it? Because this show is all about sensationalism, that’s why.

They want to show all the hate and bile being poured out, as the crowed verbally prods and pokes them. Each show is full of bewildered fat women and skeleton-thin drug and drink ravaged men, trying to work out just what the hell has led them to this. This show is no more than the Roman Coliseum for the 21^st century.

I only catch glimpses of this show, as it sends me running for the remote. But Kim, my son's partner, seems to be addicted to it! Whenever I go to their house it seems to be on.  What’s more, it seems to be the same topic every day, the "this is not your child" theme.

I have in the past done quite a few things that I’m quite ashamed of. But for a woman telling a man that the child she’s carrying is his, when she knows full well it isn’t, is really as low as you can sink.

I love my son, I love his daughter as if she was mine so if I were to find out now after all these years that he wasn’t mine it would be devastating, not only for me, but for him as well. It would destroy my life, his life, my relationship with my wife, and have an effect through both my wife’s and my families. No matter how difficult it is, there is only one option when a woman finds out she is pregnant and doesn’t know who the father is, FIND OUT!

Maybe, just maybe there might be a way of working through it without going on TV in front of millions of people and suffering such humiliation. There are lots of professionals that are there to help you through life’s problems, seek them out. Then if you really want a better life for you and your children look up what your local college has on offer: you’ll be surprised just how much you can enjoy learning, outside of the school environment.

Remember these wise words from the magnificent Bonzo Dogs, “Bad blood, is like an egg stain on your jeans, you lick it but it just won't go away!”

Beer, Bullies and Bruises!

Alcohol has a lot to answer for. Murders, broken homes and me sleeping with a sixteen stone woman with terminal halitosis!

Most of us can just have a few drinks with friends and enjoy the warm buzz of a few beers in good company, but others drink themselves into oblivion.

I have family and friends to whom the demon drink is the monster in their head. They are unable to just have one drink, they must obey the addiction. It consumes their every waking hour. It eats at every fibre of their being; for some, the alcohol has long seen off what ever dignity they had left.

This is an illness that the sufferers usually don’t want to be cured of. This for some is a slow undignified death!

But there are others, usually the young, who also have a problem with drink. People think this is a British problem, but I have witnessed it the world over. And if I’m honest, I have done the same things myself when I was much younger.

To the young, drink makes them invincible, attractive and witty. But, in reality, it turns them into incoherent retards, who usually end up in A&E at the end of the night for either stitches, splints or stomach pumps!

I have spoken to far too many women who have told me how they lived in total fear of their partners returning home after a nights drinking. Some knew they would be beaten, others have been raped.

Mothers tell their children to hide upstairs before ‘Daddy’ gets home and to keep quiet. Children cover their ears to drown out the sound of Mummy’s screams.

But having said all this I wouldn’t want alcohol banned or made more expensive. Why should the majority suffer because of a few?

What we do need is more education about alcohol; making it more expensive just means that people will buy it from other sources.Banning advertising, as we have done with cigarettes, would also be a good move. Strangely the amount of people who are smokers is dropping but the numbers are rising in one sub-category: teenage girls.

Having said all this, there are people who just use alcohol as an excuse! People make a pass at someone that they have fancied for years yet daren’t make a move, but after a few drinks they get brave. They have usually planned this in advance. And if their advances are spurned, they just blame the drink!

Also there are the young guys who have no balls while sober, yet when they have a few drinks they mouth off, but then apologise the next day, blaming the drink. But they always manage to say what they planned.

I have in my neighbourhood a young man who is best described as a total knobhead!

He has a few drinks, then smashes up his parents' house, beats up his father and struts around like a male lion on steroids! The next day he apologises, saying it was the drink that made him go mad.

The trouble is, he’s a miserable snivelling little coward who needs to grow up! The strange thing about his madness is that it leaves him the moment he’s confronted by someone who is capable of hitting back!

We have got to the stage in Britain where, if there’s a problem, we want to ban everything associated with it. This is not the way reasonable people deal with a problem. I’m fed up listening to the ban-everything-brigade telling me how to make a better society, maybe society would be better if we banned the self-righteous!

Alcohol can, when used in moderation, be a good thing. It helps social occasions, and ugly people like me to get laid. It helps us, just for a few hours, to relax and have fun away from the drudgery of everyday life. So to all those decent, law-abiding people out there who just want a few drinks and a catch up with friends, CHEERS!