Sleight of Hand!

We have all, no doubt, seen some spectacular magic tricks in our time. But surely none as great as the sleight of hand that our and other governments manage to pull on a daily basis.

I have been watching various programmes about the year just gone and was astonished to see just how clever the powers that be are at hiding important issues while whipping the masses into a frenzy about piffle!

I have written before about how you are kept with a sense of fear by the thought police, so you are more malleable and easier to persuade to give up your rights. Let's look at immigration: it is true that we as an island do not have the infrastructure for mass immigration. Yet by legal means lots of people have settled here and are making a life for themselves by working hard and contributing to our society. Until a well-thought-out plan is devised by sensible intelligent people this will always be the case, as we are part of the EU. Whether this is good or bad is another debate. But what you see on the news day in day out is not the hard-working immigrants, but the desperate people hanging under lorries in Calais. How many programmes have you seen about this? I bet you there's at least one a week. This is designed to create fear about how we are being overrun by illegal immigrants. They aren't the only immigrants over here and not paying tax, though. We shall get to them later.

We have also seen, all this year, old, has-been disc jockeys being paraded before the media, their lives being dissected with tabloid scalpels. The masses are hungry to hear all the salacious gossip about their hedonistic lives. But the truth is yes, there were a few that were low life scum bags. But most of them were just men of their time. Just look at all the awful re-runs of the "Carry On" films and you can see that their behaviour was quite acceptable back in the day. Now of course we don't behave like that anymore unless we work in the House of Commons! (Just look at the outbursts from MPs at policemen or taxi drivers or about women.)

But while we are whipping ourselves up into a frenzy about a few uncle groper type DJ's, what about the bankers that have brought the world to its knees? Where is their punishment? We have recently had the guys from (I think) the Royal bank of Scotland (it could have been another bank, they are all the same.) They played the currency market, bringing it crashing down, and the banks were fined a couple of billion pounds for letting their little boys play out without supervision. They made billions of pounds, and the two billion had already been factored in because they knew they would be caught! Seen anything about that in the news lately? Have their lives been dissected for all to see? Has the media done undercover stings on the banks such as the fake sheikh stings it does on hapless fading celebrities? We are told that quantitative easing is working, but for whom? Most of the money the government are issuing is going to the richest 5% of the country. We are coming out of recession but our debts are getting larger and working people are becoming reliant on food banks! They say they want to help small businesses, but how small? I'm self-employed and things are getting more difficult for me, because I work in education, which is in effect being cut. I also work with small companies, which, like me, also find the going tough. Do the government regard Lloyds as a small company, because they and the other banks are the only businesses they ever seem to bale out and help!

They also bang on about sales such as 'Black Friday' or whatever day it's on then tell you just how much money it has generated for the economy, which is all well and good. But as Aldi and Lidl have proven, our economy have been artificially inflated for a long time by conglomerates. The supermarkets, though they will never admit it, have worked with each other to fix prices for ages. If they can afford to drop prices for one day a year I'm sure they could even them out over the year, instead of over inflating them just before a sale to make you think you have a bargain on old stock.

We are told over and over about the threat of a terrorist attack which could happen. But although we have been placed on a higher alert, Theresa May says there is no need to worry, as information suggests there is no attack imminent. Yet we hear about young men being arrested for terrorism on a regular basis. Is it me, or have other people noticed that our secret service is becoming not so secret? Why would they release the info about terrorists they have arrested? Is it to keep us, the great unwashed on our toes? Watch out peep, another law to save your sorry little arse is on its way!

And what about all the benefit cheats? Well I do agree that we should make the Royals give all their benefits back, as they are all able to work. How many programmes have you seen this year telling you that people on the dole are low-down, idle scroungers? Most of the people they featured had drink or drug problems and were not a proper representation of the masses of people that are out of work through no fault of their own. And don't give me that shit that unemployment is dropping! People have been put on courses or swapped to other benefits to massage the figures.

When we go on about benefit cheats, should we not also include tax avoiders? Go after Google or Starbucks: they have done the country out of far more money than all the benefit cheats put together. Or should we not mention that, and turn away instead, to mock the people who need help most in our society?

Up until recently we hated Al-Assad the president of Syria for chemically enhancing his own people! We were on the side of those good righteous rebels who were fighting against him. But, guess what! Those rebels had a makeover, and gave themselves a name that sounds like a savings plan, Isis! We now hate them and love Al-Assad who is fighting against them.

People mocked Orwell and his idea about the thought police, but he was right about quite a lot of things. The thought police have put a big invisible ring through our noses and pull us away from what they don't want us to see, and have fed us on a diet of crap. We like to poke fun at Farage and his true Conservative party! But the old Tories are loving it, he gets all the mocking while they implement his ideas, which they have wanted to do for years.

We have comedians wanting to bring politics to the masses, but they have no alternatives. But the powers that be let all the spotlight fall onto people like Russell Brand, and Farage because while we are all getting into a lather about them and their ideas the government is free to do what it wants: like all good magicians they let you look at what they want you to see, while hiding the real trick from you. In a way Russell Brand is right. Why should you vote? I know by not voting you have no say in how things are run, but do you really have a say? All the parties, no matter how much they protest otherwise, are the same, it's still old school tie politics. The system has to change and, like Brand, I can bang on about it, but I don't have a definitive answer to it, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't work out an alternative.

But on a brighter note, I bought my wife a tablet for Christmas for £30. It was left over stock from Black whatever day, so I can tell everybody about my magnificent bargain! The rest of Christmas has cost me a small fortune though. See, sleight of hand!

Inaccurate Histories: Conspiracy!

It has been well documented that professor Noah Ideas of North Dewsbury University is a well respected academic in his house, since getting his doctorate from the "Kentucky School of Furtherer Educashin PO Box 366", the best £20 he ever spent. He has been tirelessly searching the internet to prove just how wrong long-held historical information is. But he has now come to realise that he has become a danger to the academics who make a living from study and enquiry and proof. Doctor Noah says, “These guys have spent a life time travelling and studying, but it never once crossed their minds to check out their facts on the internet! With the evidence I have managed to put together in the past using hearsay, guessing and the internet, this has now made me a target for their jealousy”.

But the Professor has now come across something so shocking he is requesting help from ordinary people who haven't bought a doctorate. The Professor explains, “It has been brought to my attention that the so-called academics have managed to create a cover-up so great, that they have managed to wipe out a large and important part of world history”.

The Professor was told a story, possibly in the pub, or he heard it on a bus, or he dreamt it, he can't be sure where it came from just now. But the most shocking thing is that there is no reference anywhere to it on the internet! Not one word about it, nothing, zilch! This has to be a government cover-up!

In 1963, in the town of Batley there was a councillor called Jack Freeman or JF to his friends. He sat on the council, making decisions that would change the town for ever. Then one day he rocked the world of politics by announcing that the council should charge its citizens for parking their cars in the town centre. This, in 1963, was a bold move and, said the Professor, “would send shock waves through the world of politics!”

His rivals decided that they had had enough of Jack's radical ideas and would finish his career off once and for all!

It was well known that Jack was having an illicit affair with one Kay Brook, who had been miss Cleckheaton, 1948. One evening JF and Kay were in the local curry house, owned by an Indian gentleman and his Yorkshire wife: it was called 'The Dahl Lass'. While they gave each other meaningful looks over a plate of lamb vindaloo, they didn't realise the photographer from the Dewsbury Advertiser was just across the road in a bar called Knolls. The bar was famous for low lifes to drink in, but the owner was a well known police informer and the bar was known locally as 'Grassy' Knolls.

The photographer, one Lee Harvey, waited until he had a perfect shot with his camera, then took aim. The resulting photo took JF and Kay out of the political scene, and brought great shame to the once great town of Batley, turning it into a back water that no one visits anymore.

The Professor said that he cannot find anything that's remotely linked to this event. He has tried everything on the internet to see if there's the slightest of clues. He has even tried different spellings such as, JFK. Dallas, Grassy Knoll, 1963. But he said as yet there's nothing there linked to any of these things! This has to be the mother of all cover-ups.

The Professor also adds, “I think the so-called academics are scared that I may have found out their little secret of the 'Batley cover-up'. But if anyone has any further cover ups that they would like me to expose please let me know through this blog.”

The Professor thinks that he is in danger for his life because he has also uncovered other information that will rock the world of history. Christopher Columbus didn't discover America! “There were already people living there”, said the Professor.

“They were called Native Americans, but used to be known as Red Indians, though they were neither red, nor Indians. The Professor says that cowboys all had speech impediments and called the locals 'injuns' He is not sure why, but he doesn't think it was political or correct to do so!

Good Elf To You All!

There is a story about Santa, You know how it goes? 

About him and his reindeer, with a big red nose.

They are treated as heroes everywhere they go, 

but there's another story that you will never know.

Santa is not alone, he's not by himself, 

The real powerhouse of the North pole 

is a little industrious Elf.

The Elf keeps quiet and gets on with his job, 

and goes by the name of, efficient Bob!

He looks after Santa and answers all the mail, 

He feeds all the reindeer and lights up Santa's trail.

Then Bob picks all the presents for the kids in the west, 

There's no money elsewhere, Bob knows what's best.

Then he loads up the sleigh for Santa, ready to ride, 

Bob's good at his job, he does it with pride.

Without Bob, Santa, they say, 

Would just be a fat bloke with a costume that's a little bit gay!

When Santa's flys, to leave presents under your tree, 

Bob puts on the kettle for a nice cup of tea.

You know he doesn't ask for much, efficient Bob, 

Just a nice cup of tea and a chocolate hobnob!

One year when Santa was off on his round, 

Bob was struck with terror, when a stray present was found.

With fear in his heart, he looked at his list, 

How could this happen, one present had been missed?

He read down his notes to see where he'd gone wrong, 

It took him some time; it was twenty miles long.

He looked at the names he felt a bit sick,

But everything checked out, all boxes had a tick.

So he looked at the present then started to sob, 

Because on the label it read, 'from Santa to Bob'.

This one little gift, wrapped up so tight, 

Meant the world to Bob, it really made his night.

You see, all of us that are seen by many, looking so cool, 

Have a Bob in the background hiding the fool.

They help us to be wise, clever and funny, 

They don't ask for much, but hey, wouldn't mind some money.

There are so many heroes that go unseen, 

Helping others to achieve a dream.

So to all my elves who work with me all the year, 

I send out my thanks and a lot of Christmas cheer.

But if you're expecting a bonus, this is not what you think, 

You'll be lucky if I even buy you a drink!

So lets hope next year is bigger and better, 

We've tried everything else, why don't we write Bob a letter?

Technicolour Memories

I spent some time chatting to my oldest friend the other day. He's my oldest friend because I have known him longer than other friends, not because he'd one hundred and ten years old, by the way.

We both have a shared history. He lived no more than twenty yards from my house and until we were teenagers our days were spent together doing what all young lads of my generation did, getting up to mischief. Here in Yorkshire, we were described as a couple of little buggers! Now if you don't live in Yorkshire and have just choked on a biscuit having read this, it's not what you think. A 'little bugger' here means that you are a mischievous little scamp. Think Dennis the menace, and you get the idea. My wife, on hearing stories of my past, always claims that, as a child, I was feral! There is a slight truth in that: we were not bothered by our parents and left to get on with things. While my wife had parental guidance all through her childhood, we were allowed to run free in the countryside where we lived and during the summer holidays we would go camping together for weeks on end, and then we would really turn feral!

As we spoke the other day, memories came flooding back. All our good childhood memories have been cleaned down, then re-shot in HD Technicolour Panavision. They are the mind's equivalent of hot chocolate and marshmallows, they exist to give you a warm glow of nostalgia, with all the boring and nasty bits sent to the recycling bin!

In my mind's eye, I can see the fields we walked through carpeted with a lush pile of deep chlorophyll-green grass that gently swayed in an hypnotic ballet, as a warm summer breeze teased its way through each individual blade. In the distance, I can still see the woods which were our playground, our theme park. The woods had thick vegetation that clung to their perimeter, giving the impression that the trees had been drawn onto the landscape by a small child. From a distance, it looked like a forest of broccoli. Birds and animals provided our soundtrack, not loud and intrusive but, like all surround-sound, it was there to embrace you, and to add to the ambience. Each day had perfect cloudless blue skies, that radiated happiness. All my childhood memories are of long hot summers and short but magically white winters.

The woods were next to small rivers, or becks as they are known locally. We have no large imposing rivers here. Where we lived is near the moors, which are the source of many a powerful river. So most of the becks that we played in were, like ourselves, young and new to the world and not knowing what lay ahead. The water in the becks was cool and crystal clear, and there was life in them such as sticklebacks, bullheads and brown trout. The trout would swim against the fast flowing currents with just enough force to keep them in one spot. Their mouths were wide open waiting for any morsel of food to be washed down into their waiting ambush.

We would camp out in the woods, which, to us, were filled with dangerous escaped lunatics or murderous beasts. but in reality the most dangerous things in there were our own imaginations. Our tent always smelled of mouldy old socks and damp clothing, giving the impression of living in a mushroom farm. When the dark descended, hungrily eating up any glimmer of light, our imaginations would take over our rationality. Each creak and crack of trees or the sound of any nocturnal creature passing by, was to us, surely a mad, axe-wielding lunatic, or a hungry primeval beast looking for human flesh. We were always sure that something that was about to kill us. The axes we had brought with us to chop fire wood and the knives we had to cook with were seen as swords and battle axes and would be firmly held in our hands as we nervously waited for the imminent attack which never came. Many is the time that we awoke the next morning still clutching hold of an axe or knife, when in reality the most dangerous thing we ever encountered were foxes which regularly came to our camp to steal our food.

We would wander off into new horizons, which in reality were no more than ten miles from where we lived, but to us they were epic journeys of adventure. On stumbling upon a housing development we would encounter the natives. These were kids that never left their estate. For them, the woods and fields were of no use, they needed some form of entertainment made for them. But they didn't like kids from other estates on their patch. We would encounter what was usually one mouthy kid with a few sheep-like followers. The mouth would tell us that we were trespassing on their land and what they were about to do to us. My grandfather had taught me from an early age how to deal with bullies. As with all beasts, if you take care of the mouth, you usually render it useless. I would inflate my little skinny body as much as possible then scream and attack. I was soon known as 'That Mad Kid' but I didn't care because other kids left us alone.

Sometimes, we would encounter large mouthy kids with an even larger following. This was like 'The Lost Boys' meets 'The Lord of the Flies'. Then we would have no option but to run. We were fast and knew the woods, where the other kids only ever played around the edges. Threats would be hurled at us as we led the party of hunters deep into the woods, snarling them up on brambles and jumping across ditches, which they promptly fell into. Once deep in the woods we would wait in ambush for them and hurl stones at them. My friend had an uncanny accuracy with a stone. The group would fall into disarray, many crying as they were lost, while others swore and cursed promising to get their revenge on us if we ever strayed onto their patch again. This, for us was an invitation.

In my mind, there were only ever two seasons, summer and winter. Where my imaginary summers were always hot and long, my winters were short and cold. The snow would fall, re-carpeting the landscape and turning it into a winter wonderland. We couldn't afford gloves, so we put socks over our hands to keep them warm, but this was useless as, after the first snowball fight, they were cold and wet, so we just threw them away! My father was a joiner on the building sites, and when my brother and I were young, he made us a sledge out of plywood and conduit. This sledge was famous all over our estate. Others had sledges bought or made for them, but none could hold a candle to our super sledge. We could get four kids on it at a time, and the speed of it was phenomenal! This would often result in one of my many child hood trips to the local A&E with suspected broken bones or to have various wounds sewn up yet again.

As my friend and I relived these false memories of childhood, it filled us both with gooey sentiment. They were shared false memories which have, over the years, become important to us. Two middle- aged men who should know better laughing at each other and mocking each other, as we chatted about the things we did. But in reality, what we were doing was reaffirming our bond that we had cemented all those years ago. We were the only two people on the planet that could have this conversation, as we were the only two people who had experienced this childhood.

Lots has happened to us both since those days. We have often drifted apart. Not because of any fall outs, just because that's what happens in life. Back then, we had no responsibilities, no worries, the world was big, new and waiting for us to discover it. Now, many years later, we have responsibilities and have discovered the world and found that there are human beasts much worse than the ones we imagined and feared as children. I'm often saddened, and sometimes reduced to tears, when I hear of children who were not allowed a childhood. The terrible news this week of the aberrant crime committed by the retarded ill-educated sheep who rejoice in the name of Taliban, was too much for me to bear The thought of children cowering under a desk begging for mercy, as a low-life mindless Troglodyte shot them, gave me nightmares. To attack an establishment which should be a place of safety for children goes beyond any rational thought. These sheep want the people of the world to live in caves and stop developing as a species. The only modern inventions that they love and embrace are guns and bombs! Surely the world has no place for such inhuman beasts as these?

I'm glad that I had a chance to experience the life that I have had. I'm also glad that the friends that I made back then are still true friends and a big part of my life. I know that my childhood summers weren't all hot and sunny, I live in Yorkshire: we would have had a week of sunshine followed by three weeks of rain, just as we do now. Nor were my winters all cold and snowy, but that's how I shall remember them, and relive them, over, and over in my mind.

Long live technicolour childhoods!

Insects, Bugs, Rocks 'n' Holes

When Charles Darwin first released his book, The Origin of Species, he thought that the church would be up in arms against his theory of evolution. But the church (Anglican, not Papal) were not so much bothered by the thought of evolution - some even agreed with him. What the church couldn't get its head round was that life for animals was so short, cold and brutal. They had bought into the idea of the hymn, All Things Bright And Beautiful and couldn't accept that God would create lives for animals in such a way, even though, in Victorian Britain, the average working class life was no better!

If you were to take an acre of land anywhere except the poles you would be shocked to find how much insect life there was contained there. To the insects, an acre of land is a whole world, where, just like our world, there are wars, murders, sex and pain each and every second of every day. And just like our world, there are many diversities.

I'm telling you this because my beautiful little granddaughter, Harleigh, has developed a fear of everything that crawls. She was once so brave and fearless, but unfortunately when it comes to insect life and being confronted with it, her mother, Kim, is a screamer. This, of course, has been experienced by Harleigh, who has now developed her mother's fears.

So when she stayed with us this week, I decided to show her that, here in Britain, most of our insects are quite harmless to us butch human types. We have wasps, bees and hornets, horse-flies, and (I think) about six spiders that can hurt us slightly. I have been on the receiving end of all these, except the spiders. I'm yet to find one that can bite. Although, this week, my first demonstration to Harleigh to show her how harmless a spider is went terribly wrong. I found quite a large spider curled up in the corner of our living room and tried to pick it up. As my big fat fingers approached the poor creature it jumped at me and somehow grabbed my wrist. It didn't bite me, as I felt no pain whatsoever, but it was hanging from my wrist somehow! This of course freaked little Harleigh out, and she retreated behind my wife for safety. She couldn't have found a worse place to hide from a spider, as my wife also has an irrational fear of them.

I have been bitten and stung by many things in my time. I have even been bitten by quite a few humans, but I won't go into that just now. My generation as children would go hunting poor hapless creatures and bring them home. I was a nightmare for my parents, as our shed was always full of snakes, frogs, newts, mice, tortoises, hedgehogs and any other poor creature I could buy or catch. Many of them escaped, only to find their way into our house, which then usually caused chaos as they jumped, scurried or slithered their way around. But now it seems that young people are quite terrified of most animals and insects, with the exception of dogs, cats, or anything cute and fluffy. I know that my wife has an irrational fear of moths but she, too, as a child, was kept away from nature.

When we were first married, my wife had gone to bed early and I was sitting downstairs watching TV, when I heard the mother of all screams, coming from my wife upstairs. I quickly ran upstairs fearing the worst, thinking a burglar had broken in, or my wife had had a bad fall. How wrong I was! When I reached the bedroom that my wife was in, I found her sitting on the bed with her nightie tucked firmly between her legs and her hands over her head. I looked around the room for any danger and couldn't for the life of me see any. I asked her what the problem was and she replied in a semi- coherent babble, “It's dive-bombing me!” I again looked around the room and couldn't see anything. Fearing that I had unwittingly married someone with severe mental health issues (I had!) I asked in a calm and reassuring voice, “What is it that's dive-bombing you, love?” thinking that her mind had completely gone and she would reply with something like, 'The dragon".  She then turned and with a look of terror in her eyes she replied, “That moth!”

All though I love looking at insects I am glad that they are not as big as humans, because we would be either very few in number or very scared, as the insect world is very much kill or be killed. All the records for everything relative to size goes to insects. They are the fastest, strongest, jump the highest, longest, everything-est! We wouldn't last long against any of them, especially the ants. They have to be the most scary and interesting of all creatures on earth. They are relentless, clever and powerful. It is well documented that we humans are making quite a mess of this beautiful planet of ours, but if the ants were in charge, trust me it would be an ant-shaped world. Everything would be altered to suit them. I suppose they aren't much different to us in that way.

When it comes to loving, the creature who holds the record for love making is not an insect, but a most unlikely candidate, the leopard slug. They copulate for up to twenty four hours. I think they slip a bit of Barry White on the old slug deck, turn the leaf down low, and slither and slide in a balletic dance of love. Now that's what you call a love-a-thon!

For me, the most humorous and the most unfortunate of insects has to be the dung beetle. I think the clue is in its title why its the most unfortunate of creatures. But if you have ever seen one of these creatures, with its herculean strength, rolling a massive ball of dung over any obstacle, only to lose it over the end of a cliff, you would have to have a heart of stone not to feel for the poor beast but also not to laugh! It does remind me of the awful TV programme we had here in Europe in the seventies called , It's a Knockout. One of the hosts of this show also turned out to be a piece of dung! He has been convicted of paedophilia.

I'm now going to religiously show Harleigh all the forms of insect life that I can find in the garden and in the wood in which we live. The more she becomes accustomed to insects now, the more she will both love and appreciate just how wonderful and diverse our planet is when she gets older. And who knows, when in the future if she decides to have children, and one screams at the sight of a spider in the bath tub, she will calmly bend down and pick it up and turn to her child and say, “You know what my Babo told me about spiders when I was a little girl...?”

Uninteresting Times

The Chinese have a saying which is, 'May you live in interesting times'. But it depends on what you call interesting times. If your idea of interesting is being shot at, or running for your life, then I'm positively, blissfully happy being uninterested, thanks. I think that exploration into space is very interesting and love reading and listening about it, but I don't want to be the first man on Mars. It already has a bad atmosphere and I would only make it worse. So what exactly is 'interesting'?

People often tell me about their wonderful trekking holidays in some Godforsaken country whose name usually ends in 'Stan'. They tell me of the danger they encountered and the strange foods they ate, yawn, yawn. If you are in country whose name ends in 'Stan', there's a good chance that their human rights ideology ends in 'hanging'! And I don't care if you ate Camels' testicles: what's wrong with a meat pie, it probably has camels' testicles in too, but they are hidden and given a much more appetising name. Such as 'meat of the desert!' 

Someone once told me how they were lost in the desert and drank their own urine: I prefer a nice Merlot, myself. Though I would imagine at some times in my life my urine would have been 90% Merlot anyway! Why would you want to do such things? I love to travel, but I want a few bars and restaurants in the places that I end up.

I don't want to wake up in a wet, cold tent with the smell of unwashed undergarments and socks burning into the lining of my nostrils. And when you exit the tent, there's a beautiful view of a misty morning around a large expanse of water. You are cold and hungry, so you get a fire going and fetch some water. And set about cooking a sub-standard breakfast, mmm... sounds so appealing. There's probably a B&B on the other side of the river, with double glazing and central heating and a nice woman who cooks a lovely full English breakfast. But the best thing is that while you are sitting in this nice, warm, comfortable guest house, eating your lovely breakfast, you are looking at the same view, along with some ejits freezing their bollocks off, outside a tent!

I have also been shown the future of food today. I know what a drain on the world resources meat production has become. I know that in many third world countries insects are a valuable form of protein. But today someone on TV was making mince pies out of meal worms and locusts! It's strange that here in Britain, takeaways are closed down by health inspectors when insects are found in the food. What about the future? Will takeaways be closed down if meat is found in their food?

Can you imagine how the complaint will go? There will be a slim woman (all food will be fat-free) with tears in her eyes, complaining to the health and safety bods, “I took a bite of my meal worm burger and found a lump of sirloin steak in there. I could have thrown up thinking I had actually eaten beef!”

I have eaten insects in the past and I have to say that when they are fried or cooked with chillies, or both, they are quite tasty. But I don't want them in my mince pies! I don't want a cockroach roast for my dinner or moth pate on my toast: I want what I'm used to eating, thanks! I know this makes me sound like a petulant child and in some respects I am, when it comes to food. When you hear someone saying, “That's quite interesting?” when they have just sampled some strange delicacy such as 'Gonad Soup', what they are really saying is, “This tastes like shit but I don't want people to think I'm ill-educated!”

Have you ever thought why people who live out in the mountains drinking gonad soup or even worse their own urine, want to come to Britain? It's so they don't ever have to do it again! I will also add that the more idyllic the country, the more brutal the government seems to be. I'm not talking about the Costas here, although Spain has had its moments in the past, I'm talking about the far-flung white beach resorts.

I was at an event for Oxfam last night and was fortunate enough to talk to a really lovely woman from the Maldives. She was bright and intelligent and spoke eloquently about the plight of her friend who was a journalist who spoke out against the regime there. He has mysteriously disappeared. Even though the Maldives are a small group of islands where most people know each other. When you see the brochure images of the Maldives, or of any country with idyllic beaches for that matter, you don't ever think of the political situation there.

But having said all this I can't stand people who go abroad, then moan about everything. If you want fish and chips and kiss me quick hats, go to Blackpool, and leave me in peace, will you! Wherever I go in the world, I always seem to get stuck with some moaning Brit telling me just how crap the country we are in is. I don't know how the waiters and the hotel peeps abroad put up with this on a daily basis. When these people are back home in Blighty, they will happily put up with any shit that is thrown at them.

So for me, I want my holidays to be stress free, where the most difficult decision I have to make is what to choose for dinner. I don't want insect mince pies, I want mince pie mince pies, thanks.

Remember, when someone starts a sentence with the line, “I'll tell you what might be of interest to you..?” It won't be, so beat a quick retreat!

Right, Write the Last Rites!

One of the things I hear from people when they find out what I do for a living is, “That must be a really interesting job?” Actually, it's like any other job: it has its highs and lows. The highs for me are working in schools and the lows, believe it or not, is the actual writing!

I used to be a joiner many years ago and have worked on many building projects. The thing about having a skill such as joinery is that, even though you are creating something, you have something to work with. You will have all the necessary tools, materials, drawings etc. In other words you have something physical to work with. There is also a list of dos and don't s while building. Trying to cut corners and trying to build against the laws of geometry always ends in disaster. Whereas, as a writer I have nothing to work with; everything has to be created from scratch. There are no write and wrong ways (see what I did there?).

The world you create has to be believable to the reader, and has to engage the reader. When you find the foolproof way of doing this, can you send me the formula please. All types of art are subjective: with some, you will like your work, while others you will hate. I'm a strange 'bod' about this, because if someone really hates my work, with a passion I'm just as happy as when they really enjoy it. Because it has provoked a response. The worst thing for me is to be nice. I hate it when people describe me as a nice person. I can't remember this ever happening, though. Nice is a word to describe the tepid and non offensive. Nice is the acceptable, where we can all have a cup of tea and cucumber sandwiches. If you are afflicted with the terrible blight of needing to write, then you must develop rhino skin and be prepared to rock the boat: if not, don't bother, find yourself a nice little job in a shop instead.

Don't think that the piece that you have written now is a failure because you can't sell it. You must keep hold of it, as it may be the next big thing in ten years' time. Also don't be too critical of yourself, but don't be blind about your faults either. We all write a pile of crap from time to time, some of us more than others!

But it is odd the way we treat some professions better than others. When you have a journey in a taxi often people will give the driver a tip. But you wouldn't think of doing this to a bus driver, who has just provided the same service. When you go out for a meal, you might give the waiter/waitress a tip (In America you will give them a tip, they will make sure of this). But when someone serves you in a clothes shop, you don't tip them, same service, different products.

When my wife worked in nursing, people would say, you people are saints. Most of their time they are up to their armpits in pus and crap: not very saintly. But a person that gives up their time to walk the cold streets at night feeding and helping homeless people is doing just as much of a valuable job, usually without pay, but they don't usually get a mention.

We are seen and assessed by what we do for a living. If you are a doctor, you are a responsible pillar of society, but I know of lots of doctors that I wouldn't leave my cat alone with. While if you are a person that empties the bins, or a cleaner in an office, some people will look down on you. Try going with out your rubbish being taken away for a month, or cleaning your workplace while also trying to work, and you will soon see the need of such professions.

The strangest thing about job snobbery is how it changes over time. When I was a kid here in Britain, being a chef was not regarded as a particularly good profession to be in. Those of us that were apprentice-trained in the building trades didn't see the catering apprenticeship as a 'proper' trade! Now it's the new rock and roll, and everyone wants to make a claim to being a chef! Talking of rock and roll, many years ago, people wanted to make music and have fun. They learned to play instruments and sing. Now, you appear on a karaoke show and have the career that encompasses the same length of time as the life-span of a moth!

I know that some jobs, such as a computer programmer, weren't really a career option a hundred years ago, whereas a knocker-upper is not in great demand today! A knocker-upper, by the way, was a person who walked the streets pre-alarm clock days and tapped on people's windows to wake them up for work. There was one famous lady who used a pea-shooter to do this.

But to get back to my original point, if you write for a living it's not interesting, it's mainly frustrating, and now I have to find something to write a blog about, but I can't think of anything: any ideas?

Little Boxes!

It's better to give than to receive, but seemingly this doesn't apply to herpes! It is the season to be jolly, so why is everyone so stressed and miserable? We like our little phrases don't we? No matter how inane or bland or downright untrue they are. When losing the love of your life, aged only sixteen, how many people told you that there were 'Plenty more fish in the sea'? What do you think I am, a fucking cod? 'Too many cooks spoil the broth' Not true if you work in a busy kitchen. One cook will make a bollocks if left alone. You get my drift. Now, we use these platitudes to try make people feel better about situations or to advise, but are they of any use?

We like the one-size-fits-all remedies for life, just like we like to categorise people to fit them into nice little boxes. I try not to do this, but as I have written in previous blogs, I, like everyone else, do this from time to time. I myself am often labelled because of my work. But it depends on what part of my life you knew me. I could be Gez the joiner, social worker, writer, comedian, or lazy git! There are many more to add to the list, but I can't be bothered (lazy git!)

There have been two occasions this week where I have come across this pigeon-holing.

A woman was telling my wife that she had a new job, working with people with learning difficulties. She went on to say that someone had turned up to assess some of the clients, and everyone was a bit scared of the assessor, though she didn't say why. It seems that this person is very thorough, and not a person that you should mess with. As she went on to describe this officious jobsworth, it suddenly dawned on me that she was actually talking about my sister!

Anyone who knows my sister knows that she is the most fun-loving, loyal and easy going person you could meet. Yes, she is good at her job, because she is working to improve people's lives. If you only knew my sister socially you would agree with my description, but of course professionally she has to have a different persona. So which box do we put her in?

The other occasion was while I was waiting to meet up with someone this week who was running late. I do seem to possess a 'weirdo magnet' somewhere on my body: when I find out where it is secreted it's getting taken off! If I stand still for only a few minutes when I'm out and about someone will try sell me something I don't want or need, such as pet insurance or Jesus! Or someone will decide to tell me their life story.

This week, while waiting on a bench in the town centre a wizened old man sat beside me. He had a few dirty old bags full of what looked to be his worldly possessions. His clothes, of which there were many, were unkempt and dirty. His skin was was weather-beaten and wrinkled. The one tooth he sported had turned a nicotine shade of brown and danced alone in his mouth as he spoke. He fumbled around his clothing and produced a box full of old 'Tab Ends' that he had picked up from the floor and began to strip them down. The dirty little butts that were formerly someone else's nicotine fix were of different sizes, as he crumbled them all into one cigarette paper. He then proceeded to roll himself a cigarette. After taking a long drag on the vile-looking home-made death-stick he turned to me and said in a rasping tone, “Bit cold today, innit?”

This had to be the understatement of the year: it was freezing! I had all the modern hiking clothing on, and I was cold, so I have no idea how this old guy who was probably homeless survived such temperatures.

I agreed, and he went on to ask, as most people do this time of year, if I was ready for Christmas. I told him the usual reply that I give to everyone who asks me this question, that I'm not bothered about it. I dare not ask him the same question, as he looked like he was only ready for the mortuary. He went on to ask if I had a family and to be honest, to my shame, I was ready to stand up and walk away from him at this point. When he turned and said, “You don't recognise me do you?” I scanned his old and tired face, just to make sure it wasn't a member of my family that I hadn't seen for a while (you never know) then agreed with his prognosis: no, I didn't recognise him.He then went on to tell me just who he was, which came as a shock, as he had been at school with me. He wasn't someone who hung about with my circle of friends, but I did indeed remember him - though not as he looked right now.

We got chatting, and he told me how he had 'dabbled' with drugs. I think he was understating his dabbling! He had ended up on the street after losing everything he owned and loved. But things were now looking up for him, as he had a  little flat and was working as a gardener for a, 'nice old lady at Almondbury'. This man had a degree in economics and, at one time, a successful business.We chatted for a while about old times at school and people we knew. He did make me laugh a few times when mentioning people then adding, “Do you know he ended up being a right piss-head?” I think this is the most severe case of pot, kettle and black you could hear. I have to admit I really liked his company and enjoyed reliving a small part of my past with him.

What I thought was going to be an old smelly type trying to cop a few bob off me (beg some money) turned out to be a pleasant and quite refreshing chat with an old acquaintance. I eventually said my goodbyes and wished him well and hoped that he too had a very happy Christmas, then went to my meeting.

Later that day, when I was making my way back to my car I saw him looking in bins for.. Well, I don't know what he was looking for... I went into the nearest newsagents and bought him a couple of lighters and cigarette papers along with a super-dooper bag of tobacco. I walked over to him and gave him the little bundle of gifts (which will probably only add to his early demise) and wished him 'Merry Christmas'. He beamed a happy smile back at me and said, “Thank you, but I didn't want anything from you, in fact you gave me all I needed by giving me your time”. Just how lovely is that? He didn't give me my gift back though!

So ,what I thought was going to be a brief and slightly embarrassing encounter with some drunken halfwit, turned out to be a pleasant and eye-opening experience, with an old acquaintance.

Which just goes to prove that, 'You can't judge a book by its cover'.

There is no Sanity Clause

There are certain things we, as adults, don't want to have to explain to our children. Such as where do babies come from?, what happened to my pet hamster? Who was that woman I saw you with last night? We know, as adults, that these are all themes that it's difficult for a young mind to deal with. The last one would also be difficult for your wife's mind to deal with!

Because we don't want to face up to the reality of explaining the issues of life and death to children, we invent stories such as, the stork brings them, Hammy as gone to play with his friends and she was my cousin who is going through hard times! The last one doesn't work, by the way.

Can you imagine when a child asks you these questions and can see the consequences of the actions?

There are millions of children around the world who are suffering famine, war and abuse. How do you explain to a child that is starving that Mummy and Daddy are having another baby, when they can't afford to feed them. How do you explain to a child that its mother has died of an illness that the world has turned its back on, because it doesn't involve them? You can no longer whitewash over the reality. To many children around the world, this is not a time of anticipation and happiness. For them each and every day is the same, and life can be short and brutal!

The third world exists so we, the west, can live the lives we do! You can gloss over it as much as you want and try to give as many political and social reasons as you wish, but it's the truth. I know that aid that is sent to help benefit these people is filtered into bank accounts of the politicians of these countries. I know this, you know this, and the powers that be know this, So why don't they do something about it? It's all part of the insane game! We lend them money at over inflated prices, the money goes to the banks of the politicians, and the country struggles to pay the debt back. You don't have to go to the third world to see this process in action, go to Wonga and see how the poor of Britain are given the same treatment. Little money, at ridiculous interest rates that most who are applying for the loan don't know or understand. The masses are left with nothing, while a few pocket the cash.

It would be easy for me to go off on a rant about this, but today I'm not going to, because this blog is not about my rants, this blog is an invitation.

I don't normally do charity events: charity is a way for governments to relinquish their responsibility. I do events each year for Children in Need, which I also have a problem with (See previous blogs) but I do these because I believe passionately in education and this is one time when I can reach lots of children.

But I have been asked by Oxfam to appear at a charity night in Skipton, North Yorkshire. I'm going to be 'strutting my stuff' at the Black Bull Pub, The High Street, Skipton. On the 16th December 2014 at 7-30 pm. got all that?

It's in aid of the Ebola appeal. That's to get rid of Ebola, and not an invitation for it to visit. I can't speak for anyone else on the bill but my section will just be pure comedy; no preaching, no begging, just me doing what I do.

So, if you're in the area, why not come along? It's free, but no doubt someone will have a bucket, hopefully to be filled with cash - there is a toilet for other things.

So I hope to see you on Tuesday the 16^th December at 7-30pm at the Black Bull On Skipton High Street, feel free to come and have a chat to me if you wish, any offer of a free drink is always gratefully accepted.

I'm doing this because, even though there's a real Santa Claus, the world unfortunately doesn't have a Sanity Clause!

The Black Widow

I have, unfortunately, had to attend a funeral this week. I'm at the age where I seem to do this more and more. Don't get me wrong, I haven't developed a perverse interest in coffins and crematoriums, I just seem to be losing lots of people I care about, of late.

The funeral I attended today was that of my wife's closest friend's husband. It was a shock to us all when he died, as he seemed to be in perfect health and didn't drink much or smoke. It's strange, isn't it that some people can abuse themselves all their lives, and they live to a ripe old age, while others pop their clogs after catching a cold?

A while ago, while having a quiet lunch in a country pub, a woman walked in with a man. This, of course, is not that unusual. In fact, I would go as far as saying this is a very common thing to happen, not only in this pub, but in buildings here, and all around the world. I did know this woman: she was in my class at school. The man she was with was not, as far as I could remember, her husband, I did once meet him some years ago. And it was clear by the way they were acting with each other that this was more than just a platonic relationship. They giggled and cuddled and kissed all the time. They obviously hadn't been together long, otherwise they would be on the "speak and touch only when necessary" regime.

I turned to my wife, who knew this woman a little better than me, and asked if she had recently got divorced, or had we just caught her having a little extra-marital experience?

It seemed that my knowledge of this woman's remarkable life was somewhat out of date. The husband that I knew seemingly died over twenty years ago! (I must live in some kind of time warp!) He didn't die of some hideous decease, or like my wife's friends husband, of a sudden heart attack. He died while walking home after a night out with friends. They were walking over a bridge one dark and quite windy night, and stopped to try and light up a cigarette, which can be quite difficult when you have a force nine blowing. As he turned from the wind, he was caught unaware by a quick gust, which blew him off the bridge and onto the road below where he was hit by a truck that was passing! Quite a dramatic way to go, I suppose.

“That must have come as a terrible shock to her?” I asked my wife, as she unfolded the story.

“Not as much as a shock when she found her second husband,” she replied.

“How many husbands has this woman had?”

“Four!”

“What happened to the second one?”

“She came home from work one evening to find him in her underwear and hanging in the hallway!”

Now to lose one husband in strange circumstances is a tragedy, to lose two is very strange. I dare not ask what happened to the other two but it didn't matter as my wife was now in full swing and there was no way I could stop her from telling me this woman's tragic life story.

“The third one was even stranger.”

“Never!”

“Yes they were on holiday in I think, Tunisia!”

“Don't tell me it was a plane crash?”

“No stranger than that, they went on a camel ride, as you do when visiting a desert-type country, mainly because there's bugger all else to do. The camel he was on was in heat or something and went crazy trying to mount another camel. It threw him from his saddle or whatever it is you sit on when riding a camel. The camel then trod on his head by accident, killing him out right.

“Have the police never sat her down for a chat?”

“I don't know, but you've got to admit she's had an interesting life.”

You would think the way that this woman goes through the men in her life that she is some sort of femme fatale? But she is very ordinary-looking and quite plump. However, if the way she was fawning up to the man in the pub was anything to go by, she knew how to get her way with men. I would imagine it involved men getting their way with her.

“So what happened to the fourth husband? Was he abducted by aliens?” I asked, thinking the poor sap had probably ended his life with an extra terrestrial probe up is arse. As it turned out, I was nearly right.

“He ran off with the guy who owned the baker's shop up in the village!”

“I guess he had a lucky escape?”

“Not really, he died of a heart attack last year!”

“How do you know all this?”

“Her last husband worked with me for a while and told me everything.”

“Did he tell you why he married her when he knew he was gay?”

“She was fantastic at sex, he said.”

“But he was ga..” I gave up here because it was all getting a little to much for my tiny brain to deal with. I only called in there for steak and chips and a pint, I didn't expect a run down on Mata Hari's life story.

I turned to my wife and said, “Do you not think that our life is really boring?”

“Yours might be, but mine isn't.” 

I don't know what she meant by this? Does she mean that life with me is exciting, or she has some secret agent spy-type existence, that I know nothing about? We paid the bill and started to leave the pub. As we walked out, the man with the black widow started to laugh uncontrollably.

We opened the door to leave his laughing turned into the mother of all coughing fits.

May God have mercy on his soul!

It's good to be boring.

Curiosity Killed The Cat!

The above title is a bit strange, because of course curiosity is the one thing that has kept the whole species of felines alive throughout history. Their ability to look at everything, anywhere, then judge whether it's edible or not is one of the great qualities of all types of cats.

We humans also possess the greatest curiosity in the whole of the animal kingdom, this is why we are so dominant and so dangerous to both ourselves and the planet we live on. If it wasn't for our eternal quest to find out why, what and how, we would still be hunter-gatherers, scraping a meagre existence.

Our urge to go over the horizon to find new pastures has led to trade routes thousands of years old, where spices and ideas have been transported around the globe. Unfortunately, they also brought religion and infectious deceases. But what we now think of as indigenous plants and animals were usually brought by others. If you have ever had any meal that is remotely Italian in taste, you will know that, without the humble tomato, the Italians might as well shut up shop and move on. Well the tomato is a native of Iran/Persia and was brought to Italy by the Romans, no doubt. Speaking of Romans we have them to thank for the rabbits that are such a familiar sight here in Britain.

My wife always claims that when I was a child I was feral. I was no different to any other kid in my neighbourhood, we played and looked at the world around us. We did disappear for long periods and fended for ourselves, but it made us very ingenious. It also increased our imagination, because, like all ideologies, what we couldn't explain we gave a supernatural explanation to, hence the amount of ghost stories I have to tell.

When, as a ten year old, my friend was given a reel to reel tape deck, it had a slight squeak on it. This drove him mad. I called to his house one day to find the tape deck completely stripped down. I mean stripped. Everything was removed. My friend then cleaned and oiled all the pieces of the machine. When I called at his house the next day the whole machine had been rebuilt and was in perfect working order, though he had six bolts left over. That was over forty-five years ago. Yesterday I called to see him, and we were cleaning out his garage when we came across this tape deck. We then had a bizarre experience of listening to our childhood selves that we had recorded many years ago, because the tape deck still works today and, taped to the side of the recorder, are the six bolts that were left over. The same guy will now, as an adult, strip down and rebuild any machine that is faulty. He has never had a day's training on how to do this. He claims its just common sense, curiosity and enthusiasm.

I, on the other hand, am best kept away from anything mechanical. I can be quite dangerous with a spanner. But I do love anything to do with the mind, and I love to question everything and anything. I have no taboo subjects, which unnerves a lot of people, but I'm quite happy to discuss any subject at any level.

I often ask questions or have an idea, and people who know me roll their eyes, thinking, "Here we go again!" Others think that I think of the strangest of things, but for me I can't understand why people wouldn't ask the questions that I do. The other day, while out shopping... sorry taking my wife out shopping, I was, as usual, standing outside a shop waiting for her to buy the usual stuff she doesn't need. Then I noticed a man walking through the shopping centre. He was tall and grey and had deformities to his arms caused by the thalidomide drug. If you are not aware of this drug, it was hailed as the wonder drug for women with morning sickness during pregnancy in the sixties. It was later found to stop the limbs on the fetus from developing, something the company already knew, as the same effect had been shown on animals while testing the drug. This led to lots of babies being born without arms and legs. The man I was looking at had no arms, just two little hands coming out of his shoulders. Normally I wouldn't give this man a second glance or think any more about him but as he walked past me I noticed how tall he was and how he only had two little hands and I thought, "How does he take a pee?" When my wife came out of the shop, I pointed the man out and asked her the same question, to which she replied, “You are one sick bunny!” Why? What is wrong with that question?

I think we should all ask questions and debate everything. Try this, if you are of good honest mind and body. If you are the most law abiding person on the face of the earth. Imagine that you were out in the middle of nowhere and you came across a haul of gold and jewels. You know that these are ancient and worth a fortune. You also know that your house is about to be repossessed and you and your family are to be evicted. The jewels can never be traced back to you and it will save you and your family to take them and keep quiet, would you take them?

No one would suffer, though you have technically stolen them, but from whom? But they don't rightly belong to you. But who has the right to them, the government? Why should they have them; what right do they have to them? What about the land owner? What if the landowner is some inbred aristocrat whose ancestors had spent their lives kissing the arse of some other inbred monarch, and they were given the land as a thank you. They, technically, are living on stolen land. So what are you going to do because it's a victimless crime and it will save you.

Try this one. Lots of people tell me they would never be unfaithful to their partners. But what if you were away from society, lost, for a long period, with someone of the opposite sex who was kind and loving and you had no one but each other? What if once again no one would find out? Would you give in to your human urges and "Love the one you're with" or would you struggle on alone, racked with temptation?

Who would ever know, it is just two people giving each other love when they both needed it. But it is deceiving your loved ones, the ones that trust and love you. But they are not there, and they will never know. You have no intentions of ever leaving them, and the love you need and receive now may make you stronger for when you do get back. But what if there's a child born out of this union of convenience?

Discuss these topics with others and you will be surprised what answers you receive, people have to be honest with their responses. Most won't be. Most people will tell you what they think you want to hear, or what they should say to make them look like good upstanding citizens. But  I will say there is no such thing as a victimless crime, sometimes the victim might be you, the perpetrator of the crime. You could argue if there is no victim there can be no crime. It also depends on what you think crime is? I would argue with every fibre of my being that apartheid was a crime against humanity, yet I have met others who thought it was best for the human race to be divided! Who is right? Depends on your politics I suppose.

Oh, yes, just one more thing, before I go off to work (I do work you know, it's only talking but it pays the bills) You know earlier that I mentioned the drug Thalidomide and how it had terrible consequences for the families of the people who took it? Well, guess what, it turns out that what was bad for one thing is good for another, they found out that it cures leprosy! But before you start cheering, the only reason the company that manufactures the drug found out was because they were still selling it for morning sickness to women in the third world, where leprosy is rife.

Maybe we should all ask more questions sometimes!

You Have Nothing To Fear, But Fear Itself!

The above sentence sounds like a line from a Batman film, where the caped crusader has a head shot to camera and mutters the words with menace.

It was actually Franklin D. Roosevelt who uttered this memorable phrase in the 'thirties. America had just had the Wall Street crash, and the Great War (nothing great about it!) had not long finished. While, over in Europe, a certain Mr A Hitler, formerly of Austria, now residing in Germany, had plans to re-design Europe without the aid of a Feng Shui expert, which can only lead to disaster, as nothing would be in the right place when he finished with it! People were worried about the future and with a certain amount of good reason.

But what about now? Does this still ring true in the world today? We have a world recession, with banks and governments trying to shaft ordinary working people. House prices are out of the reach of large sections of the population. We have more paedophiles per acre than ever before. Not to mention lunatic religious factions taking power in already unstable countries. And then we have global warming, just to bulk up the list of things to lose sleep about.

But are things really that bad? A lot depends on who, where and what you are. If you are eighteen and want to buy your first house in London, unless Mummy and Daddy are rich, or if you are on the extreme benefits band such as the Royal family, forget it, you have no chance. But if you are middle aged and have a large family home and you wish to move on, then the market is quite buoyant.

Banks and governments have always stuffed the people, but yet we keep on voting them in and bailing them out, do we ever learn?

Most of our fears come from the media and the government. Theresa May said that our terrorist alert had gone up to "Oh my God, think of the children!" level, then added that intelligence suggests that there wasn't a terrorist threat that was imminent. Was this announcement nothing more than scaremongering? After all, the Tories did want to bring in new legislation to give the police more powers. I find myself saying this next sentence over and over to people, Every new law is one fewer right for you! Human rights are often removed in the name of security. They are not about keeping you safe, they are about keeping you under control!

You are more likely to die in a golfing accident than by terrorism. I know we have the lunatics in the Middle East who want to kill everyone who doesn't read the only book in the library. But we have always had them, its just that we aren't funding this lot! And at some stage, just like with Mr Hitler, or Adolf to his friend, we no doubt will have to go to war with them, because they will, sooner or later, alter the price of oil. We all know that you can kill and maim innocent people as much as you like, but mess with the oil supply and you are in deep, deep shit!

Then we have the paedophiles. They are around every corner! No child is safe! I blame the bleeding hearts and the liberal minded people for this. First it was letting gay people get married, two people who love each other showing affection is disgusting, Then it was letting the great unwashed drink Pimms. Even ginger-haired people can now have children outside Scotland!! What the fuck is happening to this country? It used to be full of good, hard-working people. Where the police were looked up to, and free to invent as much evidence as they liked against people they didn't! And the clergy were the backbone of our lives, with their unflinching morals about sex and families and sex in the families. They were the people to go to in time of trouble. There are no paedophiles around every corner when the church is strong in society, because most of them are there in the church.

When I was a kid I was forced by my father to become an altar-boy, I have to say that I have never encountered any sexual impropriety by any priest, just lucky I guess. We did have a priest that displayed psychotic tendencies, but people were too scared of him to point this out to him.

We used to go away on trips with the church to, of all places, a convent! I know, it sounds odd to me now, but it was just one of those strange things that you take for granted when you're a kid. We all had to go swimming under the watchful eye of Father Butch! That wasn't his name, it's just how I remember him. He used to swim around with us and he used to wear Speedo budgie-smugglers, but I suppose everyone did in the sixties. I can't help but think, if you remove the 'S' from Speedos, what you are left with.

The fact is that most, though not all, of the high-profile abuse cases are historical, and most were committed by teachers, doctors, and mainly priests: all middle class, all professionals. I'm not saying that there weren't or aren't paedophiles among the working class, but now, just like then, it wasn't some dirty old man in a greasy overcoat but usually a family member or family friend that committed the act. Last year in Britain, there were fewer old people dying over the winter than ever before. This is a fact, records prove it, but it's not news worthy.

We also hear a lot about gang culture in our cities, and how dangerous the situation is, and getting worse. What the hell do you think the Kray twins were? There were more gangs in the Victorian period than ever before, but we have turned these people into folk heroes.

The third world is still impoverished and starving. If the Ebola crisis had started in Washington, we would have a cure for it now. And, strangely, the HIV virus is getting weaker and burning itself out! 

But some things never change. The rich are still rich and getting richer, while the working class are still going to food banks. We now have twenty-four-hour news channels that have to fill their schedules so "news" that years ago wasn't reported is now reported with a bit of a twist to keep you interested.

Yes, there are lots of problems in the world, and yes, there are lots of bad people in the world (most have suits or work in banks, or both!) but nothing ever changes, and that is a problem, and something we should worry about. But there is always hope. I'm a glass half-full man and education is improving, although Gove did his best to put a stop to this. Healthcare now has more money thrown at it than any other time in history. We need to change our view on politics and about society. Stop the blame culture that we have grown so used to. Every new wave of immigration is seen as the cause of all the country's problems, but the problems remain. Maybe, just maybe, the problems were already here.

We elect politicians to improve our lives, our society, and the world. We do not elect them to further their own careers and bank balances. So if you are worried to leave your house because of fear of getting mugged, or if you are scared of your house being repossessed there is only one direction to point, and that's to your government.

"You have nothing to fear but a bland faceless bureaucrat in a suit!"