Love is a packed lunch

My rucksack is smallish and black and has everything I need for the moment. It's not much.  In the back, wrapped in a bag from Marks and Spencer's, there is a parcel of food for me that my mum made. A small prepacked salad, a Tupperware container, an apple, and a small foil- shrink-wrapped chocolate bar trying to be healthy. I open the Tupperware and the sandwich inside has been cut into a tangram so it fits under the protection of the plastic box. Two large slides of soft whole meal bread, hand sliced lettuCe, soft cheese and cheddar -  product of careful knife work and considered selection.

My mother continues her 26 years of care for me, much of it involving food preparation and her lifetime of serving for a family as cook and more. She doesn't think about it anymore - half custom, half duty - but I feel loved by the care she puts into preparing a perfect little meal for me.  She's been feeding me fruit since I was little, but it's been more important since my dad died of bowel cancer. My odds on getting it too aren't great, but are improved by fruit and veg.

Filling someone's basic needs, the small things that don't rank respect or recognition, the incremental preventatives rather than the grand cures - taking the time to do the things that go unnoticed, that is love.

Small town living. Part of an occasional series.

Great things about my home town, pop 75k, thinking pop, approx 35 The cathedral toilets are twinned with a latrine in burundi. Not the cathedral, just the toilets - not with other toilets, just a latrine. There is a photo and a plaque the commemorate the cultural exchange. Shops consider 3-5.30 wednesday thru Friday to be acceptable opening hours for a business. Shops selling vertiginous sequinned union jack platforms, no less. There is an asparagus festival. It features gus the asparagus man making visits, a demonstration of asparagus tying, an asparagus crown - and for those who can't make it to the festival, there is the portable asparabus. 

Are you depressed?

(a non-exhaustive checklist)

Is there a big fucking lump of inability wedged just behind your voice box?

Are your tear reservoirs always dangerously close to running over?

Do you have to rack your brain to think of things you like, or things you would like?

Speaking of that, is the future any more than something to be got on with?

Are you sleeping to avoid being conscious?

Have you taken your medication?

Then congratulations, this is just how your life is.

To hurt is human

He said he never wanted to see me hurt.

So I handed him the most recent scientific papers on the possibility of time travel, a packet of condoms, and my mum's address in 1985. Good luck with that.

London's burning.. and you've got nothing to say?

Dear Facebook and Twitter (at least those segments of it I pay attention to);

Yesterday, in response to the police shooting and killing a man in Tottenham – no reasons have been given, although theories abound and the Independent Police Complaints Commission is investigating already, which is highly unusual – there was rioting in the streets, two patrol cars torched, several shops burnt. The people living above these shops had to leave their homes and now only have the clothes on their backs. The rioters looted and burnt many things, 8 police officers are in hospital.

From a BBC report:

“Local resident David Akinsanya, 46, said several shop windows had been smashed. "It's really bad," he said. "There are two police cars on fire. I'm feeling unsafe. It looks like it's going to get very tasty. I saw a guy getting attacked." Maria Robinson, another resident, told the BBC: "The police seem very frightened at the moment, people are unstoppable. They've broken into various businesses, jewellery shops, bookies, it's absolutely crazy. They've beaten up a man for talking to the fire brigade." “

I live a mile from both regions of riots. I was away this weekend, just got back. Many of my local shops are closed – shutters are down. The sirens are running constantly. Fire engines and patrol cars stuffed with police are in the streets.

And noone is talking about this on social media, and this is fucking weird, all right? I have a lot of leftie friends who have said nothing, barring a few comments about robbing JD sports for tracksuits or other chav-baiting comments.

However, you had very strong views about:

Ian Tomlinson dying after he was attacked by a police officer

Jody MacIntyre being maltreated by a police officer

The riots following the anti-cuts protest in June

Why is this different? I don't expect anyone to support this rioting. But I kinda thought there might be concern and questions... and their lack is causing me to ask questions. I'm not telling you what to do but I am megaconfused.

Things on my mind:

Was shooting Mark Duggan 'reasonable force'?

There was strong feeling around here when Smiley Culture died under odd circumstances while being searched by the police, in April. . I suspect there are many other dodgy situations and the police rep is hardly high at the moment.

People protest and riot when they are angry and ignored. Tottenham is what politicians call underprivileged and everyone else calls poor and desperate. The burnt out buildings are just down the road from the Job Centre I was going to. It was very busy. In an environment where people are poor and desperate and put-upon, they're more ready to riot. For everyone's safety, if not our wellbeing (I suspect they don't really care about either but it's inarguable that dead people don't vote) it would be in the govt's interest to try and reduce these desperate conditions and the chasm between the guys who make the rules and the guys who take the hits.

If you wanna see how I'm scared it might go, check out the comments on this youtube video of the news reporting the events.

I've had White Riot in my head all day.

“Brixton in South London was an area with serious social and economic problems. The whole United Kingdom was affected by a recession by 1981, but the local African-Caribbean community was suffering particularly high unemployment, poor housing? higher than average crime rate.[6]
In the preceding months there had been growing unease between the police and the inhabitants of Lambeth.[2]”

Wikipedia on the Brixton Riots

This Way To Freedom

I passed a sign saying 'Freedom ->'. So naturally I got off the bus at the next stop and followed it. I was returning from an exam somewhere in London's East End - land of curry, eels and asymmetric fringes - and in the mood for proving my self-determination after being shuffled from assessment to assessment. So I followed my urges and the black and red arrows.

They led between two shabby shops, into a narrow alley between two recent, offensively perky red building, snaked round the left hand corner and entered a dim fire escape. Mounting the arabesqued carpet, I progressed up, wondering whether the arrows exempted me from trespassing charges, and entered a moderately sized-room with bookcases on all walls and a bespectacled young man with Sideshow Bob hair leaning nonchalantly on his chair while reading in the corner.

I may have deceived you, dear reader, into thinking I was bolder and more absurdist than I am. I had an inkling I was entering a radical politics zone by the black and red of the sign, and the fact I passed the ASS office (Advisory Squatting Service) on my way down the alley.

All the same, I tentatively approached the bloke and enquired if this was the anarchist bookshop. He said yes, and authorised me to browse. I flicked through a few magazines exhorting me to support anarchists in jail for hitting pigs, and wandered round lookng at the categories - feminism and anarchism, anarchism for children, historical anarchism, artistic anarchism - before trailing back and admitting I didn't know anything much at all about anarchism.

He asked what I thought of when people mentioned anarchism. I said "Men in beards sitting around slamming their fists on tables and demanding something ought to be done." He was shocked and hurt that I didn't associate it with action of any kind, and sent me off with a seminal work to read (Bakunin, I seem to recall. Central point seemed to be that as anarchism develops everyone will magically stop being a selfish bastard, citing a few studies that did not convince me when considered in the context of the entire history of the world, ever).

At this point an older anarchist with grey hair came in. We shall call him Dave, for no discernable reason.

Sideshow Bakunin greeted him in a distressed tone. "Those kids were hanging round here again, Dave. They were lobbing stuff at us."

Dave seemed to not share his worries, and explained that he had had some success talking to young delinquents, and through the use of sweet reason had persuaded them to pick up the litter they had left there.

"Yeah, well, litter maybe, Dave, but they were throwing big things. We have broken windows. One of them nearly hit Judy with a plank of wood, man! A plank of wood!"

"Did you try talking to them?" Dave repeated his faith in negotiation.

"They just kept throwing things! In the end I had to call the police..."

Bless their little black hearts, foiled by a load of violent yoofs not listening to sweet syndicalist reason.

--this is all 100% true, save the inevitable distortions of memory--

The Recession of Hope

My stupid little self was excited when they said we were in a recession. I'd read about the shanty towns in '29. I'd listened to the punk political rants of the eighties. I thought it would spark political interest and change. Selfishly, I thought I'd be OK.

The first years I was. I got the odd job, lived cheap, didn't notice the pinch. But three years on it's wearing thin. My friends and I have graduated university and we're being wasted. Noone wants to use our skills. Our brains are rotting. We're losing hope and even though there's more to life than work, it saps you not having it.

No overall drive, no part of anything bigger, no reason to get up or leave the house. No money for fun, driving a wedge between you and anyone with a job. No future plans.

No future.

Plenty of time though to sit around and watch the news, to see the Government cutting your handouts, to see the economy contract, to see the layoffs and the pain and the columns from the Guardianistas about how they've suffered too as now they can't buy a large pack of organic smoked salmon.

Plenty of time to call the dole office and ask where your money is, to recieve no answers, to go in for meetings and try and be ignored and resented and to count the pennies and pray for money back and debts recalled and that somehow holidays become free.

It's harder every morning to get up, and if my CV was honest it would read more like a prostitute's calling card. All services offered for money.