Bleak Midwinter

It wasn't enough to shaft Education at the Top End, then? Or to kick out the Cornerstone of the NHS, act all surprised that it goes a bit Wobbly and stick it with a Condemned Notice before Claire Raynor has time to reach for her Spectracles? Or to fold up Welfare and Unemployment, and snip at it with a pair of scissors, like a child making a Paper Snowflake- look how clever the pattern is, oh and so many holes? No, now it's actually time for Taking Candy from Babies. Booktrust, the scheme that provides Free Books to All Children between 9 months and 11 years, which includes Bookstart, is to have its funding cut by, er, 100%. (I had a state-funded education, but thankfully, not under The Coalition, so i can work out that this is A Bad Thing.) I can give you no better Thumbnail Sketch of the Great Yawning Moral Chasm of Unremitting Wickedness that is Michael Gove than this One Act- Taking Books off Babies. It won't let me underline it twice, but for the record, that is me SHOUTING. When i lived in North Yorkshire, we had a tiny Public Library where Every Week, Nigel would come and read stories to the Pre-Schoolers, with the Look of a Man Clinging to the Crow's Nest of a Storm-Tossed Boat who knows that the Sharks are hungry. Gone. When Joyce was little, in Wales, we would trot round twice a month after Toddlers to catch the Book Bus, and hand over our tickets to a Morose man in a Paisley Shirt whose Life Work of Providing Catherine Cookson to the members of the Evergreen Club for Retired Persons had left him a little Low- Strung. Gone. And now this. Well, let it be their Epigram, Gove, Osborne, Clegg, Cameron, Cable et al: the Wise Men come to visit the Newborn Child, brought into this World as Gift for all Mankind, dressed in their finery, with their Wealth and their Position and their Privilege. And they look down at the Promise of a Life, and give it the Empty Bag that is Conservative Greed and Liberal Democrat Self-Interest. Then take the bag back.

Crackers

It would be fair to say that Town is a little empty this morning, No Doubt due to the Completely Clear roads and Cloud-Free skies. Likewise all the schools are Shut, on the thinking that the kids were only going to be having Fun today anyway and that this is the UK so this can safely be postponed until they are old enough to have sex. Or we vote the Tories out. Boots actually have a sign on the Automatic Doors saying 'Closed due to staff shortages, prescriptions only'. Though if there are enough staff for one in the Dispensary and one on Special Door- and- Frowning- at- the- Public- Duty, surely they could just let me in for my shampoo if I promise only to require one checkout at once. In the Co-op they have been so Client-Free that Fag-Counter Lady is clearly quite jealous of Till Girl, interacting with some one other than Aled Jones or Slade, and tries to join in the conversation as we walk away. When i plough into the same 'Wet Floor Warning' as i did on the way in, the Atmosphere of Joyful Bonhomie turns a bit Titanic. For various reasons, headed up by my having forgotten to book a Christmas week Tesco Slot in March, i am shopping with the Ex-Mr Alison, with whom i will also be spending the big day, At My Parents. We decide i will need Gin, and he will need Port. At some point we realise we have not bought presents for one another. We drive to the Local Garden Centre where last year the Talking Reindeer had such a profound effect on Three and Joyce that for months they would not go back, in case 'the Goat Head starts singing again.' The lads clearing the Car Park have been alone at Ice Station Zebra for so long that when i ask if it is open, they look confused, and a bit upset, like when Nick Clegg is asked why Vince Cable is in the Naughty Corner for Telling the Truth. The women inside are Delighted to See Real People, and when we actually approach the counter with purchases, they offer to Gift Wrap it.  'Is it for you, or a present?' 'Erm,' Protocol escapes me for a change. Also Tact: 'actually, we've split up but he has to buy me a gift for Christmas Day or my mother will be upset. I'll pay, then he can get himself a Coffee Maker later.' She pauses, and looks at us, then says, decisively: 'I'll put it in some Bubble-Wrap, to be on the Safe Side.'

out above the village, December 19

white flecked with brown the spray of grit
ground rising with the snow
where summer went in spray and arch of flower clothed
i go walking into winter
branch and bow below

the fields fall along the roadside
down and banking to the woods where trees
are inked against the swell
i remember flutters in the sky pale-winged or common blue
splashed the tinge of leaves

the flint inlaid under the skin
the flesh will melt to bone
yet church bells turn me on the hill and call and call and call
i am come to colour and the water welled of stone
this is no flash of inkling, but a soul

Packet Goods.

There's a Cup-a-Soup in the Fridge. In the packet, yes. Not in a Mug. That would be Just Weird. 'Dad. There's a Cup-a-Soup in your Fridge.' 'Yes, I wondered about that.' 'Right.' To my Brother: 'There's a Cup-a-Soup in the Fridge.' 'Yeah- what's all that about then?' 'Um.' How Irritated would my mother be if i were to itemize her Larder, i wonder. In the interests of Science. And this Blog. Seven (7 ) varieties of Cup-a-Soup, no, me neither: Canned Tomato Section (in-date sub-division); Emergency Chinese Curry Bank; a selection of unidentifiable Foreign Edibles Bought during a terrifying Smash and Grab in Oswestry Value Mart  (slogan: 'there's a reason it's so cheap'); 3 tins of condensed milk-
'Evaporated.' 'Sorry? 'It's evaporated milk. i may need to make a quiche, and i would require 2 tins of evaporated milk.' 'But you have 3.' 'Well, there's an extra.' Of Everything. 
My brother is emptying the cupboards of his flat, in preparation for moving out. 'Do you think mum would hear me, if i got up at six in the morning and made a list of...' (pause). 'There's a lot of Sauces in here.' 'A Lot? Not really A Lot.' 'i have filled this Whole Box. ' 'It's not All Sauce.' 'No. Some of it is Spam. You like Spam then.' 'No, i can't stand it.' Silence. 'There are Four Tins.' 'They haven't been opened though, have they?' 'Woaah'. 'What?' 'i opened the Fridge.' Defensively: 'I haven't been here for a while.' ' i need a bin bag- this is a pickled..? penis?' 'Not the pickles!' 'My mistake, it's Hot Dog Sausages. sort of.'
'Did you clear the food out then?' 'Yes. i hope you like spam.' Dad: 'No neither me or your brother can stand it.' Mum: 'We can give it to the birds, instead of lard.' (Disbelievingly): 'You can't feed a bird Spam. Oh, and, Mum?' 'Yes?' 'Why is there a Cup-a-Soup in your Fridge?' 'A what?' Walks to fridge. Picks up sachet. Frown. Puts back in box.

War of the Words.

The Parish Magazine has arrived. Late. i was not actually 'anxious' about this, though i am touched by the fulsomeness of the apology nonetheless. Also the explanation regarding the trouble with the photocopier, and effects of the Cold Snap on the Order. My favourite ever edition is still last year's Parable of the Muddy Field- where it became as hard to go back as go o'er: a LOT like life. However the image of Jesus as a Party-Loving Kind of Guy- i seem to have made him into Cliff Richard somehow- is a Keeper. Working a computer is clearly the Province of the Godly in Guilsfield, though, as Spotlight still comes Hot From the Typewriter. Better Still, would be a Bander Machine- if, for some Unfathomable Reason, you ever have to read Spotlight, you will definitely want to Inhale. There is a Quarterly Poem in Spotlight, Of the kind that makes you think it's not right, To put out in verse, Things that rhyme but don't scan or worse, Are about people's pets which is Spite (ful). There is also the Relentlessly Scintillating News Bulletins of such Village Hotbeds as Old School Committee, and Evergreen Club for the Retired Person.  If we move Higher Up, to the Giddy Echelons of The County Times we will see that this is not a Formatting Issue, but one of Locality, for this is also a Product of Half-Arsedry. Indeed it is renowned for it, to the degree that ex- residents of this area have it sent on to them, even overseas, when they are Fatigued by Photos of people With Heads. Daily Mail Letters pale beside the Correspondence Section of the CT: if Aliens ever alight on Our World and this chances to be their Point of Contact, they will proceed amongst us In Bafflement. They'll be especially unnerved by our surprise as they wander through the streets, seeing as So Very Many Folk in Powys have already Sighted them in their Hot Air Balloons and Tree-Shaped Spaceships. They will also be expecting Very Much More Rage about Dog Crap. Now, i wonder if you could pass me the scissors: there is a very interesting article here about Gritting Bins, which i would very much like to Paste into my Scrapbook.

december poem

this is my heart

here

and this is its case

a curve of
spine and skin
breast hips ribs thighs the carvings on the lid
only patterns the inscription of
another hidden and revealed past


present
 

Wonderland

There is a point, in Through the Looking Glass, where one senses Carroll could throw Anything at Alice, (Eggs in Cravats, Pig-Babies, Terrible Verse) and she would shrug and start texting her Homies about Flashmobbing  Prescott's next Public Faux-Pas armed with flamingos and placards written in white paint, no red paint, no, white. Well, that's the Electorate of This Country now. I must have read 5 Articles in the last week or so, where the Grown-Ups shake their heads sadly at the Raggle-Taggle Student Protesters Turning Up day after day to express their Outrage over the Attacks on their Future. It IS Silly that they keep Banging on about Cuts and Unfairness, when it's All Sorted Out now, and the Poor and Vulnerable are no longer getting a Total Screwing in the Finger in the Dam Budget.  Sorry? It's not 'fixed'? It's Still a Daily Sicking Up of  Ill-Judged  Bullying informed by Dismissive Class Ignorance and Revulsion For Weakness or Need? Shall i explain exactly how successful my 'Tidy Your Room or there's No Pocket Money until You Do' Clamp Down has been? Put it this way, Doc has no need to look elsewhere for power for the Dolorean. Ever. But the same approach is Definitely going to work with Heroin Addicts because they're a much more Persuasive, Soft-Living Crowd. If it rains, you put your umbrella and mutter a bit. If it pours, you Pile Invective on the Weather Reporters for telling you to buy a Barbeque and then expecting you to turn it into a Houseboat at the last minute. Well, this is the Flood, this is Endless, Sickening, Stomach Turning Waves of Edicts and Proclamations bent on washing away the NHS, the Social Welfare System, and the Precept of Equal Expectation Education. And you've picked up an Egg Cup to start Bailing Out and put it down again, because you're overwhelmed. Your Only Hope now is fetch your best Helena Bonham-Carter Dressing up Clothes, dust off your DMs and Join the Kids. Or you may as well start filling your pockets with stones.