Last week Labour held their annual conference. Being in power for 10 years and successfully transferring leaders to lay the foundations for another legacy have left them in bullish mood. This new leader is known to us all as the intelligent, patient more left minded man than his predecessor. If an election was called soon, which is likely to happen, the Labour party should win handsomely. Even some of the Conservatives believe Labour will win. So is this a good thing?
Yes and no. The Conservatives are in disarray at the moment and are in no position to really challenge. They are split into two factions, the David Cameron’s New Conservatives and the traditionalist side lead by politicians such as David Davis and John Redwood. Cameron’s camp believe on creating a ‘hipper’ party that is more open-minded to young people, immigrants and education. It sounds refreshing apart from the manner in which it is delivered. The dollops of cringing sound bites, “Let sunshine win the day”. And his championing of “Hug a hoodie” reeks of insincerity. No body believes that an ex-Etonian wants to hug a hoodie and therefore the public think he is being patronising and his refreshing new views are nothing more than a smokescreen to get into power.
On the flipside the traditionalist abhor this new wave of Conservatives because of its liberal approach to policies and citizens. Every one of them still hopes secretly that Margaret Thatcher will return and smite all those new breeds for daring to change the Conservative way. Her recent visit with Gordon Brown was a stark reminder that she still has influence over this party. However, the dark element of the traditionalist stance is that it is so far right that the racists leech onto them. Not combative, skin head racists but those that are ingrained in high statuses of society. Who will speak to ethic minorities, do business with them but will have no problem in implanting and lobbying racist policies. Not the most popular of factions with the general public fortunately but none the less they are extremely influential within their own party undermining their leader making him look amateurish and boyish compared to his red contemporary.
The Liberals are faring worse. When Charles Kennedy was leading them, there was a charismatic swagger to their approach of politics. This turned out to fuelled by alcohol consumption but people liked it. Now no one knows what’s going to happen. Everyone thinks Menzies Campbell will step down soon because he doesn’t “look like a leader” and someone else will take his place. So things seem good for Labour and the United Kingdom.
Not necessarily. Even the most stalwart Conservative can’t help but admire the intelligence of the current PM or how well the economy was handled under his tenure. He must be aware that the Conservatives cannot mount a significant challenge to dent his and must be feeling confident. But there is a worry that such a meagre challenge will lead him to believe he can do what he likes. There is no challenge from the Tories only the challenges he faces within himself. Could he start to feel omnipotent and make decisions that perhaps are not the best interest of the country? His predecessor thought he was when he vetoed NATO in bypassing sanctions and declaring war on Iraq. It is up to the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats to mount a stronger challenge so that we get the best out of Gordon Brown and Labour because a landslide victory will only enthuse them into doing exactly what they want thinking they have the UK citizen’s approval.
Enough political reflection, here is some progressive prose that I bashed out.
Yes and no. The Conservatives are in disarray at the moment and are in no position to really challenge. They are split into two factions, the David Cameron’s New Conservatives and the traditionalist side lead by politicians such as David Davis and John Redwood. Cameron’s camp believe on creating a ‘hipper’ party that is more open-minded to young people, immigrants and education. It sounds refreshing apart from the manner in which it is delivered. The dollops of cringing sound bites, “Let sunshine win the day”. And his championing of “Hug a hoodie” reeks of insincerity. No body believes that an ex-Etonian wants to hug a hoodie and therefore the public think he is being patronising and his refreshing new views are nothing more than a smokescreen to get into power.
On the flipside the traditionalist abhor this new wave of Conservatives because of its liberal approach to policies and citizens. Every one of them still hopes secretly that Margaret Thatcher will return and smite all those new breeds for daring to change the Conservative way. Her recent visit with Gordon Brown was a stark reminder that she still has influence over this party. However, the dark element of the traditionalist stance is that it is so far right that the racists leech onto them. Not combative, skin head racists but those that are ingrained in high statuses of society. Who will speak to ethic minorities, do business with them but will have no problem in implanting and lobbying racist policies. Not the most popular of factions with the general public fortunately but none the less they are extremely influential within their own party undermining their leader making him look amateurish and boyish compared to his red contemporary.
The Liberals are faring worse. When Charles Kennedy was leading them, there was a charismatic swagger to their approach of politics. This turned out to fuelled by alcohol consumption but people liked it. Now no one knows what’s going to happen. Everyone thinks Menzies Campbell will step down soon because he doesn’t “look like a leader” and someone else will take his place. So things seem good for Labour and the United Kingdom.
Not necessarily. Even the most stalwart Conservative can’t help but admire the intelligence of the current PM or how well the economy was handled under his tenure. He must be aware that the Conservatives cannot mount a significant challenge to dent his and must be feeling confident. But there is a worry that such a meagre challenge will lead him to believe he can do what he likes. There is no challenge from the Tories only the challenges he faces within himself. Could he start to feel omnipotent and make decisions that perhaps are not the best interest of the country? His predecessor thought he was when he vetoed NATO in bypassing sanctions and declaring war on Iraq. It is up to the Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats to mount a stronger challenge so that we get the best out of Gordon Brown and Labour because a landslide victory will only enthuse them into doing exactly what they want thinking they have the UK citizen’s approval.
Enough political reflection, here is some progressive prose that I bashed out.
*******************************
Forcibly shaking his head to wake himself from his thoughts he walks over to the bottles of cider and looks at the list, looking to see how many need to be replaced. The numbers are right there on the paper but he can’t see them, he looks down, bulges out his eyes but can’t see them, his mind won’t allow him to and when realising this he decides to sit on the stool to rest. Karen, drifts back into his mind but he suppresses her image deep down. After five minutes he looks at the list again and sees the he needs to replace 16 bottles so picks them out and places them into the basket and wheels out of the stock room back out onto the garage floor. Clarence is reading her magazine, her head bowed down in between her elbows when she notices Yannish.
“What’s up with you, you was full of beans earlier and now you look like, well like shit.” She said half glancing at her article half glancing at him.
“I’m all right, it’s just been a bit of crazy day.”
“Oh ok, anything you want to talk about?”
He feels his chest constricting every time someone asks if he wants to talk about it. It’s not about the talking, the talking is fine it’s the fact he’s supposed to speak right there as soon as the question has been spoken. It’s virtually obligatory. He doesn’t know how to do that sort of thing, he’s not a tap when turned gushes out emotion. He wants to talk but it won’t be straight after this sentence.
“It’s ok, I just want to get this stock replenished.” Comes his reply.
“Ok.” Says Clarence as she turns back to her magazine article discussing the Kyrgyzstan’s arms smuggling route.
The stock of beer cans are soon stacked up and next he goes for the cider bottles, these are slightly higher so he raises his feet and pushes back the last bottle right to the back to give more space. Looking down the small column he just made he sees a spider’s web created in between to bottles. He peers as it’s complexity and can’t help but wish he could achieve something of that grandeur on a human level. The spider scurries across the new opening that had just been created stops for a moment and then ventures in the darkness of between two bottles. Yannish still amazed and the weaving and interlocking of each strand.
A thud comes banging on one of the windows by a flat palm of a hand, boisterous babbling can be heard outside at first faintly but ever increasing. The thud was the warning sign that Friday night people are en route. The sliding doors move aside and in pour 6 people, swaying as they walk to the counter and chatting to each other, not aware that they are doing it very loud. One of them diverts to where the crisps are kept and picks up a packet of Pork Scratchings. He throws it at one the men in the queue.
“Hey, get me these.”
The Pork Scratchings lands smack on the unsuspecting face of the man in the queue.
“Queue up and get it your self you prick.”
The other men in the queue start laughing until another of them walks over to the chewing gum area and starts picking up packets looking at them and dropping them as he strives to find something. The packets fall off the stand on to floor.
“They haven’t got any cinnamon flavour.”
“Sorry my dear but we’ve never had any cinnamon flavour, we’ve had mint, in fact we’ve had mint for the last 15 years, perhaps you’ve mistaken cinnamon for mint. And actually mean mint” Says Clarence in a very dry tone with all intonations delivered aplomb.
Her response causes more laughter to erupt, as the guys hear nothing in retaliation from their friend but instead when looking over see a perplexed looking face desperately trying to find something witty to remark but unable to, either because of his lack of ingenuity or the fact he has drunk too much.
“Come to think of it I’ve never heard cinnamon flavour chewing gum in England.” Came a voice from the queue.
More laughter.
The young man who was still holding packet of mint flavoured chewing gum now looks glum as he slowly walks back to the queue to pay for the mint flavoured ones. The remaining people wait their turn to be served cigarettes and Rizla packets. Clarence, polite as always can’t help noticing the different pungent smells of each one of their breaths. One smells of rum, one of whisky, the majority beer but she felt one of them smelt of some sort of alcho-pop.
They all leave as they entered noisily chatting and stomping about, but in peace, apart from the chewing gum man who decides to throw a few packets of crisps on the floor as either an act of retaliation or of revenge. Which ever one it was it wasn’t very imaginative or poignant thinks Clarence.
Yannish lets out a sigh, he recognised the group from his college, he didn’t really know them personally but knew most of them by name. He wished now he did go out and made up an excuse not to go to work.
“Can you cover me I’m just popping to the loo.” Said Clarence as she slides down from the chair and makes her way out back.
He puts down the bottle of cider and starts to walk over to the two packets of crisps that had been thrown to the ground. He couldn’t help but laugh a little at the heinous crime that had happened to the cheese and onion flavoured packets. Nestled back with the rest he makes his way over to chewing gum and starts placing those back into some sort of order but making sure the mint and extra strong mint flavours are kept apart. The sliding doors opened again.
“What’s up with you, you was full of beans earlier and now you look like, well like shit.” She said half glancing at her article half glancing at him.
“I’m all right, it’s just been a bit of crazy day.”
“Oh ok, anything you want to talk about?”
He feels his chest constricting every time someone asks if he wants to talk about it. It’s not about the talking, the talking is fine it’s the fact he’s supposed to speak right there as soon as the question has been spoken. It’s virtually obligatory. He doesn’t know how to do that sort of thing, he’s not a tap when turned gushes out emotion. He wants to talk but it won’t be straight after this sentence.
“It’s ok, I just want to get this stock replenished.” Comes his reply.
“Ok.” Says Clarence as she turns back to her magazine article discussing the Kyrgyzstan’s arms smuggling route.
The stock of beer cans are soon stacked up and next he goes for the cider bottles, these are slightly higher so he raises his feet and pushes back the last bottle right to the back to give more space. Looking down the small column he just made he sees a spider’s web created in between to bottles. He peers as it’s complexity and can’t help but wish he could achieve something of that grandeur on a human level. The spider scurries across the new opening that had just been created stops for a moment and then ventures in the darkness of between two bottles. Yannish still amazed and the weaving and interlocking of each strand.
A thud comes banging on one of the windows by a flat palm of a hand, boisterous babbling can be heard outside at first faintly but ever increasing. The thud was the warning sign that Friday night people are en route. The sliding doors move aside and in pour 6 people, swaying as they walk to the counter and chatting to each other, not aware that they are doing it very loud. One of them diverts to where the crisps are kept and picks up a packet of Pork Scratchings. He throws it at one the men in the queue.
“Hey, get me these.”
The Pork Scratchings lands smack on the unsuspecting face of the man in the queue.
“Queue up and get it your self you prick.”
The other men in the queue start laughing until another of them walks over to the chewing gum area and starts picking up packets looking at them and dropping them as he strives to find something. The packets fall off the stand on to floor.
“They haven’t got any cinnamon flavour.”
“Sorry my dear but we’ve never had any cinnamon flavour, we’ve had mint, in fact we’ve had mint for the last 15 years, perhaps you’ve mistaken cinnamon for mint. And actually mean mint” Says Clarence in a very dry tone with all intonations delivered aplomb.
Her response causes more laughter to erupt, as the guys hear nothing in retaliation from their friend but instead when looking over see a perplexed looking face desperately trying to find something witty to remark but unable to, either because of his lack of ingenuity or the fact he has drunk too much.
“Come to think of it I’ve never heard cinnamon flavour chewing gum in England.” Came a voice from the queue.
More laughter.
The young man who was still holding packet of mint flavoured chewing gum now looks glum as he slowly walks back to the queue to pay for the mint flavoured ones. The remaining people wait their turn to be served cigarettes and Rizla packets. Clarence, polite as always can’t help noticing the different pungent smells of each one of their breaths. One smells of rum, one of whisky, the majority beer but she felt one of them smelt of some sort of alcho-pop.
They all leave as they entered noisily chatting and stomping about, but in peace, apart from the chewing gum man who decides to throw a few packets of crisps on the floor as either an act of retaliation or of revenge. Which ever one it was it wasn’t very imaginative or poignant thinks Clarence.
Yannish lets out a sigh, he recognised the group from his college, he didn’t really know them personally but knew most of them by name. He wished now he did go out and made up an excuse not to go to work.
“Can you cover me I’m just popping to the loo.” Said Clarence as she slides down from the chair and makes her way out back.
He puts down the bottle of cider and starts to walk over to the two packets of crisps that had been thrown to the ground. He couldn’t help but laugh a little at the heinous crime that had happened to the cheese and onion flavoured packets. Nestled back with the rest he makes his way over to chewing gum and starts placing those back into some sort of order but making sure the mint and extra strong mint flavours are kept apart. The sliding doors opened again.
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