Walk On The Wild Side

Posted on October 19, 2011 by emmacalin

“Ee’s just gonna do ‘is teef,” came intercom voice from floor 23, “ee’s bein’ a right little sh*t to me ee is. Ee’s in an ‘orrible mood.”
Oh no – anger management issues in the sky village tower block. I wait in the bus. The lad appears, turns and lobs a half consumed can of breakfast Red Bull at the wall and stamps towards me. A lady runs out from the doors dressed in a dressing gown. She has no shoes.
“Pick that up!”she yells, turning to me. “Ee wasn’t brought up like that. I had to follow him down in case he ran off or summink.”
I glanced at the boy. He looked surly and troubled. I wish he had run off. The woman looks tired and strained. Her face and voice are smoked out. The contest of life is winning on points and she’s hanging on the ropes ducking as many blows as she can. You kinda feel that the referee should stop the fight. My life is wonderful. I am a lucky privileged person. My heart goes out to this poor woman. I bet she’s on her own. I give her a warm look, hoping I don’t look like a posho being a feel-good kind liberal. She shrugs and goes back to her cell in the sky village. I wonder if she has the cash for some fags to dull the agony of daytime TV.

I’m getting very concerned about the British High Street. I think most High Streets will soon be renamed as Low Streets. Out of town malls and retail complexes are turning town centres into lines of charity shops, Tanning salons, Nail bars, Tattoo and piercing studios and of course Fish pedicure clinics. Well, I tell you one thing – even if I had a fish with feet, there’s no way that I would take it to a clinic to be pampered. The government appear to share some of my concerns, at least from the public health view point. Seemingly a high percentage of body piercings become infected. Also there is the problem of parents bringing their babies to be pierced. I mean – is it just me or are there other people who don’t like looking someone in the eye and being distracted by lip, nostril, chin and eyebrow studs or rings? You cannot get your genitals or nipples pierced until you are 16 years old. Apparently up to 10 per cent of adults in the UK have this kind of piercing. What is going on here? Who will be the first President or Prime Minister to have facial piercings or tattoos? The punctured generation will soon be the total electorate. Instead of putting a cross on the ballot paper you will have to make a hole through it.

Dire warnings about Hepatitis and Aids risks associated with feet eating fish have appeared in the press. I guess the fish aren’t too happy either. Are feet part of a proper balanced diet?

Emma thinx: Legitimise your anger. Call someone else a bastard.

And Now – Here is The History Of The News

Posted on October 18, 2011 by emmacalin

I ask this question rhetorically……When did the idea of “The News” first come up. There must have been a time before “News”. I guess when cave persons (see how PC I am) were sitting round their roasted dinosaur crumb roasted twizzler, they told tales of the day’s hunting and gathering. Maybe a tribe member had met his destiny under a mammoth foot or a French-cave-lady had discovered a new way to cook lizard gizzard in a wine and shallot sauce.( I bet some Madame de cuisine has already done it). Mainly I guess they told tales of recent history. Perhaps a smooth guy turned (stony faced) to camera and smiled “And now for the Olds”.

Every day on my bus I drive out to my first pick up. I listen to BBC Radio 4. The “Today” programme brings me news and analysis of all those things that are just so important TODAY. I know that when I pick up the kids they’ll be yelling for moooosic. I really resent having to miss all the important NEWS about all those things that I hadn’t realised even existed or were possible. It’s a bit like Alcoholics Anonymous. You have to admit that you are a NEWS addict. Just imagine….the dramatic anticipatory communicatory music fades away – the grave presenter opens the bulletin and says “Today there is no news. Instead we are playing you the new recordings by Pixie Lott and Kelly Clarkson.” Bloody hell – if they are new recordings there is some news! Who produced it, who wrote the lyrics? There must be an expert somewhere to give me some informed analysis. No News…. Sheesh, they had me worried there.

Years ago there was an advertisement on TV for a product called 1001 ( They had a jingle-“A Thousand and one cleans a big big carpet for less than half a crown”. That’s about 13 pence-20 cents ). All that was before I was born – but my father used to sing it when he used the vax. He never had much in life you know. But today the numbers of one thousand to one have jingled and jangled all day on the NEWS. There has been much discussion as to whether or not the release of ONE Israeli man equates to the release of ONE THOUSAND Palestinian men. Some correspondents have kinda viewed it as a deal like buying a car -“Hey, if you’d hung in there you coulda got some alloy wheels. If you’d have toughed it out you coulda got the car for free!” I say – measure the deal in the joy it brings to all those families. Then I say- tell me what joy any slaughter has ever brought to any man. Think of the thousands who cannot return from the dead. What would you pay to rescue one of them if you could? And I’ll tell you something else. The name of the Israeli soldier who was released was known to every soul in Israel and many folk beyond that. You cannot read out a thousand names and so it is a statistic and the deal sounds like betting odds. Mankind can do better. We can. We know we can. Let’s start tonight in the homes and hearts of everyone set free this day to write a future.

And so, to the point where I meant to start my blog. I have never been to war or been a soldier. I am a hedonist saved from debauchery because I can’t afford it. I have scrimped and saved to debauch as much as possible though. This afternoon I finished Bert Carson’s book “Fourth and Forever”. I will admit that I still don’t fully understand American football. What I do understand is that Bert’s breakdown and social analysis of the whole Vietnam War and its aftermath is more succinctly portrayed here than in any lengthy book on psychology/sociology. You see – the guy was there! He was there! Just think about that and the difference it makes. One day there won’t be anyone alive who was there. To a foreigner, the Vietnam War is like a kinda watershed in American political life that seemed to me as a kid to play out like a civil war that divided the USA far more than it divided communism from capitalism. In a few paragraphs Bert clarifies the whole experience of Vets returning to a homeland with no comprehension of what their warriors had been through. Soldiers suddenly lost the bonds of comradeship that had sustained them and returned to a job at the shopping mall with flash-backs of courage and horror to be kicked up the ass by bright shiny executives for day dreaming on the job. Actually it’s amazing that so many of them just got on with it, at least in public. “Fourth and Forever” is a book about coming of age in one sense and about coming to terms in another sense. It is an inspirational story written honestly in a plain word style that Hemingway could not have faulted. While I was reading it I kept thinking of a screenplay for a film…Come on Hollywood, catch this ball and run with it.

Emma thinx: Pin a label on your enemy. Pin a name on a fellow man.

No Spare Tyre

Posted on October 17, 2011 by emmacalin

I once went on an “extended interview”. The job was as a minor official with an eminent UK cycling organisation. I arrived in a room containing about 30 people. Oh yes – we were all there for the same job. We were going to spend the day in teams working on issues and projects whilst we were monitored by important assessors. Then, a final long list was to be drawn up and over the following month or so more interviews and tests would eventually lead to the appointment of the lucky person to a job at about minimum wage. During the day we all had to give power point presentations which we had prepared at home on the subject that “Cycling is seen as a posh middle class activity.” I think they meant people with “Stand Aside” 4X4’s with bikes on the roof for kids called Tamsin and Tarquin Foreskin-Smythe. Then we had to do role plays with other applicants, analyse pages of accident statistics and discuss areas such as strategies, marketing and presentation. Smug but smooth managers moved among us mumbling holy words like “Anticipated roll-out profiles within contexts of multi-layered platforms of social interactions.” In one of my own exercises I had to plan a multi-cultural fun experience transcending stereotypical attitudes whilst heightening ecological issues. I suggested a carnival procession without hydrocarbon entitled “Chilli con carnival” featuring a flypast by the “Red Barrows” (The Red Arrows are the crack Royal Air-Force display team). Red wheelbarrows could be zoomed around by ethnically neutral persons making aeroplane noises. I thought the examiner was gonna choke. It’s been a couple of years now and it’s beginning to look as if I didn’t make the cut.

The above experience came to mind tonight as I had to solve a problem. Imagine yourself driving a bus loaded with handicapped children. The bus starts to steer a bit heavy and you know there’s a puncture. You can’t really leave the bus or wait on the carriageway when you know there will soon be toilet issues. I spot a service station which is about big enough to take 3 family cars. I attempt an heroic shunt onto the forecourt. People run for cover. The Air line is out of order. I decide to head for the bus depot and make it with the wheel rim rim intact. If only those clever assessors could have analysed my strategy development.

Emma thinx: Liberal authoritarianism -you are free to obey.

Pick And Mix

Posted on October 16, 2011 by emmacalin

Ever since the demise of Woolworth’s our world has lacked the joy of the pick n’ mix sweets display. If I were to be really pompous and OTT I could say that it represented a philosophy of opportunity, infinite choice and reward. It was the free market of anticipated pleasure. Now why is this daft old Doris in the fried egg and banana sweet display? Well, watching the “global” demonstrations against “Corporate Greed” the image of the Pick and Mix keeps flashing into my mind. Should I join the jelly baby, fruit chew and dolly mixture coalition, the Red Strawberry Brigade or should I stand up and march goose-step in black uniform with the Liquorice Jugend? The choice is mine if I can ever be certain enough to dip my scoop and pay up. We live in interesting times when the old political show is indeed like some dated summer camp concert. As a spleenager I used to love punk music – (you should see me pogo guys!). There is a lyric in the 1977 song “Anarchy in the UK” which reads “Don’t know what I want but I know how to get it.” A further line reads “Your future dream is a sharpie’s scheme.” My dictionary gives a definition of “sharpie” as a “dishonest or cunning person. Now, as a very grown up parent with a life hard lived, lusted and busted I still see the fresh anger and confused accusation of this song. The modern young generation have an itch they cannot scratch – indeed because they have jumped nothing but focused educational hoops, they have received no word for that itch. They were told the pedlar had everything in his pack for them and that they could be even richer pedlars themselves. They have no anthems, no heroes and no leaders ….YET. In troubled times the winning slogan will be simple. The leader will wear some kind of boots – style to be decided. Sandals or slippers are unlikely.

I know that I overwork the word JOY. The reason is simple. In the universe of our hearts there is so much of it and yet we allow ourselves so little. Just now and then life gives you a booster jab of joy. Today, the joy was not my own – but danced and flung itself in ecstasy from the canvases of an artist. When Gilles spotted a sign advertising an exhibition outside a house as he was driving home I expected a polite amateur show of “local” art. We wandered along this afternoon to take a look at the paintings of Sara Barnes. Let me say simply that it is a long time since I desperately wanted to write a poem. The picture below speaks so vibrantly of the defiant fragility of blooms against the sky, the hidden force of their roots feeding their cry of mortal beauty into the deaf indifference of the ocean.

Then we have a canvas of Exbury Gardens which needs no words and is a visual feast of atmosphere,light and colour.

Then an unwitting careless study of innocence, hierarchy, fascination and that peculiar English childhood of rock pool discovery. The disequilibrium of the child in green, reflects a gauche accidental view of vulnerability and mortality.(Literatti among you might wish to check out “The Shrimp and the Anemone” by L.P. Hartley which explores this theme).

And finally a picture of that transcendent quality of motion that ballet sets out to achieve. Here a dancer leaps into the space of possibility that our imagination sketches ahead of us in time.

Feel the joy in that flight! I arrived too late to buy the above picture and paintings were flying off the walls. Remember the name: Sara Barnes (artist).

Emma thinx: A pure vacuum has no choice of what it sucks in.

War Horses

Posted on October 15, 2011 by emmacalin

A man has appeared in court in London charged with assaulting a police dog that was chasing him. Somehow I suspect that if he had assaulted a police officer very little would have been made of it. The alleged villain is called Lukasz Sklepowski, 28 years of no fixed address. The dog is named “Zincan”. I bet the get well cards and choco dog treats are already arriving at Scotland Yard. In 1982 a horse of the household Cavalry was injured in a terrorist nail bomb outrage in London. The horse received more cards and gifts than all the soldiers killed and injured that day. Sefton eventually recovered enough to return to duty. It was probably the biggest PR mistake that the IRA ever made. To me it seems only fair that poor beasts with no choice should be seen as special heroes. Those old newsreel shots of mules being craned onto boats to go to war do pull a tender chord.

Of course it is romantic to think of Mountain Rescue Dogs. Given the chance I would like to go out with rugged guys and rescue mountains in return for some chocolate and a head massage. All manner of special rescue and crotch sniffing drug dogs deserve our applause. Some working mutts will never make the front page, yet their contribution to our lives is beyond price. We need look no further than Alf – the workshop dog. Imagine the problem of a bus coming back from a trip with football supporters. In addition to beer cans, sweet wrappings and crisp packets, there are certain to be all manner of Kentucky fried wings and burger bits all around the cabin. Alf is placed on board by his handler and within minutes every shred of chicken batter and burger bap is discovered and devoured. If ever a dog deserves the eco-reycle medal of gallantry it is Alf.

I’ve just come back from the movies where I have been watching Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris. This is a simply fabulous film. It is witty, philosophical and just so sumptuously photographed. It is worth seeing just for the pictures of Paris. There is a great cameo role by Carla Bruni, wife of President Sarkozy. I always find that kinda stuff weird – like watching a U.S. president in a cowboy film. Nah – that’s just too far fetched.

Emma thinx: A spider would make 2 four legged friends

Chocs Away.

Posted on October 14, 2011 by emmacalin

I’m tempted to quote Oscar Wilde on the subject of temptation. Unlike a genius and literary superstar, I can resist – which is probably why I drive a bus. But I am sure that many of my own romantic fiction readers here in the UK will know that it is National Chocolate week. Why do we need it? Every week is chocolate week, even if you don’t succumb to a solitary Malteser. Look – all I’ve had this week is a packet of Turkish Delight – and that was an ASDA own brand budget deal so it can’t really be counted can it? I have put up a struggle in the face of immense aggression from the chocolatiers of this world. Hotel Chocolat sent me an invitation to join their Chocolate Tasting Club. Their brochure invites me to “reach my bliss point”. Do they think that such blatant erotically charged lustful hedonism would move me? Too bloody right it would! Most junk mail goes straight in the bin. I’m not quite ready to take that final step, but I will be once I’ve signed up.

Whilst in ASDA buying my budget Turkish Delight (I think it’s a love it or hate it), I bought some sun flowers. At home in Charente Maritime they are a backdrop to summer, an orgy of careless beauty grown as a crop. You know I think that the context in which we see things is more important than the thing itself. A huge field of blooms is like a mob, an army or a nameless crowd. A few individuals in a vase are a work of art and a study of joy. How would life be if we saw the mass proletariat as precious and beautiful? How would it be if the poor and all the trampled dead of war could live an hour on canvas or in a vase or in the heart of the oppressors? We would know something then of our purpose – which is to love, to forgive and to share our chocolates. You thought I’d got God didn’t you?

Emma thinx: The crop is our reality. Each bloom is our truth.

Camera Obscura

Posted on October 13, 2011 by emmacalin

You know that feeling when things are going well – that feeling of inevitable victory that all those self improvement gurus tell you to re-create when you’re about to take that penalty to win the World Cup. Well, today I had that feeling. Traffic was light. I sailed through a verdant spring-time of green traffic lights. A police officer was hiding in the front garden of a house with a speed gun and a bus coming the other way tipped me off. I cruised past him at 10 miles per hour as he pointed his ray gun at me. I gave him a big “Gotcha” wave and a smirk as I passed his bush hideout. I could see a twisted rage etched on his snide face. He looked like he needed the figures for the boss. A bus would have been a headline “public menace trapped by hero cop” catch.

I swung the bus back into the yard at the depot. There was a good clear slot to back in. I shut down and got my things together….I wrote the date on the defect sheet – the 13th. Hah! I said to myself – No worries. Then I glanced back through the aisle. There was a leg sticking out from behind the back seat. There was no discernible movement. “Oh F***k” I thought. I dashed to the scene and saw a lad sleeping so peacefully that it was almost beautiful. Some kind of intuition woke him up. He stared at me. At least he was alive. I knew that he should have got off at a stop about 5 miles from the depot. It was my own fault. Some of the kids get off at stops and some go to their front door. This kid hadn’t got off and I hadn’t noticed. He should have been home about 90 minutes earlier. I jumped back to the wheel and queued through the rush hour to get him home. I took him to the door, explained things to his mother and did a 46 point turn to get out of his road. Back at the depot my slot had gone and I was left with an angled shunt into a tight gap. It’s just so easy to break a mirror! Looks like the next 7 years are gonna be tough. I didn’t cry – well, not much. At least I can dream of that thwarted cop sobbing in his bush.

Before my afternoon shift I clicked on the TV and watched a black and white film about the sinking of the battleship “Bismarck” in World War Two. I just love those posh clipped accents and duffel coats. The good guys won of course. Suddenly I saw a deep truth of the universe. Colour film destroys Empire. When history was in black and white we won. Since colour we have been in a downward spiral. Come to think of it our prime minister looks a bit orange. Can’t imagine dear old Winston in spray tan.

Emma thinx: Superstition – the popular front for legitimate mystery.

Putting The Boot In.

Posted on October 12, 2011 by emmacalin

Many moons ago while I was working in my kitchen, my daughter came to me sobbing and asked if she could raise a very serious issue. Oh no – this must be the pregnancy/drug addiction/solvent abuse/pedophile situation that we watch as entertainment on the soaps, but do not wish to confront with the suds. I dried my hands and took her to the lounge, selected some calming baroque music and told her that whatever it was, we were there for her, that I knew several state registered professional counsellors and that we would not be cross. I decided not to raise the possibility of groundings, thrashings or bread and water diets. At last she spoke.
“Mother – um – I think it’s about time I had some Adidas trainers. I’m being blanked and excluded because I haven’t got brand names on my clothes.”
It was true. “But you’re not being held up at knife-point by trainer pirates”
“No,” she conceded -“but I am called a retard and a dork. I’d rather be stabbed.”
The truth was of course that she was being stabbed. Needless to say we pulled together as a family, called in some counsellors and had the child suitably billboarded and labelled. I knew that one day our innocent unbranded world would end. We had had a good run. She was nearly seven after all.

My dear friend Oscar Sparrow wrote a poem about fashion and how it had mattered to him as a kid – long before he became a stuffaphobe Buddhist and renounced all possessions. Check out “Fashion Footwear” here.

And so it is that I tip out my load of kids each day at the college as waves of fashion branded youths troop in. A few retards and dorks mingle in, but are clearly an underclass of non-populars. Fashion and status have become tyrants, and it is not only the young who suffer it. In my guise of a sportive cyclist more and more carbon fibre bandanna clad executive types swap “better than you” tales of Specialised and Trek. I have a Boardman from Halfords and jolly good value it is too!

This whole subject came to mind as Prime Minister Cameron launches a mission to restore childhood and to stop kids advertising to kids on TV. Pester power is truly an awful phenomenon. Most parents I know with even 3 year old kids are hounded by demands – some of which the three year olds pick up from advertising on their lap tops. I witnessed such a thing earlier this week and I was astonished. Would you let a three year old play on the internet? Come to think of it they would probably be a bit sophisticated for some forum sites.

Some things are just so hard to judge aren’t they? The trial of Yulia Tymoshenko (ex-president of Ukraine) all looks a bit like a political shenanigans to me. (Good job Gordon Brown was’nt put on trial for losing £7billion on our UK gold!). I mean – she’s a simple billionaire girl who mis-read her gas meter. Seven years in jail seems harsh. I just hope they have decent hairdressing salons. I can tell her that Gilles is very much on her side and that if ever she comes back to politics he would definitely offer to stuff her envelopes. Why are there so many multi-billionaires? Which bus company are they driving for?

Emma thinx: Reveal your inner darkness. Let your roots grow out.

King Of The Fountains

Posted on October 11, 2011 by emmacalin

By the time you get to my age you feel that maybe you’ve seen a fair bit. Well – you may have done but the fact is that so much changes so quickly. I arrived at the internet keyboard as a pure virgin only a couple of years ago and it is only recently that I had the courage to venture onto a forum. I felt like an apprentice wildebeest attempting to cross a crocodile infested river. I had always imagined cyclists to be gentle grass eating creatures. I had clicked on a link to the magazine of the Cyclists Touring Club. I figured there might be some advice for the guys on positioning your winter flask in your shorts to avoid embarrassment or a few patterns to knit your own Lycra. I spotted a thread about bus drivers and their interaction with pedallers. As a member of both communities I read on. Suddenly I realised that I had unearthed a 2 wheeled Al Qaeda cell. All bus drivers were reviled as Morons. I decided to put the contrary case, pointing out that cyclists needed to understand the operation of big vehicles and of visibility/mirror issues. Dear Oh dear! Back came echoes of bile and hatred. MORON, MORON! chanted an accuser. I felt the tearing of flesh as the crocs tore into me and pulled me under. And that was a forum for righteous lentil gobblers.

So- looking at yesterday’s item about honey bees, I read some of the comments that readers had added on the Newspaper website. The professors were “feathering their own nests”. A counter opinionater declared that another correspondent was a “Mong” who should get back under his shell. The fact is that this sort of behaviour is horrid. Everyone in the writing game has come up against Trolls who abuse other people’s work in an unacceptable way. In my opinion some “forums” are Troll fronts where many correspondents are mentally ill. A few days ago a man appeared in Court in the UK for trolling on memorial websites to dead kids. If you do not know of this case check it out here.

The fact is that anonymity permits the very worst of us to emerge, uninhibited by fear of actual violence or reprisal. I know a lad whose life was turned into a Hell by cyber threats on Facebook. I feel myself lucky to have grown up before any such thing was possible. I have just a suspicion that I might have been cowardly enough to express my true vile self.

Emma thinx: You can snipe at rabbits but beware of the cross hares.

Lean and Mean.

Posted on October 10, 2011 by emmacalin

It’s all toppling you know. Everything we believed in and trusted lies trampled in the dirt of experience. Bloody good thing too if you ask me! Today the British nation learned that Big Ben is leaning. It’s only a small lean – but in 4,000 years it could topple. Apparently the lean of 1.5 inches is perceptible to the naked eye from Parliament Square. Well, I can tell you that my ex husband would not have been able to spot it. He used to think that a spirit level was the whisky department of the supermarket. We had shelves that looked like the doors of a gull wing Mercedes. But they did have a certain charm. Many a dinner guest asked if there had been an earthquake. The completely vertical tower of Pisa just does not have any cachet does it? My suspicion is that all of this stuff is a part of a tourist promo – “see it before it’s too late” stunt.

Then there is far more serious leaning from vertical in the actual Houses of Parliament. Now, I want you all to note that this is the first and probably the last time that I speak well of a Tory. (That is a Conservative politician). Poor old Dr Fox (Minister for Defence) is being hounded by the righteous because his mate has been bragging about “My friend the minister” and hanging about in the corridors of power. Look – the whole Power and influence thing is based on friendships, insider deals and assortative matings. The minister appears to have a loud mouthed friend who loved bigging himself up and fancies himself as a bit of a fixer. Now the righteous are all huffing and puffing. The main hound-master admitted that his own Party had taken money from this same guy to assist with “Policy Development”. OK readers – I’m gonna give you £10,000 pounds to fund a nice policy making trip. No strings attached – but let’s all be friends eh. Hypocrisy and tub thumping methinks.

Scientists at the local university are suddenly in the spotlight for asking if bees are affected by diesel fumes. The theory is that small particulates of combusted fuel disturb the function of their brains and they cannot find their way home. Almost certainly this is true. Many bus drivers who have lived their whole lives in diesel fumes cannot find their way anywhere. I still know where my home is in France and I long to be there.

And finally on the subject of leaning towers I was once in Venice and asked a guide why the Campanile had fallen down in 1902.
“I don’ta know – ma – no worry – we make again esattemente the same – no deefference.” Might be one to watch. If leaning structures are your thing check out Fred Dibnah.

Emma thinx: Power accepts no friendship. No friendship accepts Power.