The Chow Mein Event.

Posted on September 29, 2011 by emmacalin

The weather is warm and succulent like the juice of a pear on the lips in those last minutes before climax spills into decay. When I was a girl my mother used to describe all old men (and most other men) pejoratively as “fruity”. Essentially this meant unattractive men who still had desires. Now I write about attractive men who have desires. They are often quite unpleasant so I’m gonna think of them as “stoney”. Well, today I feel fruity – I guess this is how all those ugly old guys felt. It is sad when a season ends, even if it is Winter. To me there is always that sense of time rushing on with a merciless finality that no pleading or longing will stop. It is also sad when a more transcendent season ends. The closure of the American Space Programme in a sense is the end of a human season. Recently I heard Neil Armstrong talking about the good old days on the moon. At the same time the Chinese are at full lift off to get cheap clothing and chow mein to the Martians. I’ve heard there are mono sodium glutamate deposits on Venus. I bet some clever guy has already bought them. But, come on yanks, the old space show gave us technology, pride, belief, heroism and focus. You can’t just let the grey guys in suits serve out your bowl of gruel while you stand in line to pay penance for having created the modern world. Growth costs money. If we’re all gonna be capitalists then we should know that when you’re weak you cannot starve yourself back to health. Get that sovereign debt, poke it firmly into some bloated creditors and fire it at the moon. Let them set up a market and crash it there.It’ll be a softer landing for all of us.

I was fascinated to hear that 2,000 people had applied for 16 refuse collectors jobs in the city. I know these are not high status posts but look at the alternatives. Call centre robot, burger flipper, exploited door to door chugger (Charity contribution mugger). I wonder what would happen if someone advertised a real job – like making something!

Today I’ve seen 2 snow ploughs being driven around. In each case the driver appeared to be under the supervision of an official in green vest, safety goggles, construction site helmet and a clipboard. This is the invariable modern uniform of a guy from the Council. A little research shows that they are having a programme of dry run training so that they are ready for the real thing. I guess they won’t be rolling at 40 mph in a line of traffic and there might be some snow. I guess you have to get used to that council guy in the cab. But do they know something?

Emma thinx: Genetic engineering – the final front ear.

Whipping Girl

Posted on September 28, 2011 by emmacalin

How far away my home in France seemed today. I saw a car wipe the mirror off a parked vehicle and just keep going. On the petrol forecourt at ASDA a road rager tried to punch in the side window of a terrified old guy accused of queue jumping. I think he was just a bit confused. He made off in terror. The raging bull was about 40, nicely dressed, driving a newly registered big BMW. I sent an early death with boils and suffering ray at him. He scowled back. I’m gonna do a voodoo doll of him later just in case I missed with the hate ray. What I’m trying to say is that it all seems so angry here. It’s as if we are overcrowded rats. Of course you can’t compare a rural environment with a crowded urban horror of traffic, concrete and suspicion. Many years ago I wrote a poem when I was living in a run down environment. Check out “Angry Man In The Flats” here.

Suddenly the news is filled with whips. (No black leather or high heels guys). The body in charge of UK horse racing has declared that whipping (of horses) should be allowed but should be reduced. I was once at a horse race where a horse ridden by a well known jockey snapped a leg. The millionaire mega star aimed a tirade of abuse at the animal and stamped off to his helicopter. The horse was destroyed.

Then came the news that a Saudi lady, Rima Al-Mukhtar is to be whipped for the offence of driving a car – a practice banned apparently not by God, but by guys with beards acting on his behalf. Now as a lady bus driver I really do feel that we need to get a grip of this kinda stuff. Why do we stand for it? Why do we allow this barbarianism to go unchallenged? Do I hear the answers OIL and DEFENCE CONTRACTS? In France there is much controversy about females wearing burquas. Several have been fined small amounts. President Sarko believes that it is about the liberty of women, although apparently some women want to look like daleks in bin liners. What I want to know is how you blow your nose when you’ve got a streaming cold, or if you sneeze? Does it just run down inside the fabric. Is there a special kind of cloth called Sneezelamé? What worries me is that there are religious guys who would like to impose this kinda show on all of us. I don’t think so comrades!

The car is back! Looks like it was what Gilles told them. At least he’ll be happy and righteous.

Emma thinx: Female lashes? Looks like the Ayes have it.

Yoofs like Jagger

Posted on September 27, 2011 by emmacalin

Another day survived with the bus. The number of pick ups and the available time do not add up. Well, they do add up to being late! One of the problems is sleepy headed boys who appear to live unsupervised lives in less than encouraging situations. Ho hum – it’s a learning curve and certainly a re-acquaintance with the less advantaged element of society.

Of course the kids all want to listen to pop music radio at high power. They appear to be quite happy with endless commercials for new cars and people who buy old scrap cars. In just one advertising slot the whole of our economic system is exposed. For me the pop music has been a bit of a revelation. I know I’m getting old but to me it all sounds the same semi electronic auto tuned nonsense. Their favourite is called “Moves like Jagger”. Does that refer to good old Brown sugar Mick? Surely not I thought. I asked the kids on the bus who Jagger was – nobody knew. I mean old Mick must be drawing his state pension by now- but a bit of You Tube research reveals him to be the inspiration. The guy singing sounds like a robot toy. I’m just gonna have to wise up and get some new stuff on my i pod. I do like Mr Saxobeat – check it out here! I think it’s a bit sexy. As soon as I kick them all off the bus I dive back to Radio 4 and head for the depot with nice posh people telling me that we’re all doomed. It’s such a relief from all that cheerful stuff.

Talking of doom – check this out. The BBC interviewed a money changer in the temple last night. AND HE JUST SPILLED THE BEANS. In fact he spilled so many beans that I don’t think all the bean counters are gonna be able to measure the effects of his candour. Watching him I really did not warm to him and I would like to know his agenda. He wants a crash because he needs one to make his big trades and scoop the gold from the Rhine maidens. If they give him an International TV stage to talk up a crash they are playing into his hands surely. He strikes me as one of those guys with eight brains, but not necessarily all connected.(Could he be a scam?) Make up your own minds.

Emma thinx: The wise are too intelligent to bother being clever.

I’m a Prol, Fol Di Rol

Posted on September 24, 2011 by emmacalin

I will admit to a certain tension in the stomach and sweaty palms as I swung the 52 seater coach through the barbed wire topped rusty gates and out onto the dual carriageway. These are big machines. In recent years I must confess that I have hung out with mainly middle class English folk, none of whom hold large vehicle licenses. I do not know anyone socially who can back up an articulated lorry with a 45 foot trailer (I believe that is a rig and semi-trailer for you guys out there). I’m not a tom-boy – it’s just that I had the chance to get the licenses and improve my chances of work a few years ago. Now, I have some lovely middle class friends who are good people and far kinder and sweeter than I am. However, there is a huge gulf between social classes in the UK. AND THE MAIN DIFFERENCE IS MONEY. These days I swan off to the opera, serve foie gras at dinner parties, gabble in a couple of foreign languages, write (and parody) romance fiction and indulge my love of art at any exhibition I want to see. And it is all because there is enough money to give me the resources and time to do it. Left to myself as a bus driver I would be poor and exhausted. I would be buying the out of date stuff at the discount store and maybe dreaming of a take-out pizza as a treat. If you go to the opera or the ballet – take a look around and tell me there that we do not have social,cultural and income apartheid.

Now, why is this? If I need a lawyer he/she will cost me about £200 per hour. By driving a bus I will get £5.93p an hour. You can argue that the lawyer had to do more training and is more intelligent. I can assure you that an incompetent lawyer will kill fewer people than an incompetent heavy goods vehicle driver. It is far from certain that a lot of the professional classes could handle heavy trucks and buses. The fact is that the controlling classes have skewed all of the systems to maximize their own take and to minimize wages for the working classes.The Trades Unions have lost both their power and, equally importantly, have lost their articulacy and leadership. Maybe this is the natural law of the Universe and that the poor will always be with us. And they will always have souls just like the rich.

So, I survived the check run and I start Monday morning. I know it is gonna be a bit of a challenge because I’m rather a soft old posh trollop these days. I’ve spotted a greasy spoon burger caravan on the industrial estate so perhaps I can take one home for Gilles as a special treat. I’m not sure where I’ll be driving or in what vehicle. I’m gonna take Sat Naff as my friend. (I know it sounds daft but Sat Naff really seems like a friend when I feel a bit lost and alone.)

We’ve got some dear friends for dinner tonight – hence all this moules and foie gras discussion. Now that I’ve got a horny handed job and can bang on about the struggle of the proletariat I’ll have to shut up. There’s nothing as tedious as the bloody righteous- particularly when it’s only essentially a posture.(I mean if I didn’t go to work next week there wouldn’t be debt collectors kicking the door).I wouldn’t die on the barricades or go without proper harissa paste or a decent cut of lamb in my authentic tagine dish.

How far away my home seems now. I wonder if there are any late figs and if the neighbours are harvesting them and the apples. As I cycled back through the industrial estate, past the KFC into the swirl of traffic and the fumes of container trucks I had a quick flash back to my other life. A taxi driver gave me the finger for slowing him down in the bus lane. I quickly snapped out of my dream and gave him a gesture concerning his solitary sex life. I’m re-finding my roots.

Still no car. The garage thinks it might be a semi emotional or electrical problem. Gilles keeps telling everyone that it is the torque converter. They say they’ll phone back. They don’t.

Emma thinx: Is wrongeous or lefteous the opposite of righteous?

Where next for determinism?

Posted on September 23, 2011 by emmacalin

A gorgeous Autumn day. I am looking out at verdant grass, sparkling with slightly amber dew as the low sun hauls itself above the trees. Oh yes- this is England. Now no church bells mark my hours and once again I will wear a watch. The noose of time tightens. At least I know the words for everything – well almost. I’ve just been phoning around to get some pâté de foie gras. Can you believe that there is none! Whist on the line to the deli I asked a young girl if they stocked moules. She went off to ask the manager and didn’t come back.

Other than imminent economic implosion, the News is filled with uplifting English tales. Eight year old boys apparently put on a cage fight in a social club to entertain the crowd. I suppose I should be shocked – but I’m not. At least there were adults to supervise and I imagine that the parents actually knew where their children were that night. When my brood were adolescents I suggested to various toy companies that they produce inflatable street corners with spittoons so that kids could hang out safely in the warm at home. Since then inflatable friendships and hostilities have been developed by social media and most kids are too badly affected with rickets to go out.

On the subject of pugilism I hear that the boxers of Azerbaijan tried to buy gold medals at the 2012 London Olympics. If you wanna read about this kinda stuff in boxing get my novel “Knockout”. It’s all true. The book is damn near free at 99 cents or 86 pence on Amazon Kindle. There’s SEX too, but I know you wouldn’t read it just for that soppy stuff.

I’m not sure what to make of the discovery by Italian scientists of particles that travel faster than the speed of light. I’ve always known that if you are in a hurry, stockings ladder before you touch them. I’ve also found out that banks put charges on your account before you perform any transactions. The philosophical implications for fiction writers are massive. Characters will move ahead of the plot into a kind of uncharted mist without any causal structure. Come to think of it, I might have already written a couple of novels like this.

This afternoon I’m going to the bus depot to sort out my next career move. I’ve spotted quite a few lady bus drivers. Dear old Geoffrey will be there to ease me into the system. Once again I am to be a horny handed daughter of toil. Maybe I won’t drone on about the shortage of foie gras just yet.

Emma thinx: Causality – the next great step for man.

Cometh the hour, cometh the spam.

Posted on September 20, 2011 by emmacalin

Yesterday the car came back. In the end no oily rag was brandished. Instead 1,600Euros worth of electronic modules were changed. This morning we have been loading up. Most importantly the tandem is coming back with us. Luckily we have a house sitter to look after the old place. I have been tempted to do a kinda wistful poetic wander around the town to fill my memory tanks. At the end of the day you can torment yourself with sentimental wishes and could have beens. You have to cut all that crap and get on with it. I have weeded my flower bed and tucked in the last tendrils of the vines. I often think about all the folk who get sent off to wars or lose their homes in disasters. Most of the stuff we whine about is pathetic isn’t it.

I keep catching all manner of gloom on the radio about double dip recession and stagnant economies. The answer it seems is more cut- backs coupled with more spending. Then if we re-structure our European and American economies to encourage domestic manufacturing we can sell our goods to the globalised dispossessed and poor who will no longer have jobs or money. Ah! but we could give them the money. LET THEM EAT CREDIT. Now, why didn’t I think of that? To be honest comrades I feel a real sense of alarm amongst our leaders. The shadow of mass unemployment and mobs with little to lose have them peeking out from behind their curtains and pinning medals on their guards. The winter sweeps across us now. I believe we could see a very interesting Spring. The credit rating gurus have increased the cost of Italian borrowing and once again the disembowelled shark jack-knifes in reflex to swallow its own guts. So far our leaders think that the answer to shark attack is to send for better sharks. The answer my lords is to drain the sea.

And so these are my thoughts as I set out on my next little life adventure. I am neither politician nor economist – I write soppy fiction in a kinda purple bubble bath in cold water style. My time in France has shown me the sincerity with which Europeans pursue the ideal of unity. The forming of a federalised American state was by no means certain – it could have gone several ways. Their page was less written. Cometh the hour cometh the man is very different to cometh the decades cometh the men. Leaders – the Romantic novelist battalions are watching you. The tired old stuff won’t do.

Emma thinx: Travel broadens the mind: and often your beam.

Mia Culpa

Posted on September 18, 2011 by emmacalin

As I write I am waiting for the 8 o’clock news on TF1 which will be read by my old unwitting French teacher Claire Chazal. The Nation awaits her interview with the ex IMF chief, Dominic Strauss-Kahn, now safely home from the dangers of New York. I actually wonder what kind of interview it will be since Claire is an old mate of Mrs DSK, the blue eyed ex news presenter who taught me French on channel 2. (Family photo above). Essentially, politics, celebrity, money and power cluster around one another in France just as they do everywhere else. The greats are often the offspring of the greats and the deals, the top jobs and the inside trades are fixed long before the crumbs are thrown to the masses. Of course we all live in a Meritocracy – it’s just that it is an hereditary meritocracy. As soon as I’ve seen the show I’m gonna get straight on here and give you the view from La Rue….

And here is the flavour. OK – he was weak and was morally at fault. He regrets all and his regret will last for ever. He has let down his family and the people of France. There was no violence or coercion and his accuser has told many lies. The judges have cleared him absolutely. When he was arrested he was afraid. He felt himself gripped in the jaws of a machine and humiliated. Maybe there was a plot? Maybe he fell into a trap? He does not know and cannot comment now. As for the accusations of a French lady novelist (NOT ME) that he attempted to have her it is all lies….Yes, he had power as IMF chief (one twitch of his pen could send thousands of you and I to the soup kitchens and the gutter), he never exercised power in the context of personal relations.

So – that’s the sexy bit. Then the guy came out of corner. He will not stand for president. (Oh no- because I just decided to give it a miss myself). Who will be the socialist alternative now?

Then it got serious so pin your ears back. If Europe and the USA do not get their acts together, in 25 years we will be an economic wasteland. Remember, before a young lady crossed his path in a New York hotel this guy was so mega that one word like that would have crashed the markets. He’s still got a brain (and a thingy) so we should listen. This guy is a so much a capitalist that his computer only has upper case.

So, that is the blog – bit dull because it’s not just about ME. Looks like I’m entering a period of challenge and opportunity after tomorrow…..it’s kinda like getting a job! Had to happen one day.

Emma thinx: No regrets? Don’t worry – there’s still time to catch up.

French Letters

Posted on September 16, 2011 by emmacalin

Ooh – I’ve had a right good old write today….up to my eyes in steamy passion, requited lust, shoulders broader than Cheryl Cole’s accent and moistened lips poking out of all manner of ripped clothing. I’ve just had to take a cold shower to get myself in blog mode. Well – all this thrust and bust set me thinking about the true great lovers of all time, literature and my life long quest for culture of the highest forms. So, let’s start with my dear old mum and dad. Actually they hated each other – but at least you have to have passion for their level of hatred. I’ll never forget the day when my father decided to tell me the facts of love. “You know Emma – your mother is a wonderful woman and one day she’s gonna meet someone who will appreciate it. When I first met her I could have eaten her. Ever since then I’ve been wishing that I had…” It was at that moment that I was born as a romantic novelist and poet.

One day not long after I had met Gilles I was cycling near the Hampshire town of New Alresford where there is a fabulous old fashioned bookshop – all kinda creaky and smelling of old dusty books. I think also there is a hint of lavender, cat and old ladies wotsits. They have a foreign section where I have bought all manner of French Lit. (I mean – you don’t have to read it do you!) On this particular day I found “Lettres de Napoléon à Joséphine.” Now, Napoléon was some kinda Romantic Hero. After great battles he would pen her a few lines as thousands of dead and wounded were cleared away ready for the recorded highlights after the late news. Excited by my purchase I got myself to London and presented the book to Gilles and asked him to read it to me in bed. You know – for a French guy his accent’s not too bad. The early letters burn with passion and lust: “A thousand kisses await my love – but do not give any to me – they burn my blood.” Probably his most famous letter ordered her not to wash because he was on his way home. Look – these are guys who eat boudin, andouillette, oysters and a cheese called “Epoisses” which is so smelly that it is banned on French public transport. (Sadly all of the mentioned products are delicious). Seemingly Napoléon liked her Au Nature. Well – I don’t mind a bit of male musk myself (Ooh – I really think that an Emperor could have tweaked my knobs). So I lay there as my lover read the letters of Napoléon to Joséphine. “Ah – he had it bad you know”. After a while he skipped to the end of the book. I asked him to tell me how he ended the last letter. I quote: “They tell me you’ve got fat like a Normandy farmer’s wife”. Well, at least she might have had a bit of tasty cheese in her knickers for him! Bloody Emperors – it’s all self self self.

I hear Cheryl Cole is out in Afghanistan with the troops. Apparently she had to go on “Hostile Environment Training”. Now, how can anyone who has worked with Simon Cowell on X Factor need that? Give me the Taliban any day. At least they don’t pull their trousers up so high.

Emma thinks: Credit rating downgraded? Passion is never over- spent.

It’s Nuts.

Posted on September 14, 2011 by emmacalin

They are dying out. There used to be uncountable millions of them like sparrows. All those wildlife charities and noble United Nations type institutions should list them as endangered. You know who I mean of course……yes – it’s people who can actually fix practical things. I will not bore you with my “no car” woes but just let me say that the problem has been re-classified from technical to “possibly mechanical”. This diagnosis is on the basis that the plug-in computer analysis doesn’t know the answer. They have sent for a man who actually has a bag of spanners, an oily rag and dirty fingernails. I bet you he’s gonna be in his fifties! Now, this brings me on to my own dear sweet oily rag of a superhero – Gilles. Today he did some world controlling on his laptop and then decided to help out some kids with mending their bikes. He has all those sexy widgets that remove sprockets, line up hubs, remove crank tapers and tension spokes. He knows about ball bearings and head set adjustment nuts. What bothers me is that it’s only the old grey-beards who know this stuff. All these bikes, buses and batteries are stamped out in China and our whole economy is based on waste and consumption. But comrades – this cannot go on. We’re gonna have to make stuff ourselves, make it last and fix it up. We could just flip burgers for the new masters.

In France there is a great unexpressed fear for the changing world. Europe is in decline economically, having more or less committed suicide by following the short term benefits of globalisation. Morally it could be said that we have re-distributed our wealth through the organ of capitalism. That is true, but we have undistributed our own jobs and talents of our young folk. The French are far more conscious of this issue than the Brits. Now, I’m gonna be quite provocative here and talk about racism even though it is not really allowed. The French feel that the rising power of China and the fact that they are literally buying a lot of the world is a major threat to their lives and traditions. The rich don’t want to rock the money boat as yet because they’ve still got some, but the poor are not so bothered. If sovereign States go belly up in this completely artificial world financial system, will they be for sale? YES…..In France folk in the streets think of this and they have worked it out all for themselves. Our leaders have fiddled while Rome, Lisbon, Athens, Dublin and whoever next burns. I am a Romantic novelist, a collector of cliché, a purveyor of soft porn and a laureate of the licentious. And even I can work it out! Today, the credit rating guys have down-graded some major French banks. You know, if you slash the belly of a shark it turns and eats its own guts as they spill out. Keep cutting and slashing guys.. we’ll be OK.There’s a job flipping those burgers. Let’s fight each other for it.

The Autumn now wins the mornings and evenings but cannot hold the day. The buzz and passion of a Summer still smile and show a tempting leg. We are alive. There is always wine, harvest and joy. May it ever be. May we always be free.

Emma thinx: Who will make the coffin for the last carpenter?

Privates On Parade.

Posted on September 13, 2011 by emmacalin

I suppose Toulouse Lautrec started it all off. There is an idea that France (well, Paris) is the land of ooh la la with Curvy Chicks in Naughty Knicks. From my own sorties into Pigalle I wonder if any of the Ladies are French. Sexy France exists – but it does not exist in anything like the form that Sexy South London exists. Whenever I throw in some remark about “getting enough” or “I do like a big one” in true “Carry On film” tradition, French ladies look at each other uncomfortably, not knowing whether or not to acknowledge the “Double Entendre”. Well it was them who gave us the expression (You Yanks will get this stuff from Benny Hill. See his News Flash here). Of course, they do have sex, probably in very normal quantities but bedroom doors are very firmly closed. However,whilst I grew up in a society of women who would chat over tea, coffee,wine, beer, cider or vodka martini about issues of “personal tastes and behaviour”, I find Gallic ladies to be…..well – ladies. For a while I worked in a bakery making famous brand sliced loaves.(Let’s call it “Father’s Fancy”). The conduct and conversation of the young women was at first astonishing, became profoundly educational and finally deeply human. Maybe this happens in France. I’m clinging on trying to be a writer – but the bread factory beckons. Be sure, I’ll report back if I end up there.

I have a feeling that the French privacy laws probably affect some of the attitudes I have described. In the UK, a headline such as “Lady judge and tennis hunk swap balls in Court” are normal. No such thing happens here. Privacy is enshrined in the French constitution. Only since the European Convention On Human Rights was accepted by the UK government have pop stars, footballers et al taken to Law to ring-fence their lives. This is a tricky one. Much comment surrounds the DSK affair. (Head of IMF and New York hotel behaviour). Seemingly he’s always been known as a right old lover of the female form but all the press kept quiet. Now all my Romance writing career I’ve actually been looking for a role model distinguished world-controlling billionaire. So that’s what you’d end up with! No thanks – I’ll stick with fantasy if that’s the real show.

Emma thinx: Fallen woman – watch the rush to pick her up.