Emma’s Spare Tyre Tummy Award For La Fenice Eastleigh

 Cibo Delizioso

A few miles to the north of Southampton lies the small town of Eastleigh. For me it has always been a unique gem of Britain. It is rightly famous for being the home town of the Spitfire fighter plane. It was once a hub of steam locomotive manufacture in the huge railway engine sheds. Rows of red brick terraced houses, a park with a bandstand and a legacy of factories make Eastleigh the kind of picture a modern Lowry would paint.

Trial by lens hood. Editor demanded a close up. 
As yet it remains undiscovered by the London commuting class. Yet, it is only an hour away from Waterloo station. Recently it has become famous for the demise of its Member Of Parliament and government minister, Chris Huhne. He was sent to prison for getting his wife to accept driving license points for his speeding offence to avoid a ban. Dear me! such vile wickedness in this world. Can you believe it? Anyway, since then it has become a marginal “swing state” political battleground with the UK Independence Party  Farage balloon tethered over the borough to repel foreign aircraft. For  my American readers I guess I could say UKIP is a kind of Republican Tea Party but with beer and cigarettes. 

So – once we hit Spring and elections in Eastleigh there will be

Real shops. Real town.

media with hordes of great and good politicos strutting the streets and holding babies/puppies/kittens/pints of beer. I’ve already planned my campaign of standing behind famous people and waving my books as the cameras roll. When all the words have been said, contradicted, twisted and re-said it will be time to eat. My advice – make for La Fenice in the High Street. I ate there on 22nd November with family. It was late but they fitted us in and served the most wonderful Italian food with an authentic ambiance. It is a family run business with a genuine friendliness. The pasta is all

Wot – no cars? A typical Lowry

freshly made and there is a superb menu choice. With a starter and wine for five persons it cost £105 for the best Italian food any of us had tasted. Eastleigh is gonna be BIG on the map. I urge David Cameron and his government to book their tables today at La Fenice to avoid disappointment. 

Emma Thinx: Why are they called speeding points when they loiter for years?

Euro Politics – Twilight Of The Plods.

Stark choices on the horizon for Euro politics

My last  sortie onto these pages discussed the disconnection of regular folk from the elite controllers of modern ploditics. Since then there has been a Euro election. In France and Britain the public has voted for nationalistic parties. The following day, the suited supremos of the ruling elite had a Euro conference to decide what is wrong with these people. Why are these dim peasants not grateful? Did they not save them from the economic crisis that these sheep themselves had caused by seeking selfish trash like homes on credit? They only need credit because they’re losers. Why aren’t these morons rich? Everyone who comes to dinner is rich.  How can the spin doctors respond? How can their millionaire sophisticated clique hold on to the power and the lifestyle they deserve?

Politics grows no crops in itself. Fair markets are a balance of toil and need

The elite are so far removed from the lives of working class people that it is useless to highlight their struggles. Truck drivers and zero hour contract fast food workers are worthless schmucks – losers. Until now, few of them had ever voted. Few leaders know anyone real beyond their own domestic servants and chauffeurs.

I am committed to a true functioning Europe of peoples. I live between England and France. In France, I am French. It is their country, their traditions, their law. In England I am English for the same reasons. In Europe we are a union of respectful peoples, not a union of a political elite and their bureaucracies. We want our own identities. I am interesting in France because of my English cuisine and my accent. Why do we have to follow these wretched federalist ambitions of the elite? Why should a bus driver in England have to sell his possessions to afford a useless politically correct training regime demanded by clever- kid office boys in Brussels? Our supreme leaders may wonder what this about? You know – they just don’t get it! They just don’t get it. And the truth is they can’t get it. 

I want a politics and passion for working peoples to float my boat 

I’ve put up some pictures from my home in France. Things grow. The sky is up. The soil is down. The hand of man confronts the sunset. Do we need a federalist Europe to love the difference?

Emma Thinx: Vive la Life. Live la vie.

Ennui and A Dog Called Héros

Love me and I’ll follow.. A French/ English bull terrier holding out for a hero.

It’s a Sunday and I mean that. It’s an anonymous day here in France. The elections for the European parliament have failed to excite the little town of Saint Savinien. The English side of me awaits the inevitable tsunami of punditry that will slosh unto the shores of both Britain and France when all the votes are counted. Politicos dipped in faux gravitas will spin the results their way regardless of the obvious truths. Groomed ambitious journalists will love themselves and strut their clever university smart-kid questions that evoke no answers. 

 And no one will care.

 The poor folk will drag themselves to pride-less low wage jobs and try to get through to the next pay day in England and in France. The rich will withdraw their wealth from the bank of other’s labour and place it beyond taxation and the concept of community. That’s the way it is. You can’t change anything.

It’s what’s called disconnect. 

It is one of the most unexploited dangerous/exciting forces on this Earth. Apathy is a dam, not a desert.

Only 36% of voters voted in the 2014 local council elections. More importantly 64% of voters did not vote! Duh.  Most politicos are glad. The ugly brutes of the great disconnected class are simply too dangerous, too unpredictable. Just imagine if the great majority of people took an interest in the things that control their lives. Good lord – the show would be unmanageable. You would have to spin so fast you’d be a blur.

I need a direction. Don’t point ! Sweep  me up. Love me.

 The micro-elite in the bubble of simulated angst and outrage that is consensus politics would have to address the politically incorrect weeds and brambles in the perfumed garden of human life. That would be like coming down to the factory floor and soldering a silicone chip, hauling a gearbox off a car engine or the life of a sub-minimum wage nouveau-pauvre Euro driver pushing a truck through the night shift to get urgent Parmigiano  cheese to your delicatessen. 

Just imagine that!!!! Just imagine if one’s limousine wasn’t serviced on time or the private nurse couldn’t soothe the  paper cut on your finger or the wholegrain organic muesli wasn’t on the supermarket shelf. Few modern politicos have the imagination or experience to leap that void.

I know I’m just ranting on. I’ve lived these issues all my life. No one reads this. Most people don’t vote. Even fewer care.

Emma Thinx: Anarchy – the default setting of organised nonchalance.