Trump will urge Supreme Court to strike down Obamacare

A clear and succinct summary from Ilya Ruvinsky of St Louis.

As 2,000 Americans die and 25,000 are infected each day, the Trump administration is actively working to strip healthcare away from 29 million Americans in the middle of a global pandemic. Even Attorney General William Barr believes that the Affordable Care Act should NOT be dismantled in its entirety, but couldn’t convince the administration to back down from its extremist position.

A recent report estimated that if the unemployment rate hits 15%, nearly 18 million Americans could lose their employer-based health coverage. Over 9 million workers have already lost it.

In the middle of the worst pandemic outbreak in the world, the Trump administration is actively working to deprive the most vulnerable Americans of access to healthcare over the objection of its own Attorney General. LET THAT SINK IN.

https://www.politico.com/news/2020/05/06/trump-supreme-court-obamacare-240366?fbclid=IwAR0ZrSRbd19mmlzjTT7COY5UF3a09uR2ifrNo-H3dRfvzmXzsFYCZyiHkTw

Sad bloke in the kitchen No: 3. Zen relish.

This relish can only be made when the fridge Chakra are in perfect alignment.


Firstly you need to find the sacred, almost empty, pickled cucumber jar in the fridge.

Pour some of the pickle juice into a small pan and add some brown sugar, boil it up until syrupy. It will not take long, don't burn it.

Peel and dice ( having removed the seeds and hard bit in the middle) a couple of tomatoes and put in a bowl. Add 4 inches of cucumber diced, some onion diced, the solitary pickled cucumber from the jar diced, salt, pepper, chilli if you like, I use chilli powder but fresh or dried is probably better. Add the syrupy stuff from the pan and stir. you can add a bit of white wine vinegar if you like.

Try it and see what you think. Adjust seasoning but remember things are going to change over the next couple of days.

Now take the empty pickle jar that appeared to be at the end of its useful life and destined for the recycling bin, wash it out and fill with the relish. You will find that you have made exactly the right amount to fill the jar and that the jar lives again.... That is the Zen bit.

Leave it in the fridge for a day or two to macerate.

Great with burgers, kebabs and the like.

Time to re-evaluate how we measure wealth.

1.  I am a rich man. I have a great deal of money, many employees but no friends. I own many houses, two yachts and a helicopter. whilst self isolating in one of my houses I must contain myself to one room in order to protect myself (I care not about the welfare of the others in my house, it is my house after all). I am obliged to self isolate in my bedroom because it is the one room which has en suite lavatory and bath facilities. I have gold taps. Everything I need must be left outside my door by others, when I retrieve these things I must worry about whether the person leaving them there has the virus or wants to give me the virus and for that reason I wash everything with surgical spirit. I wash my hands constantly.  Having never lived in my own company alone before I am ill versed in the art of isolation. I am bored to tears and suffer greatly from insomnia, I count the sheep that huddle in the corner ostracising me. I do not want to die.   But I am a rich man.

2.  I am a rich man. I have little money but it is sufficient. I have good friends, no yachts, cars, houses or helicopters. I have a studio flat. Whilst self isolating I am happy to contain myself to within this safe bubble. I have my bathroom, a sleeping area, a kitchen area and a table on which to work. Kind people bring me the things that I need to survive, I do not need to wash these things because I trust those who bring them. I do not have to concern myself with constant hand washing. I cook what I want when I want. I sleep when I do and rise when I chose. Insomnia is not an issue, I count my blessings. I have a small balcony on which to grow herbs and from where I can stand at night to watch the moon and by day to fill my lungs with air no longer polluted by motor cars or burning coal. I'm writing daily, videoing friends, content to die at my own pace...  As I had been before the pandemic. I am a rich man.

Hmmmmm....

From the archives. Memories of Moll the bag Lady.

MAY

25

Memories of Moll the bag lady. 

What a weird few days.

Spontaneous pole dancing to the London Gypsy Orchestra in a church on Ladbroke Grove followed by a spontaneous party at my favourite Dutch girl's house.

My favourite dutch girl has a dog that fits into a bicycle basket and a record collection to die for... She makes good coffee and talks sense.

I also learnt from Moll the bag lady this weekend that a smiling woman is not necessarily an honest woman. Frequently a smiling woman is just a woman trying too hard to disguise the fact that nothing has gone to plan... the brighter the smile the greater the sadness.

Dysfunctional women have no time for happy, content men... There is nothing to manipulate and from the man's point of view, after a few shags, there is nothing there apart from a future consisting of fault, blame, psycho-sexual counselling, transference of doubt and the realisation that we are to blame for the ageing process, loss of looks, lack of orgasm, stretch marks, dead children, lack of children, unhappiness, family feuds, the price of cosmetics and the depth of wrinkles. Oh, and getting FAT.

For fuck's sake let's all take responsibility for ourselves.

Fortunately for dysfunctional women there are plenty of men out here who will buy the bullshit or ignore the bullshit just for a casual shag.

Imagine going through ones entire life presenting oneself as a sex object (and lying compulsively) in order to feel wanted.

I saw Moll the bag lady trawling through the rubbish bin of humanity the other day... Looking for an admirer.

Sadly she would not recognise an admirer even if he saved her life... she is too busy looking for trash.

She'll find it.

Posted 25th May 2010 by Tristan Hazell

Sad bloke in the kitchen No: 2. Breakfast in a glass.

Not to be confused with the 'Lost weekend' smoothie. http://jannieupjur.blogspot.com.pre-pentimento.com/2009/09/smoothie-for-lost-weekend.html




Into a blender chuck: Banana* sliced up, a raw egg, dollop of plain yogurt, some cold strong black coffee, milk, handful of porridge oats, dash of honey (or sugar if you must) and a few ice cubes.

Blitz and adjust thickness with milk.

Season to taste with vodka.

Top tip: When you have left over cold black coffee freeze it in an ice cube tray for making this.


*Quantities: Standard Sad bloke 'whatever' rules apply.

Sad bloke in the kitchen. No: 1. Coronavirus chicken.

This is almost as instant as a pot noodle.

Poach a chicken breast in stock. Do not overcook the thing. Let it cool.

In a bowl mix a grated carrot, very thinly sliced half an onion, shredded lettuce and finely chopped cucumber skin (I only use the skin because the flesh is too wet, I'll use that in a tomato and cucumber relish later) and some chopped parsley or shredded fresh corriander. Anything else salady can be added if you have it.

In another bowl mix a dollop of mayonnaise, teaspoon of curry powder, squeeze of lime or lemon, salt and a bit of milk or cream if you have it.

Shred the chicken, add to the bowl of vegetables then stir in the sauce.

Very nice with buttered new potatoes and pickled beetroot.

I was going to photograph it but had a taste, found it so infectious that I had eaten it before I could get the camera.

The screaming trampoline of isolation.

I cannot post a photograph as children are involved.

The kitchen window here opens directly onto the neighbours garden. A week or so ago they introduced a trampoline into the equation, shortly afterwards they introduced a number of small, overexcited children then wound them up and let them go.

The screams issuing from the garden now exactly mimic what I imagine to be the sound track to hell.

Kill me now.

The freedom to self imprison.

Looking in from behind bars made from harp strings on the poor souls trapped in the world with no-where to self isolate. Ironic isn't it... The freedom to self imprison has become essential to life.

And.

I love the way that threat of death brings a desire to reminisce.
( If it goes on like this I shall die from an overdose of joyful memories).
I guess that is why we have memory. To make death a time of contentment.
If all has gone to the plan that never was.
And we did everything we possibly could or wanted or had not imagined.
And have nothing left to learn or teach or give.
And have run out of Ands
And breath.

Lost masterpieces of modern art No. 2.

Detail.

Lunch with Rothko.

Jan nieupjur. 1897 -  Dutch.

5 a day green soup with Marmite, pistachio & parsley croutons, highly seasoned with ground pretension on porcelain.

8" x 8"

private Collection.

Portrait of a wealthy man during Coronavirus.

Funny how history repeats itself. In the 18th century pineapples were considered a symbol of great wealth, you see them on gateways to Georgian mansions to this day. Hostesses would hire a pineapple for the centrepiece of their dinner tables, no-one was allowed to eat it... Too expensive.

Now in this time of the virus it has regained elevated status.

When it arrived today this pineapple caused me to exclaim: 'Wow, a pineapple, I'm rich'.

DIY stores kept open in hope of reducing domestic violence?

Is the government allowing DIY stores to remain open during the crisis in the hope of keeping men busy at home rather than drinking their way through it and taking their frustration and fears out on the rest of the household?

If this is the thinking behind this strategy then I am all for it.

Lost masterpieces of modern art. No:1.

Jan Nieupjur. Dutch. b.1897 -

Breakfast with Roy Lichtenstein.

Egg tempera and bacon on ceramic. 6" x 6"
Private collection.

Trump sells the USA to Bezos before fleeing to Cuba.

My man in the White House tells me that Luz Morales; the presidential fluffer, overheard a conversation between Donald and Jeff during which Trump agreed to sell the States to the squillionaire for an undisclosed cash sum.

Later Trump told Luz that he had: 'Got a good deal, a,very good big deal, a clever deal, as the country isn't worth shit these days'.

Trump then boarded Bezos force One heading for Cuba.

The United States of America will now be known as Terror del Bezos.

Et in Isolation ego.

Forgive the cod Latin but anything goes when everything is going.

I started this blog 12 years ago not knowing where it was going.

I now find, in isolation, that a thousand people read something here every day.

Bless you all.

This is not isolation.

We now need to learn how to deal with grief.

Yes.

We expect to die some time
we expect others to die some time
we all hope that we will die before the people we love
to save us the grieving

None of us expected this
unless you live in the middle East
where people die all the time but no-one here cares
to save us the grieving

No one expected this
no one taught us how to cope
quite frankly I'd rather die laughing than crying
to save us the grieving

Death is inevitable
grief is the killer.

How the Fabulous furry freak Brothers helped resolve a Coronavirus dilemma.

Editors note: Young people may have problems relating to this post.



I just ordered some stuff online, you know food and the like and some vodka.

It arrived an hour ago and, rubbergloved, I retrieved it from the doorstep. After looking at it for a while I removed my gloves, washed my hands, washed the items in the bags and then looked at it some more.

I thought: That vodka needs to go in the freezer.

I opened the freezer to put the vodka in but there was no room in the freezer, it was full of food.

I thought. I need to freeze that vodka.

So I sat down and thought, then I thought some more until finally I thought what would the freak brothers do?

Eureka.

I rolled a spliff of a gargantuan size and smoked it.
Waited for the munchies to kick in.
Ate half the contents of the freezer making room for the vodka.
Chilled to a Cheech and Chong album while the vodka chilled to balalaika music.

Drank the bottle of vodka to get over the stress.

It's cool.

hydroxychloroquine

No matter how much idiot Trump
Gives it his blessing or his tub a thump
might cure Malaria or ease gangrene
will never cure Covid nineteen

Corona-virus hatbox.

Path of Coronavirus.

There was an old bat that swallowed a virus
hardly desirous to swallow a virus perhaps it will die

There was a pangolin that swallowed that bat
fancy that it swallowed the bat perhaps it will die

There was a hungry family that swallowed the pangolin
sauteed in oil and garlic and mandarin perhaps they'll die.

There was a virus that swallowed that family
as it leapt from the bat to the pangolin to humanity

It swallowed that family to kill off humanity
to save the pangolin
and save the bat
that swallowed the virus
that wriggles and jiggles and finally kills us
to ensure the planet wont die.

Fake news.

It is pissing with rain outside
the cobbles are awash with liquid Corona virus
the zombies are dissolving in the water
the zombie juice is killing the virus
and dissolving fatbergs on its way to the Thames.

Darth Vicar.

 Available for online weddings, christenings and Jedi exorcisms.

Imaginary friend.

My imaginary friend has left me, he just vanished in the night.
I called my psychiatrist and told him. He said: "Congratulations you are cured".
I said: "I don't want to be cured,

I'd rather be mad than alone".

Nurse.

I wrote this nonsense ten years ago when I was hospitalised with lung disease. It seems appropriate now.




With abject apologies to T.S Elliot.



She came to me in the ICU
I was weak and struggling for breath
hope it seemed was in short supply
and all roads led to death
but she talked to me of white horses
she took me for walks on the beach
she talked of Michelangelo
and dared me to eat a peach
she sang the songs of mermaids
to the sound of the surf on the sand
took my blood by the thimblefull
from a tube on the back of my hand.

I left one day in a mini cab
far preferable to a hearse
but she remained in the ICU
my wonderful NHS nurse.

The hoarders prayer.

Our freezer in Kitchen
Hotpoint be your name
your Kingsmill come
you will be filled
as if in heaven
give us this day our daily bread
and forgive our greed
as we have special need
And lead us not into Sainsbury's
deliver us from Aldi
Etcetera etcetera

Amazon.

Ozzy Osbourne and Coronavirus.

On January 20th, 1982, the singer infamously bit the head off of a live bat on-stage in Des Moines, Iowa during his "Diary of a Madman" tour after a fan threw the animal at Osbourne's feet. He picked the bat up, and, as he wrote in his book "I Am Ozzy," he said "Immediately, though, something felt wrong.

This of course did not cause the virus but did spawn a legion of Chinese tribute bands keen to emulate the master.

We may never know.

Balthazar, coronavirus and the future.

My companion in this time of crisis is Balthazar.

Balthazar is a baobab tree grown from a seed collected in Mauritius by a friend.
Last week things looked bad for Balthazar. I thought he had died. But in the last couple of days he is showing signs of life: leaves are sprouting.



There is a future.

God and coronavirus.

I couldn't sleep last night, too much on my mind, why Sarah will not talk to me anymore,viruses and the like..

I went downstairs in the dark to the kitchen to find some alcohol.

Before I could switch a light on a voice rang out: "Leave us in the dark my son" It said.
"Who are you". I asked, equally in the dark.
"GOD" was the reply.
I said: "Well sit yourself down, have a cup of sake and explain why you are doing this to mankind, after all we are your chosen lot, made in your own image and stuff like that".
"Au conrtaire" said God (did I mention he was a polyglot?)  "I am doing this to protect my chosen lot and the planet from you fools."

As he left the house I turned on the light.

Jasmine in crisis.

The streets are empty save
the occasional passer by
we nod in recognition of
something unspeakable but

The jasmine is flowering

The urban foxes, imploring eyed
are starving now
foodwaste a thing of the past
the streets are clean

The jasmine is flowering.

Knife crime at an all time low
and muggers cower in
their self isolated loathing
mugged themselves by the virus

The jasmine is flowering.

Each day I venture outside
remove my mask
lean in, smell the scent
and think of you

The jasmine is flowering.

Stockholm Syndrome.

As a result of weeks of self imprisonment I have developed full blown Stockholm Syndrome.
I am undergoing treatments including anti-selfamotory drugs and aversion therapy.

There is also an issue of side affects including self-loathing and low self esteem for which I am receiving two hours of compliments a day.

wish me luck.

Virus

Surrounded by mankind
intent on mass suicide
out of a self loathing and
fear of being alone
the virus thrives.

At peace with oneself
solitude is easy

the virus dies then
eaten up by loneliness.

Rumours of secret Govt plans to intentionally infect the unemployed with Coronavirus. Fact check.

From our medical correspondent. Nurse Luz Morales.

Rumours have been circulating of a plan by the Tory government to intentionally infect the unemployed in return for double benefits as they self isolate until free of Covid 19 in order that there is a stockpile of people ready to fill the job vacancies created by the virus.

A Whitehall mole informs me that he couldn't possibly comment on this but rather cryptically pointed out that  Coronavirus is certain to become the country's biggest job creator since Hitler annexed the Sudetenland.

When I pointed out that there was a distinct certainty that some of these people would die, he informed me:

"That is a downside to the plan but each deceased participant in the scheme will receive a photocopied letter from Boris Churchill informing them that it was their finest hour".



Editors note: This may be satire, please check with your local MP.

Sociopathic dermatology, borders and American literature.

A guest blog by Rusty McGlint.

I aint one for writing much on account of Lula Mae getting pregnant at 15 and me having to quit school to find a job in order to buy the diapers and such like and build us a tar paper shack out back of the trailer park.

I gotta write about this though:

Lula Mae has always been troubled, some would say trouble, and it had been getting worse. Holden down at the Liquor Parlour reckoned that she had a borderline personality disorder whatever that is but I told him she was cranky on account of her skin problems that she has had since she was a child.

Old Doc Steinbeck had been treating her skin problems for years to no good affect. He prescribed ointments and creams, unctions and emolients (both of the viscous and non-viscous variety) to no avail. He was flummoxed.

He referred her to an emotional dermatologist over in Boise so I gassed up the truck and took her for a ride.

Doctor Alcotts office was in a highrise so I dropped Lula Mae off there and headed down to the gun store.

When I got back to the doc's office Lula Mae was waiting and we were ushered in by his assistant Miss Faulkner.

Lula Mae seemed to have taken a shine to the doc on account of them having similar names and I hoped for the best....

However.

The minute we sat down the doc looked at Lula Mae and told her that after all her tests she was convinced that the skin complaints were the physical manifestation of her inner evil and as long as she was a man hating sociopath she would continue to have her skin problems.

Lula Mae laughed, then leaned over, picked up a silver paper knife from the doc's desk and stabbed her in the eye.

Now Doc Alcott didn't think too long about losing an eye as the paper knife went on to split her eye socket and pierce her brain. She was dead before her head hit the desk.

The long and short is that Lula Mae was arrested for murder as she agreed that she had done it. She is in custody now awaiting trial.

I went home and tried out my new gun then went down to the Liquor Parlour to tell Holden that Lula Mae's personality disorder was no longer borderline.

Holden said I hope for your sake Trump gets that border wall up before they let her out.

I guess I drank too much rye that night on account of Holden never demonstrating a sense of humor before.

Failed By The State: The Struggle in the Shadow of Grenfell.

Email leaks reveals the real reason why these Grenfell refurbishment contractors are trying to seek immunity.

Life in Oxford Gardens.

It's good here. after two and a half years of b&b it is good here. Everything is close by and I am back where I want to be...Home. 

more later...

Living with a sociopath.

Rusty called from lizard Bend Idaho.

He said: ' Hey Tristan, how you doing? I've just discovered that Lula Mae is a sociopath, what do I do.

I said leave her to it Rusty.

And he said: 'But she is turning the kids against me".

I said, Rusty, in the long run she is turning the kids against herself, let her get on with it, you'll see your kids later when they see their mother for what she is.

'And then what/' Said Rusty.

And then she will pretend to have Alzheimers in order to avoid responsibility and try to garner some sympathy.

Rusty said thanks Tristan.

I said you are welcome Rusty.

Smells like Jeys fluid.

A guest blog by Jan Nieupjur.

Editors note: Jan is as mad as a box of frogs but we tolerate him in deference to his age and mental health issues ( a bit like the queen).



The smell of jeys fluid
brings to mind the pigman
resplendant in leather jerkin
(quintessential yeoman garb, favoured by crusaders I'm told)
teaching a ten year old me
to castrate piglets
as they lay in the haulm
in the shed beside the pond,
the pond
made mucky by Muscovy ducks, ugly birds
as, amid the squeals of porcine indignation,
the testicles, once freed by the snick of a scalpel
were condemned to
a bucket of said Jeys fluid
and then fed to the pigs no doubt
who didn't give a shit about
the ingredients of the gravy.



Were that now of course
the plump young testicles
would be placed gently in tubs of
garlic infused oil, in the farm shop,
then sold, erroniously described
as lambs bollocks
to the many middle eastern assylum seekers
who now till our land
until the Tories send them packing
to their deaths at the
hands of donald trump
on his present day crusade for the normalisation of insanity.

A crusader short of a jerkin
and less inteligent than a pigs testicle
a pigs testicle in a bucket of Jeys fluid.
.

RBKC. Confusing post Grenfell fire advice.

This is confusing advice from RBKC TMO (I thought that had been disbanded after Grenfell) in the event of a fire.

 

According to the signs on the walls within the block I live in I am advised to leave at once (above)

Below is a document I was handed in November of last year as part of an 'Accomodation pack'.  It tells me to stay put within my flat.  I assume that as this is the more recent instruction it is the one that RBKC wish me to abide by.

It seems that nothing has been learned from the Grenfell Tragedy.

Living is killing me.

A guest blog by Jan Nieupjur.

I think this might be ironic:

I was in the pub this evening along with the usual bar flies when I was approached by a stranger. A stranger with a beligerent glint in his eye.

He said: 'What do you do for a living'?

And I said that I guess you could say I die for a living and he said what do you mean and I said: 'I assume by 'living' you mean income and the only income I get is in the form of sickness benefits and I get the sickness benefits because I am dying and if I weren't dying I wouldn't get benefits so yes I'm earning a living from dying.

Oh. He said.

The prospects are not good I said. No chance of promotion and no woman is going to take a chance with a man without prospects certain to die on the job.

He said; 'You could write Country & Western songs about it, earn big bucks, buy some fancy clothes and a Porsche, get a girl no problem and your job wouldn't be killing you anymore. You never know, you might only be dying in order to earn a living.

You know I stopped and thought about that for a moment or two.

You mean living is killing me I said.

He said: ; There we go, your first song title'.

Trump to lead US troops into Iran.

A guest blog by Nurse Luz Morales.

I can reveal that Donald Trump has been attending fittings for a new military uniform. I should know I am his executive nurse and travel everywhere with him.

From what I have seen the uniform is based on that of Napoleon with a large turkey feather on the hat.

Donny told me, during his daily therapy,  that, once they find an uninhabited bit of desert and as soon as the coast is clear he is determined to be seen entering Iran on a white horse at the head of his armies whereupon he will shoot at dummies provided by the Presidential spin corps.

Donny says it will take peoples minds off impeachment and show him as a national hero along the lines of Rambo (his hero).

Luz Morales.

Rogue drone missing in Notting Hill.

Oops.

I have been modifying a drone in order that it can perform certain specific functions. I've modified the software to include wireless charging from BT hotspots to give me a infinite flight duration. the BT link also allows it to access AI programmes.  It can fetch and carry medication or beer, post mail, attend gigs for me and send back video.

It has gone rogue on me, overridden any control I had and is now somewhere in the neighbourhood doing who knows what.

I receive the occasional image, I presume to let me know that it is still operating but due to its stealth capabilities it is impossible to locate.

I last had control on a flight from Oxford Gardens to All Saints Road yesterday. If you sight it please let me know. do not attempt to capture it as it has self defence capabilities in the form of Origami ZX timefold software.

A bloody good New Year resolution.

 From the Yorkshire Post:


"As we start this new year and new decade, our country feels more fragmented than any of us would like. Too often we hear that our divisions – by class or geography, by politics, age, race or by faith – have come to define us.
If we are not happy with the state of our society, it falls to us all to do something about it. New Year is the time for resolutions and on this first day of the 2020s, we urge others to join us in making a resolution for the new decade.
Our resolution is to reconnect. To reach out to just one person we don’t know, or from whom we have drifted apart. To start rebuilding connections between neighbours and fellow citizens.

While our politics and media have become more polarised we, as people, have not. There is much that we share with each other: sit any two people down together and they will find some common ground.
So the power of reconnection will depend on how many of us, as citizens, step up together. Every institution, too – not just government but education, business, sport, civic society and faith – should play its part in helping bridge social divides.
Today is about a small first step that we can all take – to leave behind a decade of division and begin our decade of reconnection.
Yours,
Amanda Watkin, General Secretary, Rotary Club International Great Britain and Ireland;
Angela Salt OBE, Chief Executive, Girlguiding;
Dame Carolyn Fairbairn, Director, CBI;
Emily Eavis, Organiser, Glastonbury Festival;
Sir Hugh Robertson, Chair, British Olympic Association;
Jacqui Smith, Chair, Jo Cox Foundation;
James Mitchinson, Editor, Yorkshire Post;
Jasvir Singh OBE, Chair, City Sikhs
John E McGrath, Artistic Director, Manchester International Festival.
Karl Wilding, Chief Executive, NCVO;
Kwame Kwei-Armah OBE, Artistic Director, Young Vic;
Lynne Stubbings, Chair of the National Federation of Women’s Institutes;
Matt Hyde, Chief Executive, Scouts Association;
Matthew Elliot, former Chief Executive, Vote Leave;
Maurice Ostro OBE, Vice Chair, Council of Christians and Jews
Mike Sharrock, Chief Executive, British Paralympic Association;
Mustafa Field OBE, Director, Faiths Forum for London
Rt Revd Nick Baines, Bishop of Leeds;
Rabbi Nicky Liss, Chair, Rabbinic Council of the United Synagogue and Rabbi of Highgate United Synagogue;
Paul Reddish, Chief Executive, Volunteering Matters;
Imam Qari Asim MBE, Chair, Mosques & Imams National Advisory Board;
Sabir Zazai, Chief Executive, Scottish Refugee Council;
Sanjay Jagatia, Chair, Hindu Think Tank UK
Sunder Katwala, Director, British Future;
Professor Ted Cantle CBE, Chair, Belong – the Cohesion and Integration Network;
Tim Roache, General Secretary, GMB;
Dr Victoria Winckler, Director, The Bevan Foundation;
Will Straw CBE, former Executive Director, Britain Stronger in Europe"

22

Christmas kindness, homelessness and a full joy cupboard.

 

I have only known my neighbour a few weeks. I do know that she is a single mum with a 3 year old. She is in temporary accomodation with RBKC and facing imminent eviction through no fault of her own. Her Christmas has been very scary. she did however find the time and the kindness to leave this at my door. MY joy cupboard is full.

My faith in the local authority is zero.

Homeless tales from RBKC. No:1. MARK.

This is Mark.

He was outside Tesco a short while ago. As I went in I asked if I could get him anything. He politely said: 'Thank you. No'. Once back out of the shop I sat and had a chat about his circumstances which are miserable.
He is seemingly neither a boozer or drug user and was happy to talk.

The only thing I could do was give him the money for an hotel room and the fare to get him there. As my only source of income is my sickness benefit this is no small amount. I am meeting him tomorrow to see how we can get him into some kind of home.

I am sick and tired of doing the things that RBKC are supposedly here for. Happy Xmas.

Some good news for me is that I have been reembursed by a local initiative that I am part of which asks tourists and instagrammers to make a donation to help local homeless. RBKC are happy to endorse this initiative in their recently made video:

You can also read about this on the RBKC website HERE

In essence RBKC are promoting an initiative which exists purely to perform a service that the local authority is failing in.  Is this irony?

I shall try to add to this on a regular basis.

RBKC giving the gift of enlightenment this Christmas.

RBKC are giving their temporary housing tennants the gift of enlightenment this year.

Political correspondent Jan Nieupjur reports that Housing officers in the borough feel that occupants of temporary housing do not know how lucky they are. To that end they are evicting them and thus giving the gift of homelessness in order that they may understand better how much worse it can get.

Once homeless they can be given the additional gift of removal from the borough allowing the place to become a much nicer place for the social elite and Russian money launderers who often complain about poor people in their line of sight.

Editors note: This is satire and should not be confused with fake news.

RBKC social cleansing at Christmas.

How about this for a shitty Christmas tale: I had a Christmas morning chat with my neighbour, a delightful young woman with a young daughter. She informed me that Their Christmas has been somewhat dampened by the fact that the local authority had served an eviction notice two days earlier because as she is in temporary accomodation, and has been for years, and refused to move to Essex as demanded by them she has made themselves intentionally homeless and must go. She also told me that she cannot have family visit her from overseas at Christmas because one of the conditions of this boroughs temporary housing agreements is that she is not allowed visitors, even close family, to stay overnight. God bless you RBKC, the richest borough in the land, at this time of peace and good will to all.

there is much much more to this sordid tale which I will add in due course.

The fraudulent muse at christmas.

Christmas is a wonderful time
for the fraudulent muxe

She has got away with it again
for another year

She thinks.

Her tree decorated with sparkling lies,
dull looks, paranoia, debt, delusions of granduer,
mind snails, decay, theft, smells and
obsessive fears of honesty.

Christmas is a wonderful time
for the fraudulent muse

And as usual and again
for another year

She demands love but inspires nothing

But pity.

And no one needs a pityful muse.

Love measures itself.

Eternity is a curious concept. It ends with the death of the person measuring it.

You know...  Whatever you say will last forever will last until you die and no longer.

Unless it is love which lasts until you change your mind because you didn't really know what love was and when you said I will love you forever you realy meant I will love you until something better comes along, something that explains love and explains why love will last as long as it does and then die.

Because love measures itself.

And in some shape or form lasts forever.

Unlke eternity.

Duncan, Blue, smoothies. Guilty as charged.

 

Innocent smoothies shooting an ad today... some bloke called Duncan from Blue. Nice people and a very cold but lovely actress.

Happy to post this as Innocent smoothies are a fundamental ingredient, along with vodka,  of my 'lost weekend smoothie'. 

A slogan for which could be: All your 5 a day and drunk before breakfast. Back to bed!