Archive for the 'My London' Category

10
Aug
11

The issue of accountability

(Some reworking of yesterday’s post here – apologies for the repetition)

I’m struggling with it. Accountability and responsibility both. Who is to blame for all of this? This is not to simply point fingers and shift the blame elsewhere – rather that we will be unable to suggest a progressive solution unless we can identify the problem.

I’m often assumed to be a good little leftie. And, while I’ll admit to reading the Guardian and voting red every time, those closer to me are sometimes shocked by what are referred to as ‘right-wing’ leanings… I don’t know. I think the left/right dichotomy is a red herring. That our opinions and beliefs are more complex than ‘x’or ‘y’.

I think that a society is responsible for nurturing it’s young. For raising children within a moral framework – a scaffold of discipline and rules that is gradually removed to leave an ethical structure ready to stand by itself. I think that we have failed to do so. We, as a people have dropped the ball and permitted a degradation of youth to go unchecked. At least my own experiences would indicate such. We are responsible for raising these kids. So maybe it’s our fault?

Our current government, acting under clearly ideological motivations, have hardly helped matters. I think that there are obvious consequences to profound and swinging cuts to community funding. That if you make Higher Education a choice only for the wealthy elite. You go to US private providers and proclaim openly that public healthcare in the UK is up for sale. You allow the financial sector to go unregulated and unpunished for a catastrophe mostly keenly felt by those outside it. You close libraries and community centres, public pools and gyms. You take away the EMA struggling families. You clearly evidence that only the wealthy are protected and served by the state. You do all of these things in a society that is the most stratified in the developed world and this is what happens. They are responsible for pushing a malicious and vindictive agenda of social engineering too far and too fast. For setting light to a very dry and very ready tinderbox. So maybe it’s the Tories?

But your environment does not excuse your actions. You are responsible for what you do. The closure of your local pool does not justify your arson nor your manslaughter. I understand that if you and your forefathers are utterly disenfranchised then you may feel compelled to take payment from society where you can. But that does not make it right. So it’s their fault and theirs alone? Because goodness is an objective truth that exists apart from your upbringing – to act in a malicious manner is not excusable.

… But I don’t know… I’m really struggling… A friend of mine has commented that she was afraid of consequence as a child. Of parents and the great bearded sky wizard who threatened damnation, and indeed interviews with looters have revealed that it it’s the certainty that will be no retribution that has spurred them on… but I don’t know… It wasn’t *only* the fear of consequence that limited my actions as a child. And it’s not only the fear of consequence that stays my hand today. I did and do possess some kind of basic morality.

Those who have carried out obscene crimes in the last few days are accountable and should be held accountable. As individuals… But… it’s up to all of us, state and society, to try and create an environment that nurtures a different kind of child.

Male teachers in primary schools for kids raised without fathers. Activity centres offering alternatives to spending one’s time lustfully looking at a culture of excess that you are ostracized from. Paradigms for parenting that allow both profound love and stern discipline without seeming contradictory. Mixed housing schemes to banish the ghetto. Deeper and more complex (and more expensive) community policing methods than the criminalizing stop-and-search… So many ideas. But the real difficulty is that these pursue long-term goals. We don’t conceptualize the long-term very well. We expect results immediately – certainly within the span of one government. Cameron will flood the cities with police today but will he re-open schemes to put a local Bobby into every school and estate? Pump funding into teenage mentoring schemes? Complex plans that won’t benefit his government or even the next. Plans are about human relationships building over decades rather than immediate headlines and target figures.

This should not happen again – that responsibility is shared by us all. It is perhaps distasteful to admit that many of those who looted in the last few days are lost to us. There are no means of saving them. That does not mean that their progeny are also write-off’s; continued neglect evidently doesn’t work. We need to take better care of our society’s children.

What do you think?

09
Aug
11

Cameron, here’s your f*cking Big Society.

So you cut funding to the community, to people’s lives, and then you ask them to engage in that society. What happens?

You make Higher Education a choice only for the wealthy. You go to US private providers and state openly that the public healthcare is up for sale. You allow the financial sector to go unregulated and unpunished. Libraries are closed. Community centres shut down. Public pools and gyms shut up shop. You allow wealth boroughs to charge for entry into public playgrounds with the explicit aim of pricing out those from poorer backgrounds. You slash child benefits. You cut into police funding. You price poor people out of wealthy boroughs and into new ghettoes on the fringes. You do all of this in a country that is already the most socially stratified in the developed world.

You then you ask everyone to pick up the slack you’ve left? Ask people to engage in your Big Society? Well, they’ve engaged now. Looting and arson are explicit messages, no?

David Cameron, there’s your f*cking big society. You f*cking idiot.

30
Aug
10

Walking to walk by St.Paul’s

DSC_0871_DxO, originally uploaded by Waxy Dan.

Ever since bastarding First Capital Connect decided, in their malicious conspiracy with London Underground, to fuck my shit up by closing Blackfriars for a million years and add 20 minutes to my commute (more on the home leg of my journey)… I’ve had to walk between stations.

It’s not all bad though – I stroll along the Thames for a a few minutes, which makes me feel very much a part of city… Under the rail bridge, by the Tate Modern and a jolly strut up the steps of the Milleniun Bridge to St.Paul’s. It’s a wonderful view – a wonderful design that once, before the bridge was in place, must have been a stunning entry to the city from the river.

It’s not all boring either – this morning I got to see some cops rugby tackle a Scandinavian midget who was foaming at the mouth right onto his new leisure wear.

06
Dec
08

A character?

Sitting on the South Bank a while ago I noticed a young keen photographer moving about among the skaters, tourists and riff-raff, snapping happily away.

He had a decent zoom lens and was, I’d guess, going for some of that classic street photography (http://www.flickr.com/groups/beginnerstreetphotography/pool/) stuff.

I watched him for a short while; curious as to who his subjects might be and then went back to my book.

I was surprised a few minutes later when I heard a tentative ‘ahem’ behind me.

“‘Scuse me” he said, all bright and full of studenty enthusiasm, “I’m doing a project on the characters of the south bank. Do you mind if I take a few shots of you?”

…?

Now, I’ll admit I wasn’t quite resplendent in all my dapper finery but a ‘character’? Yeesh.

Waxy Dan - View my 'beginnerstreetphotography' photos on Flickriver

19
Nov
08

Testicles and the Pre-Justinian Period in Mr.G’s

I found a proper East End Caf (“Mr. G’s”) near my workplace on Monday some weeks ago. I was delighted with the find as, disappointingly given that I work on the Mile End Rd, there isn’t much beside Chicken Village knock-offs (one, very amsusingly, called FCKC in a double-brand knock-off)

Mr Gs Cafe. Image poached from Trustedplaces.com

Mr G's Cafe. Image poached from Trustedplaces.com

and poor curry houses. When I first moved to London many moons ago I had a rich fantasy of Alfie’s in markets shouting about apples and pears and chimney sweeps dancing on their commute through the skies. Confronted with rotting bananas and market stalls selling nothing but cheap flimsy underwear I was sadly dissappointed.

So I was thrilled to find this proper (or ‘propAH’ to use the local argot) cafe. I ordered far far too much food; an Egg, Bacon, Beans and Chips (ala http://russelldavies.typepad.com/eggbaconchipsandbeans/) that nearly killed me. Then settled down to read and watch and listen.

Up front two pensioners argued. One remained quite austere as his companion put sugar upon sugar upon sugar into his tea, well past the saturation point so that the soupy mire spilled out across the counter and his chin… forming a thin crust on both.

He announced his political views to the world: “If you were mugged – there! – on THAT road – that road there! And they had stocks! It wouldn’t happen again! No! No – shut up now, I’m talking! It wouln’t happen again. Put him ‘in stocks, innit? And leave the tomatoes from the market there beside ‘im”… and so on. A good ten minutes of “stocks!”, “bloody holiday camps, that’s what the prisons are!” and “whip ‘em I say!” ensued. It as a lot of fun. The owner, catching my eye and winking his comraderie toward me, urged him on: “Now really, that’s far too much. I’m sure those, what did you call them, ‘oiks’? … those young oiks don’t mean any harm”. The irate gent near exploded with rage: “On TV last night I saw a documetary ’bout the Romans, right? They knew what it was all about, right?”.

At this the eyebrow of the sucrose-drinking man rose sharply.

“The Romans right? The Romans wouldn’t have stood for this! A Roman citizen could walk across the world (shades of the West Wing: http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/The_West_Wing) without fear of anything. Anything!”.

The the sucrose-drinking man put his tea down sternly.

“The Romans under, in this TV show this was before Justin, they should have stayed in Britain”.

The man stood quickly; knocking aside his chair: “TESTICLES!!! TESTICLES!!! THAT’S WHAT YOU KNOW ABOUT THE PRE-JUSTINIAN PERIOD!!!!! YOU KNOW FUCKING TESTICLES ABOUT PRE-JUSTINIAN ROME”.

What followed was a fascinating and genuinely eloquent discussion on Roman history between this enthralled amateur TV viewer and, it turned out, a retired professor of Roman history.

I love London. I really do.

So, onto the Billy and Me scores:

Billy: 8
Eoin: 9 (just for the floor-show)

17
Oct
08

My London: Gordon’s Wine Bar and the Ghost of Theodore Bromley

Gordon’s Wine Bar in Embankment (Tuesday 12th November 2002)

Had an odd thing last night. A friend of mine and myself met outside in Gordon’s Wine Bar. If you haven’t been there (and you can somehow secure a seat; note that this was far from a balmy summer night and we sat under the stars) it’s well worth a visit. The cellar bar is an old creepy affair rife with sentiment and age. The cheese on offer; both youthful and crumbling beneath its age kept Billy happy and content. It’s arched ceilings force visitors to bow down close together to avoid colliding with the dust and moss. The walls are adorned with aging photographs and rotting newspapers of times long past. It was only here in this place that I could have met Mr.Theodore Bromley.

We sat down outside and ordered a bottle of red and, having not had the opportunity to meet in some months, shared a fine time in one anothers’ company. Both of us wrapped warm against the encroaching winter; me in faux moody hoody and overcoat and her in dainty bright scarves and hats.

We had thought that we were alone in the narrow laneway when a large figure abruptly dropped down on the seat beside us. I acted fast to save our table from capsizing at his sheer presence.

He was a large gentleman; in both stature and charisma. He was also evidently quite drunk; apparent from both his slurred voice and powerful aroma. His words dribbled out from beneath his proud thick ‘tache in a wonderfully rolling bassy English accent:

My name is Theodore Bromley.

Oh, hello. My name’s Waxy.

(A long stare; he didn’t like that, not one bit).

I am from… Australia…

Really?

I *AM* from Australia.

We’re from Ireland.

My name is Theodore Bromley. Whooooo are yooooo?

This continued for some time, his voice rising with indignation, until finally he lent in close (slyly pilfering a bottle of white from a neighbouring table). I leaned forward to hear his words, quiet as they were.

You have done my country wrong, sir, you have done my country wrong!!!!

A tear crept down his face.

I think you might have mistaken me; what wrong was done to you?

You have done my country wrong. You have done my country wrong. You have done my country wrong. You have done my country wrong. You have done my country wrong. You have done my country -

Mr. Bromley collapsed forward in a tide of grief and flatulence. Our table capsized; our drinks safe.

He swirled to his feet and faded off into the night; vanishing a moment as the shadows overwhelmed him.

A ghost?

Seemed like a pleasant fellow.

14
Oct
08

Next time I’m going to push Boris under a bus

I’m having a moral dilenma. I hate Boris Johnson. I really *really* hate him and everything his comedy-mayorship stands for. A dumbing down of politics and proof of a self-serving fickle populace.

Odd that I now find his life in my hands. 

Every second day or so, as I pass over London Bridge on the way to work, I am confronted by his corpulent form. Every day I see this cartoon character (resembling in no small way one of the characters from Chorlton and the Wheelies) careening toward me.

That no one else seems to notice him I choose to take as a sign of my own keen powers of observation rather than evidence of my going slowly mad in a Fight-Clubesque fashion.

The first few times I was caught by surprise. But now… now I think “should I stretch now; accidentally prodding him into that bus… would that be obvious on the cameras….?” … Is the solution a long perspex rod? Invisible on cameras but long and sturdy enough I could be assured of his bloody demise?

16
Jun
08

My London: Monday 18 November 2002 “BOMBER” “MADMAN!!” “EXPLODE”

Coming in on the tube, I read about an attempted gas attack last week in the London Underground. All very scary. As the tube begins to go overland I see that London is shrouded in a thick blue mist. Visibility is so limited that the skeletal gas towers and iron bridges begin to strobe past me before I even notice their arrival.

I think about reading “Underground” (a book of interviews of survivors of the Tokyo sarin attack), and I look about the carriage. For a brief while, the only people I can see are those in the train with me. An Aisan man in a grey suit, about 22 years old reading a copy of the “Metro”, and a white woman looking pale and haggard on this Monday morning.

Graffitti suddenly veers out of the fog: “BOMBER” “MADMAN!!” “EXPLODE”

16
Jun
08

My London: June 2008 Cans Festival

I was brought along yesterday to a terrifying subway beneath Waterloo Station; an arched redbrick road running directly under the unused old Channel Tunnel rails. The Cans Festival was there last weekend and the work remains (largely) untouched.

It’s wonderful idea; take a disused pissy tunnel and make it bright and wonderful for free by allowing stencil graffiti artists to run wild . Make a point of going to see it if you’re in London.

15062008106

Full photos here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/waxydan/sets/72157605637352766/

Some irony of course snuck in. Genuine irony that is; not the Hoxton kind so adored by the artists. A large billboard at one end read “Gentrify This!!” as though the stencils were somehow ‘keeping it real’. You are gentrifying this area, and every area where you spray, with this work you moron. You think property is expensive by Old Street station because people just love urine-stained postwar housing? You’ve filled an old filthy tunnel with bright paint and middle class nonces with cameras like myself.

15062008126

Cops are also patrolling the station to fend off any further spraying which, while not as amusing, is kinda ironic too.

14
Jun
08

My London: November 2002 Homeless guy in cafe

Two.

Two – SIXTY???

… Interest you say?

I’m sorry, but that simply can’t be done you see. You understand that I start with nothing each day. What goes into my account must stay there. YOU know what happens to money don’t you? It slips away down the drain as soon as your eyes leave it!

A summons? For me? Now that wouldn’t be very nice would it, sir?




Suscribe to my drivelly ramblings

I want to kill everyone. Satan is good. Satan is my friend.

Tweetering

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