I missed PMQT that week, I’ll admit it, I’d been worn down by the walking dead shuffling meme by meme to a racist, entitled, Great British fake off, rendered afraid by the zombie-fying forces of Murdoch and the pith hatted medias sly tally ho for the billionaire vision of the new serfdom..I was blown out by the Carry on House of commons inanity of the coming isolationist trumping of Albion and the consequences for my kids education
and the National Health service about to become the Virgin and associates health company sell off. I had the wacky adventures of an aging wonky indy band in Plasticine to make in an attempt to alleviate the bitter broken heart of a socialist facing a shit storm of inane compliance..
I’d worked late in the studio (garage) and missed the tolling of the bells of uprising, probably a good thing, if i’d heard it live I may have had a cardigan vest.

It happened like this but I can’t tell you why..the career politicians gathered in the house of conmen had been eyeing up Jeremy who was sitting staring at a sheet on his lap and saying nowt, later it emerged that even his own colleagues had feared he’d grown sick, he looked more pale and red eyed than usual and seemed distracted.. you could hear the whispers on his side contained a lot of concerned ‘Jezzas and jeremys and the hubbub opposite had the phrase ‘we got him’ and the word broken in it..

The prime minister wore her splendid new plum leather trousers and gave it some histrionics about a strong unified nation having sent some in-genuine commiserations out to a victim of something, in the tone of smug winners everywhere she looked to Mr Corbyn to add his opening bit and a long awkward pause fell and radiated out from him like a SBD fart of some magnitude, then just as the tension reached it’s disconcerting apogee Jeremy stood and smiled suddenly at the hollow clothes horse opposite and spoke.
‘Did the right honorable lady opposite sleep well last night?’ some Whig wag brayed ‘Yes thanks’ and childish laughter ensued
‘Did she? Was she not woken by the bells? The alarm bells that wake the people of these islands? did she sleep through them, her and her swivel eyed Bullingdon billionaire lackeys with their deregulation and free market bun fest disregard for their homeland, these marionettes of boggle eyed super rich media barons based over the seas and their corporate pals who pay nothing in to our island yet tell it what to think, those dinosaurs who run riot through pension funds and gorge the profit of the common decent man, the worker, the veteran, the aspiring young, was she not woken by the bells that toll for her and her backward Etonian privilege? The heartless hollow competition? Did she not hear these decent ordinary Brits get up and go on and then realise..They like France and Germany and Holland? Did she not hear the alarm bell sound of the billions of pennies dropping as they further realised that her and her co conspirators and Mr Trump and his golf club friendless well to do’s are the real enemies of liberal democracy, Not Europe, Not Putin and not Kim Jong, THEM! they are thieves and liars, mad men even, selling greed and competition and calling it ‘Nature’ and fate like comic super villains..and disregarding the youth who yearn for more, for real unity not a sound bite for the Mail and Sun, Did she forget Iceland? Did she forget the misery her snake oil salesman austerity caused for the infirm and elderly the struggling single parent the disadvantaged..DID SHE?’ The house of open mouths was historically stunned at this unexpected and heartfelt outburst and the career conmen in there had even forgot to bray as Jeremy Corbyn fixed his opposite number with a steely and coruscating stare..and finished..
‘Is she so cocky and arrogant so swept up in her own hyperbole and certainty that she thinks Google and Amazon and the aforementioned Bransons and Murdochs can serve our nation up to her elitist mates like Tescos? Has she really slept through the bells?
I’d like to finish by quoting Iggy Pop gentleman..’
“Life is not a business”
The Alarm bell went off and woke me in error at 4.30am on Thursday morning and the dream was gone like snow on water.

Brent Jackson Peacehaven. 20th April 2017.

As the big wheel turned and the millennium arrived in 2000, I found myself living in Frederiksberg, Copenhagen, Denmark, washed ashore battered and jaded from the struggles of unionism against the tide of Thatcherism’s market free for all, the cold and ‘hollow competition’… ‘Had a bit of a nervous break-dance and…Well anyway I was a refugee among the Danes; I’ll spare you the gruesome boredom of the details…

The third Saturday I was there, in the corner of the square that shared the large communal back gardens of Svanholmes vej all the immediate neighbours came out and got together and caught up, painted fences, weeded gardens and took care of each other and the area, those who were busy, shy or disinclined put more toward the beer and pizza, I learned it wasn’t a law but a tradition and for me an Englishman it was a revelation..and frankly an alien experience..and absolutely fucking wonderful..How did they do it every month? why? It relieved local services and caused a reduction in the rates! I pondered long on it as I sipped from the bottle and munched on fine local pizza..

They had a sense of community and togetherness a feeling of extended family connection we simply lost before I was born and only vaguely experienced in village life in the sixties..They knew each other better and liked each other more! I felt like I’d arrived on another planet and penny lane was being piped from the sky…my grin hurt.

Where was the envy and rivalry? The hollow competition?

It’s laughably simple of course when you examine it, they don’t have ‘Toffs’ they don’t have hoards of millionaires, the entitled…and the vast majority live so well, so gracefully and stylishly as a result..Generally speaking and of course there are a few exceptions but they are few and anomalous…Their culture is not soviet Russia they are not ‘trots’ they are a dynamic upbeat innovative society with fantastic health and public services and they party and love like Celts..

They have not been infected by the greed of the upper crust into the dog eat dog shit show Albion has become…they simply haven’t…and the Mail and Sun and the like, those brown tongues of the ruler set, don’t want you to hear about it they want you to regard the world in the knee jerk reactionary black n white that serves them..The Scandinavians see us as sick with ego and lust and our society as a broken free for all a mad eyed unjust circus…and that’s what the Tory wants…Carrot town with also rans of misery in every other door way…

I’ve seen it with my own eyes and it works better than the miserable bollocks Mrs May is offering in her tasteless leather trousers on behalf of her millionaire crony’s…and if she expects me to sit back and except this filthy rigged game run like a post code lottery, for my children and grand children, for these islands and tribes I love then she can dream on..I’ll fight it to my last dying breath with every possible method at my disposal and if you are not happy with the society the culture she’s offering to your family to your people, that odious cosmetic liar thief, then you should fight it too and vote her and her henchmen to oblivion come June.