Baby we were born to run

Beneath the city two hearts beat

Soul engines running through a night so tender

I’m beginning to tingle, the hairs are rising and already I’m anticipating jumping (well, I say jumping at my late middle aged state) from my seat as Mr Bruce hits that first chord and spending the next 3 hours losing my voice down in Jungleland.

Mr Boss has for many years now been one of my major heroes, not only for his music but augmented by his politics. He supported our miners in their striking in the 80’s, and that seems like long ago. I, like many others, railed against ‘thatcherism’ and what since is clearly seen as the early days of ‘neoliberalism’. Now we have continuation of the ‘project’ in the form of condom and s&m’s ‘austerity bollocks’ and the unalloyed transfer of wealth from most of us to the kleptos.

Last year we had the biggest flogging off of public assets in British history. It’s called ‘privatisation’ and simply means that what was owned in the ‘public interest’ is now subject to private wealth extraction;

There is more to come soon with the ‘asset stripping’of “high value” council housing, other local authority land and property, Channel 4, air traffic control and the Land Registry.And yet studies increasingly show that there is no significant difference in efficiency between public and private enterprises. And, as in the case of the land registry, a recent study has shown how whilst there is an initial boost to the public coffers with monies from the sale it’s soon swamped by what is lost and we pay so much more, and not just financially. And the land registry provides us with such an abiding metaphor for it all as common ownership of an entity that shows us who owns what is suddenly shrouded in secrecy so we don’t know who owns what unless we pay lots or are a member of the club.

Anyway, I’m going to spend all too short a while with Bruce and be elevated above all the class crap.

‘Cos baby I was born to run, or at least hobble quite quickly.

Bruce Springsteen File Photos

Bruce Springsteen 1975 (Photo by Chris Walter/WireImage)

Keep on keeping on, love Duncan


The big johnson in the room.

Well, it will produce endless comment but the miserable marriage of moanrinho and man u is one of two unpleasant entities well suited to each other. I look forward to their hadean descent.

Another hadean descent I and I’m sure other sentient beings would like to see is boris bunter sliding down on his fat, duplicitous arse.

On Friday I joined a cross-party crew personing a stall at Swanage market promoting the ‘remain’ campaign. I say cross-party as, despite their almost total domination of local politics, the tts were conspicuous by their absence. Initially I was quiet, observing and listening to others more experienced in the art of engaging passers-by. I was pleasantly surprised by the number saying they supported remaining for typically noble reasons. Eventually I entered the fray and engaged in conversation with a woman who was for leaving after her experiences in Portugal and local corruption with eu money. I attempted to argue that the principles attempted by the eu (in this case improving communication and transport for all) were good but the corruption more of a ‘local issue’. The woman walked on soon after but was back a few minutes later and conversation resumed, she stated she’d still probably vote leave but at least we’d had a ‘civilised’ conversation.

I must admit though that my most consistent line of argument that developed for voting remain was that if the brexiters win what a future government might look like with the all too likely possibility that bunter’s putsch will leave him in charge. For me this is very legitimate politics of fear, I am very fearful of a johnson premiership. How apt that his name is slang for penis; he waves his around willy-nilly, his prick rules his head ……………….add more of your own.

Of course I am disillusioned that so many folk are still taken in by his charade, London and londoners have certainly paid a heavy price for succumbing to his snake oil, tousle-haired smarm. There was a brilliant essay in the latest New Statesman by one Brendan Simms, (president of the Project for a Democratic Union, which sounds good to me):

The tag for the essay:

“The Great Huckster: Boris Johnson’s reckless distortions of history

As a scholar of Churchill, Boris Johnson could have articulated a constructive vision for Britain and Europe. Instead, he wilfully manipulates and distorts the historical record.”

So, that became my schtick whilst doing my bit on the stall. And yet there is a powerful left-wing argument for not being in the eu as currently constituted, so maybe I should check out the Project for a Democratic Union:


  • The Project for Democratic Union (PDU) is a political think-tank which makes the case for a full political union of the Eurozone. We believe in a boldly democratic, unified Europe with a strong civil society and public sphere. Our activities range from running on- and offline campaigns to organising academic projects and enlisting contributors of all nationalities and professional backgrounds. Managed by a group of dedicated supporters, the PDU is primarily based in Munich and London and is currently engaged in setting up representations in Lisbon, Budapest, Brussels, Athens and elsewhere.

One person on the stall, a tall, silver haired liberal who’s name my chemo-addled brain can’t remember was very taken with my name, being  as it is so similar to one of the other demented brexiters; irretrievably dense shit. A few times when he was conversing with others he offered to introduce them to ‘Duncan Smith’ with a big grin on his face.

I also had a very enjoyable conversation with Avril who is Swanage’s only non-tt councillor.

And I really enjoyed responding to the entreatment to write a blog inspired by ‘sing’. Caused me to think a little wider. And it reached a few others who don’t normally read my bollocks, such as Marianne @ Along the Side of the Road who is interestingly an ‘extroverted introvert’.

And I’m beginning to get excited as we’re off to Dublin on Friday to see Mr Springsteen.

Must return to bunter johnson, this from zac goldsmith (failed tt mayoral candidate):

“He said: “Size is not everything but it is worth saying that Boris’ majority is very small. I apologise. It is very small, it is very small. I’m not talking about Boris’ Johnson, I’m talking about his majority, Boris’ majority is very, very small. 62,000 votes out of an electorate of 5.8m people, that is 1,000 swing voters in every borough in London.”

And thinking of current demagogues have you seen the drumf’s portrait by Illma Gore:


Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.




So, prompted by a prompt to write a blog entitled ‘Sing’ I’ve started singing. Being a somewhat different prompt to my usual prompts to rant away about some egregiousness or other causes my chemo-addled brain to pause awhile. Sing. To sing. Looking and thinking about the little word sing soon makes it seem a little weird, same as interrogating any word. But with Jeff Buckley singing Allelujah causes me further perturbation and ‘sing like a bird’ comes to the fore.

I read recently that birds living in noisy human environments lose their ability to sing, do any of you folk living in such environments notice any birdsong? Do the offspring of such birds suffer the same, does some sort of evolutionary thing evolve and they become mute or develop different songs? Are they able to find mates normally attracted by song? Do they develop other means of finding mates?

We humans constantly find new ways of finding mates and in highly populated places many now use tinder: ‘Tinder is how people meet. It’s like real life, but better.’, from the tinder website. And that ‘it’s like real life, but better’ for a country bumpkin like me is weird, truly we live in dear old Umberto Eco’s hyperreality.

So do pigeon’s develop a tinder-like homing system? Do twite’s turn to twitter?

Anyway, living in sleepy old Swanage I hear a lot of birdsong and in my dotage I appreciate it more. And some of it is pretty complex and having the time to just sit and listen and hear it better is lovely.

Maybe if more of us made time to listen a little more life might be sweeter.


La Dolce Vita

What is this quintessence of dust? Old William would have had a field day with all the bollocks being spouted by all the politicians and others about the eu referendum. And which way would he vote? And he was lucky as he didn’t have to study Shakespeare at school (thanks Philomena Clunk). And guess who went to Stratford for their birthday and saw a brilliant production of Hamlet?

And unbidden I’ve just been updated to windows 10; you get used to certain ways of doing things and knowing where things are on one’s computer and then……………and at my age, I’m not the spring chicken that Steve still is.

Have been entering a ‘new phase’ in my life and I’m not sure what it is. Speaking with late middle-aged Hector yesterday and describing how going through process of diagnosis, treatment and recovery from treatment is relatively easy. Easy in terms of just getting on with and through treatment (painful and disturbing notwithstanding), but now at stage of working out what happened, what now and what in the future? And at my age? So we’re going to buy a cheap property in Italy, do it up and live La Dolce Vita. And I’ll have to find an Italian soccer team to support.

And I’m doing a load of bureaucratic bollocks for the selling of my unction, so as ever I procrastinate (there is no German word for procrastination).

I’ve always enjoyed the changing seasons, or at least noticed them and appreciated their annual rhythms. But it has been harder this year, part of my ‘new phase’ as it’s only in the last couple of weeks that most of the trees and bushes have burst into greenery and other plants really started growing. And this means that we only have the abundance of greenery for less than half the year and suddenly this isn’t enough for me, I want more hence Italy.

And I’m so tired of the ‘eu debate’, especially with the antics of the likes of bunter and the grinning gargoyle. The grinning gargoyle has the audacity to say that if the vote goes for ‘remain’ then there’ll need to be another referendum if the vote is close. So by this logic every election that is close will need to be rerun, let’s start with last year’s general election.

So after some mealy-mouthed words at last week’s ‘corruption conference’ the kleptos threaten to leave London if they have to reveal stuff. And we’ll really miss the greedy sociopaths won’t we? Why don’t they all just fuck off on a one way ticket on bransom’s rocket, with him at the helm of course.

And my respect for Jo Brand is raised when she states that one thing she’d like to do if in charge is the abolition of private schools. And apropos bunter’s very selective publishing of an air pollution report in London 2 years ago which revealed the alarmingly high levels of pollution near the predominantly poorer state schools the bridge crossing the Thames near his school eton was closed in 1970. Just think how much more stupid and unpleasant he’d be if it hadn’t been closed. Just watch this interview of bunter by Eddie Mair:

8zeJjGM (1)

Keep on keeping on, and ciao love Duncan.


Oh the corruption…………………………………….

Well, made it to 59, which in my book is at least the autumn of my life and no number of saccharine sayings such as you’re as young as you feel, it’s only a number and the like can alter the fact that I’m an old git. Still, feeling quite chipper and wasn’t going to write a load of bollocks on my birthday but the sight of condom features going on about Afghanistan and Nigeria being ‘fantastically corrupt’ got the juices flowing. We are such a hypocritical country that our prime minister who is the beneficiary of a ‘fantastically corrupt’ class regime can say such things with no self-awareness at all. And to say it to madge the benefit cheat, the leader of our corrupt class system, has a certain je ne sais quoi.

And to use French links to a letter today that puts me straight on Richard the 3rd who was of Norman origin, which I did at least hint at, and that the last ‘English’ king was Harold Godwinson who got it in the eye and yet he was Anglo-Saxon and remind me where did the Angles and Saxons hail from?

I digress. Corruption. Which country is ‘responsible’ for so many of the world’s tax havens? In which city do so many kleptos launder their ill-gotten gains? To which companies and individuals do so many of the kleptos turn to for ‘advice’ on how to keep their loot? Answers: Britain, London and British. Of course in their expensively tailored suits and with their privately educated brains and accents these fuckers have the ‘confidence’ and audacity to carry on as if they are entitled and entirely deserving. And the likes of sorrel must be so envious in this fucked up world to learn how much hedge fund managers stole in the last year. A couple of Yankees top the list: kevin griffin and james simons each trousered $1.7 BILLION last year. Actually trousered is such an inapposite term as no expensive tailor could tailor pockets that big. The top Brit is one chris hohn who stole $300 million. He fronts a company he set up called the children’s investment fund management which then donated a massive 0.5% of assets a year to a charitable offshoot the children’s investment fund foundation which ‘helps children in poverty in ‘poor countries”. So, the circle is complete, this hohn fellow exploits the system to make incredible amounts of money, much of which will ultimately come from exploiting ‘third world countries’ and then makes himself look good by such charitable works. Oh and he’s an alumni of one of my universities, Southampton, so I’m guilty by association.

And to sew things up Nils Pratley in today’s financial column: “The hedge fund industry’s triumph has been to take it’s product into the investment mainstream while clinging on to the fee model that belongs in the age of bespoke tailoring”, in other words larceny on a grand old british scale.

650 (2)

….and ribbed for maximum pleasure, they really do fuck us over.

Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.

I’m a Neanderthal man.

So, we had our now annual day of silliness on Saturday with a selection of stupid activities performed with reckless abandon by a group of late middle aged folk who do know better. Have to say that this time my game brought the most tears to my eyes as we swung large parsnips between our legs to move our balls.

As our English education system sinks ever more into our class-ridden bog (come on Mr Jeremy shine a little light to give us hope), the imperative becomes that we try and educate ourselves the more. And thank you angry young man, he’s not late middle aged at all, for nudging me to research a little about his 1485 reference. Sadly, historical knowledge and understanding is lacking with me. Anyway in 1485 our last English King, Richard the 3rd, was killed on Bosworth Field and Henry the 7th assumed the crown and he was a Tudor born in Wales. Subsequently we had the Scottish Stuarts and German Hanovers, before the French and various Normans and I’m sure some Roman blood seeped into the national blood bank along with the old Angles, Vikings, Jutes and Saxons and many other tribes after some original mingling with Neanderthal and Denisovan DNA. So we’re magnificent mongrels and it would be nice if the likes of the grinning gargoyle and other nationalists were properly appraised of our heritage and that more of us were educated about our lineage and that there’s lots of ‘black DNA’ in the Union Jack.

And Bosworth Field is very near Leicester, up the Foxes.

And well done to Mr Steve Clarke re-elected as a Green councillor in Bristol, see, we even have green in our make-up. And I heard on the radio this morning someone say what I am increasingly of the opinion of that local councillors should all be independent and that the tribal element with local elections be removed. I think that dear late middle-aged Steve might agree with me that he’s a sort of independent as he stands under the green banner which is not of the established political parties.

And we really do need to reclaim England from the class-ridden clutches of the coterie currently running down our benighted land. The tts have a 100 seat majority in Englandshire, in Scotland the left-leaning SNP, in Wales the left-leaning Labour party, and now in London the left-leaning Muslim son of a bus driver. And it is the English education system that is in most disarray, I wonder why?

And it was good to witness a lot of luvvies at last night’s BAFTA’s defend the BBC ‘cos the tts and kleptos want it destroyed. The barbarians have long been within and in power.

Let’s adopt I’m a Neanderthal man as our national anthem, which my self education taught me today was not a 10cc song but by Hotlegs, a precursor of 10cc, and we all know why they called themselves 10cc.

‘I’m a Neanderthal man
You’re a Neanderthal girl
Let’s make Neanderthal love
In this Neanderthal world’



Keep on keeping on, love Duncan

What the kleptos don’t have.

My uncle Barry who lives in Manhattan told me a story about Kurt Vonnegut. He says to  Joseph Heller that he’s met a hedge fund klepto who makes more in a day than Catch 22 has made. Heller replies that he doesn’t have what I have. What’s that asks Vonnegut? Enough says Heller.