We’re surrounded by wankers.

And we live in strange times, or is it that we’re coming to see the reality as the facade of all that we consider normal is stripped away. Or maybe my brain’s just chemo-fucked. Started watching Adam Curtis’s latest ‘HyperNormalisation’ (http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/p04b183c/adam-curtis-hypernormalisation)  which starts by stating that we live in a strange time, and how we’re comforted by the powerbrokers constructing a fake, simple version of our world and we, even the counterculturists like the hippies, bought into it and allowed this simplistic vision to predominate. Of course whilst humans are essentially creatures of habit and generally simple folk looking at life through this particular simplified lens has created great distortions. And now we are paying the consequences and we have the ugly contradictions like drumf and the grinning gargoyle. These self-appointed men of the people, these ‘straight talkers’ who decry elites and yet are products of this weird world and the apparently simple becomes rapidly contorted, no wonder Martin Rowson draws farage as a snake:

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So whenever people who support either of these ‘alpha males’ have their bigotry, racism, misogyny, contradictions pointed out to them they contort themselves to maintain the simple version. For example, watching Question Time from Hartlepool when the ‘big beast’ Kenneth Clarke points out contradictions or an alternative he is listened to in polite silence yet the young Labour female MP when she essentially says the same is howled at by the mob. So we have a tt and a Labour saying the same things about brexit and yet different responses, wonder why?

drumf will get lots of votes simply because his opponent is a woman.

So we have our simple version of the world underpinned by deeper patriarchal bollocks.

And drumf is a very much a product of our simplified corrupted world, he has carried out his kleptomania in full view and is a prime example of prime real estate exploitation.

In my simple world had my first game in the Swanage pool premier league last night and it was fun having premier league players coming to play at The Globe’s very cramped table which also, owing to the 17th century floor, is a little uneven and this unevenness evens things up. And yet, even at this simple level dark forces operate, there is no referee and players self-govern, much like our financial services and kleptos, so despite the frequent mantra of “we’re just playing for fun” and the like there are many examples of nefarious deeds, especially, apparently, in the premier league.

In my second game I was undone by hubris; playing for me a good tactical game I approached the table for a shot thinking I’m about to win this game and promptly knocked one of my opponent’s balls (joke time) with my thumb. I immediately stood up and told my opponent I’d fouled, he and others had not even seen it. He went on to snatch a win as my last ball stuck in the pocket’s jaws.

The likes of drumf and the grinning gargoyle would never own up to a foul, they would see it as a sign of weakness, they commit deliberate fouls regularly as part of their game and they get away with it, why is this?  Or more particularly why do so many not see this? Oh silly me, it’s been going on for time immemorial. Many years ago I read a book by J B Priestley called the Image Men in which he has a couple of blokes set up a PR agency, the institute of imagistics I think they called it. They do well and get an impressive client list. Then they have a bust up, separate and set up their own agencies. One then gets the then prime minister the other the leader of the opposition as clients. The climax of the book has the two leaders presenting their new images for the coming election, they are both exactly the same as the two PR men have deliberately created it so.

That’s it, I’ve had it with the Grauniad. I read a very pertinent and cogently argued piece by George Monbiot and someone in the comments wrote very disparagingly about it, fair enough but finished with: ” Sadly, this is what the Guardian BTL has become nowadays: a (almost complete) wankfest.” I replied to this commentator by asking whether they’d written their comment with one hand? And my comment was removed. Wankers.

Only a Kliban can save my sanity with this early drumf reference:

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Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.

 

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Change.

Always thought and assumed I was good with and coped well with change but now am of the opinion that currently I’m not. Perhaps the whole crabby thing and it’s ‘life changing’ effects are catching up on me. Certainly Grace going off to university hit me harder than I thought it would, spent a great deal helping her through the process and very little self reflection until after. The existential angst brought on from trying to set up my own business after being a teacher all my working life. And then pitching up at my local pub for our first competitive game of the new pool season and there’s a new landlady and landlord and new faces in the team. My change befuddled brain briefly went into meltdown and I just wanted to go back home and be in front of our log fire with Kate.

But then the changes that appear to be happening to me as I get more into T’ai Chi, or more particularly Qi Gong, feel pretty good. I like the aspect of it that as soon as you think you’re getting good something happens that reminds you you’re still very much a low-level novice.

What doesn’t feel so good is the changes being wrought in our benighted Isle by bleedin’ brexit. Racism, xenophobia and the collective mindset that we can reverse all the changes of the past 60 years or so and return to some mythical english era. As well as the personal setback with the plunge in the pound that jeopardises our moving to Italy plans. I do so hope the tts lose Witney today to compound the poxy changes condom features has wrought.

And from my various snouts news of all the changes at poor Purbeck View School that are causing so much consternation. The effects on staff and students brought primarily about by one largely arrogant person who signally failed to bring co-operative change are sad to witness. Still, much as my Qi Gong hubris causes me to humbly reflect, I hear that the largely arrogant one is being given time to reflect on their behaviour, perhaps on the highway to hell.

I recall pitchfork references in my earliest blogs and seems that poor yankland may be about to experience pitchfork rebellions when drumf refuses to accept losing the election. What a tease the ignoramus is as he keeps us ‘in suspense’.

And yet, what changes if the small-handed twat wins…………………………

Would be good to see the asset-stripping green shyster stripped of his knighthood and his ill-begotten wealth, and the general change so many of us would like to see of the repatriation of all the stolen loot from the kleptos.

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Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.

 

On feeling like the only truthful snake oil salesperson.

Had a new experience yesterday when I went to sell my unction at a ‘mind, body and spirit fayre’, the first time I’d ever been to such an event. Almost didn’t get there as there was a tremendous downpour in the hour before I left and the Purbeck roads were awash, briefly almost became a real island.

So, I get to this hall and set up my little stall in a room full of ‘alternative’ services and wares. To my right is someone doing ‘psychic nails’, suppose it’s another gap in the ever burgeoning nail decorating industry that’s been plugged. To my left a man doing pictures of your ‘spiritual guides’, people sit next to him and he then draws whatever he thinks is their spiritual guide. There is an abundance of tarot card readers, all sorts of crystal applications, a woman doing something involving numbers and areas of life where people sit opposite her probably revealing all their fears and anxieties which can then be reframed within her spiritual system for £25. Everybody’s looking for something, who am I to disagree.

Most people seem happy, except for the crystal hand-laying lady who has what Kate and the girls call a ‘resting bitch face’. People hang around stalls for hours, I feel slightly out of place and bury myself in the newspaper. I feel as if I am the only bona fide snake oil salesman, I even call it an ‘unction’, I experience existential angst.

I wander round the main hall and see all sorts of weird and wonderful wares, a rival selling ointments to energise your chakras, damn why didn’t I think of that? I resist the urge to run even though it becomes increasingly clear I’m a little out of place and won’t make much money. The first stall to pack up and go is the body shop franchise, at least I’m not the most blatant money grabber.

And then I read a report about how towns and villages are running out of hard cash, blimey brexit effect already hitting us in cold hard cash terms. Still, the plunge in the value of the pound will see more foreign visitors and even more foreigners buying up our housing, land, businesses and resources just as the grinning gargoyle wanted. And wasn’t it stomach churning seeing farage over in Yankland supporting drumf and giving silver back gorillas a bad name.

And listening to Richard Wolff and his monthly economic update he made reference to Samantha Bee. I looked her up (shit, almost anything you write or say is now viewed through a trump-fucked lens and becomes questionable), anyway , I looked her up on you tube and I think she’s great: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gk72KC4jWc   especially the monologue at the end of this clip.

Have to go now as I have to get ready for a funeral and perceptions of those shift as one gets older.

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Keep on keeping on, love Duncan

 

Returns.

I left yesterday afternoon with plenty of time to drive to the hospital for my dental appointment and get my fix with a shop in Waitrose beforehand. The journey though was packed with queuing traffic, roadworks, tractors, learner lorry drivers, badgers trying to escape being shot by farmers such that my determined shop was shortened and I had to run for the first time in a while to make the appointment. I hurriedly put the details into the reception machine to be told there was no record, I put in my details more carefully to get the same answer. I looked at my appointment letter; it was for the next day.

Not wanting to make my journey fruitless I decided to go to the radiotherapy department to ask whether I could leave some unction leaflets in the waiting area. Despite dozens of previous visits for treatment I’d forgotten the way and even when following the signs I still had difficulty recollecting. Eventually I was in the corridor leading to the machines and this I remembered and suddenly a fearful feeling took over. I’d not been down this way since my treatment finished and the flood of memories overwhelmed me. I just about managed to make a half hearted enquiry about the person I wanted to see, fortunately she wasn’t in as all I wanted to do was leave. An unpleasant return.

A far more pleasant return is that of my body to it’s more natural, and dare I say mental, state. This seems to be coming about through the T’ai Chi I’m doing. I have returned to the pupil state with Paul my teacher. I am learning lots of Qi Gong, the ‘softer’ form of the martial art and am slowly becoming aware of how much it’s benefiting. There are some more immediate effects some more slow burning. An example of the former was last week I told Paul about my very painful inner thigh/groin which Kate had been telling me to go to the doc’s about. He showed me a few exercises and threatened to do some deep tissue massage, fortunately the exercises miraculously worked although it could well have been the mental side of me not wanting the pain of massage. Also when Kate massaged me this week for possibly the first time ever there were no painful bits.

It is the return of the pool season and at short notice we had a practice game this week, I won both my games but that will be it for the season as we have stupidly got ourselves promoted to the premier league and they are too good and way too serious, my locker room banter won’t be well received.

Returning to memories of my younger days when I played much sport and spent much time in changing rooms; we didn’t have lockers just hooks to hang our clothes on, I cannot remember talking like drumf did about women (he probably still does).  This may be explained by the fact that drumf has no experience of sporting changing rooms except those at golf clubs. When Steve, Mark and myself played golf pretty much weekly for a few years in London we prided ourselves, or at least I did, on not being members of a club so we never went into the ‘locker rooms’, simply putting our golf shoes on in the car park. If we had used the ‘locker rooms’ maybe we would have heard some drumf ‘locker room talk’.

Had a lovely card from a woman who bought a sample of my unction last Saturday for her husband who sadly has chronic leukaemia. The unction was the first cream they had used that moisturised him properly and he liked the smell, which apparently is high praise.

And returning to the theme of my old school workplace, Purbeck View School, one of my informants told me of the current staffing difficulties and the possible questioning of ‘my way or the highway’s’ role in implementing a new staffing system that possibly isn’t working too well. I’ll update when I get more info.

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Anyway, I’m returning to the hospital, hopefully for an appointment that is today.

Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.

 

Sniffer.

Feeling a little fuzzy as I stayed awake to listen to ‘the debate’. Caused me to experience a number of different emotions and thoughts, but the overwhelming one was how could a man like drumf actually get into this position? I know there’s the ‘American dream’ anyone can make it, but hey, wake up. Anyway drumf was born with a silver spoon up his nose if his perpetual sniffing is anything to go by; so money and it’s power got him to a place where he can stand on a stage watched by and listened to by many millions.

Anyway, his sniffing, if it is coke induced then it’s an affront to coke heads. But hey folks there are many possible reasons, may well be an allergy caused by a massive allergic reaction to him in some sort of reverse reaction.

Could be sinusitis, a blockage of his sinuses, probably a development from various blockages in his narcissistic brain pathways.

Maybe it’s an irritation, certainly his weird constipated look and frequent arrogant interruptions seem irritable, ooh you’re all ganging up on me. He certainly irritates many others.

Perhaps it’s caused by some medication such as stuffing viagra up his nose. He is 70 now so is probably on a range of medications including erectile dysfunction.

Could be some sort of tic, this may be a symptom of ADHD. He certainly has some other symptoms, maybe combined with OCD, he is disgusted by many things.

Sniffing is a sign of crying and all the pressure is bringing out a long repressed dysfunctional relationship with his mother.

He might have stuffed something up his nose, it is something children often do. I remember when I was young I won a competition with my brother to see who could push a dried pea furthest up our nose. I had to go to the doctor to have it removed.

Enough of the narcissistic moron.

Selling my unction in a very grand hall in Salisbury Guild Hall I began suffering from RSI: repetitive spiel injury. Getting some very positive responses to the unction. Last week whilst in the newly revamped Bridport Arts Centre a man asked me in passing whether it was extreme unction. Slightly thrown, thinking this was a particular thing I glibly replied that it was extremely good. Extreme unction is a former name for the catholic sacrament, especially when administered to the dying. Whilst unction does have an archaic meaning of treatment with a medicinal oil or ointment it is also: “the action of anointing someone with oil or ointment as a religious rite or as a symbol of investiture as a monarch.” So I’ve chosen a term that encapsulates two of my favourite things: religion and royalty! When I’m next in Poundbury I’ll get Charlie to give it a royal warrant., trump-coke

Keep on keeping on, love Duncan, sniff.

 

 

 

 

More rambling bollocks.

Feeling tired after another day flogging my unction. Also feeling tired as I listen to the mainstream media simply parrot the spin put out by the tts. terry might is making a pitch for the ‘new middle ground’, what the fuck is that? How is it different from the old middle ground? Is there an old middle ground? Where is this middle ground? Is it near the fabled Middle Earth?

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Just remembered that for the first hundred or so blogs I had ideas for the new manifesto, time to resurrect this with: ‘All companies to reveal how many tories work for them’.

But lo, what is that questioning my bigoted bollocks? Surely all those who vote for the tts are not devoid of compassion for others, have some notion that perhaps things might be unfair and loaded. Of course our bigoted thinking comes from the shibboleths we inherit or assume during our formative years (I’m still in my formative years). Anyway, across my bows comes an interesting book: Moral Politics: How Liberals and Conservatives Think is a 1996 book by cognitive linguist George Lakoff. It argues that conservatives and liberals hold two different conceptual models of morality. Conservatives have a Strict father model in which people are made good through self-discipline and hard work, everyone is taken care of by taking care of themselves. Liberals have a nurturant parent model in which everyone is taken care of by helping each other.

Thinking about the different concepts and much of it fits my biased political  views. I’m sure the tt strategists  have read it and apply it to their propaganda (can you confirm this Martin?).

Lots of schadenfreude with the ucrappers, their latest leader didn’t even last as long as big sam, who of course now has the best record of any English soccer manager. And now they’re beating each other up, things can only get better.

And as for drumf, no representation without taxation I say.Watch Sam Harris on youtube:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3yBGE80covk

And interest in anything, let alone trying to understand anything, has an ever decreasing half-life.

And good to see that the right wing leaders of Polishland have thrown out the proposal to ban abortions after massive, mainly female protest. Interesting that most (not all) anti-abortionists are of a right wing bent and they are progeny of the strict father model, daddy doesn’t like women to have much control or power.

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Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.