Can you Adam and Eve it, Boris fucking Johnson
He’s a total fucking eejit, a total fucking nonsense
You cannot be fucking serious, elect a chump like that
To be a fucking leader? He’s a total fucking twat
If he ends up in Number Ten, we may as well all fuck off
Alexander Boris de Falafel Johnson, a total fucking toff
Just wants to be Prime Mincer, doesn’t give a fucking toss
He wants us out of Europe at any fucking cost
Hates immigrants and unions, of course the fucking poor
Wants them all as dead as ducks, and then he’d kill some more
The bastard fucking love child of Thatcher and Mister Bean
He’s the biggest fucking nob-head I’ve ever fucking seen
Call that a fucking politician? Call dogshit a bunch of daffs
Like Churchill on a mission? Don’t make me fucking laugh
Tory Party members, by definition fucking bigots
But really, get a fucking grip, you can’t elect this spigot
The only fucking use for him is to use him as a cork
Or flog him to a butcher, pass the fucker off as pork
It comes to fucking something, when given Hobson’s choice
Johnson’s worse than fucking nothing, and if we had a fucking voice
We’d even opt for the other prick, Jerry fucking Hunt
Even though – wait for it – he’s s total fucking…
Waste of space
The only fucking reason, though, that’d we’d go for nasty Jerry
Is to hear every fucking journo fuck his name up on the telly
So all you evil fucking bastards in Tory La La Land out there
Don’t vote for fucking Bozza cos it make me fucking swear!
(And I don’t mean allegiance to the Union fucking Jack)
Now, where’s that fucker Govie to stab Boris in the back?

A while back, I made this presentation, "We got the power!" about street choirs, the power of music and political possibilities at the Street Music Conference in Norwich. The presentation feeds into a forthcoming Campaign Choirs Writing Collective paper that will appear in Soundings.

p.s. I also took this video "one-man band on the run", starring the incomparable Pete Moser in action at the conference (LOL)

As "the natural party of government", the thoroughly despicable and incompetent Tories, enters the cat-fight to elect its next leader-to-fail, it seems a prime (ministerial) moment to publish a poem or two on the subject of British politics. The Tory leadership election should be staged as a TV game show called "Pick Your Posh Boy!" (yeah, I know there are two women involved... Maybe "Pick Your Posh Prat!" then?). If I had to pick a winner, it would be Jeremy Hunt simply because of the humorous  tension that would be sustained throughout his (hopefully brief) premiership, waiting for the next media mouthpiece to get his name wrong.


Hard working family fortunes
 
(To be read in the accent of Jacob Rees-Mogg with the class loathing of Andrew Mitchell)
 
Hard working British families, not scroungers on the dole
Hard working British families, not disabled, whole
Hard working British families, not immigrants or gays
Hard working British families, hard to find these days
 
Noses to the grindstone, shoulders to the wheel
Hard working British families, we know just how you feel
Because we’re all in this together, though not quite to the same degree
You’re in the shit we shit for you, while we sit pretty, see?
 
Hard work never killed anyone, well not anyone we know
                                                            Dontcha know dontcha know
Hard working British families, we know you’re going to go
Shopping on a Sunday, give us your wages back
Put it on the credit card, stick it back on our stack
                                                            Jack
 
Hard working British families, austerity means cuts
Tighten your hard-working belts while we stuff our Tory guts
We’ll preach you should hate your neighbours, teach you how to fear
That chap living next door to you? Muslim, Paedo, Queer!
 
Hard working British families, we’ve got you by the ‘nads
Hard working British families, all you young ‘uns, mums and dads
Hard working British families, you must be total twats
‘Hard working British families vote for privileged Eton prats’
 
Ex leader stuck his cocktail sausage in the dead chops of a pig
We burn fifties in front of homeless folk to make ourselves feel BIG
We’ve shafted you for ever, and now we’ll shaft some more
You bend your back and tip your cap, peasant to the core
                                                                        Guv
 
Turkeys don’t vote for Christmas, spuds don’t vote for mash
Hard working British families, how come you’re so dash-ed rash?
 
The pledges of the ruling class are like a cheeky piss
They steam, they stink, they seep away, leave you nowt but this:
 
An ailing NHS, Trident replacement, fracking, a nuclear power nightmare, benefit cuts, heartless immigration policies, degraded human rights, child poverty, homelessness and a housing crisis, climate change…  The list goes on and on.
And now there’s Chris Grayling!
 
Hard working British families: resign, emigrate divorce… It’s our only hope!

Today I wish I was with Campaign Choirs singing in the demo in London, opposing a state visit by the vile US President.

My humble contribution to the case, which will hopefully give some friends and comrades a laugh, is a little song. With due credit to Pink Floyd then:

​Another Brick In The Wall (Spare Part)
 
We don't need to stop immigration
We don't need border control
No children locked in steel cages
Donald, leave them kids alone
 
Hey, Trump, leave them kids alone!
 
All in all he’s just another prick with a wall
All in all Trump’s just another prick with a wall

I'm very pleased that the good people of Aber Food Surplus like and want to share my short film flow. It was made on a visit they organised to our local recycling centre, Nantycaws.

I'm loving the spontaneous wave of actions in response to the vandalising of the Cofiwch Dreweryn mural near Llanrhystud. Not only has the wall been repaired and repainted but people are replicating the image across Wales and even internationally, wholly reversing the vandals' intentions. The monument to what was done at Tryweryn will always be in people's hearts no matter how many monuments are defaced or destroyed. Here's a couple of (not very good) photos of a replica tribute in Machynlleth and another that someone has done at their house on the Aberystwyth - Devil's Bridge road.  Me, I've bought the T-shirt! (The Tryweryn story)

Yesterday, I finally decided to at least begin quitting Facebook. I've done a bit of reading around what FB and others are doing with our data and I didn't like it - Jaron Lanier's Ten arguments for deleting your social media accounts right now, for instance. But more than that, I can't get over the feeling FB makes me feel a bit shit. There;s something about that format of communicating and sharing that is unsatisfying, even disturbing. And the sort of disguised self-promotional aspect of it - here's my photos, something I wrote, my movie etc. For me its not a good mix of communicating with friends, promoting my projects and activism or doing politics. So, I'm goign to communicate with my friends by other means, preferably face to face but if not ring them more, listen and speak. There's a shy and weirdly time conscious part of me that's always been drawn to email and textign tyoe 'communication', but I think that contributes to a sense of isolation somehow... This weebly site, I'm mainly going to use to share my work. I'll continue doing politics on FB on behalf of groups I'm involved with, but no more re-posting Guardian articles that i think everyone should read (I know, sometimes I've been grateful for such links from other, but there's too much splurge to wade through to find the nuggets).

Islet's Emma Daman Thomas from Mach Comedy Fest 2019

Meaning is finding the motivation to ask questions and the courage to know that there is no certainty or permanence in any  'answers'. That's why continuing to ask questions makes life meaningful.

But what does that mean?

Water minute is the answer to a question that I haven't yet formed. But I loved making this film and hope you'll enjoy it.