TELLING IT LIKE IT IS

The brilliant Irish journalist Fintan O'Toole saying it exactly as it is on Channel 4 News yesterday.

Why can't there be people like this as leaders of countries instead of that weird species known as politicians?

Here is the link to that interview.

NEW LEADER OF THE UK

I've cooked up/mashed up this image, inspired by this poem,  to mark this day.

OZYMANDIIAS

I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

Percy Bysshe Shelley  1818

NUMBER MAGIC

Every four months or so I have lowlights done (opposite of highlights) so as to regain or retain some semblance of youthful-ish appearance. One must keep up appearances, especially with a big, gigantic, Methuselah-size birthday looming over the horizon.

Pleased with the result at a local salon I asked the woman who dresses my hair to guess how old I am.
She thought for a while then said this word:

FIFTY

She wasn't being polite or sarcastic or joking.
She really meant fifty. 50

Before leaving I embraced her.

Is there an Oscar for compliments that are intended as facts?
I want to give her that Oscar.

A TOAST TO THE OLDIE

Now for something completely different.

Do toasters have emotions?
Of course not.
However.

My elderly toaster, about 30 years old, recently stopped functioning. The plunger thing wouldn't stay down. Being a DIY person I looked up the tech info. It said that a thorough crumb-cleaning might solve the problem. I did that. Problem not solved. I accepted that old toaster has reached retirement age.

I surfed the web for a new toaster, inexpensive but above £3.99. Found one for about £20 which seemed fine. Took it home, undid the massive wrappings, put in on the counter in place of the old one. It was fat, shiny, with a snazzy red front, self-confident.

I started packing the old toaster to put outside for some passer-by to befriend. Then I thought I'd try it one more time, just in case. I put in two slices of my bakery-bought-sliced-by-me bread. The plunger stayed down. The bread toasted perfectly.

I took the new toaster back to the shop and got a refund. The oldie is behaving beautifully.

What's the moral of this story?
Well, obviously, oldie was upset and jealous that it was about to be replaced and when it saw the actual replacement it went haywire, repaired its own wires or whatever and came back to life.

FAKE NEWS MASTER CLASS

It doesn't take rocket science or extra-sensory perception to work out what's going on here. The farcical, chaotic shenanigans taking place in the Tory party are surely causing frenzied nail-biting and tooth-grinding in the corridors of power, wherever these corridors may be and whoever is pacing the floor therein. The merest soupçon of possibility that Jeremy Corbyn could enter No.10 because people MIGHT lose faith in Tory shenanigans must be prevented at all costs and by all means, foul or fair. but foul always works better. 

So prime the media, spread the smears, use evil-looking photoshopped photos, sinister music, make sure the message is repeated: Labour Party+ Jeremy Corbyn= Anti-Semitiic. And if that isn't enough, he's also too old and frail to be Prime Minister (headline in the Times recently).

If you watched Panorama tonight "Is the Labour Party Anti-Semitic?" (loaded question like "when did you stop beating your wife?") did it remind you of a propaganda film, all the tricks that they use?

MULTI-MEDIA BABY

Sunday evening at the Horse Hospital (not a hospital, no horses) in Bloomsbury, Chiara Ambrosio and Mikey Kirkpatrick celebrated the first birthday of their daughter with a light-the-night party graced with music, poetry, animation, cake, friends and, of course, one year-old Alma Luz Esperanza herself. I sang Malagueña Salerosa for her, since her names are in Spanish and she is indeed linda y hechicera (beautiful and bewitching).

Chiara Ambrosio singing her song.

Alma Luz Esperanza and her Dad Mikey Kirkpatrick

Mikey Kirkpatrick and his daughter Alma Luz Esperanza.

HOW TO BE TOP DOG

REQUIREMENTS FOR BEING PRIME MINISTER, PRESIDENT, TOP DOG, BIG CHEESE, GANG LEADER:

1. Know how to lie confidently, fluently, boldly, shamelessly.

2. Lie about lying, as above.

3. Be a role model: let them learn how to win via all the above.

4. Be a boor, a bore, a buffoon, a bastard, a betrayer. They will call it charisma.

BODY REBUILDING

Here's me back from the gym, feeling virtuously achy. They have state of the art equipment, acres of it, full of people in various states of uber-fitness, uber-decay and simple normal what-the-hellness. All good.

ITALIAN THINKING

My old friend from Rome, Gaetano Trusso, architect-poet-translator of Persian poetry but not fitting any pigeonholes, as is the case with all my close friends and family, was here last week and of course we spoke Italian, with the odd French or English phrase inserted now and then.

I noticed that my ongoing inner monologue changes languages whenever I spend time with someone whose native tongue is different from mine, if I happen to know that tongue. I start to think in Italian, for instance, and my thinking takes on an Italianate character. I don't mean pasta adverts and lots of hand gestures but another range of thoughts, other vibrations, other colours. Finding links between apparently disparate things, a collage kind of thinking, more like flying than driving.

Dear Christine exhibition opens in Newcastle

I've never been to Newcastle. Newcastle is amazing. Those up and down streets, wonderful buildings, the river, the bridges, one of them glowing rainbowly at night, and the people, the people! Unbelievably friendly, all of them, at least the five ot six I accosted in the street to ask for directions. They instantly stopped what they were doing, talking on their phones or whatever, and accompanied me on my search. Where else would you find such friendliness? Eventually I got to the Vane, somewhat late at the Private View. 

I intended to take photos of everything and everyone but forgot that communicating with people and taking pictures at the same time doesn't really work. I did manage a few shots and no doubt lots more photos will be posted by others. There is an excellent hardback catalogue, fully illustrated.
 

I'm so glad I was there, the launching of the Dear Christine exhibition, and Fionn Wilson deserves more than one standing ovation for the persistence, dedication, attention and affection she has poured into this project since she conceived it. Christine Keeler would surely have been moved by this reframing and reclaiming of herself as an individual rather than a mere player in the he tragi-comedy that was the Profumo Affair.