Just a road man for the kings of karma...

Warm vodka... Cold hard cash...

Okay, so Finland won with Lordi. We got stuck up the top of Helvellyn in a force 9 gale at -5C and enough wine was drunk to drown Bukowski.

We also clambered over the white cliffs of Dover and tried to sneak out of the country on a passenger ferry before the dogs found us.
 

But we're not here to talk about that. Oh, no no no no no... England is playing Hungary in the background. Halftime and it's the dullest game I have ever seen. The vodka is open and the fumes are cleaning the insides of the windows and the world is a cosy place. Mrs Kowalski is out with her posh friends over in the City and it's beginning to get dark.

Nope, we're not going to talk about any of that either. Far to many important things are afoot. Kowalski needs cash quickly and so he's plotting and scheming a way to quick bucks. Things he's already considered:

cosmic ordering

theft / robbery / fraud

ebay

skills exchange with local businesses

gigelo

begging

actually sitting down and getting some employment that is quick, dirty and not at all creative.

And what has he decided? He's decided that the games suddenly got a lot more exciting and the vodka's beginning to warm...

Stockpile of Weapons... Heading North... End Times...

Preparations are afoot. The phone is off the hook so I am  receiving text messages every thirty seconds. I am leaving the homestead for a couple of day. Heading north to the mountains.

There's a cottage we've got up there and something big is going down. We want to be away from the action. Remote reportage. Let the world keep spinning its way into decent. There's going to be four of us hiding out in the mountains with nothing but a TV for each terrestial channel, a couple of rifles, a crate of rum, three limes, a selection of raw meat, and fourteen tom waits albums. Everything one needs to survive the storm.

Why are we doing this? Dangerous things are afoot. The countries of Europe are uniting this saturday to vote on how much money they spend on arms to each other, thinly velied as a music competition. We are expecting England, nil points. I don't even know what our song is. It's by some metrosexual freak that goes by the name of Daz. Another in a long chain of nobodies. Was probably too much trouble to get one of the Big Brother contestants out of the house for the evening.

I'm rooting for Lordi. A bunch of Finns that dress like GWAR. Can't go wrong there. Never in the history of the Eurovision Song Contest has there been a death metal band. Surely it is a sign of the end times. And where else to be? In the mountains with a stockpile of weapons, booze and fresh meat. 

Opus Dei... British Government... Pigeons...

I left the relative safety of the valley today. I don't often, as there are crazed and dangerous people out there that would take a dislike to my lifestyle and opinions. I had things to do, people to see. It made a change from working the homestead during the day and writing during the night. Plus, I needed to get a couple of kegs of beer.

I had a meeting with Rachel Maria, erstwhile sister to Ruth Kelly, the new Secretary of State for Communities and Local Government. Rachel was meeting with me to tell me of sinister meeting and double-standards within the governmental halls of power. A long time ago, Rachel claims to have had a falling out with her sister and this small act of retribution "would sow the seeds to her downfall" as she put it.

"You know she's Opus Dei, don't you?" she said over coffee in a cafe in Somerset. "Ronan [her brother] is pretty high up in them. She claims to be loosely affiliated with them but that is all. She's a very private person."

I knew that whatever she said next would be jackpot. "she's definitely a member. She follows their doctrine, including self-flagellation and it directly contravenes with her governmental position."

She went on as I made notes. Out of 21 measures to support gay rights she has voted on none of them because she thinks homosexuality is a sin. Because of her position within this sect of the Catholic Church she would be against religion in schools, stem-cell research and abortion. She's a dangerous person to have in power, claims Rachel. Her own sister cashing her in for the sake of retribution. Somebody high up in a 'limited knowledge sect of religion allowed to swan freely over our political duvet without any form of control is a dangerous thing to the security of the sensibilities of our society. Where will it end? Scientologists in the Cabinet? Order of the Knights Templar running the Rail networks. A cabal of the Illumaniti in control of the world? ahem.

I went and did a bit of research on Ruth Kelly. There's not a lot out there. She's asked her parish church [St. Patrick's in Wapping] to refuse people to look up her details in the parish register. This is illegal. She is also being replaced from her role in education by onetime ex-boyfriend, David Miliband. And she became an enemy of school parent comittees when her white paper tried to change parents rights in so-called 'trust schools'. Seems like this person isn't out for helping people much, a shame for a person in her position.

At least she's not albino, I mutter to Rachel. "True. But she has a phobia of pigeons, so bad that she will kill them with her bare hands if necessary."

And you wonder why I leave the valley only when I have to.

Air of crazyness... police brutality... a warning...

There is an air of crazyness in the valley today. Greenfly are collecting in great clouds around the homestead, a dead sparrow was left on our gate pinned to two crossed lolly sticks and the stream seems empty of fish. Indications that all is not well with the world.

I'd left yesterday to catch up with two policemen to discuss with them their opinion on a recent channel 4 Dispatches documentary about the police 'misbehaving':

"i don't know what all the fuss is about. we're just normal people like anybody else. we get bored of paperwork and decide to play cricket in the corridors and it's a crime. some white-collar office geek does it and it's 'kinda fun'. and yes, i have played hide -and-seek in a police car, but that was 4am in the park." They were both adamant that it was just a case of coping with the intense stresses and the great tediums of the occupation. "We used to play snooker: pull a red car, then a black one... you're always pretty safe if you drive a yellow car. except, statistically, you're more likely to commit suicide instead".

Then the evening turned nasty. I was drugged, forced to consume vast quantities of alcohol and watch dog porography liberated from the stores whilst they stood around in masks and beat me savage with rubber hosing whilst 'Serenity' played in the packground on a huge monitor.

I must have passed out because I found myself in a suit I don't own in the driving seat of a car that wasn't mine. I ditched the car and torched it a mile from the homestead after liberating the suitcase full of Rum in the boot. I've locked out the doors and patrolling the attic room with a shotgun. the phone is ringing and the answerphone is already full of apologies for a prank getting out of hand.

But i know it could be all cover-up and they're on their way with the night shift. The sparrow was a warning.

Mission Statement

I will provide a totally subjective rant on the state of the world. As a member of this sphere we call home, I will report from within the action. I'd like to amuse, anger, and entertain. But most of all I'd like to write. At least once a week.

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