I’ve been looking for a copy of this wee comic for years. It’s by the fantastic Pete Loveday and describes the day that we shut down the financial heart of London for a day, had fist fights with mass murderers… I mean bankers and traders, fought running battles with police, and generally had a whale of a time smashing the spectacle in he very belly of the beast. Thanks to faraway at the 1000 Flights blog for preserving this.
The riots of June the 18th 1999 were part of a global “Carnival Against Capital” that was timed to coincide with the G8 summit in Kölne, Germany. The idea was to show that the resistance to the degradations of capital are as global as capital itself. It was a fantastic idea that saw demonstrations in over 40 cities around the world including in Montevideo (Uruguay), Port Harcourt (Nigeria), Tel Aviv, Minsk, Madrid, Valencia, Prague, Hamburg, Cologne, Milan, Rome, Siena, Florence, Ancona, Amsterdam, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Lancaster, Zurich, Geneva, Toronto, Vancouver, Ottawa, Washington D.C., New York, Los Angeles, Austin (Texas), Boston, and Eugene (Oregon). Cracking eh?
Unfortunately this was the last of the “global street parties” saw gawd knows how many people all over the planet come out in protest against capitalism and the machinations of the bourgeoisie. After this a group of, for the most part, middle class full time activists decided that we should all go to the places where the elites were holding their shindigs. Great idea if you can easily take a week or more off work and can afford to travel across the planet. Not so great if you’re a single parent or have other care responsibilities, are unemployed (without middle class parents), or working a shitty minimum wage job. So after this we had the WTO protests in Seattle (which, predictably, is where many Americans seem to think this stuff started), the IMF/World Bank meeting in Prague, and the G8 summit in Genoa in 2000. These protests carried on in ever reduced form until the 2005 G8 summit in Gleneagles Scotland whereafter things really petered out.
One day I may write a book about my experiences in all this, perhaps I’ll call it “It Was Shit and We Achieved Nothing.”
Still, we got a brilliant Pete Loveday comic book out of it at least. 🙂
Hahaha, I can now tweet twats from my website. So, that’s a thing I suppose… Can’t believe I spent all afternoon configuring this…
So now you can subscribe to me occasionally talking shit in small snippets (shittets?) via an RSS feed rather than relying on Twitter. Which I’m sure all of 0 people are going to do. Next, set up some way of posting to Twatbook without actually using the big blue beastie.
The recent posthumous publication of the late Jacob Rees-Mogg’s tribute to the greats of the Victorian era offered a number of surprises for avid followers of the top hatted time traveller’s career. Some were surprised that the book was published at all once the specifics of Rees-Mogg’s untimely passing during an auto-erotic asphyxiation accident last month were revealed. That he had been pleasuring himself to images of the great 1845 South Grove orphanage fire saw many speculate that this book would never see the light of day.
Many had been expecting that the former Member for North East Somerset would have penned a trite and clearly politically charged paean to the Victorian period. That he would have written a heavy handed, if eloquent, mythologisation of this controversial period of British history. What a refreshing surprise then to discover that rather than a tribute to the “tremendous energy” and “moral purpose” that is attributed to the ruling class of the period what we have is a dozen stories of debased and squalid sexual extremity. A 120 Days of Sodom, perhaps that should be Eton, for the modern day.
Rees-Mogg explores with erotic fervour, and in electrifying detail, the moral turpitudes of the day. One can almost hear the joyful gasps of the Honourable Member as he luridly and lasciviously describes the disposable nature of children used as sexual toys by the wealthy. His excitement is contagious as he describes the orgiastic writhing of the limbs of Empire across the world. But his writing reaches its greatest heights when he is discussing the depredations of the poor forced into workhouses and prostitution across the land. Rees-Mogg’s prose swells to transcendental heights as he elucidates upon the role that the corpses of the plebeians must play in raising Britain to true greatness.
This book is wonder and a great gift to the world, an erotically honest tribute to the paedophilia, abuse, starvation, and murder that allowed us to build an empire upon which the sun never set. It is a fitting tribute to an exemplary parliamentarian the likes of whom we will likely never see again but whose jaunty laugh we will surely hear in the weeping of food bank queues across this fair and sceptred isle.
So, Brexit Day Mk. 1.0 is rapidly looming, to be swiftly followed by a sequel next month it seems. I’ve been taking a rather unhealthy interest in the proceedings in the House of Commons of late. Something that shouldn’t be surprising given as I’ve been living in Germany since shortly after the vote in 2016. I’ve also been relentlessly scrolling through #Brexit on Twatter. I don’t even like social media, let alone Twatter! Yet I just can’t help myself. It’s like picking a bloody scab (rather than lobbing rocks at them like you’re supposed to. He-he-he).
Obviously I really want the whole shit show to be cancelled. I live in Germany but I’ve not been here long enough to guarantee that I’ll be able to stay here with my partner. I really like that I can travel anywhere I want in the EU and move anywhere that I can find work. I also really like that anyone else can too. It makes things more interesting.
It’s staggering to look at it from the outside, whilst still having a vested interest, and to see the utter nonsense being spouted in the media and in parliament.
One thing that’s clear, especially when watching parliament, is the fear that politicians seem to have of annoying the people that voted to leave. Regardless of whether a) many of them have now died and been replaced with remain favouring young people, or b) many others appear to have changed their minds. Now, they’ve never really given much of a flying fuck about what the people of the UK want. We all know that.
Back in the days of cheap drugs and free parties the Neo-Labour government, and the rest of them in parliament, decided that they really really wanted to murder a bunch of people in Iraq. Something like 1.5-2 million people marched against that. The largest movement of people in the UK since the Peasant’s Revolt in the 14th Century. They basically see the British people in the same way that Richard the Second saw old Wat Tyler. They’re clearly more frightened of the right wing press like the Mail and the Murdoch.
They also make a big hoo-hah about “respecting the referendum”. Despite the clear fact that the Leave campaign were lying through their teeth. Shouldn’t they be up on charges for something like that? I suppose not because we’d have to arrest half of parliament as well. The lying bloomin’ liars.
Some of them have balls of steel mind you. The ability to keep a straight face whilst saying that a second referendum would be undemocratic is impressive. Balls of steel.
“Respecting the referendum”. What a joke. The question was basically “Who’s your favourite Star Wars character? Doctor Who or No?” The whole thing was a farce.
Shit. Are there any people on the island that don’t really, in their heart of hearts, not realise that this is all a result of a power struggle in the Conservative Party? A Conservative Party made up of millionaires who are so disconnected from normal people that they didn’t realise that many people would vote leave just to say “Fuck you” to politicians in general. Twats.
Now, given that I’m a lousy “Remoaner” who has a selfish interest in Article 50 being revoked, you could be forgiven for initially thinking that I’m some sort of EU fetishist. You know, like those tits with wanky placards and blue faces like some low-rent version of William Wallace you saw on the People’s Vote march last Saturday. See below.
I get most of my UK news from the news feed on my phone so I mostly end up with articles from The Grauniad or the Indescribably Boring Independent. Middle class liberal papers that speak to and for middle class liberals. Also the only major newspapers that are predominantly remain. They often run little pieces about how “Brits in the EU” are going to be affected by Brexit. Every single one of these stories is about posh people. As I said on Twatter a while ago:
Something that has been bugging me about the “UK citizens in the EU” stories is that it’s all people I have zero sympathy for. Fucking retired bankers worried about their vineyards or lawyers. Where are the stories about normal Brits in Europe? 1/2#Brexit#BritishinEurope
I’ve been in Germany for 2+ years now and I’ve yet to meet a single retired stock broker or a lawyer. Plenty of Barmen, and builders, and, you know, regular people. If someone in the UK is watching the news and there’s a story about… Ok, 2/3.
…about fucking Tarquin and Jemima from fucking Tunbridge with their cross border corporate law firm why would they care? Bollocks to the Tarquins and Jemimas of the world. Fucking normal people are the ones most likely to be shafted by Brexit whether they live in the UK or EU.
It isn’t people like this, your Tarquins and Jemimas, that will be most affected by Brexit. It’s your regular workers, both EU in the UK and UK in EU, that will be shafted. People working on ‘flexible’ contracts or working multiple jobs to make ends meet. It’s not just people with cross-border businesses that will be affected. Europe is full of borders, even if they’re only marked by a wee blue road sign, and it’s really common for people to work in an area that’s not defined by the old national border. It’s easy to live, for example, in the south of Germany and work one day in France, the next in Germany, and the day after in Switzerland. You’re screwed without freedom of movement.
So, am I ‘pro-EU’?
Not at all.
The EU is a neo-liberal club that serves the interests of the parasitic rich in siphoning wealth from the work of ordinary people like us. Fuck that shit. I’m also not one of those people who want the UK to stay inside the EU in order to reform it from within. Capitalism can’t be reformed. Please see this instructional video for more on what needs to be done to sort that out.
But! There is no way that leaving the EU helps the people who are suffering the ravages of neo-liberalism in the UK. It isn’t austerity measures brought in by the Tories that have caused this (though they have certainly made things worse) but the way that successive UK governments have screwed over working class communities all over the island. Leaving the EU will hit in the pocket those on the island with the money. Therefore that pain will rapidly will poured downhill to hit even harder working class people from Dundee to Doncaster to Dartmouth.
There’s no credible left wing in the UK (and no, the Labour Party is not left wing) that can realistically fight to protect people from the immediate hits of Brexit; and parliament represents interests that are not ours.
Staying in the EU won’t solve the problems faced by the workers being hit hardest by government policies of impoverishment and abuse. The only thing that will sort that out is people working together to fight against said policies and said government.
Leaving the EU won’t do anything to solve these problems either. All it will do is give succour and strength to people like Jacob Rees-Mogg. And do you think that Lord Snooty gives a toss about people killing themselves because of being screwed over by Universal Credit or having to carry piss bottles with them because they’re too scared to take a bathroom break in the Amazon warehouse? Does he fuck.
As I’m writing this the muppets in Westminster are about to start voting on a raft of motions that the government has already said they are probably going to ignore. Because, you know, democracy and stuff. We’ll see whether they’ve chosen the Shit Sandwich or the Giant Douche in a couple of hours. I think though that I can firmly predict that they won’t vote to revoke Article 50 and admit that they’ve just been a playing silly buggers for the last three years. It’s like they’re in too deep with the lie. You know, like when you tell your wife that you know nothing about the massive porn bill and then she calls the papers?
So, basically. The EU isn’t good for ordinary people but leaving the EU isn’t good for ordinary people and it also strips them of opportunities to live and work elsewhere.
Revoke Article 50 Kill the Rich For Fully Automated Luxury Communism
I’m just, as of Friday, back from an extended holiday in Sri Lanka. It was awesome and I’ll be writing something about it here in the near future. I’ve also decided to put my short story, Calan Mai, on here for you to enjoy. It’s set in South Wales and follows the events of a young woman’s first day out in a new town.
I don’t travel well. I’m not one of those people that can hop on a flight and snooze their way to their destination. I’ve never been able to sleep on buses, planes, trains, whatevers. So when I woke up at 7a.m. on Sunday I didn’t sleep again until around 9a.m. on Tuesday when we finally arrived in Negombo some 30 minutes in a Tuk-Tuk north of Columbo. Oh yeah, I’m in Sri Lanka now and will be here for the next month.
It’s been a year since I last posted on here so I figured I should pop on. Especially seeing as my presence on social media has pretty much completely stopped. So I won’t be Facebooking or Instawhatsiting but I will try and post stuff here whilst I’m exploring Ceylon.
After we arrived, and got a few hours much needed sleep, we spent the day hanging out at the guest house we’ll be staying in chatting with other guests. The guesthouse, Friend’s Home in Negombo, is absolutely lovely. Our hosts are wonderfully friendly and the food, oh man, the food. Absolutely perfect. If you’re ever visiting Sri Lanka I think this is the best place to start your journey. Did I mention that the food is great? Sooooo good. God, I’m hungry again just thinking about it.
So, expect more to be posted here as we wander around the island. Today we have to pop in to Colombo to sort out some driving license related paperwork but before that I’m off to get an egg-hopper for breakfast and some coffee with cardomon. Mmmmm
As I have been learning German there have been some words that have made me chuckle such as the word “Schmetterling” for butterfly. Such an ugly and harsh word for something so fragile and pretty. Hehehe. Another that has given me the giggles is “Handschuh” for glove, literally “Hand Shoe”. Ha! Oddly, most people don’t know that at one point Germans used a word very similar to the English “glove”. That word was “Glöff”, a word that is, in fact, the root of the English word.
So why is that modern Germans now use the amusing Handshuh rather than the original Glöff? To find the roots of this linguistic change we need to dig right back into the mists of time, to long before there was a country called Germany. To the 10th Century when the region was under the rule of Otto III of The Holy Roman Empire. At the time, in the region that is now known as Bavaria, there lived a petty noble of ill repute; Lord Hans Fürchterlich. He was a terrible beast of a man who was known to extract terrible punishments upon those who slighted him, or whom he deemed to have slighted him. He was roundly feared and despised by all unlucky enough to live within his domain.
As is often the case, both with powerful people and with bullies, Herr Fürchterlich was not the brightest of people or, as modern Germans would say, Nicht die hellste Kerze auf dem Kuchen (not the brightest candle on the cake). Often he would espouse opinions of intense and impossible ignorance that they the same relationship to truth and factuality as a goldfish has to a lightbulb. Such was the fear that he instilled in those around him that even if he claimed that his horses were descended from mountain goats those around him would merely nod and agree.
One day, as winter was drawing close, Herr Fürchterlich was in town to purchase new warm clothes for the winter. He was in the store of the local tailor, a man whose name is now lost to history, where he was having his huge frame fitted for a winter jacket. As the tailor had known Hans was that day coming to town the tailor had prepared some clothes for Hans already. He did not, after all, want Hans in his store a moment longer than was absolutely necessary. The longer that Herr Fürcherlich was in his store then the greater his risk of inadvertently insulting the behemothic buffoon. One item that the tailor had prepared ready for the oversized oaf was a fine pair of fur lined leather gloves.
Hans pulled the gloves over his immense shovel sized hands and was most pleased with what he saw.
“I most like these new shoes Herr Tailor.” Hans boomed.
“Shoes?” replied the tailor.
“Ja! These shoes fit perfectly!”
“Don’t you mean…” The tailor caught himself before he corrected the massive moron.
“I know what I mean.” Growled Hans.
“Of course, I was merely asking whether you meant your new, um, Hand Shoes or whether you were referring to the fine boots that you wear.”
“Hahahahaha, foolish tailor. Of course I meant my new Hand Shoes, they are most fine.”
In fact, Hans was so pleased with his new gloves that he showed them to everybody whom he met in the town that day. Asking for their opinion on his new “Hand Shoes”. So afraid was everyone in the town of offending the hulking half-wit that they too began to refer to their Glöffen as “Hand Shoes” for fear of angering Hans. And so, the Handschuh was born and the Glöff faded into the mists of history.