This is a sort of apology. I say ‘sort of’ because I’m not really sure who I am apologising to. I like to think it’s to the readers of my blog but to be honest, I’m not sure I have any readers, at least not regular ones.

Anyway, what I what to apologise for is not fulfilling the obligation I set myself. The task of writing regularly on my blog, ‘The Stratfordian’. A task I have failed miserably at.

My excuse?

I like to refer to it as a ‘Log-Jam’.

My head over the past few months has been in turmoil. And that is because I feel as though we (me) are in what is biblically known as ‘The End of Days’. My anxiety over Brexit and the evil musings that continually broadcast from the dark side have drained my energy. Farage, Johnson, Rees-Mogg, that awful Tommy Robinson bloke and the rest of their storm troopers have, as is their wont, sucked me dry.

The realisation that evil never dies has set itself well in my brain. The bastards are always there. Like a disease they become immune to past vaccines and spring back to life to spread their hatred. Seemingly disposed of by historic wars and heroic sacrifices they resurrect again and again, these, the devil’s children telling us for various and insane reasons that we should be hating each other rather than celebrating our differences. Such are their terrifying influences that I do really begin to wonder that those stories that have God and the devil fighting some kind of on-going battle have more than an element of truth about them. A war, where we are like pieces in a celestial chess game, sacrificed in moves that help whatever side forward towards victory. In other words, a fucking game.

OK, so I am probably mad. But as I get older, I see nothing but chaos. I see no God with our welfare at heart. If He’s there, He’s weeping at our own foolishness. Our inability to realise that it is up to us. That He does not intervene. That the Church is headquarters. A place to ponder over our next move, not somewhere to hide and hope that God will react to our desperate, screaming telepathic thoughts, that we pathetically call prayer.

Amen.

Is it ‘Monty Python and the Holy Grail’ where we see the peasants praising the qualities of different types of mud, as King Richard ‘rides’ by? I only ask because it seems to me that we are sinking further and further into a Monty Python kind of world. And I’m not (necessarily) talking about Brexit.

It feels that we, unaided, (i.e. there is no-one else to blame) have fallen into a kind of time-warp. To put it simply, we appear to have allowed ourselves once again to become ‘ruled’ (See: History. Or, ‘what goes around comes around’) by a group of people who feel fully entitled to do so based on wealth, education and who they know. In short, a group of people who we, as usual have nothing in common with. A group of people who believe wholeheartedly, that they know, better than we do.

Let’s start by way of illustration with our local MP (Nadhim Zahawi) who is (good for him) a multi-millionaire. In other words, he has nothing in common with the majority of the people he represents. He has a privileged life-style which is a complete mystery to us poor people and I am not talking about his political persuasion. He has no experience of how the ordinary citizen lives present-day. If he ever did, he will, if he has any sense, have put it behind him.

At this point let me say I have nothing against multi-millionaires. I would like to be one myself. The difference being that I hope I would be realistic enough to realise that I have stepped over the imaginary line that separates me from people who worry about paying the gas or electric bill. I will have transcended everyday problems and worries. I will still have problems, but they will be different than they used to be. I will have moved up the worry tree a few levels. I.e. ‘What will be the tax consequences if I buy another couple of houses?’, rather than ‘where is the nearest food bank?’

As hard as he might try to understand his constituents, it is an impossibility. Everything about our lives that he thinks has knowledge of is and will be second-hand. In other words, he has not experienced our various and common situations for himself. The days of the cotton mill owner improving the lives of his workers, is over. We have our own spokes men and women now. The rich mill owners like Zahawi, Rees-Mogg et al need to step aside or let history repeat itself and be prepared to be pushed.

As far as I’m concerned, a Member of Parliament who works well is one concerned about the plight of ‘his/her people’ and has at some time in his/her life ‘lived’ or at the very least, touched upon the everyday situations that his constituents experience every day. (OK, so this Stratford upon Avon, but you get my point)?

In my opinion Zahawi has proved himself unfit for purpose on a couple of occasions. Who can forget his botched attempt to claim on expenses re the heating for his stables? Can you imagine such a claim being so easily forgotten in another area other than Stratford upon Avon where horses and stables abound? Of course not. Mister Zahawi’s manner is that of the oil executive. More at home in the board room than on the factory floor. His ambition is raw and obvious for all to see. And now his blind obedience to Mrs May has rewarded him with a position to represent Children and Family, a group it has to be said, that this government has gone out of their way to reduce to poverty.

I don’t know what Zahawi is like at dinner parties, I’ve never been invited to one. He’s probably a very nice man who knows how to treat people, especially those better placed than him. I’m sure he knows how to hold an audience with amusing tales of the boardroom and of livery, but as a representative of the people…nope.

Ever since (as a stagehand) I helped Anthony Sher up onto his wooden horse in Dick the Shit (Richard III) he has been my favourite stage actor. However, and this I admit is weird, I don’t know what it is he does to make him so. It’s a mystery, and I like it that way. And here he is again doing whatever it is he does, in ‘Kunene and the King’ a fantastically enjoyable play written by the other member of                                                                                 the two man show, John Kani.

At first glance (and isn’t that always the most important one) a simple story about a Carer (Kani) and a dying famous actor (Sher), it cleverly weaves in Shakespeare’s ‘Lear’ a role that Sher’s actor prepares for but (spoiler-alert) never gets to perform.

I will never make a good reviewer of the Arts especially the theatre. When I get to see a good play, it is a waste of time me trying to dissect it into its relevant good parts. For me ‘a good play’ (I’m lucky that way) is something I never finish with. A ‘good play’, stays with me for weeks, every now and then allowing me a new discovery, a sudden eureka moment to savour and reflect on. And so, it is with ‘Kunene and the King’. It made me laugh and it made me cry and that is the best I can say. Except of course, Sher as usual, baffling me with his stupendous and mysterious talent.

For a highly entertaining evening I order you to go and see this brilliant production.

I note that Warwickshire Police and Crime Commissioner, Philip (Harry) Seccombe has admitted that the 101 service is a load of crap, (The Stratford upon Avon Herald 21st March & I paraphrase), which must beg the question, ‘this being so, are we within our rights to bash a burglar and take the law into our own hands’?

Speaking for myself, if I find,  for instance, a nere-do-well on my property without an invite, AND the designated service (i.e. The police) are unable to attend, I would feel perfectly justified, in an effort to protect my innocent family, in causing the footpad great pain using a blunt instrument of my own choosing.

What view would the Law take?

‘The William’. Chapter 1. V.1-9

1…and it came to pass that in that town a child of great wisdom was born. 2. Such greatness did God bestow upon him that in later years the people did build a temple to his name. 3. Pilgrims from many lands came to lay at this wise man’s feet plaudits and praise. 4. So much were the people in awe of the wise man that they forgot their God and lay the wise man shoulder to shoulder with God in God’s own temple to be worshipped with God. 5. And God was displeased and sent fire to destroy the temple to the wise man. And the wise man’s temple fell to ashes. 6. Such was the people’s blindness and deafness to the word of God that the temple was rebuilt once more in the wise man’s name. 7. And God wept at foolishness of his beloved. 8. Yet In his infinite mercy he granted his children another chance, wishing upon them the ability to see their own unfaithfulness and make good. 9. God, being in no great hurry and aware of the flaws in his creation, drums his Holy fingers on his Holy table and waits.

‘The Wheel’. Chapter 5. V 1-5.

1…and in this land they built a giant wheel for the people to ride. 2. And those that chose to revolve upon the wheel were taken to great heights to observe land and rooftops. 3. And the wheel did revolve thrice. 4. Whereupon the mighty wheel’s passengers witnessed the same land and rooftops they had witnessed before. 5. And the people were mightily and easily pleased.

FFS.

All joking aside…what Council Knob-Head decided to build the Peony Pagoda down that end of  The Firs? #namethattwerp