What’s a blog for except to self-promote and occasionally comment on the state of things. Here goes with a mix of both. Previously (see below) I expressed the hope that dire promises for 2017 wouldn’t come to pass. How forlorn is that? Trump, a man with less culture than a pot of factory-made yogurt, has been let out of the box. Poor America, poor us. Meanwhile, the UK is busting up like a fat lady in a tight dress. And who is running the show to leave our partners in Europe? Why, it’s a sad and sorry remnant of Thatcher’s government. Tired old men and a few women, one of them acting as prime minister. Things seem to be slipping further out of our control, we’re left with marching and beating up on social media. If I could bring something back to the life politic it would be kindness.
Almost forgot the self-promotion. Perhaps I’ll leave that for another time.
A slow crossing
Two thousand and sixteen has almost gone and now we power on to 2017. I hope visions of doom and gloom fail to materialise but every time I hear about a tweet from Trump the Terrible, I feel sick. Have you noticed how the word – nuance – has become popular in political discourse? That’s because there is such a failure to incorporate it. Sledgehammer is more like it.
As for Brexit I have not felt oppressed by Europe. Perhaps I have been too used to my chains of Greek olives, Spanish tapas, les vacances in France, Berlin’s graffiti, Finland’s timber, Italian pasta, and people who speak English with cute accents. HNY!
This work of art on an area of corrugated iron in the back streets of Peckham looks remarkably like Amy Winehouse in a snarling but beautiful pose. Strikes me as a fitting response to the madness and marvel of Christmas, a time to renew light, life, the laughable. and alliteration. However snarling only looks good on a young face. Season’s greetings!
This headline seems mad but I guess the number of barbers tending beards and cheeky moustaches bears it out. All that grooming, it doesn’t come cheap.
It’s kicking off at the end of the week –Peckham Festival, a celebration of Peckham in its many guises and wealth of talents. My photos of Peckham will grace the walls of the Copeland Gallery. Some, though, will hang at K&K Butchers, a Rye Lane business on the
Take a Peckham Butchers
corner of Choumert Road. These images are titled: Take a Butchers. We have a lot of butcher businesses on Rye Lane and they are distinctive, to say the least. Check out the event at: http://www.peckhamfestival.org/event/reflecting-peckham-take-a-butchers
I have had a poetic weekend. I was a poet at the Poetry Café’s Fourth Friday in Covent Garden. That was great fun. Poets gave us love, rye humour, politics and a nice tale of a gasman. There was music, too, provided by Rattle on the Stovepipe –foot-tappingly good. My poems were about people: some famous, others not and a sprinkling of fictional ones.
One of the poems I read at the Café is published today by www.inksweatandtears.co.uk It is about the time I danced with Viv Stanshall of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. Only afterwards did I realise that the man, eccentrically attired in a dressing gown, was the Original Urban Spaceman. What an honour to have danced with him.
Check the googles
I mean why would you live anywhere but Peckham? Yes, I know there are reasons, very good ones, for living elsewhere. But does your street cleaner – I bet they have fancy titles like hygiene directors or refuse managers – look as good as this guy in his pair of comic-book glasses, which he swears he can see out of? I thought not.