Tuesday, 27 September 2016

Workers of the world unite you have nothing to lose...

...but your hot water bottles, your electric blankets and your snuggle wraps.

Jeremy Corbyn may well be a blast from the past brought here by some socialist Tardis but he needs the kind of miracle Timelord is used to delivering if he is to have a chance of becoming PM.

So let me start by encouraging him to sing the praises of centralised heating in Moscow built by the genius of the comrades from the soviet era. Flats there continue to be piped with hot water from power plants which dominate the skyline to this day.

Warmth is sacred in the Russian home. In days gone by cottages were dominated by a masonry stove the size of a car. Snow might reach the windows outside but who cared when you can sleep on top and soak up the heat all night.

Nowadays central planning continues to ensure temperatures stay high in winter so that everyone lounges around in T-shirts and shorts even if outside temperatures fall to minus 31F. So much so that Russians visiting London complain of the damp and cold and even sleeping under the duvet in their overcoats.

What better vote winner then than a new generation of coal fired power plants circulating our cities and delivering cheap and plentiful heat to our homes. Forget HS2 and Hinckley Point. Re-open the coal mines. Nationalise hot water!

I reckon there are plenty of my friends ready to throw off the snuggle blanket and recycle the hot water bottle.

Remember Jeremy the miracle started here!

Saturday, 24 September 2016

Alas poor sewing box



I knew him, but fleetingly, after all these years. A treasure of infinite surprise, of most excellent fancy, I rarely saw you open.

A button here, a name tag there, the effort of threading a needle a thousand times; and now, how wistful in my imagination it is! My eyes blink in surprise at it.

Here it hangs that lid that seemed never to want to stay shut. Full to overflowing with who knows what. Where be your scissors now? your odds and ends? your flashes of colour that were wont to set me thinking of socks lost long ago?

Not one now, to mock us any longer, by falling out the cupboard as soon as it opened. As if to say, I am still here? Of course, now play with me?

Now let me to my lady's chamber, and tell her, it has come to this, let her paint a smile an inch, nay a foot thick, for I foresee of this she will be greatly relieved, nay released!