A Revolutionary Act

This island I live on is long overdue a movement and I don’t mean Brexit, I mean the antithesis of Brexit!

With the potential to upset young people, neighbouring nations (and I include Ireland and Scotland in that), Brexit is already making everything feel like a grubby anorak.

Today a group of young people have instigated a march in London. 100,000 are expected to take part, asking for a vote on Brexit with the facts in place, with the solutions laid down from and by the government we have. I’d like to remind everyone that our current government is run by a minority tory party in cahoots with the dup.

Judging by the last large march on Iraq and war, it’s highly unlikely Westminster will take much notice. There’s only one way to beat ye olde colonialist laissez faire beast and that’s to lob a molotov at it!

But I’m not advocating violence, not really. Perhaps some bloody-mindedness instead. I am opposed to all that Farage, Johnson, Gove et all stand for. I am appalled that we have allowed politicians we pay for, like Cameron, to just waltz off and go on their jollies.

Farage & Co belong in the past. Do young people have to wait until they have passed away before justice is served and they enjoy the freedom and rights others before them have had.

I’m not much impressed with this island’s lowly sucking up to the likes of Farage, who is nothing but a self-serving tory wannabe toff.

I call upon a revolt by matriarchs. Every little thing you do to instigate change counts. Every thought, every thing you make, bake, talk and take.

Spread the word. The 21st century is for our young and for those who support young people.

Mother Earth and all her little babies. Children first, always.

K1 P1 K1 P1    This cute mouse can be found on Pinterest. No label though.

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The Winds of March

I like mild, warm breezes, those sirocco winds on the Med and Adriatic which cool you down after a blistering day.

But the ill winds. Cold, sharp. Gales hurling themselves at the windows. They get under the layers and leave a body frozen until bed time. The sound can drive a person insane, night after night. I suspect people are driven mad by storms.

I have been blown around the Pennines, somewhat cheerily, recently. Enjoying  retiring to a fire in a pub, on the cobbles. A book and a beer then onwards up the hill for supper.

Once there  all of the previous arduous life of the Highlands melted away, forgotten, like I had never lived in tundra.

Then the return – with a creaking knee from walking up and down steep valley sides – and a sore eye – braised by a northerly.

Days of gales, howls, storms and a sudden raise in blood pressure. Rest. A slightly better feel today.

The strains of moving house are beginning to tell.

‘You sound like you need a glass of wine’ said someone.

I need a birthing pool to release the stress.

This change may not yet happen. Everything, as last time, may suddenly end.

There’s a saying from the old Yu – ubila me promaja – the draught is killing me.

Close the windows, shut the doors, everyone would exclaim, even in summer.

No one likes a sneaky wind at the back of the neck. No one likes an ill wind blasting through their lives.

Still it heralds change – not always liked. But that is change. That is wind.

There will yet be a friendly sirocco come summer time.

chocolat