Wednesday 3 August 2016
TheHouseofBlue Bit1
Bit 1 of "The House of Blue: a dream novel", by Martina Herekiekie, available in Kindle format on Amazon.
Thursday 28 July 2016
Tuesday 12 July 2016
Budgies?
Tulip, my companion today:
This is what is happening now.
Little Britain has voted for leaving the European Union. By now we know the great majority who voted did so through the influence of politicians and loudmouths: most of them voted to Leave as they were fed up of the flow of foreigners, though without realising that in order to maintain any kind of deals with the European Union they will have to allow freedom of movement anyway: so basically, that will have been all for nothing.
Little Britain will be fine, I'm sure, in the end. Voters forgot that England had problems before Europeans and others came to live here, and they will have problems later. That there are more criminals and w@nkers on the street in England (who are English, born and bred) than I have ever witnessed in any country, foreigners included, and yet they think their problems are caused by foreigners.
But something has changed, and that is that us Europeans, for the most part, don't want to hang around anymore.
If we have a choice, we'll go.
You know why?
The other day I signed for a petition. Here it is, do sign, it breaks my heart:
Anyway. I put my signature here out of habit, out of feeling part of this country, and then I realised that my signature is completely worthless, in fact, it might even undermine the validity of that petition. I am just a foreigner, in fact, a EU citizen whose son, if he had this problem, could just go and get treated in Europe and he would be fine. I, a European, signed for an English boy to have the same treatment he would have in the Europe the majority of this country just voted to leave. How ironic and twisted it all is.
Funny how the only person who signed up is another (lovely) daughter of European migrants, of those that they also loudly wanted out, of Polish origin. They are amazing people, the Poles, certainly less lazy than us Italians, but the Little Britons take exception to them too. She might have English citizenship though, I'm not sure, her vote might count more than mine.
I have stopped feeling like smiling to all my neighbours here. This is a small town, mostly elderly people, I thought we'd become popular young people amongst the elderly, we could help them, we tried to fit in, with our roses, try to tend to the garden the way they like it. My son volunteers at the local hospital: though he, luckily for him, has an English surname. I wonder what all those elderly Leave voters would say if they knew that that lovely volunteer young man who is so helpful is of 50% Italian blood, Italian born, Italian raised when he was little and is working there, for free, to help them?
Since the Vote, they don't even bother pretending to smile, pretending to be polite.
I look at the countryside round here in Derbyshire, still so pretty, but now it looks grey, and cold: yes it is literally grey and cold, but it is so in spirit too. It is not mine to enjoy, I am merely tolerated here. No, I WAS merely tolerated here. Now, they have told me to get out.
Now, I am falling deeper and deeper in love with my little budgies. Correction: my daughter's little budgies, Tulip and Ethel. Because I like to distract my mind, I started looking for ads for more budgies (I'd like a boy), found one for very little, then realised this guy would probably not want to give them to me. He might be the same I contacted months back when I got these, who ignored me after 1 exchange, either because he was a dodgy breeder, or because I was Italian (though I never would have dreamed of that at the time).
Now, he probably wouldn't hide his contempt, just like people at the supermarket, people crossing the road and glaring mat the Italian stripes on the car, and so on.
Is it all paranoia? Maybe. Perhaps. But see, I am not alone in feeling it. Now all I can think of is the warmth of my grandparents' land, and hope and pray people will be nicer there, and every day I want to leave this beautiful house, and pray my dog survives long enough to take him out of Little Britain, and fear going out, feel heavy in the chest, feel sad.
That is what Leave voters have done. You may be one of them, your friends or relatives may be one of them. Please tell me, from me, they have broken my heart. It is not rational, I am sure they might have had plenty of legitimate reasons for their vote, some of them might even tell you whatever they thought of the migrants they want to keep out, I was not included in them. it doesn't matter. For me, my children, and all those migrants like me or worse, migrants that come from abusive, horrible places and just wanted to improve their lives, they have shown egoism and contempt and they have broken my heart.
A free boy budgie might help, or a new kitten, or a new puppy. More animals, to add to the beauties I have already, are the only cure to this heartache while I wait to LEAVE, as they loudly have said they wish me to do.
This is what is happening now.
Little Britain has voted for leaving the European Union. By now we know the great majority who voted did so through the influence of politicians and loudmouths: most of them voted to Leave as they were fed up of the flow of foreigners, though without realising that in order to maintain any kind of deals with the European Union they will have to allow freedom of movement anyway: so basically, that will have been all for nothing.
Little Britain will be fine, I'm sure, in the end. Voters forgot that England had problems before Europeans and others came to live here, and they will have problems later. That there are more criminals and w@nkers on the street in England (who are English, born and bred) than I have ever witnessed in any country, foreigners included, and yet they think their problems are caused by foreigners.
But something has changed, and that is that us Europeans, for the most part, don't want to hang around anymore.
If we have a choice, we'll go.
You know why?
The other day I signed for a petition. Here it is, do sign, it breaks my heart:
Anyway. I put my signature here out of habit, out of feeling part of this country, and then I realised that my signature is completely worthless, in fact, it might even undermine the validity of that petition. I am just a foreigner, in fact, a EU citizen whose son, if he had this problem, could just go and get treated in Europe and he would be fine. I, a European, signed for an English boy to have the same treatment he would have in the Europe the majority of this country just voted to leave. How ironic and twisted it all is.
Funny how the only person who signed up is another (lovely) daughter of European migrants, of those that they also loudly wanted out, of Polish origin. They are amazing people, the Poles, certainly less lazy than us Italians, but the Little Britons take exception to them too. She might have English citizenship though, I'm not sure, her vote might count more than mine.
I have stopped feeling like smiling to all my neighbours here. This is a small town, mostly elderly people, I thought we'd become popular young people amongst the elderly, we could help them, we tried to fit in, with our roses, try to tend to the garden the way they like it. My son volunteers at the local hospital: though he, luckily for him, has an English surname. I wonder what all those elderly Leave voters would say if they knew that that lovely volunteer young man who is so helpful is of 50% Italian blood, Italian born, Italian raised when he was little and is working there, for free, to help them?
Since the Vote, they don't even bother pretending to smile, pretending to be polite.
I look at the countryside round here in Derbyshire, still so pretty, but now it looks grey, and cold: yes it is literally grey and cold, but it is so in spirit too. It is not mine to enjoy, I am merely tolerated here. No, I WAS merely tolerated here. Now, they have told me to get out.
Now, I am falling deeper and deeper in love with my little budgies. Correction: my daughter's little budgies, Tulip and Ethel. Because I like to distract my mind, I started looking for ads for more budgies (I'd like a boy), found one for very little, then realised this guy would probably not want to give them to me. He might be the same I contacted months back when I got these, who ignored me after 1 exchange, either because he was a dodgy breeder, or because I was Italian (though I never would have dreamed of that at the time).
Now, he probably wouldn't hide his contempt, just like people at the supermarket, people crossing the road and glaring mat the Italian stripes on the car, and so on.
Is it all paranoia? Maybe. Perhaps. But see, I am not alone in feeling it. Now all I can think of is the warmth of my grandparents' land, and hope and pray people will be nicer there, and every day I want to leave this beautiful house, and pray my dog survives long enough to take him out of Little Britain, and fear going out, feel heavy in the chest, feel sad.
That is what Leave voters have done. You may be one of them, your friends or relatives may be one of them. Please tell me, from me, they have broken my heart. It is not rational, I am sure they might have had plenty of legitimate reasons for their vote, some of them might even tell you whatever they thought of the migrants they want to keep out, I was not included in them. it doesn't matter. For me, my children, and all those migrants like me or worse, migrants that come from abusive, horrible places and just wanted to improve their lives, they have shown egoism and contempt and they have broken my heart.
A free boy budgie might help, or a new kitten, or a new puppy. More animals, to add to the beauties I have already, are the only cure to this heartache while I wait to LEAVE, as they loudly have said they wish me to do.
Tuesday 13 March 2012
Saturday 30 July 2011
The Man in the Grey Overalls
A man with grey overalls stood there stock-still and stared at the River. Looking at a ghost. Certainly not at the River, the houses beyond, the trees around him. Not the bench he was not sitting on. The pram, the same colour as his overalls, stood quietly. If there was a baby inside, it slept peacefully, silently. The feeling was of tragedy, of impending doom. Had he done something terrible? Was he about to?
She went home and briefly checked the local news, the police website. Nothing about a stolen baby, no baby thrown in the River. The next day she checked but there was nothing there. The man in the grey overalls and his quiet pram were uncomfortably forgotten.
Many weeks and days later, the right combination of day and hours occurred. Round the corner in the quiet small woodland, the man in the grey overalls reappeared. This time, she could see his face. He was in his late fifties. He wore his grief like a shroud. The pram was still grey, and quiet. She approached it, silently. He couldn’t see her, but he couldn’t have anyway. He stared right ahead. He was walking into a ghost. The baby was beautiful. One of those unreal babies that sleep peacefully and look like a white westerner’s idea of a cherubic angel.
The man stared ahead, pushed the pram.
His life partner had died, in a burning caravan, along with his son, and his son’s girlfriend – the baby’s mum.
He looked at the ghost of the fire, the screaming, his own desperation and then the realization that the baby slept quietly, in that boxed area, as yet unaffected by the fire. He looked at the ghost of himself, in the last impetus of life he’d ever had, tearing the door apart, getting the baby out, then switching off, looking at the Caravan burning, hearing the silenced screams. The baby still slept – unaware – blissful. Sirens. Firemen.
Time.
A shop, a grey pram, nappies, a woman who came in during the day, as he worked his work, got home, strolled with the pram, stopped in front of the river, and stared at the ghost.
Thursday 7 July 2011
Googlebloodyplus: bye bye before we even met properly
So, someone just shared with me a note from Google+. It presented itself like an email, so you open it. You read it, because it was sent to YOU; apparently. Then you realise you cannot comment on it, as you’re not in Google+.
But you read it nevertheless because of a very intrusive way of sharing. In Facebook, (or Diaspora, which I'm still hoping many Facebook friends will move to eventually) I can choose to see notifications in my email. Or not. In twitter, I can open the application and read tweets, open shared links. Or not. In Google, I get it in my Inbox. Or not.
I just unsubscribed from any further communication from Gmail+.
That’s a lid on the coffin for googleplus’ relationship with me.
Google+ Email Settings
Settings saved.
Unsubscribe from all Google+ email notifications
Don't unsubscribe. Continue sending email notifications to valsarno@gmail.com
Save
What is Google+?
With Google+, you'll immediately enjoy an enhanced experience from Google. It's the web made better by you and your friends.
Learn more or sign up now
But you read it nevertheless because of a very intrusive way of sharing. In Facebook, (or Diaspora, which I'm still hoping many Facebook friends will move to eventually) I can choose to see notifications in my email. Or not. In twitter, I can open the application and read tweets, open shared links. Or not. In Google, I get it in my Inbox. Or not.
I just unsubscribed from any further communication from Gmail+.
That’s a lid on the coffin for googleplus’ relationship with me.
Google+ Email Settings
Settings saved.
Unsubscribe from all Google+ email notifications
Don't unsubscribe. Continue sending email notifications to valsarno@gmail.com
Save
What is Google+?
With Google+, you'll immediately enjoy an enhanced experience from Google. It's the web made better by you and your friends.
Learn more or sign up now
Tuesday 5 July 2011
Should pregnant women be entitled to abuse their bodies?
I find myself trying to vocalise my opinions as little as possible: I can't seem to agree with anything that I read anymore, even things that one can only, apparently, disagree with, have some right in them, and vice versa. I read an article and I can see that, if well written, it will naturally make you agree with them. I read very few where the opinion of the writer is so held back that you can actually form your own opinion: this isn't one of them.
I read this article http://www.alternet.org/reproductivejustice/151508/15_year-old-girl_faces_life_in_prison_for_a_miscarriage_why_conservatives_are_criminalizing_pregnant_women and of course, it seems absurd. But carry on reading and you see that these are not "ordinary pregnant women" who are being criminalised: they are drug users. They will produce children who, if lucky enough to be healthy, will almost certainly have a tough, horrible, abusive childhood.
The article goes on to say that it foreshadows a new way of looking at women. It says this is all related to being against abortion. To me that seems only a speculation of the writer of the article, as it has not given me any reason to think so, on the contrary.
It seems to me that they are imposing harsher laws on mothers and fathers who think they have the almighty RIGHT to cook meth and do cocaine and smoke drugs and do heroin or be alcoholics with their children in or around them. Clearly they are not perfect in their application yet and they are susceptible to abuse, as most laws in these delicate matters are.
But, I suppose, the question is: if you think these women should not be made to fear for their freedom in discouragement from abusing their children, what does that say about how you feel the children should be protected, before and after their birth?
I read this article http://www.alternet.org/reproductivejustice/151508/15_year-old-girl_faces_life_in_prison_for_a_miscarriage_why_conservatives_are_criminalizing_pregnant_women and of course, it seems absurd. But carry on reading and you see that these are not "ordinary pregnant women" who are being criminalised: they are drug users. They will produce children who, if lucky enough to be healthy, will almost certainly have a tough, horrible, abusive childhood.
The article goes on to say that it foreshadows a new way of looking at women. It says this is all related to being against abortion. To me that seems only a speculation of the writer of the article, as it has not given me any reason to think so, on the contrary.
It seems to me that they are imposing harsher laws on mothers and fathers who think they have the almighty RIGHT to cook meth and do cocaine and smoke drugs and do heroin or be alcoholics with their children in or around them. Clearly they are not perfect in their application yet and they are susceptible to abuse, as most laws in these delicate matters are.
But, I suppose, the question is: if you think these women should not be made to fear for their freedom in discouragement from abusing their children, what does that say about how you feel the children should be protected, before and after their birth?
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