Until their backs are broken and their dreams are stolen…

It has been a strange few weeks. Many, many things have made me want to write, however I seem to be having some kind of temporary brain-freeze.

I really want to say something about Margaret Thatcher. Those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter will have seen me foaming (or, at least, retweeting other people’s foamings) over the cost of the funeral whilst the rest of us are suffering benefit cuts, tax credit cuts, loss of public services and seeing funding to vital community projects slashed in the name of ‘austerity’. But, you know what? I’m out of words. Everything that could be said, has been said far, far better than I could say it. So, here are some pictures of two people who deserve a million times more respect than the Iron Lady. Also, a song.


The The’s ‘Heartland’

Released 27 years ago, this song is still as relevant today as it was back then.

Beneath the old iron bridges, across the Victorian parks,
and all the frightened people running home before dark,
Past the Saturday morning cinema–
that lies crumbling to the ground,
and the piss stinking shopping centre in the new side of town.
I’ve come to smell the seasons change, and watch the city,
as the sun goes down again.

Here comes another winter, of long shadows & high hopes,
Here comes another winter, waiting for utopia,
Waiting for hell to freeze over.

This is the land, where nothing changes,
the land of red buses & blue blooded babies,
This is the place, where pensioners are raped,
and the hearts are being cut, from the welfare state,
Let the poor drink the milk, while the rich eat the honey,
Let the bums count their blessings, while they count the money.

So many people, can’t express what’s on their minds,
Nobody knows them & nobody ever will,
Until their backs are broken & their dreams are stolen,
and they can’t get what they want, then they’re gonna get angry..
Well it ain’t written in the papers, but its written on the walls
The way this country is divided to fall,
So the cranes are moving on the skyline–
Trying to knock down this town
But the stains on the heartland, can never be removed,
from this country, that’s sick, sad, and confused.

The ammunition’s being passed, and the lords been praised,
But the wars on the televisions will never be explained,
All the bankers gettin sweaty, beneath their white collars,
As the pound in our pocket, turns into a dollar.

This is the 51st state–of the U. S. A.


The Cup-Of-Coffee-And-A-Nice-Sit-Down blog challenge


It is, as I dare say you’ve noticed, April 2nd. The day following the Easter Bank Holiday Monday. Richard has returned to work; I have temporarily ceased ranting about Westminster’s bid to stealthily reintroduce Work Houses; the children are bouncing around the neighbourhood on space-hoppers; and I have just completed the ironing (well, until tomorrow, when there will be another pile; but for now I am almost giddy with delirious excitement at the very sight of the bottom of the ironing basket – I am housewife, hear me roar…).

I am sitting now with a cup of Tesco Value coffee (47p per jar, Iain Duncan Smith, if you’re reading this, you might want to start making notes) , gubbed laptop perched on my lap with power cable slung over my shoulder and then trapped under a cushion as this appears to be the only way that the power actually gets to the laptop nowadays; and the thought of this blog is niggling away at me like a slug chewing on a leaf of organic lollo rosso.

This is the thing, you see. How on Earth do I make my humdrum existence sound remotely interesting? I am a forty year old housewife with a bunch of friends who are infinitely more interesting than I am. They probably even change their jeans more than once a week. (OK, to be fair, I only have one pair of jeans that would not currently break indecency laws, blame austerity for that, I do. I am looking very much forward to the boys being big enough that I can steal their clothes). People like the lovely Emma of the brilliant blog Part Of Me , who deserves at least a few enthusiastic paragraphs, if not a whole blog post, of her own. People I know who don’t have blogs I can promote, but who constantly amaze me with their resilience, their bravery, their humour in the face of adversity and, in some cases, their astonishing ability to drink enormous amounts of wine and yet still make sense on Facebook.

The Cup-Of-Coffee-And-A-Nice-Sit-Down blog challenge popped into my head whilst trying (and failing) to line up the seams of a pair of Cars 2 pyjamas on the ironing board this morning (see, my life is just thrill after thrill) as a way to stop procrasinating.  At least once a week – let’s make it a Tuesday, shall we? – I will sit and type for as long as it takes me to drink a full cup of coffee. OK, it’s a mug, but let’s not get pedantic about this.

This time, it will be a list of things I intend to write about very soon:

1. Emma’s blog. Because she’s awesome and she has done so much to promote the idea of Baby Led Weaning, amongst other things. I am hugely enthusiastic about the subject, and can (and do) bore the knickers off anyone with a baby of a certain age. Even though my sprogs are well past the weaning stage, I do get asked a lot about BLW so I shall do a little something on this. (This ‘little something’ being to push everyone to Emma’s pages, as she knows what she is talking about).

2. Ranting. I like ranting.  Some of you may have noticed this, if you are particularly perceptive. I think the ConDems deserve a good rant dedicated to them; as do people who say things like ‘Why are you bothered about the Bedroom Tax when you are not in social housing yourselves?’ and ‘There would be plenty of room if all these Muslamic types stopped getting all the big houses alongside their free cars, 42 inch plasma screens, Tivo boxes and crates of caviar’.

3. More ideas on frugal living. Recipes, making-do-and-mending when you have two left hands and no common sense, things like that. (Mr Duncan Smith, do remember to steal an IKEA pencil so you can make further notes on this topic)

4. Captain Calamity and his developmental progress (this shall be a good news blog!), and probably a bit more ranting about State Early Years Education, and what worked for us.

Right. That’s my coffee finished. Off to tidy up the midden we cheerfully call a ‘garden’, and build a den for the boys. One must make the most of these rare days when it is not pouring with rain and several degrees below zero.