The ties that bind (one)
This is in the nature of a long, pre-Alzheimers type ramble, one to scroll past, except for the few of the “inteerestni” as I describe them.
I live, not in a “good area” but in a pocket of an industrial area which has pockets in it which are quite liveable, most things at hand and even in this long, wide, irregular rabbit warren of connected add-ons, can be best described as a series of landings at differing heights, off which branch flats, such that in our part, no one really knows anyone in the far flung parts … some of those parts I’d not wish to live, nor here the way it was … but here the way it is now … well, you’re not going to get much better in 2025 Britain.
Plus it might all end sooner than expected … there are signs around here of nasty things coming … one can only pray and hope … but for now, our little corner is nice. In fact, it’s not unlike in Russia where, in town, people live in apartment blocks, not because Stalin is forcing them but because those two foot thick walls and central heating costing a pittance simply can’t be beaten … this includes The Money. The Money has swishy furniture inside, plus dachas and yachts far away … but in the city, it’s apartment blocks.
France for me was different, ditto Sicily, this town here in the NW works on pockets rather than salubrious areas and the others the pits. A bit like Newcastle … walk from one street to another one across and it’s a different world. Other side of the Pennines where home is … well, there were pockets where parts of my family lived. Oop on’t hill was a nice part.
Into all this comes the game changer and I’m going to quote Steve:
In 1940, when we stood alone against the greatest war machine the world had ever known, there were almost 5 million of us in uniform, another 17 million directly employed in war work and a Land Army of millions in the fields and in the forests, plus over a million fishing our waters. That left the children and the elderly – where even some of those were helping out. We call them the Greatest Generation and they weren’t ‘diverse’. Our strength came from being a highly cohered society: a society built on trust over millennia. We are indigenous Northern Europeans and this is OUR land. It is NOT the possession of any political party registered with the Post Office.
Amen. Look, what I’m skirting around, trying to avoid Two Tier sending in the Stasi … well let me put it this way … we have two “migrant” couples in here with us but they’re, shall we say, Orbans and Anna Kournikova types, living almost the same as we do, give or take the type of vodka, type of pies and cakes, pastries. One couple have a cross dangling from their rear view mirror … gives you the idea. They’re actually happy I’m so quiet. Would I be in trouble saying they’re “civilised”?
And what of me anyway … I’m a bit cross cultural … Yorkshire father, Irish mother, well-off Oz stepfather. And what if Christine Anderson, Eva Vlaar or Archbish Vigano came to live in our little enclave? Nice … think you see where this is going. How about a Gurkha couple next door? Seems fine … depends on character.
What do I miss of Yorkshire? A lot, so I keep retweeting on X. Oz? I retweet Alexandra and a few boys from downunder. There are, however, certain photos, certain footage, I find it very difficult to look at … this is one:
The Oz Grand Prix, by the way, goes around that lake, I used to sail on it, I was in one of the sailing clubs. The Sea Scouts were there. Another which dismayed me was this documentary I saw this morning:
That part of the city … well let me explain. Melboune is at the head of a very fat, pear shaped body of water like one of the Great Lakes, opening onto the open ocean. The salubrious suburbs are south-east of that northern point. At that central northern point, and to the west and south-west, is industrial, including what you see in the video. Down the eastern coast was where my parents lived.
Right … why the dismay? Nothing geographical … I’m very happy in the NW here, everything at hand, was happy in that Russian town, adored from Melun down to Fontainebleau, was in a nice part of Sicily for some months, liked where I was in Oz, even inner-city. Liked So-Cal, love where Toodles is … and so it goes on. No, it’s really not geographical for me … I loved Kitzbuhel.
It’s two things actually … one is Father Time and how the successive generations have rendered me irrelevant, plus some other things in a second post sometime soon. And the other relates to the Steve quote above … yes, it’s about demographics and that word “civilised”. About the human landscape, about safety, about the lowlifes in parliament. You know the score.
Why is this such a nice corner just here? Because it’s physically unsafe for intruders from outside … they don’t muck around in these parts. Think I mentioned it’s a biker area too. Good lads they are.
Anyway, nuff for now, some domestic things coming up.
Soon.