Rain in Littlehampton today. Good for the Allotments.
Day five hundred and sixty-four thousand, nine-hundred and thirty-four, or thereabouts if the lockdown, lockout, shut-out, shut-down , shunned as though infectious. For me.
This brainbashing assault, for me started on 21st October 1994, or thereabouts.
And it was voluntary.
I could have stayed in Canada.
I might have, after a contact extension that was offered, been given a full-time, permanent position with the Canadian Research Council in Canada, with all the catastrophic developments that ensued, but, rather, I chose, at the age of forty-three, to come back to an unemployed existence in England, to be closer to my estranged wife, to be closer to our kids and to become Prime Minister of the UK.
The latter is clearly a work in progress.
It had never occurred to me that I would be unemployed for long: something will turn up for me.
It didn't.
From then that six-hundred and whatever thousand years of being rejected as unsuited and unsuitable to be 'in community' has been my lot.
In truth, I had odds and ends of paid work, appropriate to a worked-class man, in a factory, in shops, trying to sell newspapers by phone, part-time in offices and, even, thanks-be one winter, being paid CDN$400 per time to write the five monthly magazine articles that, now, constitute the CCPA Reader on Co-operative Socialism (available as a PDF, for individual and/or group study work, in the papers' section at www.interestfreemoney.org).
But, in the end, the unemployment did for my second marriage: even my new sisters- and brother-in-laws excluded me from their homes.
Apparently because, 'I wasn't trying hard enough to find a job.'
They and their children, eventually, could, so why not me.
Well, I had a PhD.
And, likely, a secret services' file for being a socialist.
Who knows?
So here I am again, lonely, bereft and with no intimate beloved. And me, with all the love *I have to give*.
And all the intimate love I *need* to share.
Ah well.
It's stopped raining now.
And that's the ray of sunshine.
Perhaps our Allotment taters *will* start to grow: all my fault, the rain, 'cos I went up to our Allotment yesterday, as posted to water the new fruit bushes and trees: all doing well!
And, had it not been raining, I would have gone up again, to scythe down the excellent winter green manure plants, as a first crop prior to putting in frost-intolersnt veg (beans etc).
Of course, I had been wondering how I could get the bean poles into the bone-dry no-dig soil.
Had been . . .
Best and love to you all!
And to all, in All, for all,
John
Day five hundred and sixty-four thousand, nine-hundred and thirty-four, or thereabouts if the lockdown, lockout, shut-out, shut-down , shunned as though infectious. For me.
This brainbashing assault, for me started on 21st October 1994, or thereabouts.
And it was voluntary.
I could have stayed in Canada.
I might have, after a contact extension that was offered, been given a full-time, permanent position with the Canadian Research Council in Canada, with all the catastrophic developments that ensued, but, rather, I chose, at the age of forty-three, to come back to an unemployed existence in England, to be closer to my estranged wife, to be closer to our kids and to become Prime Minister of the UK.
The latter is clearly a work in progress.
It had never occurred to me that I would be unemployed for long: something will turn up for me.
It didn't.
From then that six-hundred and whatever thousand years of being rejected as unsuited and unsuitable to be 'in community' has been my lot.
In truth, I had odds and ends of paid work, appropriate to a worked-class man, in a factory, in shops, trying to sell newspapers by phone, part-time in offices and, even, thanks-be one winter, being paid CDN$400 per time to write the five monthly magazine articles that, now, constitute the CCPA Reader on Co-operative Socialism (available as a PDF, for individual and/or group study work, in the papers' section at www.interestfreemoney.org).
But, in the end, the unemployment did for my second marriage: even my new sisters- and brother-in-laws excluded me from their homes.
Apparently because, 'I wasn't trying hard enough to find a job.'
They and their children, eventually, could, so why not me.
Well, I had a PhD.
And, likely, a secret services' file for being a socialist.
Who knows?
So here I am again, lonely, bereft and with no intimate beloved. And me, with all the love *I have to give*.
And all the intimate love I *need* to share.
Ah well.
It's stopped raining now.
And that's the ray of sunshine.
Perhaps our Allotment taters *will* start to grow: all my fault, the rain, 'cos I went up to our Allotment yesterday, as posted to water the new fruit bushes and trees: all doing well!
And, had it not been raining, I would have gone up again, to scythe down the excellent winter green manure plants, as a first crop prior to putting in frost-intolersnt veg (beans etc).
Of course, I had been wondering how I could get the bean poles into the bone-dry no-dig soil.
Had been . . .
Best and love to you all!
And to all, in All, for all,
John
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