The current TV advert for the Citroen e-C3 – which looks as though it was directed by the same team as set up the synchronised singing decapitated Marie Antoinette heads at the Olympic opening ceremony this summer- is a funny, elegant French finger gesture to Tesla and Elon Musk.
With David Bowie’s “Suffragette City” pounding in the background, a pair of “artisan” looking young men drive a column of four e-C3s (in a possibly conscious genuflection to the Italian Job) over and through a banquet being held in a chateau by caricatured ancien regime types – all giant bouffant wigs, beauty spots, silk frock coats and enormous dresses – disrupting it and causing operatic shock horror to the assembled aristos. Big, blunt letters announce THE REVOLUTION HAS BEGUN…ELECTRIC IS NO LONGER FOR THE ELITE before the two drivers go racing away looking perplexed at each other as one of the aristo women appears in the back seat, while other artisan styled “revolutionaries” run aongside with a red flares, red flags and – just to be politically broad church and incorporate that little bit of French bourgeois revolutionary tradition -a tricolour.
This is one in the eye not only for Tesla’s model of high cost, high end, high profit EVs that can only be afforded by the wealthy – which explains why Elon Musk can be so comfortable with Donald Trump, as EVs for him are not for everyone, the poor can be left to drive old bangers, so the Chinese are guilty of “overcapacity” in wanting electric people’s cars – but also neatly skewers his political posture of being the richest man in the world and also “anti elite”.
The e -C3 is one of several cheaper EVs put on the market this year by European car manufacturers, in an attempt not to be overwhelmed by the competition from China. It is notable that the EUs negotiating position on tariffs against potential Chinese imports demands technology transfer as part of the price not to impose them. This concedes that the Chinese companies have more advanced technology and the Europeans are playing catch up. Whether this succeeds in rescuing these companies in the short term, which it may not because it is still a struggle for them to produce EVs profitably, this is projected to reverse the downward tick in EV purchases peculiar to Europe last year, which in turn will have a knock on effect on oil demand in the way that the EV boom in China already has.
Donald Trump and NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte want NATO members military expenditure increased to “Cold War levels” and for member countries to adopt a “wartime mindset” in order to prepare for a perceived threat from Russia, China, Iran and North Korea.
Neil Kinnock has just stated that 3-4% would be a “realistic” level to reach.
Part of this mindset is a preparedness to sacrfice health, welfare and pensions to fuel the military machine required to fight a war with Russia in Europe that would be suicidal for all involved if it actually broke out.
The UK’s “Defence Review” is framed in a similar “pre war framework”, posing Russia, China, Iran and North Korea as “the deadly quartet”; a good name for a jazz band, but geopolitically infantile.
The threat is posed most sharply in relation to Russia, largely because NATO is now evidently losing its proxy war in Ukraine. This impending defeat is being posed as a lever to militarise European society on the presumption that a Russian win there means that they will then threaten to invade the rest of Europe.
This is simply insane.
If you look at the balance of military expenditure between NATO and Russia, even after a sharp increase in Russian spending forced by the war to 7-8% of GDP, the imbalance in NATOs favour is overwhelming, because the combined GDPs of the NATO countries are almost incomparably bigger than Russia’s (which is smaller not only than the USA among NATO countries, but also Germany, the UK, France, Italy and Canada and barely larger than Australia).
If the argument from all quarters on high in this country is that “the world is becoming a more dangerous place”, its quite clear from this which countries are making it so in Europe. If the Russian level of expenditure shown in the yellow column is posed as a terrible threat by NATO, how much more threatening is NATOs current expenditure for the Russians?
To underline this with stark figures, with overall NATO spending in 2024 at $1185 billion and Russia’s at $109 billion,
for every dollar the Russians spend, NATO spends just under $11
and the European NATO powers alone spend £755 billion between them, which is just under $7 for every dollar spent by the Russians.
So, the question posed by this is already, who exactly is under threat from whom?
Trump and Rutte, and now Kinnock, propose to raise NATO military spending to “Cold War levels”. That was around 5% of GDP between 1970 and 1987. That would double the imbalance above and set NATO up for an offensive war with a collosal military advantage of 14 to one, even if the US kept out of it, and 22 to 1 if they were involved.
This reality is revealed by the decision of the EU to break its own fiscal rules and raid its levelling up funds to finance war preparations which, among other things, involves strengthening bridges so that “tanks may pass safely”. Were they concerned that columns of Russian tanks would be steamrollering West they would be weakening bridges so they couldn’t pass at all.
This is leaving aside the political feasibility of a Russian offensive, even if it were militarily feasible – which it obviously isn’t.
It beggars belief that a war of this sort is being envisaged with a nuclear power. The same people who argue that the UK’s nuclear weapons “keep us safe” and shouted at Jeremy Corbyn “would you press that red button, Mr Corbyn?” seem to think that a land war in Europe which, given the balance of forces, would be aimed at regime change and the balkanisation of the Russian Federation and have nothing to do with “defence” would not lead to the trip wires for use of these weapons being crossed.
So, the additional cost of meeting this target in full would be around £70 billion. Even getting half the way to it would require a transfer of £35 billion, which would have to come from “other priorities”: and not just “a small amount” as Rutte puts it. Kinnock doesn’t say what he would cut. He should be asked.
Every item cut instead would improve people’s lives. The best that can be hoped for increased military spending is that it doesn’t give our lords and masters the tools to end them.
All this flows from the strategic self subordination of Europe to the United States. As this recent article argues, the new situation for Europe is that the US is leading them into war with the continent’s strongest military power, Russia, at the same time as it deliberately undermining European rivals’ economies. It amounts to a US policy of subordinating Europe through a combination of military and economic warfare.
This is a lethal combination for Europe, the most serious threat to the entire continent since at least the end of the Cold War and in a broader sense since the end of the Second World War.
So, the fight against war, and the fight against austerity, to defend our conditions of life will have to go hand in hand.
…are written on the subways walls, and tenement halls” or, very often, the walls of pub toilets. In the toilet at the Chandos pub, wedged between St Martin in the Fields and the Colosseum, and reached up a narrow twisting staircase lined with black and white photos of opera singers, you’d expect something classy.
Above a startlingly black and white diamond floor, someone has written gnomic messages in the tiny capitalised writing of the obsessive along the grout between the wall tiles. “The World is flat”. “The World is grey”. “Trump is a bump in the road” The last of which can’t help but make you wonder “Where to?” Rather than clean up these rather faint assertions, the pub management has drawn over them in coloured marker; which paradoxically draws attention to them and makes decoding what you can and can’t see underneath a bit of a mission.
Behind the cistern, someone has written, bolder, larger, in green, red and black, “Free, Free Palestine!” then poignantly added “please!” drawing an angry retort in scrawled biro, most of which has been equally angrily scribbled over so only the sentiment “Let us finish the job” can be read. A third person, presumably the one who scribbled it out, has drawn an arrow to the sentiment and added “You did that in 1948”. So, at the pub toilet in the Chandos, as in the Oxford Union, its evident that Israel’s exercise of its “right to defend itself” has blown away any pretence it had at moral standing with every bomb it has dropped, every tactical success lays the ground for strategic failure; and the writing is now on the wall.
Graffiti in pub toilets varies with the clientelle. Back in the seventies in York, when I was more inclined to be a regular than the very occasional visitor I am now, the Spread Eagle in Walmgate seemed to specialise in satire at the expence of John Smiths brewery. Just above the urinal, someone had written, “You don’t buy the beer here, you rent it”. Somone else had added “Don’t take the piss out of John Smiths bitter – you might remove its entire liquid content”. In the more sophisticated refuge of the York Arms, a cosy mostly gay pub tucked snugly in behind Bootham Bar, there was a line in arch and witty comments about anything and everything. Most were a fleeting laugh, but, for a reason that is mysterious to me, this one has stuck. “To be is to do” Rousseau. “To do is to be” Sartre. “Oo be do be do” Sinatra.
A similar mixture of the cod profound and the down to earth was written on the whiteboard on the concourse of Piccadilly Circus tube station that was crowded with people rushing hither and thither in an even busier than usual pre Xmas crush, giving a Hallmark sentiment a practical punch line. “Life is about the journey, not the station – SO KEEP MOVING”.
A sticker in the tube car read “My girlfriend said it was her or Reading – I still miss her sometimes”. My initial thought was that Reading is a nice place, definitely deserves to be a city, but not so nice as to break up over living there, and that this was a strange way to promote its charms; until I tumbled that it was about the football club. The same thought applied though…
Another tube advert illustrated the limitations of synthetic phonics as a method of teaching reading. It read “Whne yuo cna’t dceipher thier priicng bnudles”. I expect that most people reading this will have had no trouble working out what that said, because you’d have been using your sense of meaning and syntax to work with your knowledge of possible letter/sound correspondences (which can vary in English, vowels being especially slippery, as in “I like reading in Reading” or “Gove loves to move”). If the sentence had had a jumbled word order as well as a jumbled letter order, it would have been much harder to work out.
The problem with an over dogmatic phonic approach to reading is the insistence that meaning follows decoding, when it is necessarily very often the other way round. Even when learning the phonemes themselves, its a lot more effective to do so from a word that has meaning for the learner (like their name, or words like “Mum”) than a random list.
The brain works like a very sophisticated version of the spellcheck/predictive text systems that are now on phones. As you type, the system will give you possible options for words that might make sense if they come next. As you type more letters, the words change as the possibilities narrow.
This perception is important from the off, as without making sense being built into the process, there is a danger of what used to be called “barking at print”, where a child might learn to decode the sounds and pronounce the words, but be reading them as a random list. This might get good marks in the phonic screening children in Year 1 have to do, which is set up exactly as a random list, many of them as “non words” to eliminate any input from meaning contaminating the purity of the letter,sound correspondences; but it doesn’t allow lift off into self sustaining reading for pleasure or information – because the activity is abstracted from all that.
More creative mishears. In a discussion on the antecedents of the HTS in the Al Nousra Front and Jolani’s split from ISIS, I misheard the name of the ISIS caliph Abu Bakr Al Bagdhadi as Big Daddy, which conjured a different image altogether.
Did Andrew Rawnsley seriously write “Senior military officers privately worry that Britain’s Armed Forces would have difficulty fighting a high intensity war in Europe for more than a month or two”? (Britain has never looked more exposed, adrift in the Atlantic in a world pulsing with perils Observer 8/12/24) How long does he think “a high intensity war in Europe” – with an unnamed power which, for the sake of argument we’ll call “Russia” – would last? Never mind a month or two, with nuclear weapons we’d be lucky to get to the end of an afternoon, and no one would be “home in time for tea and medals”, because we’d all be dead.
What is seriously worrying is that our futures are in the hands of people who think that ramped up confrontation on the lines envisaged in the “Defence Review” is in any way survivable. As he says at the start of his article, “I don’t know what effect these men have upon the enemy, but, by God, they frighten me”.
One of the good things about having ears blocked enough to not quite hear things straight, is that some of the mishears are quite evocative. Getting out of a train the other day, the following, rather poignant message came over the speaker – “We have now reached our destination. When you leave the train, please take all of your longings with you…”
The C2C train that I got out of in Grays station had a name plate. Barry Flaxman. Not quite Thomas the Tank Engine, but quirky in its own way. C2C being owned by TrenItalia, you’d expect something zappier and well travelled, the Marco Polo perhaps, or the Amerigo Vespucci. But those would work better for high speed rail over continental distances. If the Belt and Road Initiative was a European enterprise heading East to Samarkand, Ulan Bator and Beijing, instead of vice versa, the locomotives might have names like that. For a short haul commute between Southend and Fenchurch Street, Barry it is.
An appropriate honour for a man from Southend who spent his life from 1949 onwards campaigning for passenger improvements, died of a heart attack on his way to view a new train in 1998 and whose “timetabling knowledge was the driving force behind the electrification scheme benefits of the early 1960s that brought such a step change in journey time and frequency.” The world is full of barely acknowledged contributions to life being a tiny bit better, made by people unknown outside their own field and tiny circle. Its a pity that the train just has the name, with no further information, leaving it to stand alone in almost anonymous obscurity.
All the same, perhaps Barry himself might have been a bit cross that the train with his name on it was having a problem with its connecting doors on the day I went down; making the carriage with the toilet in it innaccesible from the rear coach. Having indulged in a coffee from Fenchurch Street, which seemed like a good idea at the time, this was becoming more and more of a problem as the stations counted down.
Dagenham Dock,
Rainham,
Purfleet,
Grays.
The train glided into its final destination in what felt like mocking sloth and was in no hurry to let the doors bleep their escape signal. Limping at speed to the toilets in the Precinct and just about making it, or so I thought; there being an “Out of Order” sign improvised in cardboard across the Mens. Knowing that I would never make it back to the toilets in Morrisons before suffering leaks on a grand scale, I expressed my frustration at slightly “Broken Britain” with a satisfying fricative explosion
“F*$*£!!!!”
“No need to swear”, says a concerned woman passing by.
“There’s a disabled toilet. You can use that. Are you disabled?”
“I will be in a minute if I can’t use it”.
My nephew, who is a very talented musician, is now in the band for this year’s Aladdin Panto, with Gok Wan, a Loose Woman and the surviving Chuckle Brother. Most of the music in Panto is what they call “stings”; musical sound effects that punctuate the story and draw attention to jokes. Ba -boom – tisshhh – Ta – daaah! – Wa, Wa Waaaaa! That sort of thing. Not massively taxing, and not a lot of room for solo improvisation, but quite fun.
Meanwhile, at the Thameside Theatre, this year’s version of Snow White has just one named actor – Luke Coldham (who may, or may not, be a cold ham) – playing “Nurse Kelly” – a character I don’t recall either from Grimm or Disney – who looms very large and central in the poster. None of the other actors merits a mention, but they are all smiling happily, if anonymously, enough. Its possible that this is Panto’s answer to Tom Stoppard’s Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead, where he takes two minor but essential characters out of Hamlet and makes their offstage existential angst the centre of the play, posing the fundamental question of what Non Playable Characters think of when they are not being played, but probably not.
And SMILE! A broadside of dentistry to brighten the bleak midwinter – and not a dwarf in sight. What have they DONE with them? The other acts being advertised at the Thameside, and Civic Centre, have a definite nostaglic quality: The Upbeat Beatles, The Jersey Boys, The Roy Orbison story: appealing to people who remember 1963 and think the world has gone to pot since; partly because the Beatles did themselves and got a lot less upbeat and a lot more quirky as a result. I’m not knocking the concerts, I expect they are good fun, albeit in a safe retread sort of way, but its the sheer uniformity of the cultural offer – nothing for anyone under 60, no cultural influences other than an aging transatlantic mainstream: like Radio 2 forty years ago. And the only other piece of Theatre on offer is a stage version of “Allo! Allo!”, the 1980s situation comedy in which the situation is the Nazi occupation of France reimagined as farce. Always good for a laugh, if you don’t have much grasp of what that was actually like.
Luke probably gets a mention, not because he might have been on Eastenders once in 2013, but because he’s a Thameside Panto regular – having played Sarah the Cook in Dick Whittington (who?) Widow Twanky in a former Aladdin production, Dame Dolly Doughnut in Peter Pan, Stanley in One Man Two Guv’nors and must do it well enough to be a bit of a draw. He’s also played Maximilian Robespierre at the Royal Opera House, so he’s not a one trick pony (unless he’s playing him in drag). Like everyone in the Arts, you get the work where you can.
Meanwhile, the Guardian quotes Keira Knightly as saying that her latest Xmas set thriller will “ruin Christmas”. Many of us think that she and Richard Curtis did that already with Love Actually, which will probably be running on a loop on most channels for most of the holiday.
In the precinct – not a tree, but a simulation of a tree. A geometric shape in plastic. A prefab structure with built in baubles. Tall, pretty in its way, but by definition lifeless and sterile. None of the tension of a real dying live tree, no reflection of the mid Winter dramas of light in the darkness, evergreen boughs, blood berries and spiky leaves. And no aroma; no fresh gusts of pine leaf and sap to quiver the nostrils and refresh the mind.
When the school that I worked in for many years fell seriously foul of OFSTED and we were forcibly academised – which tipped a difficult situation into one that became almost irretrievable – on the first Christmas after the takeover, I walked into the reception area between the Scylla of the Head’s Office and the Charybdis of the Office office, and there, standing in the corner, was a silver, plastic tree (with attached baubles). Frank the Premises Manager had just put it up and was appraising it with his head on one side. Under the old regime we had had TWO real trees. Big ones. One in the reception, one in the Middle Hall, where most Assemblies took place. These were lovingly decorated with great craft and skill by the TAs and the whole school was treated to great wafts of aromatherapy for the whole of December. This was not a box being ticked. There was a heart to it. I looked at the plastic replica of a tree, looked at Frank. We both looked back at it, then at each other. We had the same expression. “Sums it up in a way, doesn’t it?” “Yeah, it does”.
Customers are fairly sparse. The independent cafe in the centre is closed, but the Costa on the corner facing onto the High Street is full of people drinking vast bowls of coffee at the bladder bursting end of the spectrum.
Meanwhile, at the War Memorial, an equal opportunities Remembrance Parade, in crochet, lines up on the bollards.
On the pavement outside Kwikfit, two of the monks from the Buddhist Temple on Kingsbury Road, resplendent in smouldering saffron and crimson, but simultanously down to earth in grey woolly socks and hats (a sartorial middle way) walk past. One of them has his nose in a leaflet about life insurance, which he might well have need of if he doesn’t look up before he gets to the edge of the pavement.
When waiting for the 324 bus outside Brent Cross, there is always a steady stream of 112 buses heading for the headily named Tally Ho Corner in North Finchley. To give the bus a bit of panache the destination board on the front reads FINCHLEY Tally Ho! as if grinding up Ballards Lane from one bit of nondescript bit of suburbia to another had all the dash of a hunt of sherried up hoorays jumping their horses pell mell over hedges, and hurtling through the countryside in full tilt pursuit of the foxes that now slink around our bins at night – probably at Tally Ho corner too. The arrival must be an anticlimax, but that exclamation mark gives the journey a bit of imaginary zip. In the same way that there is a suburb of Polokwane in South Africa that is called Nirvana. I don’t suppose its all that, but having it as a destination on the front of a bus…wonderful! Saves all that reincarnation.
My last blog did not take account of just how slowly votes are counted in US presidential elections. While the result has been obvious from the grey dawn of Nov 6th, and the outlines of the vote equally apparent, a precise accounting has had to wait until now. Even now (Nov 27th) the vote count stands at 99.7%, so there’s roughly another few hundred thousand votes to tot up, but these won’t make much difference to the broad conclusions that were reasonably obvious, and therefore broadly misrepresented in the media, from day 1.
First of all, contrary to my initial blog, Trump did gain votes from 2020. But not many. His total was just over 77 million this year, compared to just over 74 million in 2020; so, a gain of just under 3 million votes.
Similarly, Kamala Harris lost a lot of votes on Joe Biden’s total in 2020, down from just under 81.3 million to just over 74.4 million; so a total loss of 6.9 million votes.
Turnout was down overall by about 3 million votes.
So, the core conclusion that this was more a Democrat slump that a Trump surge still holds. This matters because some of the conclusions coming from Democratic Party reinforce the strategic choices that led them to lose. There are basically three strands to this.
They are in denial about “the economy”, arguing that people under $100,000 a year, whose real wages were lower at the end of the Biden term than the beginning were suffering a delusion because “economic indicators” were going so well. Putting this across as people not “feeling” how well they were doing, when they were actaully doing pretty badly, is a form of gaslighting that, evidently, doesn’t work.
They seem to think that the problem with Kamala, campaigning with the Cheyneys, “I own a Glock”, “border state prosecutor”, “Israel has a right to go after the terrorists” Harris was that she was too “woke”.
They are having a tactical discussion about whether Biden should have withdrawn earlier – obviously he should – and whether they should have had a primary process – neither of which addresses the fundamental problem that any candidate wedded to the same strategy would have faced the same defeat.
This denial is designed to move the Democrats onto the same ground as the Republicans on the spurious argument that there was a significant shift towards them. There wasn’t. It is not a strategy to remobilise their lost voters, let alone an attempt to pose answers that meet the needs of working class voters. Quite the opposite.
It reflects a deeper reality that – their protestations that Trump is a fascist nothwithstanding – they would prefer to lose than contradict the demands of their donors, let alone challenge core US imperial imperatives; which is the fundamental purpose of both parties and the reason why the US political structure is set up the way it is; to squeeze out any genuine challenge that might express the popular progressive majorities that exist for, for example, Medicare for all, Abortion Rights, Serious action on climate, raising the national minumum wage, ending US support for the war in Ukraine and the genocide in Gaza and opposing a wider war involving Iran.
Polling showed, for example, that taking a harder line with Israel would have won Harris significant votes in the swing states.
What we had instead from the Biden adminstration was a performative 30 day ultimatum – due to expire conveniently after the election – for Israel to allow more aid into the Gaza strip on pain of having (some) arms cut off – because even in performative ultimatums, you wouldn’t want to go too far in case the wrong signal gets picked up – in the hope that this gesture would bring back some of the votes that their single minded support for Israel had alienated.
Needless to say, when the 30 days were up, in the middle of Israel’s most ruthless offensive yet – implementing the “General’s Plan” to completely clear the whole of Northern Gaza of its Palestinian population, making it a free fire zone and totally shutting down of any supply of food, water or medicine – the US declared that enough aid was being allowed in for them to keep praising Netanyahu and passing the ammunition.
The psychological shock to a lot of people in the mainstream of politics is that 2020 was supposed to be a “return to normalcy” from the insane aberation of four years of Trumpian excess, after which the Pax Americana could be reasserted on its customary tried and tested basis, with all its familiar landscape intact. The problem is that it can’t, now that the US is no longer the world’s largest and most dynamic economy, the old rules won’t work anymore, so what people thought Biden was now looks like an interegnum in a “new normal” in which the US takes off its masks and stands before the world in all its hideous nakedness as a climate denying rogue state, reduced to having to bully its allies to increase military spending and banking on increasingly overt threats to try to bluff its way out of decline.
This is unlikely to work, but is extremely dangerous and damaging nonetheless.
Beyond the grotesque and demeaning soap opera of his cabinet picks, like putting the former head of the Worldwide Wresting Federation in charge of Education, which could be filmed by Hollywood as the Joker taking control of the Gotham City Mayor’s office.
If Trump imposes 60% tariffs on China and 20% tariffs on everyone else “on the first day” the knock on effect on the world economy will be severe – causing an economic squeeze and political turmoil among allies as well as opponents, sharply rising prices in the US itself and a hard hit to living standards. Those who voted for him under the impression that they would be better off – and many did despite misgivings about his other policies – a response identified as a definite trend by exit pollsters – are in for a shock and are likely to turn.
The same applies to mass deportations, if they are carried out. Removing hundreds of thousands, possibly millions, from the workforce would be seriously disruptive economically, even discounting the immensely divisive and traumatic social and political impacts across communities.
If Trump carries out his promise to reverse major US climate policies passed during Joe Biden’s presidency, this could push $80bn of investment to other countries and cost the country up to $50bn in lost exports, according to a new study by researchers at Johns Hopkins University.
The required ramp up of military spending among allies, in the context of an economic squeeze generated by the tariffs, would also create increasingly febrile and feverish politics even within the US’s core supporters; as we are already seeing in Japan.
The decline of US power has entered a bumpy and perilous period and the election of Trump is a symptom of that. Standing on much thinner ice than the media is suggesting, the harder he tries to grip, the more things will slip through his fingers; the harder he tries to assert US power, the more he will expose how much it has already slipped.
Seen in Foyles Bookshop on Saturday. Someone with a sense of humour has placed the parody of Boris Johnson’s memoir alongside the original; which many reviewers thought was surreal enough.
This may be a desperate attempt to boost sales for that, as the red sticker showing that its on sale for half the recomended retail price does not indicate that it is exactly flying off the shelves.
Grays High Street was not its usual quiet self on Saturday morning. A blue tent with a sound stage flanked by huge loudspeakers was deployed at the strategic centre between Clarence Road and George Street. Manned by a tiny, grey complexioned DJ in his fifties, it was belting out Romanian techno beats, while he rapped along with it, hopping about with an enthusiasm appropriate to someone a third of his age like a gleeful goblin.
We have the meats….
In front of the shops on either side were lines of Eastern European market stalls, most selling meat. Steaming meat, cured meat, barbecued meat, meat to take away, meat to eat. Tables were laid out in between so people could sit and munch in their anoraks while the vibrations from the sound stage thundered through their chests.
Giblets steaming on gibbets…
There is something almost medieval about it. All you’d need is some jugglers and fire breathers.
In case the last stall didn’t have enough meat, here’s some more…and a bit of cheese.
In case you were in any doubt where the meat comes from, this makes it pretty apparent. Not Kosher, pretty Haraam and no place for a vegetarian.
It was quite sparsely attended when I passed it in the morning, but it was rammed in the afternoon. A mix of local people enjoying being swamped by an alien culture. The Disco King on the stage was playing a Techno verison of the Lambada as I walked past; proof positive that multiculturalism is dead.
One of the regular young black evangelists a little further down offers me a leaflet. I politely decline and he says “Jesus loves you”; which is quite a pitch when you think about it, particularly to anyone who feels otherwise unloved.
Urban ramblings 