Gadaffi

Where is Gaddafi
it seems he is lost?
Is he in Aviemore
amongst the frost?

Maybe in Surrey
down by the Thames?
Salty sea dog,
with seafaring friends.

Lost on the beach
in Blackpool town.
A kiss me quick hat,
& red painted frown.

Soho is calling,
fetish & sex.
Premium rate
subscription & text.

Where is Muammar
to take the blame?
Redundant pawn
in the Congress game.

Roads paved with gum

Roads that are paved with gum
stuck your dreams to concrete scum,
is this all you can become
living in this soulless slum?

All that’s glistening is fake
every chancer’s on the make,
so you better stay awake
for it’s you they’ll split & break.

Meagre basis for their question,
clueless fools without direction,
cast aside their interjection,
disregard the loose connection.

Weary faces broke & numb
pray to see your hopes succumb,
to their dreary life of scum
stick your dreams to worthless gum.

Citric & Filters

Citric & filters,
like coffee & cream,
china for you,
a dani for me.

Digging the groin,
is bore out of love,
a fit of perfection,
like feet in a glove.

Barrels & pins,
spoon overloaded,
shake coffee beans,
my life has imploded.

I’ll dream,
I'll eternally dream.

Regret

Her soft gentle kisses
seeking love & union,
delicate, expectant,
yearning to be found.

Met with abrasive lust,
coarse, callous & cold,
dispassionately bestowed
without her requisition.

Unacquainted he falters,
her anguish a familiar fate,
aching to be kissed gently
longing for him to hold her.

Panic on the streets of London. . . .

You have to question it all really. From a football supporters view the highly respectable people from the area of Tottenham arrived in Wigan last year chanting “ Wigan’s a shithole I want to go home”. Well maybe it is a shithole, but it’s our shithole & we’re not burning it down & looting it as a protest. Ditto West Ham, Aston Villa, Birmingham etc and this from people who call us Northern Monkeys !!

It’s indicative of the countries inability to apply a swathe of social pressure on the government without making an arse of it. Take the French for example; when they dig their heals in they dig them in deep & the responsible authorities listen. Is that the underlying reason though really? There are 12yr old kids throwing bricks at Policemen. I wouldn’t have thrown a dirty look at a Copper when I was a kid, such was the fear of what might happen. There’s no respect for anything, no respect for each other & don’t believe that a lack of respect is a disease of the youth. Who do they learn from? Us, their elders & parents.

So what happens when we the voting public become unhappy with our lot? No-one does anything, we walk around disgruntled & make a noise slightly above a whisper in protest. Enter the thugs; unopposed they smash any rational argument with violence, damage & looting. How the fuck can shitting on your own doorstep & robbing off your own achieve anything?

Gang tags including North9 and NPK sprayed all over the place, are the Police prepared for it? Of course not, but don’t worry because Boris Johnson is cutting short his holiday to come back & deal with it. And what is David “holiday boy” Cameron doing about it? He’s still on holiday.

Is it the disenfranchised using violence as a way to be heard? I don’t know, I ran out of answers a long time ago. My mate has text me to say the riots have kicked off in Walton-on-Thames! Apparently they’re throwing their Moët & Chandon in the Thames!!!

The gap is widening & the opportunities for the disaffected (& self appointed disaffected) to use socioeconomic disadvantages as a means to destroy are on the rise. I can only imagine how the EDF & BNP must be rubbing their hands in anticipation.

I’m no sociological, psychological or political analyst. But I know one thing, it aint looking good & those charged with providing the answers; the elected representatives, don’t seem to know either.

Or maybe it’s a divide & conquer strategy ?

Growing old disgracefully.

Everyday in every way
got a bigger face to wash,
I aint got Rooney’s money
for a follicle new bush.

Should I beg of Gordon Ramsay
for a crater face to heal?
Should I twitter Ryan Giggs
how to KOP a fresh meat feel?

So I emailed Barry Bethel,
I can empathise with him.
Just a roly poly fat cunt
with a lust for chips & gin.

Everyday in every way
got an older face to scrub,
growing old disgracefully
least I’m dying with your love.

Amy Winehouse - The Death of Dignity

Before you get the wrong impression of the title let me set the record straight. The death of Amy Winehouse is an absolute tragedy. A young woman who Tony Bennett described as a woman with a true expression of Jazz.......

The lack of dignity that troubles me is that which has been expressed on Twitter. Kelly Osbourne stated that she was so devastated by the news of Amy’s death so much that she was struggling to breathe; not struggling enough however that she couldn’t post on twitter. Where did personal grief disappear to? When was it the norm that the first reaction of a close friend was to post on a social network? I am being too cynical to conclude that Kelly et al unconsciously/consciously saw a chance to catapult their selves into the spotlight on the back of a pseudo friend’s death?

Why couldn’t Kelly & her ilk make their announcements of grief privately to the family of Amy? I’m not sure about you but the last time someone close to me died my actions in the immediate aftermath was to consider if & when I should contact them. The furthest thing from my mind was to outpour my grief to an inordinate amount of people that barely know me or the recently deceased on a social network.

What a photo opportunity it was for the likes of Ailsyene from Big Brother to turn up bawling her eyes out for the cameras in front of the deceased’s house? Let alone all the other heartbroken yesterday celebs, who have aligned themselves to Amy’s untimely death.

Of course the majority of you reading this will be screaming “filthy smackhead” & will be reassuring yourselves with your ignorance that “she could have stopped”. Alas my ignorant friends you have next to nothing of an understanding of addiction & how it grips a person. How many of you smoke & can’t stop? How many of you are clinically obese & blame it on your glands. The old fail safe excuse eh, my fat friend?

When you cut through the smoke & mirrors Amy Winehouse was as fucked up as most of us are, relying on an unhealthy crutch to make it through the rain. Unfortunately for her, the crutch she chose to support her had immediately devastating effects. As for the rest of us, we’ll have to wait for coronary heart failure due to hypertension, hypercholesterolemia & diabetes to seal our fate.

Choose your poison. Was Amy really that bad?

Within

I see beauty in life
beauty within you
despite what you said
& sins that I do...

I see beauty in you

Shadows wont disguise it
nor hidden in the shade
bathed with warmest love
bold & unafraid

beauty lives within you

Nurture what's within
let it grow & bloom
bursting to be found
illuminate the room...

beauty radiates from you

I see beauty in you
your beauty lights my life
eternally yours
my trouble and my strife...

you are beauty

An open letter to the School Reunionists

Recently I was invited to a school reunion. A chance, to meet all those dear dear friends that I haven’t seen since I was 16. But you see there’s a reason I haven’t met all those dear dear friends since I was 16.

It’s not because time passed so quickly. It’s not even because life’s events overtook those oh so precious relationships, and here I am, 40yrs old with time to catch up and see what life has thrown at my oldest dearest friends.

You see my dear friends, it’s none of the above or anything else you can think of. It’s because of this; I couldn’t stand the fucking sight of you set of cunts for all the unfortunate years I was incarcerated with you during the happiest days of our lives. In the interim I moved away from the shit hole that is Earlestown & I travelled the world!! That’s right readers; I actually have spent more that a two week annual holiday to the Costa Wanka away from the place I was born. And to boot I didn’t marry my best friends sister.

You see, all you School Re-unionists I don’t hate you, it’s with a heavy heart that I write this sorry tale. It’s a sorry tale because of this simple fact. Deep down you feel the same too. As you look at the photographs of this momentous occasion ask yourself this. Did the prick to the right of you actually constitute as a friend? What were those glorious childhood memories that have been so perfectly encapsulated on your reunion photos all these years on?

In a one stop, fits all moment of crazy sale madness I’ve saved a little bit for you.

I’m not full of bile, but then again I’m not full of shit either.

Anyway, I’m off upstairs to kiss my kids goodnight before snuggling up to the woman I love. Tomorrow I’ll speak, text, e-mail my friends. All of it in the present and I wont think of you for a single. . . fucking. . . .second.

Simplicty

Beyond life’s complexities
simplicity exists,
love, truth & confluence,
to hope & to cherish…

and the many gathered here
will be as your witness
that the simple things in life
are the realisation. . .

of your dreams

The Second Coming

Christ has got a Facebook page,
a new account on Twitter.
He’s taken latest photographs,
to publish them on Flikr.

JesusChrist.com
will alert yer first by text.
Send a message to yer e-mail,
dates of where he’s touring next.

Put yer name down for subscription,
to “Jesus Christ events”.
Signed exclusively to SKY
ITV & Beeb are vexed.

Both Oprah & Jay Leno,
battle for him as star guest.
Turin Shrouds exclusively,
to be autographed & blessed.

Christ sponsored by Coke Zero,
the sugar free Coke drink.
Underwritten by Lloyds Bank,
all the cooperates are in sync.

So pull up yer front row seats,
pour yerself an ice cool beer.
The show starts in 5 minutes,
for the second coming’s here.

The futility of grief

I shan't shed a tear for you
nor shall I shed a tear for them.
For if these tears were so easily shed
I would shed them for a lifetime.

Meanwhile in local news. . .

Today the 364th British Soldier was killed
in Afghanistan.
Meanwhile in local news. . . . .

Broken promises – No 23

Purple handed,
a badge
of honour
for a lifetime
on the burn.

“I’m stopping soon”
Fake smiles
with yellow teeth,
to pacify you
once again.

You recognise
the lie
and when
they cut me open
the last laugh

wont be mine.

Another night on the streets

Drunks, drop-outs & junkies,
low-life scum & flunkies.
Understanding little but stories,
socialists, moderates, tories.

Young, in-betweens & the old,
rejected, ignored & sold.
Can you feel my freezing pain?
Another night on the streets again.

Judged, decided, condemned,
broken, abused ‘til the end.
We’d never met, I never spoke,
you spat in my face, battered & broke.

Doorways, alley’s & skips,
huddled, frozen, in bits.
Can you imagine this pain?
Another night on the streets again.

Eyes that are pleading in vain,
for a chance to be off these streets again.

Dedicated to the wonderful people at The Brick Homeless Project in Wigan

The Valentine Day Massacre

The heads fell off yer flowers,
an’ I didn’t kop a feel.
Yer battered all the wine
an’ I burnt the fucking meal.

Yer chose this day to say,
that yer always hated me.
Yer could ‘ave at least waited,
‘til I’d sat down for me tea.

All me dreams are shattered,
they've gone right up the pole.
Although you say yer hate me,
can I ‘ave just one last hole?

Valentines day massacre,
me heart is smashed to bits.
Yer should ‘ave told me sooner,
I was getting on yer tits.

Tea for two

His old flask sits upon the windowsill,
like a lost dog looking for it’s owner.
Tartan skin reflected in broken glass,
painted steel glistening in the sunshine.

Foolhardy in all that you ever were,
sanctified with a gift for a poor choice.
Walking the frost laden Lockerbie hills,
your final, irreversible mistake.

So I’ll fill this withered tartan old flask,
pour us both a drink, cups of tea for two.
Toast the memories that you left behind,
scorn the choices of a life you squandered.

A Year in Provence

(Well a Weekend Day in the Life of Swinley Resident Dominic Oldman)

Swinley (WN1) is lovingly described around the Mudhuts Towers as “The Bohemian Quarter” of Wigan. The idea for this appraisal has been hanging around for quite some time now, but in large its materialization is in response to the over elaborate musings about all things WN5 in the Christmas edition of The Mudhutter.

Like people outside of WN1, I too remember what it was like to be destitute, smelly,
unskilled and unemployable. Thankfully my life has taken an upturn in fortunes and here I am in Swinley, the Golden Belt district of Wigan, right on Yah?

Such a journey from the doldrums of a working class upbringing in Earlestown to middle class utopia was not just about sacrificing my Socialist/Marxist beliefs. As our illustrious ex right of the middle PM Tony Blair stated when he drew up his vision of a better Britain, “Education, education, education”, and this I did. Unfortunately the scruffs of WN5 thought he said “Eggs and Bacon, Eggs and Bacon, Eggs and Bacon”, and hence they are all clinically obese with high cholesterol and an average mortality of 42. Not to worry though as this article is not for them anyway. So without further ado here is a diary of a typical day at the weekend in the life of me, Dominic Oldman, and my precious family. Think of it as a little bit of a target to aim toward. In the zone Yah?

7am- Get up with my beautiful wife Brigitte, and our adorable children, Tarquin and Honeysuckle. Before “breckie” we all make our way out to our modest three acre garden to partake in the morning ritual of Tai Chi. Our 16 year old daughter, Honeysuckle, loves to bend and stretch her taut body, she really has become one of the more popular girls at School. Mr Whittle, her sports teacher, is a particular fan and always raves on about her gymnastic prowess and suppleness at our regular dinner parties. Spiffing!

9am- Breakfast. We do not believe in eating mass produced food, so we buy organic products from local traders. People say that it is more expensive than the supermarkets, but gosh, we only get one Earth to live on, Yah? You just cannot put a figure on doing the right thing and I am quite sure even the poor could manage to go organic if they would stop boozing, smoking and gambling their minimum wages away. I have even considered getting our own allotment so I can get back to basics. Earthy Yah! Croissants or wholemeal pancakes with maple syrup and a cup of decaffeinated coffee are always the starters for Brigitte and moiré; Honey and Tarquin have purified water and blueberry muffins. This is followed by a fruit salad of WN1 grown strawberries, melon, grapefruit, kiwi fruit, orange, lemon and lime. The sun always shines in Swinley. Toppo!

11am- After relaxing in our natural hot water springs pool we all trot off down to the Wigan Lourdes Charity Shop on Wigan Lane in Swinley to spend some time helping out behind the counter. It is a tight squeeze fitting all four of us behind there, but as I tell Honey and Tarquin, it was a much tighter squeeze that Moses had fitting all those animals two by two onto the Ark. Besides it is only right that we give a little something back to the world and in particular the poor people of Wigan. Normally we take a bag of our month old clothes to give away in-case there is a day trip of in-bred quadrupeds from Norley Hall. It breaks my brittle heart! High expressed emotion indeed!

12:30am- Lunchtime. We just love to go to the Brocket Arms at the weekend. In the summertime you can see us all sat outside in our ¾ length pants, open toed sandals, peach t-shirts and trendy haircuts. It is great to bask in the glory of our success and quite often you will hear one of us shocking the others with the precise details of how much in value the price of our house has gone up. Equity!

3pm- When they are playing at home we go and lend our support to the Wigan Rugby Union Club. The whole family love Rugger, especially Tarquin and I. Tarquers is a whiz down the wing for the under 15’s team at the Bolton School. If kick-off clashes with Honeys ballet and she cannot attend then Brigitte drives her to class. Honey attends the Wardhaugh Academy of Dance in Poolstock. Usually we do not venture over to that side of town but Janet Wardhaugh really is excellent, and she is accredited to teach the RAD syllabus. That is the Royal Academy of Dance for those of you not ITK.

5:30pm- Evening Meal. The Bel Air Hotel and Restaurant, again on Wigan Lane Swinley, has superb French Cuisine. The French onion soup, frogs legs and snails are to die for and the aroma of garlic really makes you feel like you are in Provence. Which of course you are, the English and more sophisticated version anyway. We usually alternate weekends between Bel Air and Papa Luigi’s. If any of you have ever been to Little Italy in New York then I think you will agree when I say a meal in Papa Luigi’s is just like being in the Big Apple. I sometimes refer to Swinley as being “Little Swinley” which is always met with terrific laughter.

8pm- The highlight of our family day is the Alpha Course. After a day of some giving, but mostly taking, it is important to focus oneself on why we are here. Due to our high flying careers we have rather neglected the church, and what better way than an Alpha Course to get the principles of Jesus nailed down. It is nice to see some of our peers in there too. Not that we do it because it is trendy you understand!

10pm- By this juncture in the day Tarquers and Honey are bushed and slope off to bed for a well deserved rest, hopefully with the words of God firmly embossed on their young minds.

10:01pm- Mr Whittle, whom you may recall as being our delightful daughters sports teacher arrives with his wife for one of our dinner parties. We just love having dinner parties at the weekend and with another three couples, whom we regularly alternate the venue arriving shortly afterwards, it always lives up to its usual high standards. I simply adore watching Brigitte getting it banged out of her like it is going out of fashion. The expression on her face is an absolute picture as she resembles some kind of Hellmans mayonnaise catastrophe that has exploded in her hair, on her face and on the small of her back. She is a real trooper my Briggers as well as being a damn good Mother to our wonderful children. I myself enjoy a spot of playful indulgence, although I draw the line at anal, as after the last dinner party my ringpiece ending up like a fresh bullet wound. I literally could not sit down to chair the last MD meeting the following week. Watersports and scat are also a definite no due to Pemberton “Fat Bird” Flu and the lack of strict border controls at the junction at TESCO.

1am – Everyone goes home rather contented. Brigitte and I have a cup of hot choccy made with goats milk and gluten free biscuits before bed. So there you have it, a typical weekend day in the life of me Dominic Oldman and my family. It could be any family in the Swinley area as we all have such spectacular lifestyles. WN1 Suburbia
Yah!! WN5 Nah!!


Dominic Oldman

Mudhutter No6 June 2006