soup any one?

The above picture is a poignant reminder of hard times gone by, specifically the Great Depression when the line for the soup kitchen was long. The Salvation Army recently reported a huge increase in demand on their services for those in most need of basic essentials. The Archbishop of Canterbury has spoken out against some Government welfare cuts stating that the cuts are increasing the number of those entering poverty and will have the most detrimental effect on children in that grouping.

I know of a small trust that gives out cash, up to £50-00 for those in need. That £50-00 has made a huge difference to many people who find them selves with out any means. The trust has limited resources. It has to maintain a level of capital so that it can continue as it was always intended to do so. 
The emergency money is paid out at the request of professionals who have no other resources to offer to an individual or family. The trust requires no receipt and works on knowing and trusting those who call on them. This is a rare and special thing and I hope it might continue to be able to make a difference long into the future though organisations such as this and the Salvation Army, were intended to ease the load for the few in dire need and not to become the front line in the struggle to help those whose dire need is caused directly by the banking sector and government policy.

The need for food hand outs through out the UK is increasing on a daily basis. In a small town like Colchester Chairman of trustees at Colchester Food Bank, the Rev Andrew Fordyce, predicts the continuing recession and looming changes to the benefits system in April will result in hundreds more people in the town struggling to put dinner on the table.
Last year, the charity handed out 16 tonnes of food, feeding around 1,500 adults and 600 children. But, it is predicted in 2013 in excess of 20 tonnes will be needed. This is not an isolated problem. Food banks with similar projected needs are forming all over the UK.

Food stamps are to be issued in Britain next week to tens of thousands of vulnerable people as part of benefits shake-up. Vouchers will be redeemable for food, nappies and other essentials.

I don't know if it is still the case but a while ago, when a refugee / asylum seeker in the UK was awaiting assessment, the living allowance awarded was £22 per week. The award, if you can call it such, was given in the form of coupons. Here's the Kafka bit. The coupons could only be spent at Sainsburys, not a store such Liddles or Asda where, it is obvious to any one that more goods could be purchased than at Sainsburys, what ever that company might say.

The so called bedroom tax is regarded by many as some thing that might have had it's inception based on common sense reasoning but got dreadfully mauled by those less gifted than the mandarin responsible for the idea. The chaotic policy means those on the left and right of the centre ground have the gravest mis-givings about the idea in practice. I know old school Tories who are dismayed by the machinations of Cameron and his gang and they are very concerned by the lack of fairness in so much of ConDem policy around welfare.
There are those who see the policy as justice for the "welfare scroungers" but the evidence shows that, if implemented as it stands, the so called bedroom tax will affect thousands of people adversely disrupting their lives and limiting their quality of life massively. Like the disgrace that is ATOS, the disability assessment police, the bedroom tax reflects very badly on the ConDems whose concept of a "big society" seems to me to be the shabbiest of things.

I say to those becoming genuinely concerned for the first time, what did you expect? This is The New Reality and it's been crap for some time. Mean while there are things that can be done though I understand it is difficult to see a way beyond the current malaise if, for example, you have spent your life dedicated to the service of others. I know morale in the NHS is at an all time low and we are not looking after any of the people we depend on most. 
We undervalue the people most important to our continued prosperity and welfare. I am talking about the folk who provide essential services and what happens when you decimate the numbers of police, emergency services and social workers.

On top of government cuts, u turns and confusion we have to try to get to grips with some of the strangest logic from the same stable. There are many examples of dodgy government thinking that are quite shocking to me. It bothers me immensely that the government has decided to remove the requirement for "people workers" to have Criminal record checks and for there to be 30% checks instead. For a start the government receives £150 for each CRB clearance provided. Nice earner! For some workers who worked in several settings a separate certificate was required for each setting. I always thought one current certificate should be sufficient but who decided to drop the whole practice at a time like this when the need for the protection of vulnerable people is so obviously necessary? 

In this bizarre New Reality if you work with and for people, it might seem that no one in charge wants you to the job you trained for but, they do want you to do your best to meet the new and ever changing criteria. This is mostly about form filling and killing your body and mind for no good purpose while you watch the service you were proud of reduced to a holding operation, at best. 

The New Reality dictates that young people must provide for their own pension and general social security at a time when the value of a pension paid for by their parents is diminishing every day. The likelihood of a meaningful entitlement to a state pension in the distant future seems highly improbable. The New Reality is that we have learnt that we will not get back what we pay in and that there will be a new underclass for whom there will be little or no state support.

This is the country where child poverty is on the rise, where low wages and a reduction in decent working conditions will be normal, the Lords of Capital will consolidate their holdings and the bonus culture will continue with little control. So much of what we were once proud of, here in the UK, is crumbling and will continue to do so until we get some fresh ideas and a new improved ethos in every part of UK governance.

The plan to dismantle and privatise the NHS, and the welfare state was planned years ago by the Conservative Party, their chums and their business partners, long before the General Election. Three generations have been born into the finest of Labour’s creations, and are so now familiar with it that they have come to believe it is an intrinsic part of life in Britain, so that to imagine life without it seems surreal. Basically, complacency has set in. Voters believed Cameron’s lies, didn’t listen to them as apathy reigned, or if they did they had lost all faith in an impotent voting system, and the supposed democratic system which so many fought to preserve.

We have seen this government spend wastefully and borrow while they condemn the very principle. They are still blaming the last government for their own poor performance. The economy is flat lining as many predicted it would. The ConDem assertion that we are on the right path is a fallacy at best and at worst, a lie to keep us hard at it. The message to the battered British public is - Be thankful you have work and get on with it no matter what we demand of you. 

This government promised that no one who worked would be worse off than those not employed. This is a blatant lie. A young couple I know with one young child, would be better off by £600 per month if they split up and the mother claimed all of the benefit she would be entitled to. The father works full time for a very low wage. Big Society, family values?

You might not agree with every thing or indeed, any thing I have to say on the subject, but who believes the ConDem way forward is the right way? Who believes that new welfare policy is fair and will help lead us to a better place as a civic society? Who believes that a government whose economic policies fly in the face of expert opinion in industry as well as the public sector, can effectively change the predicament we are all in? Who believes any of their employment and growth statistics? 

Only weeks before the budget they were running around stopping Whitehall departments from spending parts of their budget and urging heads of departments to defer spending to the next financial period / year in order to fudge the figures in support of the Chancellor's statements. It is similar to what the banks did when they knew they were deep in the proverbial. Why did they do this? Because they could and still can, with impunity.

We let them do this and get away with it but for how long? Will you participate in the struggle to combat the ConDem culture? Are you involved with local campaigns or perhaps you participate on the 38 Degrees lobbying and petitioning website? There are things that can be done and they must be done soon. We have to send a message to Cameron and his gang that cannot be ignored. People are suffering and if we do nothing I feel sure that our shame will last for generations.

peace

grand design

design dean butler

Last week was quite hectic with a trip to Warwick to begin work anew on the new electric project (working title The Intervention). We met up on the wednesday evening for a catch up session and then spent thursday and friday hard at it. Three electric versions of acoustic songs emerged in a more or less thought through manner. There were high lights when the three of us meshed together in a wall of lovely noise. It is so good to play a whole song with hardly a lick or riff and to keep on doing it until the arrangement begins to settle into a useful form. I have to try to keep an eye on my propensity to drift off by a bar or so as the fancy takes me. It is hard for me to be tied down to an arrangement when I have become so used to free forming, on my own, if I choose to. I enjoyed every minute of it and although progress is quite leisurely, down to me as much as any thing, and I like it very much. The only criteria is around quality and the only agenda is around having a good time. We click together nicely even after a quite long break and all bodes well for the next episode.
Saturday brought the fund raiser gig at Club 85 in Hitchin. A drive up with my very good friend and companion Dave Randell and Doris the sat nav brought us into the outskirts of Hitchin Town Centre at the doors of the Club 85. What a pleasant surprise we had when we dashed inside out of the pouring rain. the club is superb. Well appointed with top class P.A. and lighting and a dedicated staff of mostly young guys who worked methodically and effectively all night.

The first act was an outfit called Hazel Turnock and the Finger Choppers followed by POG. Now Hazel who was suffering with a cold, is a class act. With her rubber BDSM mask and stilt red heels she is a very impressive presence on stage and has a creamy blues delivery. POG has a lead singer who plays a classical nylon strung guitar that gives an unusual and appealing ambience to his distinctive vocal style. The percussion was supplied by one of those amazing electrified boxes you beat on. They have distinctive tones depending on where and how they are struck. Great idea! I thought that if Hazel got together with the box beater and bass player from POG that would be so cool.
I had an interesting show with a couple of very loud conversations throwing me ever so slightly for the first half of the gig. Still when they cleared off home to watch the boxed set of Ludicrous and unnecessary plastic surgery 2013 all was well. I throughly enjoyed myself and played for what is becoming quite a long time. I didn't play much old stuff and tried out some NEW, new things which went down well. I used some of the parts I had developed for and during the rehearsals in Warwick with Rick and Bob. Both acoustic and electric versions of songs feed into each other.
Thanks to Chris, Steve and co for putting on a great night and .... the West Indian food was so good! Special thanks to Al for getting me a great onstage and out front sound as he always does.
So after what seems, with hindsight, to have been a period of hibernation and low activity levels I am back in the saddle. I am looking forward to some relatively good weather and getting out on the bike. I am a little long in the tooth for all weather bike rides these days.

The designs at the top of the post are by a young guy called Dean Butler who is working on some new graphic designs for me. We had a chance to chat at the gig and I think our new friendship will be very fruitful. Thanks mate.

I have just picked up my lovely new Mac Book Pro with Logic 9 so every spare minute is spent getting to grips with it all. This new tool is going to make all aspects of music production easier and quicker for me.

I'm off to the wilds for a few days now and then it's back to the grindstone ha ha!

peace

messala and hopkins

in the house of shepidee

Beyond the pipe crew shelter a man rides slowly steering his tall black charger across a market square in the pale dawn light. His name is Matthew. Matthew Hopkins was a man of doubtful credentials who instigated the infamous witch trials of the 15^th century and became the dreaded scourge of the good women of Suffolk. He was born in Manningtree in nearby Essex.

( According to legend Manstree was re named by Ivar Ragnarsson nicknamed the Boneless who lead a great Viking invasion into  East Anglia. While surveying the region for an inland attack Ivar had been surprised by the power of a flooding tide on a pitch dark, moon less night. As as he and his comrades drifted on the flood into the Manningtree estuary where the River Stour meets the sea,  Ivar saved the day by using a sighting of a tree he glimpsed through the gloom and driving rain high above Manningtree. They managed to escape the storm and find their way back to sea). There after the warriors from the sea called the area Manstree.

Like many tyrants before him and since Matthew Hopkins was a man of no great talent. He was ordinary and ambitious and a vicious misogynist. He tortured and executed women he identified as witches accusing them of consorting with the Devil  and his familiars. Hopkins had an assistant Jack Stearne who enjoyed cruelty for it’s own sake. More surprising Hopkins used a woman called Mary ‘Goody’ Phillips whose specialty was finding witch marks on the bodies of those accused.

Where ever he travelled the good folk closed doors and windows to him in the hope that he wouldn’t notice them. All averted his cold gaze that gave the impression he was searching into their very souls with his mean stare. Women were tortured and executed for doing nothing at all. Much magik medicine and good remedies were lost to the community during this time. Women who had always practised a homespun medicine were afraid to put a poultice on a wound or dress a child’s scraged knee in case their nursing was misinterpreted as witchcraft. Even the mid wives were terrified that if any thing should go wrong with the delivery of an infant they might be accused of some diabolical crime against God.

Hopkins carried out his vendetta against the women folk with out any mandate from any one. Neither church nor state supported him and yet he carried out his crimes with out let or hindrance. The king disapproved but took a long time to express any dissatisfaction over the matter of Hopkins and his vile practises

One fine summer afternoon Hopkins decided to take a small glass of ale in a village tavern. He had killed two sisters there only a day before and was resting from his labours. He disliked public houses but the day was long and he was very thirsty. The sun beat down on every one but to Matthew it seemed as if the sun dried his throat but did not warm his heart or lift his spirits. He was morose and deeply troubled. Perhaps he was tiring of his campaign against women. Perhaps he was beginning to be influenced by the burgeoning crowd of dissenters who had begun to criticise him openly. One day his actions would come to be regarded by most decent people as being among the worst recorded crimes against women of England.

Hopkins entered the cool, dark room of The Green Man at noon precisely which was to prove to be the worst mistake of his miserable life. After the heat of the day the cool shade of the small room would have been a welcome respite for any other traveller but Matthew was more chilled to his core than comfortably cool. He felt weary and sad but explained it away as the result of over reaching himself in the service of the Lord.

Elizabeth Clarke was kept without food or sleep for three consecutive nights, and on the forth night of her torture, she weakened and confessed to being a witch, at the same time accusing five other women of witchcraft. Her confession alleged that she kept and nourished five familiars, Holt - a white kitten, Jarmara - a fat spaniel, Sack and Sugar - a black rabbit, Newes - a polecat and Vinegar Tom - a long legged greyhound with a head like an ox, broad eyes and a long tail.  According to Hopkins no less than eight people swore they had seen these familiars.  In the course of her interrogation the other witches she implicated as accomplices included:  Anne West and her daughter Rebecca, Anne Leech, Helen Clarke and Elizabeth Gooding.

The Cognos mainframe reports > The angel Shepidee who guards the Great Guf of Souls watched from a far place. She felt the hurt of the Suffox women and knew the abomination that was Hopkins and his cohorts. She called out to Messala the fallen angel breaking a silence that had consigned the angel Messala to endless isolation in the barren wastes of dead staars. She asked Messala to go the the far side of the milky way. She was sworn to make a correction on earth and offered release from her exile for doing so. Messala had become quite used to her isolated , nomadic wanderings but relished the idea of visiting the blue planet and agreed to carry out the task with out hesitation.

Hopkins took a large swig of beer from the tankard and wiped his lips with his sleeve. He took another and coughed as the cool ale poured over his burning throat. When he looked up from his beer a young woman had entered the tavern and was watching him. He looked her up and down and felt no reluctance at lingering over his looking. Usually his gaze would have been deemed improper and most definitely by him self. Still he gazed and all the time she looked back expressionless. He hadn’t met a woman that wasn’t afraid of him for a long time and this had given him a kind of security and confidence that allowed him to explore every inch of her with his eyes and mind. Comely she was, he thought. Attractive. Dark eyed and probably wilful, he thought.  He wondered why she would come to the tavern alone. 

When Matthew Hopkins ( Witch Finder General ) left The Green Man he felt weighed down and extremely fatigued. His back and shoulders ached as though he carried the weight of the world. It numbed his legs as he staggered through the village trying not to seem out of sorts to the locals. He feared his enemies might take advantage of him should they become aware of his weakness. Occasionally a small child would point at the stooped man as he struggled to put one step in front of another. “Look momma, a lady on his shoulders”.

Only a very few children ever saw the strange sight of the angel Messala sitting astride the neck of Matthew Hopkins and never a grown up. She would remain there until the day he died redeeming herself in the eyes of her Lord and Master and achieving her own release from exile. Then she could spread her wings and travel home, free at last.


peace

angels on the wall

  

It has been a while since I last posted. I just haven’t felt to do so. Any way I was about to launch in to a savage attack on the latest Con-Dem travesties but then I thought give ‘em a break from the irksome, Kafkaesque machinations of government. 

So here is a small tale not a tall tale. The River Adur is situated in West Sussex and stretches from Henfield to Shoreham-by-Sea. The watercourse was once a major trade thoroughfare, serving the thriving medieval villages of Steyning, Beeding and Bramber. Its mouth forms the ancient harbour situated at Shoreham, which has pre-Roman origins.

Now Shoreham is part of the urban sprawl and is joined to Brighton and Hove. The area has a unique and interesting character from the mostly crumbling Georgian splendour that Brighton is famed for to the industrial activities in and around Shoreham Harbour. 

There a man steers his dredging boat around the harbour incessantly. He keeps the harbour navigable by clearing the sand washed in by the tides. He wears a captains hat and waves cheerily to any one who looks his way from the harbour wall. I wonder how he came to be there. He is a master of his own vessel and a captain that never leaves port. I wonder if he screwed up big time on a nautical adventure, like the Italian captain of the Costa Concordia, but not quite so badly. Another possibility is that the good captain of the Shoreham harbour dredger is doing the job he always wanted from boyhood. I hope it is the latter.

A few years ago I was in the area fishing with a friend. We were staying near

Arundel and after a frustrating time lure fishing for pike on the flooding river we headed to the coast for some sea fishing. Shoreham harbour seemed worth a visit so we headed there and parked in a nearby car park. As we did a couple of guys arrived and parked near to us. They began to drag some very old and battered fishing gear from their old motor. We said hello and they set off for the harbour wall while we began to sort out our sea fishing gear from the fresh water lure fishing gear. We were soon set up with light gear and headed off to the wall. On the way we came across our captain of the harbour dredger. My friend went back to the car for some reason and I fished on in a stiff westerly breeze. The harbour wall is high and so you are casting out from it with out being able to see when your lead and bait is going. In spite of this I soon caught a tiny schooly bass which went back instantly. I saw the guys we had met earlier. They were ensconced at the far end of the harbour wall where they were sheltered in the curved end of it.

 I approached them with my rod in hand and they both began to make jokes about the quality of my fishing gear and how I must be much richer than them.  They were very funny and some how completely charming. My friend arrived and they began to make fun of our “proper clothing” and “smart rods”. We both laughed as the jokes continued and included “the posh Toyota Avensis “ we were driving. There gear was ram shackle and rusting. They were fishing with pale balls of some strange substance the size of a tennis ball. I told them I had caught the little bass on mackerel and rag worm. They looked at each other as though I had said moon dust. I asked what their bait was and they said they couldn’t tell me. I assumed this was some secret killer bait so I asked what the fishing was like there. They both laughed and then with a completely straight face one of them said he didn’t know. They had never caught a fish there. I was astonished. I asked how long they had been coming to the harbour to fish. Every year, once a year for thirty years they travelled there by car from London was the reply. With out a fish I asked. With out a fish was their answer. They didn’t fish either. I mean they just sat chatting and left their lines where they were. It turned out one was a retired fireman and the other a retired electrician and one had heard of the EBB.

The previous days had been low key and some how a bit flat, with few high lights. Now my friend and I were mesmerised by these old boys who would have fitted right into the TV series Last Of The Summer Wine. What was it about these guys and why were they really there? My friend and I have spoken about this many times. These guys filled us up with good feelings and good vibes. They made fun of us in a gentle way and they were warm and thoughtful.

It is impossible to fully describe the impact this odd couple had on us. Why did they come all the way from London to fish at Shoreham once a year. They didn’t know why, when asked, but said words to the effect that they just did it. They didn’t really fish and that bait was well weird. During world war two I would have probably contacted the coast guard or the home guard in order to have these two checked out, especially had they any trace of a German accent. In fact they were very English and extremely charming.

Do you ever get the impression that, very occasionally after meeting some folk, you are left with a feeling of being filled right up with good stuff? I honestly felt totally rejuvenated and re-programmed.

We didn’t fish much after we began chatting with our new friends and eventually we all left and headed for our cars. On the way back we watched a couple of young guys on BMX bikes. They were jumping over walls and I was just about to scream DON’T at the one about to jump from a ten foot wall. Next second he was sprawled face down on his face with his bike crashing on top of him. My friend rushed off to our car and came back with the First Aid kit. The lad was soon patched up but we suggested he needed to be checked over at hospital. He was very grateful for the help and we made our way.

Later that night after our strange afternoon we caught so many fish off Brighton Marina wall that we actually got bored with it. There was a moody full moon and the night was magical. The magic persisted until it was time to go back to real life. We have never forgotten our encounter with the old guys. We refer to them as our angels. Can’t really say why but things changed after that afternoon on Shoreham docks. Things really began to look up and I began to work out where I was headed and why. It took me a while to figure where the path was but since I found it I have never looked back.



peace

@ the drugstore

The previous and only other time I was in Greece was in 2007 with The EBB. It was a great night and one we’ll never forget. We had no idea what to expect when we began the show but what a night! I remember the assembled Greek choir that was our audience, singing it all as we went through the set. I remember it wasn’t the tightest set but it was full of emotion and power. So when I was asked by my new friend Spilios to go back to Athens for a couple of nights at his bar The Drugstore, I was excited and a little nervous. What if they don’t get what I am doing now?

When Spilios drove me out of the airport in Athens into the most almighty thunderstorm I have ever seen I told him hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t bring this with me and we laughed. At least I hoped that this was true and not some negative omen from the ancient deities of Greece. We drove as the lightning crashed all around lighting up buildings on distant mountains. The rain was incessant and heavy with hail. It was extremely exciting if you like that sort of thing and I love it. As we drove deeper into the heart of the city the architectural landscape in the storm reminded me of images from the film Blade Runner. I suppose it started with a question or two and then I was listening as Spilios spoke about the crisis in Greece and some of the ramifications of the situation, who is to blame and what is really going on. I was getting background to where we were in Athens in 2013 and how it came to be.

Time was running so after a quick look at the very cool place that is the Drugstore it was time for dinner and bed. Morning on the balcony of the room came with a view over rooftops. The birds came and went but nothing like in the song.

I spent some time in the immediate area checking out the place. I saw the have nots every where near my hotel, the stragglers and the strugglers.  It was clear to see who was managing to get by, who was doing very nicely, thank you and those who were in jeopardy.

It was time to earn my daily bread, for which I am grateful, and time to play. The bar was full by just after ten and I began the first of two sets. The audience was lovely, really lovely as I went through the new songs, explaining as I went. Some translated for others. I felt truly connected. We were all grateful to be there and we expressed it. For most of us it was a coming together and celebration of things we have in common. It made me proud of us. I talked as I always do of the things I care about. I played some old songs but possibly not enough for all assembled. The interval came and I relaxed. The second set was long. I don’t know why though I enjoyed it. I left my little amp and microphone to warm applause and the job was done.

I decided to tighten every thing up for the next evenings show and resolved to put some old stuff back in, but what? I spent the early hours of the next day and some of the afternoon working on new old things. That night I played a very tiny version of the whole Dr Spock piece including the instrumental. I don’t know what on earth made me do this but it worked. By the time the small song “What if the babies go on strike” etc, came at the end people were singing their heads off, especially at the tables reserved for the hardcore followers. I performed an acoustic mash up with Thinking of you and Exhibits from a new museum. Songs such as Red Star and The Christmas song, and The half light were very well received so I decided to put more old stuff in. It seemed only fair really. I finished the first set with Poppy. The Drugstore choir sang it with me and that was special.

Second set. So, a version of the whole of Side by side slipped in and I got lost in a  jam version of Hole in it playing some guitar I hadn’t thought of before. The audience drove it and that was so cool. I wanted to give them me, both the old and the new. I talked about the good old days and sang the song of the same name. This is an experiment and I pushed it to the limit from my point of view. The set wound on and it was time to wind it up so after a short story about losing/forgetting the song My Salvation and how I still believe it belongs to some body else and it all got mixed up in the ether and I ended up writing it. Well something like that. I sang it. Evening over rooftops was my last song and again the Drugstore choir gave it maximum attention. A guy near me even sang the sha la la la backing vocals and beautifully. He got his own applause and deservedly.

I had time to hang out with folk after and signed stuff. Every one was so warm to me. I was deeply touched. I didn’t want it to end. I was having a ball with these friendly bright people who speak English easily conversing about the deepest things.

The après gig party was rocking with great sounds and a fitting finale. I must thank all of the staff at the Drugstore for their kindness and support at all times. I was so well looked after. Thanks for the amazing cocktails, the special thing and the attention to detail shown through out my entire visit. The Drugstore is a special place that is a small community. The staff make it what it is – special. The drive with Spilios to the airport was fascinating. I learned some more about what makes his country tick. It is clear that many Greek people are beginning to take care of each other in a new way. There is a new spirit of collective participation to help others less fortunate and working towards small, achievable change. That is exciting and hopeful.

I had a fabulous few days In Athens and I have a growing affection for the place and for the people. The best part is we are going to do it all again next year.

peace

   

Optimist or narcissist?

"It's not about the bike" - Lance Armstrong

As many of you will know by now I am and have always been excited by cycle racing since I was a kid. My dad was a successful amateur Time trial ling cyclist before world war two came along and ruined any chance of a pro career.

So, Bradley Wiggins won the Tour de France clean or did he? I believe he did and in doing so opened up the amazing sport of competitive road cycle racing to a new and very large following in the UK. Some people will wonder  whether or not his success was helped along with performance enhancing drugs, especially after the Lance Armstrong debacle.

I stayed up to watch the Lance Armstrong interviews with Opra Winfrey. The first half of the Oprah interview revealed a man incapable of true contrition and incapable of real empathy. I saw a man who has a new agenda and I do not trust his motives one iota. He has the air of a man who has finally succumbed to the realisation that there is nowhere to run and must talk about that terrible man he used to be, especially now that the possibility of being tried for perjury has expired.

He accepts that he has done us wrong but wants our forgiveness just because he thinks he deserves it and - after all are we not better than him? He has learned from his obvious recent therapy that a new approach is needed. He is a very bright and articulate monster who doesn’t like the cage he has created for himself and wants to be allowed to play with the nice children again.

With the typical candour of the wanna be born again he lists his crimes and speaks about the man who committed them as some one he used to know and he attempts to join us, as one of his critics. He would have us believe that he is glad the charade is finally over and his bullying of any one who stands in his way or threatens his plans can be at an end.

He doesn’t expect forgiveness from those he has personally vilified for accusing him of blood doping and fixing up with “his cocktail” of performance enhancing drugs, nor should he. It will be a long time, if ever, before the riders he cheated out of winning will be ok with things and I am speaking of the few clean riders of his era. He beat our Chris Boardman in a prologue in one Tour De France and he later went on to win it. Chris was a prologue specialist but a clean example. Now we must wonder if Chris would have beaten Armstrong if Armstrong had been clean of EPO and there are many other examples where a rider was beaten by the man who says “ I knew I would win”.

Armstrong has had to face the trauma of telling his son not to defend him at school because his dad is, in fact, a cheat. He seemed more upset for himself than for his son. He has lost the support of those who backed him through out the accusations and denials. He has sued virtually every one who challenged his claim to be a clean rider. He has lost all of his sponsorship deals with the likes of Trek, Nike and Oakley. 

Armstrong cannot compete any where at any level in an officially sanctioned event and that is as it should be. He accepts this but thinks it is unfair and like “a death sentence” compared to the six months ban others received for testifying and testifying against him. There is a school of opinion that would like to see him jailed for fraud on a massive scale but he doesn’t yet seem to realise the extent of the damage he has done to pro cycling. For those of us who have followed the Tour for many years he has ruined it and left a legacy of mistrust. Do I feel any pity for him? Oh yes, as in - see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya. 
Armstrong claims to be an optimist and I'll bet any thing that he describes many of those opposing him as pessimists. It is a dangerous mind set when deluded optimism dictates that all will be well, the show must go on at any cost and any challenge to that must be put down.

He must be a lonely man compared to how his life was a few years ago. He would still have every thing had he won a tour or two clean. Some of us suspected he was doping a long time ago but none of us had much idea as to the extent of it.

He speaks endlessly about “the process” and much of what he suggests seems rooted in his attempt to get it together with therapy. It is clear the man has accepted he has done wrong and it is clear the therapy has convinced him that now is the time to begin the road back to being loved again but the narcissist has not gone away. So, is he the deviant little shit at the back of the school bike sheds letting our tyres down or is he a man with new found sincere intentions? The jury is out. 

peace