Including Sunday Scribblings and Friday 5. Have you had a go yet?
Welcome to my Friday Magazine post.
I’ve never thought much of David Davis. Just another British politician, until yesterday he was Shadow Home Secretary, a key post in the Conservative opposition. But yesterday he resigned.
This was in protest at the erosion of freedoms here.
He was finally prompted by the vote to allow 42 days detention of terror suspects without charge. This, and the gathering con to impose ID Cards on people, was going just too far.
His plan is to force a debate of the issue at the upcoming by-election his resignation, and hopeful re-election, will cause. He has just gone up in my estimation – although he IS still a party political animal. But isn’t it rather strange that, now, to do proper politics, you have to resign as a politician?
One in 5 of Brit secondary schools must improve.
If not, they’ll be closed down. According to the government this failing is, of course, all their own fault. Oh, what delusions NuLabour lives under!
The reality is, the on-going leftist hatred of anything elite is to blame. That’s why, over 30 years ago, they closed down the Grammar Schools, which took the top 10% of pupils. And what was the result? Parents began to move house, centring around what were decided to be the best schools. The Grammars returned by proxy.
Which did, of course, mean that the lesser performing schools lost any academic pupils they had. And this is the reason for their failure. Society did, itself, what Labour had taken away, leaving a more unfair system than the one they tried to destroy.
So what lesson can be learnt from this? Law based on ideological principles is always wrong, and will always fail. And it is society that will pay the ultimate price.
Have a great weekend. Next Magazine post, Monday. See you then.
© Anthony North, June 2008
THE GUIDE
Going through life can be a bind,
as our path we try to find;
It seems as if we’re in a maze,
life going by, in a haze;
We search for guides to help us through,
put us on course, strong and true;
Sometimes they help, sometimes they don’t,
sometimes they can, sometimes they won’t;
In our mind we find them best,
constantly working, never at rest,
deciding this, deciding that,
always wearing a different hat;
Conscience, libido, ego, too,
they’re all a definite part of you;
They always answer every plea,
but are they sane, or insanity?
This is the problem with which you cope,
no guide here, only hope,
that the one who rises is on your side,
and not determined to turn the tide
(c) Anthony North, June 2008
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MISGUIDED – Fiction
The private detective entered the hotel with a sense of completion. As soon as the beeper had gone off and he’d called in, he knew his associates had found him. And even though he felt something of a social worker, he knew it would be a profitable enterprise.
He found him, scruffily dressed, in an ante-room to the kitchens, mop in hand, washing the tiled floor.
As the detective coughed, the man stopped. The blank expression was soon replaced by a realization. ‘You’ve found me then,’ he said, aware of the kind of man in front of him.
‘Yes,’ said the detective. He paused. ‘You know you’ve got to go back, don’t you?’
The man stopped what he was doing – walked off down the corridor, the detective following. Finally entering the staff quarters, he sat on the bed in his hotel room.
‘Why did you do it?’ the detective asked.
The man thought a while. Said: ‘Desperation. Is that it? Yes, I suppose it was.’
‘But there were consequences.’
The man laughed. He remembered his life up to that point. And he remembered what he had done to escape it. But what now?
He thought quickly, aware that he could not go back. Finally, he lunged at the detective, pushing him over, and on his way out he pressed the fire alarm.
He escaped in the confusion, but knew he had to hide himself even deeper now. He took the press cutting from his pocket – Billionaire Tycoon Missing – and realized they would never stop searching. How could they? Only insanity could have made him turn away from it all like that.
Later, he left the town and sat in a wood, peace and tranquility all around, and realized he may well be the last sane man alive.
© Anthony North, June 2008
Have you tried my Pictures of Life, a novel?
