TONY ON ARMS, GREEN & MORE

Including Three Word Wednesday and Totally Optional Prompts.
Have you had a go yet?

Welcome to my Wednesday Magazine post.
Britain came near the top in arms sales last year. And if there is one despicable area of trade, this is it. Gun running is so fundamental to western capitalism’s profits today that everything you buy is tinged with someone’s blood.

Arms sales are worst than this, though.

We’re told that war fuels technology. Whilst this may be true, the reverse is also true. In ancient Mesopotamia the arrival of the iron sword resulted in a wave of invasions, smashing the Bronze Age. The modern war of attrition was due to industry, and the need to destroy a nation’s economy as well as its army.
Today this seems to be getting worse. New tech seems to fuel war rather than the reverse. The fears of war with Iran at present are due to Iran’s nuclear program, and the west’s ability to produce tech to destroy it. Without either one, fears of war would not exist. And they say tech is always for the good.

Eco-measures are in the news again.

The British government is committed to cutting greenhouse gas emissions by 20% in 12 years. How is this to be achieved? Well, some of it will happen naturally. We’re in a downturn. People will be traveling less. No doubt the government will take the credit.
But most amazing of all is Brownski’s hope to convince oil producers to channel profits into nuclear power in the west. Oh yes, they’re certainly going to cut their own throats, aren’t they?
Mindst you, there will be an all out campaign to guarantee nuclear power. It’s cleaner, you see – as long as there’s no accident, etc. Far too risky for me. But why the urge towards nuclear?
Quite simple. As I’ve said before, real eco-friendly new tech does not require huge corporations to maintain it, as oil does. Nuclear power DOES require huge corporations. So Big Biz is looking to its survival in a post-oil world. Don’t ever believe nuclear power is about the environment. It’s the exact opposite.
Don’t forget, next Magazine post on Friday.

(c) Anthony North, June 2008

AN ENGLISH SUMMER

Gentle sun above my head,
birds arriving to be fed,
clear blue sky, all is well,
all is peaceful, delightful, swell;
Leather on willow, the cricketers play,
warm beer, and on lawns we lay,
gentle chatter, lazy days,
enshrouded in a pleasant haze;
Children dash, to and fro,
arguing, yes, but not coming to blows,
civility rules, all stop for tea,
but sadly,
today,
it’s just a memory

(c) Anthony North, June 2008

NOTE: The terms ‘leather on willow’ and ‘warm beer’ are old terms often used in England to describe Cricket.

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THE COTTAGE ON THE MOOR – Horror Fiction

You must have heard the rumour? No? So you have no idea what happened here, in this cottage? Well, have I got a feast of a tale for you.
As you can see, the cottage lies many miles from anywhere, and the moors can be bleak at times. But walkers just loved the scenery. Even the fact that so many disappeared did not put them off. And just as they got to the point where they couldn’t shake off the tiredness, they came upon the cottage.
‘Come in, come in,’ the kindly old man would say as he excitedly ran out. ‘You must be starving.’
He lived on his own in the cottage – had done for thirty years, ever since he retired from his hill farm. But every time a stranger came upon the place, the delight between them both was spontaneous. And as the walker entered the cottage, the smell of cooking was delightful.
Seated in the cosy chair by the fire, a huge mug of steaming tea in hand, it seemed like paradise amid the hardship of the moor. And once the huge bowl of stew arrived, the walker would eat greedily until full. And always the question: ‘Are you not eating?’ they’d ask as they watched the kindly old man simply watching them.
‘Oh, I’ll eat later,’ he would always reply.
Usually, this was followed by the walker taking a long sleep. And somehow, as another mug of tea was ready as he awoke, he simply couldn’t raise the energy to leave …
And well, as we now know, they usually never did. Why not, you ask? Well, the immediate reason was the sleeping pills in the tea. But by the time they had been there a month, most were far too fat to do so, anyway.
What’s that, you say? Oh, you’ve guessed it. Yes, our kindly old man turned out to be a killer. And sometimes he’d keep his guests there for months before … well, you know. And we know this because once he was dead, the bones were found underneath the cottage. And, judging from their state, the motive was pretty clear, too.
I guess you can take the man out of the farm, but not the farmer out of the man.

© Anthony North, June 2008