Including Sunday Scribblings, Friday 5 and ReadWritePoem.
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Welcome to my Friday Magazine post.
Kelly Osbourne – daughter of Ozzie – has been photographed with a bruised face. Gosh! How did she get it? Model Kate Moss has been speaking. She thinks all men are ‘b******s’. Really!!? And Ulrika Jonsson will never let another woman breast feed her baby.
Celebrity trivia. How we love it – or not!
But what do we make of the latest from Jade Goody? Jade is a talentless Brit who made celebrity on Big Brother, lost celebrity due to her vile mouth on another Big Brother, and now …
Well, last week on India’s version of Big Brother she received news that she has cancer. Tragic, yes. But is celebrity trivia going just too far when nothing exists in these people’s lives that cannot be aired as a media brand?
Celebrity for celebrity’s sake – the No 1 proof that our society is mad!!
A satellite picture of the UK shows the light – lots of it.
Britain is the brightest part of Europe in the night sky. Our cities interlink in a swath of humanity. And, according to Eurostat, will have a population greater than France or Germany by 2060.
The population of most European countries is shrinking. Britain is booming. Not only that, but the average age is younger than other European states. And the reason is immigration. But is this a good or bad thing?
It is becoming increasingly clear that this Labour government has allowed a massive rise in immigration. Alongside this, policies seem to have been attuned to damaging the traditional base of Britain, allowing a new unbridled multi-culturalism to reign.
I’ve said before that what seems to be happening is the evolution of a fully globalised nation, the idea of the nation state itself whittled away, and fully open to the global economy and mass consumerism. It now seems the vision also involves a global population base, too.
Maybe we should have been told we were to be part of such an experiment.
Next Magazine post Monday. Have a great weekend and see you then.
© Anthony North, August 2008
INSPIRATION
Did he have to do that? I can but say,
images assault me as she lay,
prone and ready for his way,
acrobatics without delay
Inspiration comes in many forms,
poets write of love, of mind, of storms,
observing life in all its vibes,
how we react in different tribes
Is this possible? I have to ask,
man is surely not up to the task,
she adorned in a tight basque,
he is hidden behind a mask
But more than life a poet needs,
inspiration from which to feed,
words that come from another’s call,
even etched on the toilet wall
(c) Anthony North, August 2008
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SOMEWHERE – A Cass Nova Detective Thriller
I didn’t expect to see Francis when I opened my eyes. At first I thought the mind had gone faulty, but I was a trained detective so it soon cleared. So this was the situation: here was I, sat in a chair in a flat, early morning, Francis to my front and no idea how I’d gotten here.
Facts quickly ascended into consciousness. Francis was one of those subtle villains – loved to use psychology. That’s why we called him Fiendish. So, what did he want and what was I doing here? Indeed, where was ‘here’. Then it hit me. My face going ashen, I remembered going out with one of the girls last night – who was it? – was it Mags? Yes, I think it was Mags.
I heard Fiendish saying Mags over and over again, so I guess that was right. She had been in a mood and stomped about a bit, but I calmed her down and we had more than a few drinks, and then we went to her flat … I think … can’t remem …
Reality hit me hard, then. ‘Where’s Mags?’
‘Somewhere.’
I looked around me. Recognised some of her things – the lay of the flat – a slight hint of her perfume …
Fiendish was speaking. ‘ … and she’ll be alright for an hour. But we have to designate an end to these situations …’ (what situations, I thought, what’s he going to do) ‘… and I can’t see her surviving longer than an hour – where SHE is …’
‘What do you want, Fiendish?’ I asked. And it spilled out. I’d been investigating Big Eddie of late – even managed to break one of his operations. Of course, there’d been a lead – a grass in the system – someone who’d spoken, and I’d …
‘So that’s it,’ I said. I’d left a clear hint that Francis had been behind the information – stir up a bit of trouble with Big Eddie’s opposition.
‘I want the name of the real informant, Nova. Either that, or Mags …’ He left the words hanging.
I noticed the sun rise, its glow momentarily lighting the room, highlighting the determination on Francis’s face. Finally, I made a decision. ‘Get lost,’ I said, got up and walked out.
I found Mags half asleep in her flat. When she saw me, she said: ‘Where did you disappear to last night?’
That was the thing about Fiendish – always the psychology, always the subtlety.
He’d rented the flat on the other side of the block, fitted it out with identical furniture – things that would remind me of Mags – and the rest was trying to tamper with my mind. Infact, I couldn’t even arrest him for anything. He’d merely waylaid me while I was drunk, so there was no kidnap involved, he’d made no threats and he hadn’t even tried to hold me against my will. Very clever indeed. Except for …
‘Where did I go wrong?’ he’d said as I left him. ‘How did you know?’
‘You did a good job, Francis, but you can’t control the Sun. It never shines through Mags’ window.’
© Anthony North, August, 2008
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