Many true fans are in tears because all the tickets for Kate Bush were bought up in 15 minutes of going on sale. By 10am seats were being offered on Seatwave etc from £799. I wonder if Kate would approve?
I doubt it but there's no control. Gone are the days of ticket touts outside venues, yes you get some, but it's far easier for some greedy sod to sit and press a button and make loads of money out of something so rare.
Some of us truly want to see Kate Bush live but it will be the well off who will get to see her. A friend said 'ebay's got a lot to answer for'...
Kate Bush wrote
The soundtrack to my life
From Wuthering Yorkshire
Was so co-o-o-o-old
I was the child of the man in his eyes
Army dreaming got my brother
I've worn the Red Shoes
I've run up that hill
I've rolled right down again
I've been in the trees
Seen it coming
I've still been caught
Running in the night
Afraid, always afraid
Of what might be
Of what could be
And now Wow Wow Wow Wow ...wow
I can't see you
It's too-oo-oo pricey!
The 30th Anniversary of the Miners Strike programme on ITV last night. A Tory government full of privileged TWATS like Heseltine 'did what had to be done' while ex-miners told us what decimation has taken place and communities have never recovered.
Well, you can't have the proles banding together, camaraderie and rights for the working man can you! I had to force myself to watch as I knew it would be hard going. Seeing a man from the village where I grew up who was battered at Orgreave left with brain damage, the truncheon actually broke as the policeman battered him, was harrowing as he cried about what future there 'isn't' for kids.
The miners were helped by food parcels from various unions abroad e.g. Russian, French and Belgian - I remember my mother being thrilled when my brother brought home a cafetiere with ground coffee though she never learnt how it should be used properly! A great scene in Goldthorpe with the burning of the effigy of Thatcher.
After years of health and safety regulations being implemented and a united workforce built up with a strong union, it's now 'dog eat dog', selfishness and open cast mining in far flung places providing coal. The miners were fighting for theirs jobs. They were backed against a wall and yes, nasty things happened but it was unforgiveable what Thatcher and her cronies did. To brand the miners as the 'enemy within' was plain evil. Well, we have an evil world now where money is God. After years of fighting for rights and equality we are plain lost in the privatisation racket.
Maybe Hesletine would like to see out his lasts days in one of these communites as a rehearsal for the hell he and his cronies are damned to!
Here is a scribble from a London garret before I knew I could express myself through poetry as a tribute and have added some present day views.
at first they died for their country
in seconds they died for love
third they heard about infidelity
that calls them them the 'enemy within'
now the government's killing them more
they'll not be content
'til we can pay the rent
and we're grovelling on the floor'
heartless bastards in Westminster
cut child benefits so they relied
on handouts from foreign comrades
and soup kitchens in village halls
and the parties in Miners Welfare clubs
now 30 years on with mining communities have gone
familiar landscapes decimated
infiltrated by drugs
and cheap development housing
and a supermarket sweep o'er where the pit shaft was
well done Thatcher - your 'Methodist' principles
and your puppeteers certainly did you proud.
I saw the news about beautiful Anne-Marie Ellement who was a Royal Military Police officer who hung herself after the Army made the decision not to charge soldiers she had accused of raping her.
It seems the organisation she worked for closed ranks and turned against her, even fellow female officers called her names and made her life a misery. (Oh these people who never leave the school playground).
As a final slap in the face was that one of the males who raped her was posted to where Anne-Marie was stationed.
Will people never learn about abusing fellow men and women? It brought back bad memories for me and my own traumatic life and especially the story of a girl I knew at school.
She was a bit younger than me and we hung around in the same gang (bus shelters, smoking, wasting time but it was better than being at home). We were similiar in that we were the quieter, shyer and more likely to be picked on girls. However, I found some strength and got away but on one visit a number of years back I heard that she was dead.
She was dragged into a house and raped by two blokes. It went to court but they got off. They laughed in her face. She got depressed and took a bottle of some kind of painkiller. She threw up, feeling lousy but because she'd thrown up she was told to sleep it off. She never woke up! I hope there's a place where the wronged meet again.
The following is a little poem in rememberance of her and the verse in italics is Oliver Goldsmith's 'When
When lovely woman stoops to folly
And learns too late that men betray
What charm can soothe her melancholy
What art can wash her tears away?
I remember Sparky
Quiet with short hair
And big eyes
A bit crossed
She came from the next mining village
We used hang around bus shelter
Made of concrete it was like a den
We wasted homework time
We could have been bettering our lives
But the bus shelter was better than home
We had our demons
Worse in the gang
As soon as I could, I ran
Left North for South
But still had problems here
But not as bad
As the bus shelter years
The only art her guilt to cover
And hide her shame from every eye
And give repentance to her lover
And wring his bossom is…to die.
A lot o’ folk say ‘ah wa’ 1st lass in ar fam’ly to guh t’university’….well, Ah wa’ 1st lass in ar fam’ly to guh rahnd tarn… quite an experience! Very educational.
Me poor grandma told me stories abaht blackleadin’ t’aga an’ tekkin broth ‘n’ ash to her brothers in t’in glass factory; in fact, her brother made her a glass pig that I always said ‘it’s nowt like a pig!’… now I realise it wa’ a pig to her ‘n’ she kept it next to the brass Great War medal, the validation of giving his life.. (him bein’ one o’ t’Barnsley Pals)… ‘n’ growin’ up in mining village ah know all abaht t’shaft (that’s pit shaft for you Southerners not as in ‘being a shafter’ or Issac Hayes ‘Shaft’) an’ ah know abaht pit ponies bein’ sacrificed ‘n’ t’sadness o’ bairns dahn t’mines ‘n’ that Strike o’ 1984 but we won’t get maudlin’…
Anyway, as ah sed, ah wa’ fust lass in ar fam’ly to guh rahnd tarn.
We’d meet up in t’bus station, a few on us, then guh t’various pubs ‘n’ meet tutha lasses along t’way….we’d discuss last weeks’ fiascos o’gerrin hooume ‘n’ how smart we all looked, coz that wa’ important, dahn ‘ere, I live aht a charity shops but up theer!! No chance! Coul’n’t wear same thing two week running!
We’d also talk abaht t’blokes we wa’ seeing…..who we’d bump into on t’way rahnd to mebbe White Hart, No.7, Corner Pin… n’ God help ‘em if they wer’ talking to anutha lass!! ‘N’ God help us if we wer’...
Well, we’d hev hafe a lager in ev’ry pub but walking up ‘n’ dahn stopped us getting’ too kalied!!
Well, we’d get last bus hooume ‘n’ ha’e a laff wi’ t’utha revellers... coz ther’ wer’ no taxis… ah’ve known me wait two hours… they wa’ sparse… dunt know if they wer’ allowed to hev moore than two taxis or Barnsley folk just aren’t enterprising!
Which reminds me, if on a Friday we went t’Drum, a disco in t’next village, we’d guh to Ronnie’s Cars for a taxi… but ther’ wer’ only him! He’d be aht on a job ‘n’ his wife’d answer doour in her dressing gown ‘n’ curlers ‘n’ a load on us’d be sat waitin’ in their front room while she watched t’tele!!! That woman deserves a medal!!
Ah’ve gorra poem though, inspired by me mate Anita who’s one o’ them hedonists pays for it t’next day… mindst you, dunt be thinkin’ she’s a Barnsley lass! She’s nor even Yorkshire!! She’s from Bolton in Lancs wi’ a bit o’ Romford!!
Well moore moorland myst’ries next time.
T’Anita in Perpetua
A’ ter cumin’ aht t’neet Anita?
A’ ter cumin’ aht t’neet or what?
A’ ter gunna dance t’neet Anita?
A’ ter gunna dance t’neet or what?
A’ ter gunna hev a drink t’neet Anita?
A’ ter gunna hev a drink t’neet or what?
A’ ter gunna hev sum drugs t’neet Anita?
A’ ter gunna hev sum drugs t’neet or what?
A’ ter gunna pull that Pete t’neet Anita?
A’ ter gunna pull that Pete t’neet or what?
Will thy hev an ‘ango’er tomorrah Anita?
Will thy hev an ‘ango’er tomorrah or what?
Will thah be belchin’ ‘n’ fartin’ coughin’ ‘n’ rotin’
Hockin’ ‘n’ hewin’ vomitin’ ‘n’ chokin’
Ere a neet o’ dancin’ ‘n’ drinkin’, smowkin’ ‘n’ totin’
Or will thah stay in t’neet Anita – or what?
Will thah cuddle up t’ Pete t’neet Anita?
Will thah cuddle that sweet Pete t’neet or what?
Or will it bih that Paul thah met last week Anita?
Will it bih that Paul or Pete t’neet or what?
Will thah mek thih mind up abaht t’neet Anita?
Coz ah dunt wanna be a wallflower ageean t’neet Anita!
‘n’ if thah guz off wi’ Pete t’neet Anita
I’ll fly off wi’ Paul t’neet Anita
Only let me know befoor t’neet Anita
Coz ah need t’know whither to dress up hot or what!
(perpetua font Anita in perpetual fun)