CCHQ MOVING - WHY WE SHOULDN'T CARE

I read that CCHQ are moving. Quite frankly I couldn't care less where they go so long as UKIP continue to grow. As for the smear campaign (as if they haven’t enough smut of their own) it just goes to show how devoid of ideas they are and that they’ve lost the argument. They’ve also lost the hearts and minds of the citizens of the UK who they’ve betrayed. Millions of young servicemen and women, and citizens died for this nation’s freedom and independence. The traitors who would hand over our country without a mandate are spitting on their graves. To hell with them. I wouldn't rent them a derelict public toilet.

 

GUARANTEED TO LOWER BP

Such is the gentle beauty of our countryside and waterways but music says more than a thousand words. I filmed this on holiday and added one of Wolfgang Amadeus's most poignant slow movements.
.http://youtu.be/pPxJGDqeREs  via @youtube

MAKE YOUR MIND UP TIME

Well folks it's nearly make your mind up time. Local elections on Thursday and there's a new kid on the block called UKIP. United Kingdom Independence Party with a charismatic leader Nigel Farage who believes the UK should be a free and independent nation, not some subservient region of the EU with powers akin to a parish council.
They are ridiculed and branded as nutters and fruitcakes  by the main establishment parties which convinces me they must be doing something right to be attacked in this way. All true Brits are nutters and fruitcakes. Eccentricity is part of our proud heritage of maverick thinkers. It's why we produce so much genius. 
So I investigated their manifesto and was amazed at the common sense of it all, and the members who represented a complete cross section of society.
We've always been a divided nation but suddenly for the first time I thought there's hope here for unification and reconciliation between left and right.
Then more seriously I thought about the millions who died for our freedom and sovereignty in two world wars. DAMMIT! Don't we owe it to all those lost lives not to vote for traitors who would give our nation's freedom, future and heritage away without a mandate but for those who would preserve it. After all it beats dying for it.
Suddenly for the first time in my life I wanted to vote and join a political party. So I joined and I'll vote UKIP on Thursday and have a clear conscience that I'm not part of the great establishment betrayal. Not only that but I'm actively canvassing on their behalf. It might only be local elections but it's where it all starts from and the seeds have been well and truly sown.
Join me if you believe the UK is worth fighting for and you've had enough of the LIB/LAB/CONS and their destructive divisiveness. It's how they rule - divide and conquer and they rely on the undemocratic first past the post voting system to
preserve the status quo and prevent incursions from newcomers who could spoil the party.
ITS TIME FOR CHANGE. VOTE UKIP ON THURSDAY

BLOODY LIBERTY

My old XP desktop finally packed up so I looked at the options. IMAC was a bit more than I wanted to pay. Warned off W8 until August when the start option is added as many have said they don't get on with it and prefer W7. Luckily I found a dealer who could still get new Lenovo W7s  at a reasonable price and jumped in.
I got her up and running and everything was fine until my wife tried to open email pdf file attachments from an insurance company. Something called Nitro Pro was blocking Adobe and there didn't appear to be any way to escape without buying the program. I Googled this and found other sites reporting the same issue. The penny dropped. The bloody thing was installed on the machine, so I uninstalled it from control panel. Problem solved. Up popped adobe and all is well. 
What I want to know is what gives these software companies the right to block other programs in order to sell there own? Although I'm no computer expert there are many less computer literate than me who might easily be duped into an unwitting purchase just to get up and running. It's not on. These programs should not be installed on brand new machines without some sort of warning.

ST MICHAELS MOUNT

The great day dawned by popular demand,

The first day of the first race meet to run in this fair land.

And many more to come no doubt

to the joy of many a stable tout.

With pious thoughts and pounding heart

St Michael led his charger ‘Grace’

Champing at the bit towards the start.

God would see him past the post -

The righteous in first place.

Unknown to him though, God had other plans

And he would have a nasty fall from Grace.

So with a mighty roar the shout went up and off they went at speed.

St Michael clinging gamely, to his snorting, galloping steed.

White robe flowing out behind, beard flapping in his face.

Eyes ablaze with manic missionary zeal

He slashed the flanks with sharpened spur protruding from his heel.

Now grace she was a jumper and she jumped with power and pace

But she was getting left behind in this particular race.

Each soaring leap she lost another yard.

Bugger! thought Michael this is bloody hard.

Like the ground on which he fell
Head first.

Dragged along all tangled in the rein.
God what’s that smell?
Something's burst.

Ah! the pain.

And as he struggled loose, bruised and with a broken knee

Grace she went on jumping, rider-less and free.

In her own time, in her own space,

the only jumper in the first flat race.

© Ben Corde 2012

ONCE A KNIGHT THAT'S ENOUGH

The two knights, Sir Lancemenot in blue strip and Sir Gladhehad in red, faced each other at opposite ends of the jousting arena.  Lances and shields at the ready they prepared to do battle. Lady Guinowhere fondled her bulge lovingly as she watched with bated breath, the action about to start.

The bee flew into Lancemenot’s helmet just as he snapped the visor shut. For a few brief moments, metal clad limbs, thrashed about wildly, before toppling ignominiously off the horse in a clanking, groaning heap. The stricken knight ripped off his helmet just in time and smiled with relief as the bee flew off without stinging him. 
The smile became an expression of disbelief as Sir Gladhehad smashed his head in with his spiked ball on a chain.

Lancemenot, eyes watering, tried to stand up but his armour was too much of an impediment. He watched helplessly as the red knight swung his sword to deliver the coup de grace. He had just enough time to scream “It’ll still be my bastard!” before his head was detached and kicked into touch. Many spectators shouted ‘Foul play’ and ‘We want our money back’ Lady Guinowhere spewed her morning sickness up over the king’s dog. Her plans for the future would have to be seriously revised. She patted the bulge. Groucho would be a nice name.

REUNION

     Boxes and bags adorned the rough concrete,  spotted with tears of oil and water from old Genevieve. Harry finally locked up and limped out.  “Lowestoft here we come! Time to go, Bella. Get in the back with Grandma and Grandpa.”

     Five year old, doe eyes widened petulantly. “Do I have to? Why can’t they go in the front?”

     “Because there isn’t room.”

     Bella accepted defeat sulkily as the luggage was piled in, Georgie the purple dinosaur gripped tightly in one hand, her blanket in the other.

     “Anne, you drive, my knee’s playing up.” Harry was Methotrexate Man, fighting early rheumatoid arthritis and remission  was still a dream unfulfilled. They were staying overnight in Colchester with his nephew Greg,  Sally and baby Steph. On Sunday they’d go on to Lowestoft.

     Genevieve coughed into life cantankerously, clearing her throat, flexing tired joints on the bumpy road. Anne glanced into the mirror.  “How exciting Bella, we’ll be going  on a lifeboat.”

     “I hate lifeboats and I’ll be sick, just like I am in the car” She screwed up her face in disgust, regarding grandma and Grandpa disdainfully. ‘It’s all right for you."  

When they arrived, after the usual stops for Bella’s bouts of car sickness Sally was feeding baby Steph. Bella watched, spellbound, quickly forgetting all thoughts of car or sea sickness. From now on her favorite doll Katy, would definitely replace Georgie in her affections.

On Sunday the sun shone brightly and the lifeboat glistened in the green water of the harbour. Grandma and Grandpa had to be helped on board of course but soon they were under way and reached the first headland.

      “This is it then. Time to say goodbye to Gran and Gramps.” Harry picked up the first of the two urns, Ann the second. Bella watched in amazement as they shook out the contents which disappeared downwind in a haze of grey ash.      Together again at last.

  

Copyright Ben Corde 2012

IT'S THE GEAR

When I was putting up my UKIP sign this morning, this geezer asked me why I supported UKIP. So I told him. 
"It's the colours mate - purple and yellow.The strip see. It's all the gear now. Reminds people of crocus and daffodils in Spring" 
"What?" says he indignant like, shaking his head like I was a fool.
"Yes mate." I replies. You see crocus and daffodils are a very English thing and so it also reminds them of England.Then they remember England how it used to be, but in another world. A world of good manners, sensible judges, coppers on the streets, doctors who came round to visit in the night, teachers who taught kids how to read and write properly, and no health and safety idiots breathing down everyone's neck just because some greedy ambulance chasing lawyer wants to sue the pants off everyone on behalf of some idiot that should have looked where he was going. 
Then there's being able to fish in our own waters, run a farm without having to have a purpose built office block to cope with the paperwork. Make our own laws, trade with who we like and run our economy and businesses without interference from Brussels. That's only for starters mate." I says "I haven't mentioned the cost of all this rhubarb yet and the waste or corruption. £53,000,000.00 a day may not be much to you LIB/LAB/CONS but it's a bloody fortune to me. I could afford oil, and diesel and pay my electric bill.
Would you like me to go on?" I asks him.
"No," he says. "Purple and yellow eh!. I might have some of that. Who is this geezer then?
"NIGEL FARAGE is the man you want mate and it'll cost you thirty knicker. Good value if you ask me"  

GOOD MORNING

Hello all you fine people out there, so what's new today? Well it's Margaret Thatcher's funeral here and the usual rent a mob will be on the streets making their views known as disrespectfully as ever about what they think of our greatest ever Prime Minister since Churchill. Half of them were probably never even alive when she was around. The point they all seem to miss is that she OUR PM. We voted and she
 won. It's called democracy.
 When the leader of the NUM, Arthur Scargill decided to take her on and bully the breakaway Nottingham Miners Union into submission by mass picketing their lines to stop them working, that was his choice.She had no choice but to uphold the law and keep the peace.In my opinion though the subsequent mine closure program was brutal and could have been managed in a much more humane way.
Her achievements at home and on the international scene were remarkable and most foreign leaders had high  respect for her IRON LADY image and fighting spirit. She turned this country round from the sick man of Europe back to a vibrant and healthy economy. She helped and encouraged the dismantling of the Iron Curtain during Mikael Gorbachev's time of Perestroika and Glasnost which resulted in the fall of the Berlin Wall and there were other nations that had reason to be grateful for her intervention.   She famously returned the Falklands to their inhabitants after the Argentinian invasion. Who can forget that.
The irony is she was stabbed in the back by her own Conservative party after the poll tax fiasco, which if it had been handled and presented in a better way could have been a much fairer system that we have now. 
She had some irritable mannerisms but until now we've had no leader of any party who could come anywhere near her in terms of honesty, charisma, guts and foresight, who could see the bigger picture and what was needed. Her background of small business and understanding real life played its part.
We have a natural replacement now in the leader of THE UNITED KINGDOM INDEPENDENCE PARTY. His name is NIGEL FARAGE. I hope he will become our next Prime Minister.

THE RUSSIANS ARE COMING

I've suddenly acquired a large audience in Russia. I wonder what they find interesting in someone like me who 's achieved little in life except a reasonable standard of piano playing, providing a home for our family and contracting RA. Though I lead a comfortable existence it's only the luck of the devil that has allowed me to reach this far. I was lucky in love, lucky in work and deserved none of it. I like to think I am a survivor. Okay I did a few good things but I certainly never set the world alight. 
When I read the history of Russia, it's hard to comprehend these amazing people.My mother and father probably would though. Dad was an ardent communist until he embraced world government and Emery Reeves Anatomy of Peace and Mom read most of the great Russian classics like War and Peace.She had all the literary brains.Dad was the design engineer.I got none of either.
The sacrifice they made and suffering they endured in two world wars is beyond imagination or understanding. We owe our existence to these people every bit as much as we owe it to the sacrifices of our own servicemen and allies. What possibly could I say to these people that would have any meaning or significance for them?
Maybe one of them will read my book The Badgers Holt Affair by Ben Corde on Kindle and see something I must have missed.
So here you are my Russian friends. I shamelessly supply a link to my little literary and technological effort which has only taken me about twenty years to do.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Badgers-Holt-Affair-ebook/dp/B00C7VFG3G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1365866099&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Badgers+Holt+Affair

JOB DONE

Delivered all my UKIP leaflets to every home and farm in my designated area of Combe, south of Eagle Tavern on 303  Blackdown Hills down to Wadeford boundary. Big sign on post in front garden facing main road traffic through village. Can't get more 'In yer face' than that. Extra interest created because it looks like a for sale sign.Take it in every night after dark and put it back in hole before daybreak Don't want to tempt mindless hooligans passing in their boy racing cars  who just love a nice wooden spear to cause havoc with. How sad that we have to think like this. But that's what the LIB/LAB/CONS have reduced large parts of this country to, where there is no respect for the law, their community or anything else. Judiciary are all too soft and gullible. Without  fairness, justice, support for victims and sensible deterrent sentences to protect society we have no protection and become a paranoid and vigilante society.
Can't throw too many stones though. Cheap booze is a big problem in Britain.So is any booze if you can't handle it. I should know. Been there. Done that. Suffered the guilt and remorse - the loss of memory, the ridicule of others - wasting good money just to piss it down the toilet and spend the next day feeling like death. I didn't even have the excuse of being an out of work, bored youngster with nowt else better to do. This is the real tragedy. These are the people we should be providing jobs and hope for so they can feel part of society again. This is why I do what I do now while I still have some time left. I want to see a better society in a free and independent UK that creates these jobs without the interference and hindrance of Brussels - the corruption, waste, bureaucratic regulation and mindless diktat from these EU jobsworths. This is another reason we'll be campaigning and voting for UKIP as the only party that can deliver this. The LIB/LAB/CONS never will.          

CLEANING OUT THE POND SCUM TIME

Got to clear out some blanket weed here.I liken the green scum on the top as the LIB/LAB/CONS in the Westminster donkey sanctuary and that the clean fresh water is UKIP.  It gets me off the desk top for a while.Ducks and frogs seem to have disappeared. Heron maybe.

SOMETHING HAS CHANGED

It's as if I know myself for the first time.
All the grey areas have become black or white.
The jumbled up pieces of the jigsaw in my head have fallen into place and I see the whole picture.
At last I know who I really am and what I was.
I know I love my wife, our family and home, sport,  (especially rugby),British history, anything to do with boats, the arts, literature, music and science and the genius born of natural talent and graft of all those past and present who create the visions, sounds, words and technology that make our lives worth while, the medicines that cure our ills, the tools to ply our trade, the means to build and progress into the unknown.  
I marvel at the laws of physics, evolution and the universe.
I know that I always tried to do my best, but it was never good enough because I was a weak man who periodically drank to excess for far too many years and that it cost me my self respect, distorted my judgement, deadened my ambition and almost lost me my loving family and the roof over our heads. Somehow it didn't. Whoever writes my script took pity. I got the message
I know that when I was diagnosed with a serious condition that would need powerful drugs to control, it was a turning point. Stop drinking or no medication and die was the stark warning from the consultant.
I know that true peace of mind, joy and that sense of fulfilment is heightened when forged on the anvil of pain and suffering.
I know that without care and compassion for fellow humanity we are nothing.
I know that those LIB/LAB/CONS who always govern us by minority have betrayed us and those gone before us and all the values I used to take for granted, by undermining natural justice and traditional hard won values,built into our genes over the centuries, encouraging greed, selfishness, deceit and dishonesty.Some of this rubbed off onto me and I became no better than them.
AND NOW.
I know myself for the first time. 
I know it's not too late to save our nation.
I know I'm UKIP.
Why has it taken so long?

ICING ON THE CAKE

Nothing would give me more pleasure now than seeing the rotten, corrupt, Europhile, LIB/LAB/CON political establishment swept into the dustbin of history in all the forthcoming local, European and National elections.
I consider them nothing more than traitors who have betrayed everything the millions of young servicemen of our armed forces died for in two world wars. Our heritage and our future.Many were not more than teenagers. Every family in the UK must have a family member in one of those unmarked graves. Our army, navy and airforce  numbered over a million then. Bigger than the US even. And don't forget all our Commonwealth allies. The LIB/LAB/CONS have.They fought and died for the UK too. But We will remember them.
Now, at last, there is a man of the people who can unite our divided nation and return this once great country to a land of fairness, justice, decency and tolerance in a free and independent UK.
New hope looms on the horizon. A UK free of the shackles of Europe. A UK with a whole raft of commonsense policies to make us great once more.Restore our industry, sensible energy and planning policies,(not windmills) improve our schools, health service and public services. Cut waste, costs, taxes bureacracy and crime. Above all allow only the immigrants that we need who want to work and abide under our laws in this overcrowded island which is bursting at the seams and struggling to house and provide medical services and education for our people. This man recognizes we are all equal no matter what colour, race, creed or religion.  
His name is NIGEL FARAGE and his party is THE UNITED KINGDOM INDEPENDENCE PARTY. The undemocratic 1st past the post system we have is a huge hurdle for a new party. BUT IF ENOUGH can say ENOUGH IS ENOUGH the UKIP revolution can accomplish peacefully what only Cromwell managed to do in the past with his roundheads.
 Lets make it happen. VOTE UKIP for a new UK. For our children and grandchildren if nothing else.

LOOKING BACK

When we bought our modest old chert stone farmhouse thirty years ago, little did we realize what a little gem we'd acquired. Our main reason for buying had been because the accommodation was divided so the farmer could have holiday lets in the other half. This was ideal for us with the kids still young because it provided a granny annex for my retired  parents who wanted to be near us.At this time I was still working in London and commuting on days off to see the family.
 Two years later I joined them. Then when the kids grew older and we needed more bedrooms, mom and dad were happy to buy a new custom built managed retirement apartment and we knocked the place back into one house again so we had the five bedrooms. The previous farmer owner had thoughtfully dug out an eighty feet by thirty five feet hole 8 feet deep and lined it with heavy duty rubber silage sheet to provide an enormous swimming pool with pumps and filter.We had great fun in this and even sailed our own raft round it. In the end it proved very expensive to keep clean and the water took a long time to warm up.It all depended on the weather.

So after the kids had all fled the nest, except one who keeps coming back, we turned it into a sunken garden with pond and waterfall.
Today while admiring the new spring growth and the great views over to Windwhistle Hill, Pilsden Pen, Lambert's castle and Lewesden it occurred to me what a perfect place this was. Near the centre of the village, with it's shop, school, greens, church, pub and village hall and a regular bus service over the Blackdowns to Taunton or South to chard, it is convenient to say the least. We've always had open country at the back because the village boundary runs along the back hedge and the neighbour's house on one side is ten feet lower and on the other there are no overlooking windows. Opposite is the Methodist chapel so privacy is complete, apart from God that is.
This village is surrounded by footpaths and the walking is fantastic with a choice of dozens of circular routes but there are not enough bridleways for all the horse riders now. Our garden at half an acre is just big enough for what we want but for those without much garden  there are now allotments available.Downstairs we have a big old ground floor extension right across the back of the house with a pitched, tiled roof which has a large room with a skylight in adjoining the kitchen we keep our freezers in and use for eating in  the summer and is a great area for wellie boots and wet clothes etc. When we had dogs and cats that was their place. The rest of this extension is a boiler room, bathroom, utility room and conservatory.
 We didn't know we had a large bricked up inglenook fireplace behind one  of the radiators until somebody tipped us the wink so I broke into this and that's now where the wood burner proudly sits.The old oil conversion Aga in the kitchen heats the water, takes the chill off the place and dries and irons the clothes.It must date back to the fifties but still works perfectly and I've had a special rig built to lift out the cast iron pot when it needs a service.
We have a large side entrance that holds about  five cars but no garage but the farmer very kindly left his twenty feet by twelve office/shed. Very handy. We've since added two more sheds, a poly tunnel and a greenhouse.
The place was a paradise for the kids when they were young and now it's turned into one for us also. There's so much going on in this community. Some weeks my wife is out every night.The list includes history group women's groups, youth club, horticulture, village events,  bowling, amateur dramatics, various keep fit classes, annual flower show etc Then there's church stuff, school stuff, pub quizzes and music. It goes on and on. I only hope we don't lose our pub. It's for sale.
I will only leave this place in a box. It seems I have spent my whole life leading up to this and this is what it was for.We're not rich compared to many. We don't have a posh cabin cruiser or yacht although I love boats and go for inshore trips along the south coast or up the estuaries at every opportunity. Though not now  a hundred percent fit, I get by with the help of powerful meds and I've never been more at peace with myself. I have my  piano, my computer, the garden, the glorious countryside and coast and family still all local.. Places like Exmoor, Dartmoor, The Mendips and Jurassic coast are all within a thirty mile drive. This for me is as good as it gets. We've been very lucky. I wonder what I've done to deserve it.

HOPE OR SOMETHING ELSE

I hate the word 'disease',  I prefer 'condition'. It seems to me as a non-medical person with RA that all illnesses, whatever the causes have common denominators like inflammation, pain, loss of mobility, deformity etc. Whatever condition or illness we suffer from whether caused by genetic fault, virus, bacteria, poisoning, injury, stress or problems of our immune system, it's apparent that how we respond to that cause and the medication is determined in large part by our genetic make-up with a little help of course by lifestyle. This is why I believe that once the full human genetic footprint of every individual is known and recorded on medical data bases, medications and treatments such as stem cell therapy can then be developed and targeted for every individual accordingly. When that process has been completed the human species has the potential for almost everlasting life.I do not believe the world of 'Scotty' the medic with the magic hypodermic is that far away.You might think I'm over-optimistic here but the implications are also frightening. Think about it. Only the gods are immortal.

All things Gay and Medical. All Wonders Great and Small.All things Bright....

 Now for something completely different.

On the subject of prostates, I had to prostrate myself for the prostate examination, which meant getting at least my 'O'level and consisted of what I can only describe as a fisting process of the anal passage. Very unpleasant for me if not the doctor who I always suspected was a bit like that. With a name like Whimple, what could you expect.
This reminds me of the time I was given the various treatment options for haemorrhoids, two of which were constriction by rubber band until they died and dropped off or freeze drying which had the same effect.The former seemed a bit hit and miss to me as shedding haemorrhoids at random places and times could lead to all sorts of misunderstandings.As for the latter, I'd heard nasty rumours about abuses of this procedure, in particular concerning one frustrated female doctor with a grudge who had turned the equipment on the unfortunate recipient's testicles and freeze dried them, before stuffing a large rag doll up his anal passage and sending him home with the feet hanging out.This was enough to scare the shit out of me, if not the piles, as my GPs are all big, nasty looking women that think all men are wimps because they don't endure the pain of childbirth. Hardly my fault but unarguably the truth.In the end I opted for steroid suppoositories but for all the good they did I might as well have shoved them up my backside.

RIGHT LINK

At Long Last I've got the right link to my Amazon Kindle page to purchase The Badger's Holt Affair.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Badgers-Holt-Affair-ebook/dp/B00C7VFG3G/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1365692288&sr=1-1&key
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=The%20Badger's%20Holt%20Affair

THE HARPY

There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she;
She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three;
And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity.

There is no hope for such as I on earth, nor yet in Heaven;
Unloved I live, unloved I die, unpitied, unforgiven;
A loathéd jade, I ply my trade, unhallowed and unshriven.

I paint my cheeks, for they are white, and cheeks of chalk men hate;
Mine eyes with wine I make them shine, that man may seek and sate;
With overhead a lamp of red I sit me down and wait

Until they come, the nightly scum, with drunken eyes aflame;
Your sweethearts, sons, ye scornful ones -- 'tis I who know their shame.
The gods, ye see, are brutes to me -- and so I play my game.

For life is not the thing we thought, and not the thing we plan;
And Woman in a bitter world must do the best she can --
Must yield the stroke, and bear the yoke, and serve the will of man;

Must serve his need and ever feed the flame of his desire,
Though be she loved for love alone, or be she loved for hire;
For every man since life began is tainted with the mire.

And though you know he love you so and set you on love's throne;
Yet let your eyes but mock his sighs, and let your heart be stone,
Lest you be left (as I was left) attainted and alone.

From love's close kiss to hell's abyss is one sheer flight, I trow,
And wedding ring and bridal bell are will-o'-wisps of woe,
And 'tis not wise to love too well, and this all women know.

Wherefore, the wolf-pack having gorged upon the lamb, their prey,
With siren smile and serpent guile I make the wolf-pack pay --
With velvet paws and flensing claws, a tigress roused to slay.

One who in youth sought truest truth and found a devil's lies;
A symbol of the sin of man, a human sacrifice.
Yet shall I blame on man the shame? Could it be otherwise?

Was I not born to walk in scorn where others walk in pride?
The Maker marred, and, evil-starred, I drift upon His tide;
And He alone shall judge His own, so I His judgment bide.

Fate has written a tragedy; its name is "The Human Heart".
The Theatre is the House of Life, Woman the mummer's part;
The Devil enters the prompter's box and the play is ready to start.  
A poem by Robert Service

Great Romantic Fiction

 An extract from Alan Titmush’s new book - Whoreticulture For Beginners. Price five pea.

Courgette was powerless to resist. Spud’s eyes burned into hers like hot chilli peppers His muscular tendrils enfolded her body as she felt herself being swept away in a monsoon of passion fruits.

 ‘Bloody hell! You’ve got a minge like Terry Wait’s allotment’ he cried, as he pulled out the waistband of her bloomers and peered inside.....

PILES

Dear Doctor ,

                                  I fear I may be giving birth to a premature and unwanted haemorrhoid.  I would like a painless termination as it's under 24 weeks old and adoption is not a possibility. Are there any remedies that will achieve this without me having to resort to terrifying procedures such as freeze drying, constriction etc. One reads such awful stuff on the internet and my GP is a woman with triplets who thinks all men are wimps who don’t know the meaning of pain and should be sterilised at birth. I’m sure she’d take the opportunity to freeze dry my testicles if she got the chance. As for constriction with rubber bands, well nobody is going to put the squeeze on my newborn until it just drops off, probably at the Vicars tea party or worse still during the sermon. I don’t like the idea of these suppositories much either. A mate of mine tried them and for all the good they did he might as well have shoved them up his arse. I look forward to your early reply.

Regards Herbert Sorearse

WHY?

Some of you may be wondering why I wrote and am re-blogging 'HARRY IN THE LOOKING GLASS.' One word sums it up. That word is INDIFFERENCE. I had become indifferent to the death, pain and suffering of others. Carl's death brought it home to me and I realised something was wrong. My work as a cop and binge drinking had hardened and de-humanised me to the point of callousness. I didn't care any more. I couldn't register emotion. I was losing my self respect.My head was screwed up with guilt and self-pity. Nobody should be this way.I decided to analyse why I had reached this point. It gave me the idea to explore the psychology by way of writing a who dunnit based on this true event, as a cathartic way to exorcise the demons.I think I'm a better person for it.   
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00C7VFG3G#

TWO LEGGED DOG

We had a lovely little dog, a brown and white  Jack Russel

whose back legs had arthritis and couldn’t move a muscle.

We took him to the vets, a German name of ‘Viels’

Who amputated at the hips and fitted him with wheels.

So now he doesn’t need a car or lamppost when he goes.

He pisses on his own wheels whilst standing on his nose

And entertains the children,

especially one called Michael,

by doing tricks more suited to a unicycle.

For a large amount of cash

We entered him for Crufts Paralympics seven mile dash

 (for toy dogs)

but on a bend a wheel came off and he hit the arena walls

causing a very nasty crash and severe swelling to his balls.

We had a ramp especially made to get him through the flap

(I should have mentioned previously, we also had a cat)

It didn’t work though – just our luck.

He got so far and then got stuck.

He tried his hardest I’ll give him that

But his doggie dick just wouldn’t lie flat.

The moral of this story is

If you want to make your pet

More mobile without a hitch

Just make sure you’ve got a bitch

© Ben Corde 2012

ROMANCE LOST

There's a place out there that's heaven on earth,
where waters tumble to the sea
with joyous sounds of rippling mirth,
through rocky gorge, 'neath hanging tree
where Nell walked hand in hand with me.

There's a place out there, I'd rather be
than where I am in fetters bound,
yearning for that joyous sound
of crashing surf upon the sand
where we walked hand in hand.

There's a place out there, it's not for me
the golden dunes, an azure sea
where cupid set my spirit free
that now is just a memory
of wind in rustling marram grass
and romance dead in noxious gas
that rose unseen
from my bare……
Aaaaaah……that’s better.

© BenCorde 2012

THE GERMAN DOCTOR

'Now just you lie still mother, don't you worry dear.

For I have called the doctor and he will soon be here.

They say his name is Herman and will I stay to let him in

for Herman is a German and he's coming from Berlin.

Now I know it hurts dear mother, but you should never fear.

Although it's been a while now, he must be getting near.

What's that you say, speak up, I can't hear what you said

I'll have to put my ear a little closer to your head.

Yes now I have it mother, I'll tell them what you said

that by the time he gets here, you'll be f*****g dead'.

© Harry Hunt 2012

WAR

We fight our bloody battles, our Sommes and Passchendaeles.

We drop the bombs and tell our gory tales

of sacrifice and valour.

And when it's over we count the silent army of the dead,

the hordes of living wounded, mutilated men,

women and children who will never be the same again.

We find some rationale in all of this by arguing the case

that there’s no other way.

We give them every chance to save some face

but in the end we have to win the day

against the despots of this world.

For right is might and has to triumph in the end.

But the horror and the grief will live for ever and will never go away.

God you could have have spared us this-

given those poor sods, those innocents, a chance to live

a normal, decent, happy life, but no....

you really stack the odds against us one way and another.

Our father which art in heaven

DEFINITELY NOT MOTHER

© ben Corde 2012

NOT CRICKET

The bowler stormed towards the crease

Ball in hand cocked high

Ready to unleash

His thunderbolt from the sky

The batsman at the other end

Impatient at the length of run,

His stumps, determined to defend,

Waited in the mid day sun.

The bowler tripped upon a clod

And crashed into the crease.

The ball bounced off a fallen log

Into some mating geese.

The batsman ran towards the stumps

To get the vital run

Saw the geese in passing

And ran off to get his gun.

  

Copyright Ben Corde 2012

CHARD RESERVOIR

From  bridge of sighs I look to where

This man made flooded valley lies.

An eerie place.

Shrouded now in swirling, mists,

The spirits of the past perhaps

From once a gentle landscape,

Fertile, grazed and tilled,

Filled with sights of mortal toil.

A cottage by a church in fields of standing wheat.

A mill and snake like leat.

On callous depths, a guilty mirror face

With sweeping curve of siren smile

Ill at ease, dark and brooding.

Hidden by armies, of glowering trees,

Sullen at this barrier to progress.

Nestles,  restless in their whispering embrace.

Caressed by barely stirring dawn breeze

Glittering wavelets march in unison

Towards the leeward quarter,

Passing beneath the bobbing Mallard, unconcerned.

Toward far banks and muddy shallows,

With gentle slap slap of lapping water.

In startling all white plumage, overhead an egret flaps

Across a window to an agitated sky,

Searching for a place to feed

Along the fringes of the rustling reed.

An angler casts his line and somewhere out of sight

Emerging from the night, sounds of life.

So far and yet so near.

A sense of peace is somehow absent here.

Too many spirits haunt this place, this paradise for fools.

For here, amongst the mud and debris of a town

The wretched come to drown – lost souls

And here for them, the searchers come to seek, and find

Death,in-beauty,of-a-kind.

Copyright Ben Corde 2012

VACUUM HEADS

Some of those vacuum head celebrities would do well to read this by a man who knew what poverty and war was all about. Unlike these pampered idiots.

The Joy Of Being Poor

I Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich; But oh, the days when I was poor, a vagrant in a ditch! When every dawn was like a gem, so radiant and rare, And I had but a single coat, and not a single care; When I would feast right royally on bacon, bread and beer, And dig into a stack of hay and doze like any peer; When I would wash beside a brook my solitary shirt, And though it dried upon my back I never took a hurt; When I went romping down the road contemptuous of care, And slapped Adventure on the back -- by Gad! we were a pair; When, though my pockets lacked a coin, and though my coat was old, The largess of the stars was mine, and all the sunset gold; When time was only made for fools, and free as air was I, And hard I hit and hard I lived beneath the open sky; When all the roads were one to me, and each had its allure . . . Ye Gods! these were the happy days, the days when I was poor. II Or else, again, old pal of mine, do you recall the times You struggled with your storyettes, I wrestled with my rhymes; Oh, we were happy, were we not? -- we used to live so "high" (A little bit of broken roof between us and the sky); Upon the forge of art we toiled with hammer and with tongs; You told me all your rippling yarns, I sang to you my songs. Our hats were frayed, our jackets patched, our boots were down at heel, But oh, the happy men were we, although we lacked a meal. And if I sold a bit of rhyme, or if you placed a tale, What feasts we had of tenderloins and apple-tarts and ale! And yet how often we would dine as cheerful as you please, Beside our little friendly fire on coffee, bread and cheese. We lived upon the ragged edge, and grub was never sure, But oh, these were the happy days, the days when we were poor. III Alas! old man, we're wealthy now, it's sad beyond a doubt; We cannot dodge prosperity, success has found us out. Your eye is very dull and drear, my brow is creased with care, We realize how hard it is to be a millionaire. The burden's heavy on our backs -- you're thinking of your rents, I'm worrying if I'll invest in five or six per cents. We've limousines, and marble halls, and flunkeys by the score, We play the part . . . but say, old chap, oh, isn't it a bore? We work like slaves, we eat too much, we put on evening dress; We've everything a man can want, I think . . . but happiness. Come, let us sneak away, old chum; forget that we are rich, And earn an honest appetite, and scratch an honest itch. Let's be two jolly garreteers, up seven flights of stairs, And wear old clothes and just pretend we aren't millionaires; And wonder how we'll pay the rent, and scribble ream on ream, And sup on sausages and tea, and laugh and loaf and dream. And when we're tired of that, my friend, oh, you will come with me; And we will seek the sunlit roads that lie beside the sea. We'll know the joy the gipsy knows, the freedom nothing mars, The golden treasure-gates of dawn, the mintage of the stars. We'll smoke our pipes and watch the pot, and feed the crackling fire, And sing like two old jolly boys, and dance to heart's desire; We'll climb the hill and ford the brook and camp upon the moor . . . Old chap, let's haste, I'm mad to taste the Joy of Being Poor. Robert William Service

Jensen Conspiracy

The Jensen Conspiracy blog site has been taken down and ebook is now available to buy under the title of 'The Badgers Holt Affair' at Amazon Kindle or Smashwords as downloads in various e formats Kindle, Epub, Mobi,Pdf, HTML Rtf Lrf Pdb Plain Text view or download. 

My Comment to the Telegraph Today

While Cameron wastes his breath and our money out there, here at home Farage is taking the country by storm. Farage fever and the Heineken effect is spreading like wildfire across the land. People have at last woken up to the fact that we have the sorry mess of a UK that we deserve and now the Great British public have finally started to say enough is enough, its time for change. UKIP are the new force in British politics and I'm proud to be a member and of all those people out there who care about our country enough to put aside old grievances and injustices to unite under one banner to make our country a better place. UKIP gives hope for our future and our heritage.

Self Obsessed?

They say I’m a celebrity,

Though I’ve no talent obvious to see.

I’m very rich and people say the nicest things,

They never call me vain, or self-obsessed,

Or vacuous or mean

You see they know I’ve been abused

Since I was just thirteen.

That I get terrible depression.

And need the most expensive clinic.

You may be a cynic

But I’m really just a victim

In need of sympathy,

So pity me,

The status of celebrity

With all my wealth

And problems of the heart

While all around me

Mother Earth just falls apart

Ben Corde Good Friday 2011