*Jakarta Globe, 6 February 2009

A man climbs quietly from a grave and closes a white burial cloth that shrouds a skeleton. The bones are the color of burned earth and in pieces. A maggot scuttles to hide behind the empty eye socket of the skull. After more than 30 years of interment, all that is left of a once middle-aged adult now fits into a small bundle.

A weathered, wooden plaque with jagged edges bears the name the skeleton once answered to.

At Menteng Pulo Public Cemetery in South Jakarta, the air is fresh with the scent of blossoming trees and rich earth. A lone mottled mutt threads cautiously among the graves, its skin matted and reddish from the rain and earth. She sits on top of a grave, observing as 50 gravediggers calmly go about their work. They are not burying the dead but raising them, literally, from their graves.

Along a large strip of land near the Cideng River, 10,600 square meters to be exact, emptied graves with ragged edges line the cemetery. The workers have been commissioned by the city administration to unearth about 3,500 plots to make way for a highway linking Jalan Soepomo and Jalan Rasuna Said.

“Traditionally, you cannot disturb the dead,” sayd Entong, the head gravedigger. “But this is a city that is developing, and they need to expand the road.”

Inside an open grave, Entong breaks up the damp soil with a rusty hoe. His black jeans and feet are encrusted with red earth. He hands the last of the unearthed bones to his assistant to wrap in cloth and take to another burial plot that has been allocated for the exhumed bodies.

“This one was buried in 1962, so there are very few bones left,” Entong says, pointing to the decomposed bundle of bones about the size of an infant.

Entong climbs out of the grave and begins to break the gray headstone with his hoe. Pieces of stone fly around him. He has to remove the name plaque embedded in the stone so it can be placed with the remains for identification. His skin is burnished from the 32 years he has worked outdoors as a gravedigger.

“People call me first when they want to bury someone,” Entong says.

On this overcast morning, no weeping or hushed prayers for the displaced dead are heard, only the thud of hoes hitting the soil. Entong says it has been two months since the excavation of the graves commenced and it is scheduled to end next week.

“At the beginning there were more relatives,” Entong says. “Now it is rare for families to come even though we have informed them we will be digging up the graves. Maybe they have moved. Maybe they can’t bear the process.”

The majority of the graves are Muslim but Entong estimates 800 Buddhist graves will also be uncovered this week.

The remains are being moved to new burial plots further down the road. Unclaimed remains are moved to a cemetery at Kampung Kandang in Cilandak or to Srengseng Sawah Cemetery in South Jakarta, Entong says.

The ground is soft as paste from the ongoing Jakarta showers and he flings it around him as he hoes. An errant and persistent fly flits around his bare feet.

“We take the remains out, wrap them up and then knock down the gravestone,” explains Suroh, a caretaker at Menteng Pulo since the ’70s. Wearing a red shirt, a large mole jutting from his chin, he watches Entong work in the distance.

“I do not cry at anyone’s funeral,” Suroh says. “I am used to them.

“We are here to fix their homes, their final resting place.”

It is noon when Entong rests inside a makeshift wooden hut in the middle of the cemetery. The soiled clothes of the caretakers hang to dry nearby on headstones and from overhanging trees.
A caretaker chugs on a motorcycle down the narrow dirt road that runs through the cemetery, ferrying four white bundles to an ambulance for relocation.

“It is funny. Kaplok, kaplok, kaplok is the sound of the bodies flapping,” says Suroh as he watches.
“We are all the same. In the end we will die,” he adds as he deeply inhales from a clove cigarette.
Under the cool shade of the hut, the men sit in their mud-caked clothes, sipping hot, milky coffee and talk lightheartedly about death. Entong recounts a time when he had to break the legs of a corpse.

“If I didn’t, they wouldn’t fit into the cloth,” he says.

The kain kapan, or burial cloths, are rough pieces of white cloth two meters in length. “These ones cost Rp 12,000 [about $1],” Entong says, pointing to a pile of fabric in a cupboard. “Cheap ones.”

The hush is disturbed by the arrival of Iwan Suwandi and his family. Together with his wife, Suwarti, his sister, sister-in-law and grandson, he has come to rebury his son Rachmad.

“I was shocked to get the notice from the cemetery,” Suwandi says, of being notified of the disinterment. “I found out at Lebaran,” he adds.

A gentle-looking man with glasses and specks of grey through his hair, Suwandi had been ill for the past three months and unable to come to Menteng Pulo earlier.

Wearing a tan fishing hat and checkered shirt, Ali greets Suwandi, whom he knows. The caretaker has been tending Rachmad’s grave since he was buried here four years ago. An old hand, Ali has worked at cemeteries since 1948 and takes care of 100 plots in Menteng Pulo.

Rachmad, Suwandi’s third son, died of liver problems at the age of 24. “I wanted to move him to Bogor but we have no family there,” says Suwandi, who instead asked for his son’s body to be moved nearby within the Menteng Pulo cemetery.

Entong is called upon to dig up the body.

“It is his job to dig. We each have a duty,” explains Suroh, whose own position is caring for the graves, like Ali.

Entong alternates using his hands and the hoe to scoop out the earth. The burial cloth is laid on the ground beside the grave and he begins to place the unearthed chunks of bone on it. Two assistants crouch nearby to lay them out on the burial cloth. Standing above his son’s grave, Suwandi’s face is placid as he calmly inquires about the whereabouts of his son’s skull.

The wooden headstone reads, Rachmad H. bin Iwan Suwandi, etched black upon painted white wood. Slivers of the skeleton’s rib cage are taken out one by one. Entong continues to dig and finds a hipbone. Finally, he finds the skull. Suwandi places his hand over his mouth and lets out a small gasp. The family begins to pray. A sniff escapes Suwandi as he continues to look at Entong in the grave.

“His legs aren’t here yet,” Suwandi says.

Entong clears the mud from his hoe and continues digging.

The air is hushed and the smell of rain is heavy on the breeze. “We forgot to bring an umbrella,” Suwandi says to his wife, who nods agreement. Their 7-year old grandson, dressed in blue, has his hand on his knees and keeps his gaze intently on the open grave. The women look distressed.

When Ali comes over to help wrap the bones, Suwandi asks if the bundle is heavy. Ali says it isn’t. Three men wrap the bundle tightly and hand the bones to Suwandi. With steady steps on the slippery, rain-soaked earth, Suwandi carries his son to a prepared burial site, mouthing a silent prayer.

A little way up the road from where Rachmad was originally buried, a gaping hole six feet deep awaits. The small congregation stops, and Suwandi hands the bundle to a gravedigger as he jumps in the grave. The body is gently returned to him and the gravediggers tell him to open the bundle. “All of it,” says one as the other balls up chunks of soil with his hands. “It is to prop up the body so it does not overturn,” he explains.

Suwandi carefully tucks his son into his resting place and two men start to fill in the grave. An imam in a black velvet skullcap, propping himself up with a multicolored umbrella, asks for the name of the deceased and begins a low chant. Only the boy’s name, Rachmad, rings out as the imam crouches by the grave. All else is quiet save for the sound of hoes hitting the ground.

The mother opens a prayer book, her face partially hidden under her black jilbab as she prays along with the imam. Her grandson stands behind her, holding her arm.

Suwandi straightens his son’s old headstone and turns his palms up to the sky. The imam moves toward him and they pray side by side. The earth atop Rachmad’s new grave is choppy and uneven but Ali explains it will be tidied later. He takes out a clove cigarette, lights it and stands before this new grave he will also care for.

A warm wind blows. From a nearby mosque, the resonant call to prayers rings out, echoed softly by surrounding mosques.

(photos: JG/Yudhi Sukma Wijaya)

Much of Tokyo is covered in concrete and pavement. In the photo above, a low traffic small street has impermeable pavement. There is a wide, unnecessary brick sidewalk in the foreground built to accompany a recent apartment building. Two private residences also have concrete car-parks and cement surrounds. If you look very closely, to the left of the red traffic cone, a canna flower is breaking through the concrete and blooming.

Up close, the flower is brilliant on a sunny November day. Even more remarkable is that the plant has somehow managed to break through the pavement. How did it get there? How does it survive the city’s relentless drive to bury every grain of soil? Do the neighbors appreciate this floral beauty and the power of nature over the built environment?

After the jump, a closer view of the plant in its context.

In the context of such poor urban design ,this brilliant canna flower breaking through provides some hope that nature will regenerate despite our best efforts to displace it.

Luckily, my barn is off from the road and I don’t yet have a problem with people dumping cats.  But over the years there have been a few stray cats who have made appearances.  Most moved on rather quickly.  John would always say, “Don’t feed them.”

I complied to some extent.  I figure a weary soul deserves a meal, but I didn’t make it a habit to feed the strays.  Back when Stray Grey first showed up, I would occasionally put out dry food for our cats in the barn or garage.  This practice was halted when I found a young opossum in the garage!!!!

Stray Grey decided to stay.  At first he was but a fleeting grey tabby shadow and would disappear whenever he saw you.

Stray Grey- exit stage right

Eventually, he lingered longer.  Over time he became my faithful barn helper.  He’d follow several feet behind me and talk to me with his deep gravely voice.

I’d never had a cat pick me.  Stray Grey’s interaction with people seemed to be quite limited… he obviously was not somebody’s pet.  He kept his distance and he didn’t trust humans.

I so looked forward to seeing my tabby friend.  We had a bond…. separated by a few feet… but a bond nonetheless.

If you got too close, he’d hiss and show his teeth.  He looked so fierce.  But he never ever tried to bite.

Stray Grey- looking fierce

Stray Grey- "Too close!"

He loved to sleep in the garage on the cat bed.  It was always such a treat to see him there.

Stray Grey on "his" bed

It became clear that he had picked Leaky Creek to be his home and me to be his human.  John didn’t protest and I think he looked forward to seeing him.  Stray Grey didn’t live long enough to grow to trust John.  John wasn’t bothered by it.

I have a rule with the strays, I have to be able to touch them before they earn their name.  Stray Grey let me touch him on a few occasions, but he never welcomed my touch.  Poor cat would cringe and on the rare occasion where I stroked his coat, he saw no pleasure in it.

I decided not to violate our trust and backed off.  I dreamed of the day when we’d cross the hurdle and Stray Grey would sit in my lap or come to me for attention.  Sadly, that day remains in my dreams… I hope that up in Heaven he’s met up with John and is getting his pets.

But, Stray Grey earned his name.  I always liked the name Toby for an animal.  So, he became Toby.  I think John thought that Toby was a dumb name.  He continued to call him Stray Grey.

Then came the horrible day when I opened the door to go feed and there was Toby sitting in the garage waiting for me and there was blood everywhere.  I was shocked.  It’s hard to evaluate injuries on an animal that you can’t handle.  My assumption was that he’d been in a fight.  It looked like his testicles had been shredded.

I didn’t even know where to turn to for treatment of a stray.  I called Doctor Foster and he said, if I could catch him and get him in here, he’d treat him.

Therein lay the problem…

For days we tried to catch him.  We did have him trapped in the garage.  John even got a live trap from the humane society and we tried to coax him in with food.  My friend, Erin, and I had a very ill fated attempt which ended up with a wild bleeding cat loose in the house.  Luckily, John was home and put his firefighter common sense to the task and we soon had him back in the garage.  Most men would have yelled and screamed.  John obviously wasn’t pleased that I’d let Toby get inside, but he handled the situation and dropped the issue.  Finally in desperation,  as Toby was getting weaker and sicker.  John suggested a snare.  He didn’t want to hurt Toby, but it was getting down to critical point.  Either we caught him and got him to the vet or he was going to die.

John fashioned the snare and we caught Toby.  Toby got loose.  John re-worked the snare and caught him again.  We loaded him into the cat carrier easily and got him to the vet.

Dr. Foster said he’d call us after he examined him.

In the previous post… I told you how compassionately Dr. Foster handled the situation.  It appeared as if Toby had been attacked by something.  It had basically ripped out his whole hind end… testicles, rectum, intestines.  The vet tech later told John that he’d never seen such injuries.

Dr. Foster offered us the opportunity to have Toby cremated.  Not thinking about it being February and concerned over the bill, I decided against it.

John always took care of things.  I’ll never forget how he insisted on overseeing his mother’s body placed in the body bag.  He wanted to make sure Ann was properly taken care of and handled properly.  He took care of the things I couldn’t handle.  He had a year earlier retrieved our other cat’s body and buried him.  John was my rock.  Being a firefighter he was used to handling things that the public never saw and he protected me from a lot of things.  I knew I could count on him when I needed him to be there.

John went and picked up Toby’s body.  I had told the vet that Toby was to come home to be buried.  Toby was a stray and he picked me and picked our farm to be his home.  We had a level of trust and an understanding and a bond.  Toby needed to come home…

Then for the irony.  After John brought Toby’s body home, I posted online that Toby had been euthanized.  I had posted trying to get suggestions on how to catch him.  Well, somebody replied that his injuries sounded like a raccoon had gotten a hold of him.

Not more than 15 minutes after reading that, I spotted some creature by the trees.  I called John.  We confirmed that it wasn’t a fox.  John went and got the gun.  Once he was sure it wasn’t a cat, he pulled the trigger.  One dead raccoon.  It had been nosing around a pile of bird feathers.

Toby died, but his death may have very well saved our barn cats’ lives.

John HATED to shoot things.  But, John was our protector.  He protected our animals and he protected his family… like any good man would do.

In this case John was glad the raccoon was dead!  I think it was the only thing that he was glad he killed.  Toby may have been my cat, but John was fond of him, too.

John went out to dig the grave only to discover that the ground was frozen solid.  John tried for a few days.  Good thing the temperature kept Toby “refrigerated.”  Finally, John went to Home Depot and rented some sort of “chisel pounder thing” and was able to dig the hole and we buried Toby.  I’ll also always remember how John decided to wrap Toby’s body in his cat bed pillow cover.  It was just so fitting.  John was always like that… he knew the right things to do at the right times.

John handled Toby’s escape into the house and his death and burial fiasco with such compassion.  Never was Toby “MY” cat.  Never was Toby a “stupid cat.”  John recognized that Toby was terrified, hurt, in pain, and afraid and he treated him with compassion.

Toby’s death devastated me- I never knew how much my buddy had taken hold of my heart.  Days later and even weeks later, I would think I’d hear his gravely voice when I went into the garage and went to feed.  I look for a cat and not see one.  I told myself that I was imagining things.  After my more recent experiences, I think maybe it wasn’t just in my head.

John was a cat lover… hopefully up there in Heaven he’s got Buttons, Salem, Spook, Kit Kat, and Stray Grey to keep him company.  And it’s Heaven, so they all get along!

Most men would have gotten angry and frustrated over trying to capture the cat and trying to bury him.  Most men would have yelled or screamed (I can’t said that some profanity didn’t come out of John’s mouth because it probably did).  Many men would have walked away.  Most men wouldn’t have done all of that for a stray cat… his wife’s stray cat on top it.  A cat that ran from him.   But… John wasn’t most men…

A Body Between Them

Eric: “We draw a line in the sand. From here on in no one mentions this to anyone else. You all got that? From now on, this never happened. We get rid of it and it never happened.”

After scraping a line in the wet sand with his white trainers crusted with dirt, he stood on his own, the wind blowing through his scraggly hair, the grey clouds formed over a Midlands shore. A group of five people stood awkwardly on the other side of the line, the sound of the rhythmic waves puncturing any hope for true silence, where thoughts manifest themselves unhindered by the outside world. In front of them was the body.

Eric: “Well?” His weather-beaten face was screwed up, pulling a desperate expression. The grey evening gave these people no real light, their faces pale and gaunt and lifeless expressions plastered all over them. The face of the body before them still had his final emotion clinging to it – Rigour-mortis had kept his mouth forced open, statued in fear.

One of the five, a woman with her head down and tears dripping down her face in reverential silence, muttered, “We should phone the police Eric…”

Eric: “No! No one call the pigs! That is the last thing we want to do! This was not our fault! This was not my fault! But do you think they’ll believe that? Well?” He stood at his side of the line. Alone.

The grey filter in which we see theses people does not fade. There is no defining epiphany to make things clear, no divine answer. Instead six people stand uneasy with a body between them, until one of them, balding, his eyes stricken with fear said, “I’ve got a shovel in the back of my car.”

Then debate from the five.

“We can’t bury a body in the sand. It’s not deep enough…”

“There’s a forest a couple miles from here…”

“We can’t do this… this is insane…”

“We have to. Eric’s right… they’ll never believ…”

“We have to decide soon okay. We’re out in the open here…”

“We can’t know what the police’ll think…”

“What if somebody finds us out. Then we’re fucked…”

“No one needs to know. Not if we bury it deep enough..”

“The police…”

“How are they going to even know it was us. There’s no way they’ll…”

“I’ve seen CSI and shit like that. They’ll find prints and DNA and…”

“Not if it’s buried for long enough. Fingerprints fade. So does DNA…”

Eric: “This. Is the only way.”

They stood in silence once again. Eric moved towards the body, over his line, and raised it by the armpits. Eric: “Is somebody going to help me here. I can’t do this on my own.”

The two men of the group stepped forward and grabbed a leg each, raising the body off the ground completely. Eric: “Right Patrick, we’re using your car since you’ve got the shovel. You’ll have to get rid of it later.” He nodded towards the three girls. “One of you get Marie’s phone off ‘er. We’re not getting the pigs into this mess. Alright?”

One of the women moved towards Marie and began searching the pockets of her anorak until her mobile phone was found. Marie looked into the eyes of the complicit woman that stood in front of her and said, “Becky…. we can’t do this.”

Becky looked right back and weakly replied, “We have to.”

The men struggled up the beach, a body between them, the women following close behind. They reached the sand banks that led to the car park and the three men dropped the body, panting vociferously. Through struggled breaths, adjusting his glasses, the balding man said, “I didn’t think this would happen on a day-trip to Grimsby.”

Eric: “No one did.”

“I mean, it’s meant to be Britain’s second best beach. Who could have thought that he would just come at us and then… well then Marie would flip…”

Marie paced up to the balding man, her hands balled into fists, “How the bloody hell would you know what happened? That man attacked us! He attacked us for Christ’s sake…”

“So you claim…”

“So I claim? You don’t know what you’re talking about! Fuck you!” Marie pushed the man before her, knocking him off balance – knocking him onto the body. As his shirt connected with the blood-strewn green t-shirt of a dead man, he screamed. He ambled off the body, his glasses falling off his face and into the sand, his body shivering, his eyes watering, hands shaking, body shaking, heart pulsing, alive. He ran at Marie, “you fucking sick bitch!”, and grabbed her by the lapels of her shirt. Eric ran at him, pulling him forcefully off her and pushing him away. The sand sat silently underneath them, feeling the stances of six people and the dead weight of a body.

Eric: “Patrick, shut the fuck up and calm down. We’ve got work to do and we need to it as soon as possible. After this, you two don’t even have to talk. For now, let’s be civil. Go to your car and start the engine. Marie, you’ll take the weight Patrick was carrying. Now let’s hurry up.”

Patrick picked up his glasses then walked unsteadily away from the group with his face crimson. Then the body was again picked up for the journey to the car. They struggled, two women walking reluctantly beside them. Dead eyes were staring up at Eric. He was looking forward. Always looking forward. They reached the car and piled it into the boot with no help from Patrick – he was sitting in the drivers seat with his face still deep red, staring out of the front window at nothing in particular.

Eric shut the boot, an action that snapped Patrick out of his hypnotised glare, causing him to wind his window down and say, “I don’t think we’ll fit everyone in my car. It only seats five.”

Eric: “Someone can sit on someone else’s lap.”

Patrick spluttered and said, “But what if the police pull us over? I could get a fine for something like that you know!”

Eric: “Patrick, you have a dead body in your boot. If the pigs pull us over then a fine’s really not what you should be worrying about.”

Eric then turned to the other man, his mousy face silent and scared. Eric: “Are you alright Jez? You haven’t said anything since…”

“I’m fine,” He snapped, “Let’s get in the car.”

Eric: Yea. Sure. Let’s go.”

The group piled into Patrick’s car. Eric sat at the front. Eric: “How long ’til we get to the woods?”

Patrick muttered, “Fifteen minutes.”

The group in the car were silent. The car hummed, the occasional splutter of an unhealthy engine interrupting their brief respite. At regular intervals, Patrick looked into the rear-view mirror at Marie, his anger refusing to wane.

No solutions are set in stone. As a car with a body in its boot speeds towards a thick forest on a grey Grimsby evening, a group of police officers sit in their station watching television and drinking endless cups of tea. A group of MPs are sitting around a restaurant table discussing foreign policy. A gang of youths hang around on a street corner doing nothing in particular. People around the world are asleep, out drinking, working, living their lives. As a car with a body in its boot speeds towards a thick forest on a grey Grimsby evening, nothing is different. What people don’t know can’t hurt them. Still, the stress of the situation slowly turned these people’s collective cognitive functions into ones of paranoia, and when paranoia becomes an overwhelming facet of a human being no solutions are set in stone. No solutions make sense. A respite let this group of people think.

The car reached the edge of the forest and then stopped dead. Eric: “Why’ve you stopped the car? We can’t bury a body here Patrick.”

Patrick looked at Eric with sand stuck to his thick-rimmed glasses and said, “This isn’t right.”

Eric: “This isn’t right? What do you mean this isn’t right? You were the one boasting about your shovel ownership not forty minutes ago!”

Patrick took his hands off the steering wheel, “Well… I’ve had time to think now and I’ve changed my mind.”

Eric: “I don’t care any more. We’ve gone too far to not bury this. How are you going to explain the fact that we piled a body into your boot before contacting the pigs? Were you planning on telling them we were handily trying to deliver the body to save them a bit of effort? We’re gone if we don’t do this, especially now. We have to do this. This is already done. Now drive.”

No one else spoke. Patrick placed his hands back on the steering wheel. The car began to drive into the forest, trees that have lived for hundreds of years looming over it and rendering it a minuscule speck in the spectrum of time. Eventually, it drove off-road, over mud and grass with only its headlights aiding it in the murky darkness of nature. Then it stopped, its headlights still glaring. The group got out in silence, Eric making his way to the boot. He dragged the body out and dropped it onto the ground. Then he grabbed the shovel. Eric: “Let’s start digging.”

Patrick spoke up again, “I-I still don’t think this is right. This isn’t even our mess. We all saw what Marie did! We all saw her…”

Marie looked spitefully at Patrick and said, “It wasn’t just me Patrick and you know it. Still… we have to phone the police.”

Eric: “We don’t call them. We’re not going to.”

Jez suddenly sparked, “Who put you in charge exactly? What makes you such an expert at what’s right for us? We’re gonna get found out, whether we bury the body or not. Nothing stays buried forever Eric. This is Tell-tale Heart shit right here!”

Eric: “Jez, don’t you start as well. I don’t need this from you…”

“Oh piss off Eric.”, fumed Jez, “Just ’cause I don’t say much in the office, doesn’t mean I’m gonna put up with your bossy shit when the body of a man’s at stake. This has gone too far…”

Eric: “We can’t call ‘em. Just can’t. This wasn’t our fault…”

“This was all of our faults Eric,” Jez replied, “You can convince yourself otherwise but deep down you know the truth. We did this, all of us. We’re calling the police.”

Patrick looked at Becky and the other woman and said, “Are you two with us or Eric?”

Becky muttered, “You.” The other woman nodded in agreement, shivering in shock.

“Five against one. That’s it then. Your way’s gone Eric,” said Patrick, with a sneering finality in his tone.

Eric screamed, “No! No! This is not how this is going! Fuck you Patrick!”

“Oh what are you gonna do leader-man?”, exclaimed Patrick, “Shut us up? Kill more people?”

Eric’s eyes were going insane, “I’ll kill all of you if it means I don’t go to prison! I’m not going there again!”

Everyone’s expressions were suddenly glazed with confusion. Marie said, “What do you mean again?”

Jez: “Prison? I’ve known you for years. What haven’t you told me?”

Eric turned towards Jez in a darting frenzy, “That’s not important! You people don’t know ANYTHING! Nothing about me. NoTHING about each other. You’re not even sure who killed THIS FILTH! None of it, none of IT’S important! What’s important is are you still phoning the fucking pigs? WELL?”

Jez: “We’re still phoning them Eric. Put down the shovel. You’re crossing a line here man. Put down the shovel. Now.”

Eric stopped holding the shovel lazily and gripped it tight, a weapon at the ready, “FUCK you Jez! Fuck ALL of you! YOU’RE all dead!

Eric ran towards Patrick with his shovel raised above his head, screaming insanely. Jez sprinted towards Eric, tackling him to the ground. The shovel flew far away from Eric, onto the mud and the grass and the darkness that was faraway from the headlights of the car that was warm and safe and clean apart from the boot which reeked of the stench of death and guilt-ridden consciences that do the right thing eventually. Jez stayed sitting on Eric, no chance of escape, and said to Marie, “Call them now. Let’s get the truth over and done with.”

Marie got her phone from Becky and dialled 999.

Then it began to rain.

We know nothing.

Watch it here!

http://www.myspace.com/burytomorrowband

JPT... Whites paired with Accrington.

LEEDS UNITED have been paired with League 2 side Accrington Stanley in Northern Area semi-final of the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy.

The tie will be played midweek on December 14.

Simon Grayson’s side have so far beaten Darlington and Grimsby in the competition whilst Accrington have overcome Oldham, Shrewsbury and Bury to reach the semi-finals.

The other northern semi-final sees Carlisle entertain Bradford whilst the southern section see Southampton take on Norwich and Hereford against the MK Dons.

Paul Rose, MP for Manchester Blackley, helped to set up the Campaign for Democracy in Ulster in 1965. The campaign attempted to raise the question of discrimination and civil rights abuses in northern Ireland, largely unsuccessfully.

Paul Rose was born in 1935 in Manchester and educated at Bury Grammar School and the University of Manchester. He was chair of the Manchester Federation of Young Socialists. He trained as a lawyer and in 1958 was called to the bar. Rose had no personal Irish connections, but apparently became interested in 1962 after addressing a meeting in Manchester on civil liberties and being been told about the situation in Northern Ireland. In the general election of October 1964 he was elected to the House of Commons for Blackley, Manchester. The Labour Party defeated the Tory party after 13 years with a majority of just 4 seats.

The Campaign for Democracy in Ulster was established in early 1965 at a meeting in a public house in Streatham by a group of Irish trade unionists and Labour Party members. The Vice-President was Paddy Byrne, who had been active thirty years before in Ireland in the Republican Congress. The first secretary of the organisation was Bill O’Shaughnessy. When O’Shaughnessy moved to Manchester in the late 1960s Byrne took over the post. The CDU’s aims were to achieve a reform of election laws in Northern Ireland; to secure a Royal Commission into running of the Stormont government and investigate allegations of discrimination; and to have the Race Relations Bill amended to include religion and then extended to Northern Ireland.

The CDU was publicly launched in June 1965 at a meeting in the House of Commons at which Patricia McCluskey was one of the guest speakers. They attracted interest from a number of MPs. Paul Rose agreed to become President of the CDU. As an organisation the CDU was in practice confined to London with only Manchester forming a branch for a while. In the Commons it attracted support from 60 to 80 MPs, principally Labour with a few Liberals

It soon became obvious that the Wilson government intended to follow exactly the line taken by its predecessors for nearly fifty years and claim that it was unable to interfere in the internal affairs of Northern Ireland. CDU members made a number of attempts to raise issues in the Commons but were rebuffed each time. Eventually Harold Wilson himself stated in May 1966 that he was “not aware of any issue on which an inquiry is needed”. Attempts to amend the Race Relations bill to include religious discrimination failed, as did an attempt to have the remit of the Ombudsman extended to Northern Ireland. Some new impetus was given to the CDU in parliament by the election of Gerry Fitt as Republican Labour for West Belfast in March 1966 , who then worked closely with the campaign in their efforts to get Wilson to act on Northern Ireland.

Events in the summer of 1966 momentarily thrust the six counties into the headlines and provoked some British newspapers into taking a hard look at what was happening there. On 7th May an elderly Protestant woman, Mrs Gould, was killed in a petrol bomb attack on a Catholic pub next door to her home. Three weeks later a Catholic man named John Scullion was shot in Clonard Street off the Falls Road and later died of his wounds (the intended victim had been well known Republican Leo Martin). On 26th June Loyalist gunmen shot three Catholic barman from the International Hotel as they left a public house in Malvern Street, killing a young man named Peter Ward. The three killings had been carried out by a group formed by Gusty Spence (a former soldier and shipyard worker) which had taken the historic name of the Ulster Volunteer Force. Nearly thirty years later on 13th October 1994 Spence announced the Loyalist ceasefire in response to the IRA ceasefire announced several months earlier.

On 3rd July, to coincide with a royal visit to Northern Ireland, the Sunday Times published a hard-hitting article compiled by its Insight team of investigative journalists, entitled John Bull’s Political Slum. “When the flags and bunting are hauled down after the Royal visit,” it began, “Mr Wilson’s government will still be confronted with a sharp alternative; whether to use reserve powers to bring elementary social justice to Ulster or simply allow Britain’s most isolated province to work out its own bizarre destiny. During the 45 years since partition the latter has often been negligently adopted with what looks like disastrous results.” The article went on to document political gerrymandering and high levels of Catholic unemployment and emigration and noted that the new Ulster town of Craigavon was going to be built in a Protestant area between Portadown and Lurgan, while the new University was going to the Protestant town of Coleraine and not Derry, the second city and natural choice.

In October Spence and another two other man were sentenced to life imprisonment for the murders. Press interest in Northern Ireland, momentarily aroused, swiftly waned.

As papers released from Stormont under the thirty years rule now reveal that behind the scenes Wilson and Home Secretary Roy Jenkins were putting some pressure on Terence O’Neill to introduce one person one vote and to abolish the business vote. At a meeting at Downing Street in January 1967 with O’Neill, Craig and Faulkner, Wilson referred to the increasing unwillingness of Labour backbenchers to accept the convention that matters transferred to Stormont could not be raised or discussed in the House of Commons, while Roy Jenkins emphasised that gerrymandering in places like Derry and the local government vote would soon come under fire from Labour MPs. They also referred to the deputations on Northern Ireland that Jenkins had received. It seems that as a result of the CDU campaign the Labour government was becoming exercised about matters in the Six Counties but was not prepared to publicly pressurise the Unionists to reform.

By June 1968 the central committee of the CDU were forced to conclude that the campaign had run out of steam. Only four members of the central committee attended meetings regularly and only three constituency Labour parties remained affiliated. They had not succeeded in getting a resolution on Northern Ireland to the party conference whilst a public meeting in Kilburn in April had only attracted 20 people, despite a large amount of flyposting. Paddy Byrne presented a bleak assessment of how things stood. “In short no mass movement has developed and there is no indication that one will”, for in his view the British left were “far too concerned to save socialism from extinction than to bother about Ulster, about which the mass of British people know little, care less.

Paul Rose, who acted as Parliamentary Private Secretary to Castle between 1966 and 1968, later claimed that after his visit to the six counties in 1967, she asked why a young man like him was concerned about Northern Ireland, “’What about Vietnam? What about Rhodesia?’ I just looked at her with incomprehension and said ‘You’ll see when they start shooting one another’. She was totally oblivious to this. I think their priorities were focused on other things to the extent that they were totally blinded as to what was going on in their own backyard”. Perhaps it was not so surprising that two years later, on 14th August 1969, Barbara Castle wrote in her diary that she “was astonished to learn from the news that British troops have moved into Derry”.

Speaking in a debate on Northern Ireland in the House of commons on 22 April 1969 (just before Bernadette Devlin made her maiden speech) Paul Rose said:

“The events in Northern Ireland this weekend are a classic illustration of unheeded warnings from my hon. Friends on this side of the House. An almost uncontrollable situation has developed because too little has been done too late.
“In the debate on Northern Ireland on 22nd February, 1965, before this situation had developed, I then advocated the setting up of a Royal Commission to investigate the grievances in Northern Ireland.
“Alas, the time for Royal Commissions is past. And the fault lies largely with hon. Gentlemen opposite from Northern Ireland, who on that occasion flatly refused to acknowledge that there was any cause for concern or anxiety at all about civil rights and discrimination in Northern Ireland. They were rightly concerned with the potato subsidy. The hon. and gallant Member for Down, South (Captain Orr) informed the House that 36% of the nation’s pigs come from Northern Ireland. But not a word about discrimination or civil rights. We also faced the convention of non-interference, a convention which in that debate prompted my hon. Friend the Member for Thurrock (Mr Delargy) to ask you, Mr. Speaker, what, apart from Short Brothers and Harland and Wolff, we could mention in a debate on Northern Ireland.
That convention is dead. It was killed when my hon. Friend the Member for Belfast, West (Mr Fitt) was seen by millions of television viewers, his head streaming with blood after a vicious batoning while surrounded by a group of members of the Royal Ulster Constabulary.”

In 1970 Rose wrote a book called The Manchester Martyrs: a Fenian Tragedy, which was published by Lawrence & Wishart. He acknowledged the help given to him by Tom Redmond and Jimmy McGill (both members of the Connolly Association in Manchester). It was well written and readable account of the episode aimed at a general audience. Interestingly there was no mention of his involvement in Irish affairs in the introduction.

Rose left the Commons in 1979 and returned to the law, eventually becoming a Coroner and Deputy Circuit Judge.

Article by Michael Herbert

Bury hold a couple of unique distinctions, they are the team who recorded the largest winning margin in the FA Cup Final of 1903 and they are the only club who have scored over 1000 goals in each of the four divisions of the Football League. In a time where clubs such as Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal and Chelsea dominate the football landscape it’s important to remember the clubs who are the glue of the football league.

The clubs who have scored more than 1000 in three different divisions are Notts County, Blackpool, Chesterfield, Bradford City, Huddersfield Town and Swansea City.

The full results do not include Division 3N or Division 3S, the figures are up to date to approximately the start of 2009

The Song: “New Clouds, Not Clouds“
The Artist: Spiral Beach
Notable Lyrics: “Just try to smile, your sound is just a style.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: It may be cliche to say this, but this song is unlike anything I have ever heard. Their use of the synthesizer will drive your mind wild. You may recognize this song from the movie Charlie Bartlett, in which they appear along with two other songs of theirs.

The Song: “Bomb”
The Artist: New Young Pony Club (NYPC)
Notable Lyrics: “Oh, oh, oh, battle was fought and won. Who took  advantage and who was defenseless?”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: This song will embed itself in your brain, and it will be stuck in your head for days. It’s so darn catchy! When it’s on, you can’t help but break out and dance along. They don’t call NYPC “new rave” for nothing!

The Song: “Homecoming”
The Artist: The Teenagers
Notable Lyrics: “On day two, I fucked her. It was wild. She’s such a slut.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: This song is strangely erotic. Unlike most artists, The Teenagers sing their songs in a “talking” style which adds to the provocative vibe of the song. The spoken and sensual lyrics are accompanied by an interesting repetitive riff.

The Song: “Healer”
The Artist: Chromatics
Notable Lyrics: “Waving, from rusted balconies.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: Ruth Radelet’s voice makes this song what it is; absolutely stunning. This song haunts you with is simple but beautiful lyrics softly sung along to what it possibly the best bass line ever.

The Song: “Vanished”
The Artist: Crystal Castles
Notable Lyrics: “The smell of your sweat, just lures me in.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: Alice Glass and Ethan Kath are a super duo who create some of the best electronic music I have come across. They commonly use a vocoder to distort the vocals, which makes this song more interesting than it already is. Even though the song is upbeat, it is soothing and puts you in a mellow mood. Lay back, and enjoy the beat.

The Song: “Lullaby”
The Artist: The Cure
Notable Lyrics: “Don’t struggle like that, or I will only love you more.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: It should be apparent that this is my favorite Cure song. In fact, the title of this very blog comes from this song. A majority of this song is whispered in a sultry voice by Robert Smith. This song, although it has a dark subject matter, is very relaxing.

The Song: “Ancient Curse”
The Artist: Peter, Bjorn, and John
Notable Lyrics: “Don’t get me wrong now, but we were doomed from the start.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: I could listen to the song on repeat, and never get sick of it. Peter, Bjorn, and John are one of the many wonder bands to emerge from Sweden. The haunting melody alone makes me love this song. Though, the lyrics are my favorite part. I feel like I can relate to this song.

The Song: “I Know I’ll See You”
The Artist: A Place To Bury Strangers
Notable Lyrics: “Holding dear the last breath in my lungs.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: While their music is bordering along the line of noise, there is something appealing about their songs; this song in particular. This song never fails to send shivers down my spine. They make New York City proud.

The Song: “Future Primitive”
The Artist: The Papercuts
Notable Lyrics: “Well we cross the river once, and we’ll do it once again. The valley will open, and the mountains fall to their knees.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: This song has some of the most beautiful lyrics. The lyrics are stunning. In fact, most of their songs are beautiful. It’s shocking that this band hasn’t merged onto the mainstream scene.

The Song: “Magic”
The Artist: Ladyhawke
Notable Lyrics: “One life here with me and it’s magic.”

Why This Song Appeals To Me: The title of the song might as well be the best definition to describe it. Magic. This song was love at first listen. This song is so catchy, you can’t help but sing along (that is, if you know the lyrics). Ladyhawke has several amazing songs, but this song of hers is by far the best.

The first two weeks of the Journalism MA at the University of Westminster have taught me a lot about how to report news stories. They have also raised important questions about the nature of a reporter’s job.

One of the things which has been emphasised on the course so far is the necessity to keep readers interested -and even entertained- even when reporting events which are important to their lives, but dull.

To do this, one tip we have been given is to refer in the opening line of our articles to a group that most of the readers will identify with. So when this week I came to write about Mayor Boris Johnson’s announcement that he would not introduce new road charges in London, I decided to use the word ‘motorists’ prominently in the first sentence, in the hope of piquing people’s interest.

When one of the lecturers saw the article, he suggested that it could be given more impact by using the present tense to describe the announcement and by ‘burying’ the fact that the announcement had been made at Mayor’s Question Time because it would turn most readers off.

The idea of ‘burying’ information, or no mentioning it until towards the end of an article, is something which has come up several times in class.

Cage Fighters Article

In one instance we read an article from the front page of the Metro about two cage fighters who had been attacked because they were dressed in women’s clothes. The fact that the attack had taken place more than a month ago was ‘buried’ several paragraphs down because it would take away from the news value of the story. And the fact that the attackers had been sentenced the previous day was ‘buried’ even further down because it was deemed less interesting than the attack itself and might have interrupted the flow of the story.

All of which raises the question for reporters of where to draw the line between informing and entertaining their readers. I don’t think there is an easy answer to this question and I am sure it varies from publication to publication. But hopefully over the coming months I will have come up with my own.

During the Irish War of Independence, Irish Republicans mounted a number of armed operations in British cities, including Manchester, which were intended to cause economic damage and put pressure on the British government to cede independence to Ireland

The Campaign in Manchester 1920-22

In the autumn of 1920 the IRA launched a series of attacks on British cities, including Manchester, London, Liverpool and Glasgow, which were carried out by local Republican units. Peter Hart has estimated the strength of the IRA in Britain as about 1,000 volunteers, of which several hundred took part directly in operations. Almost all IRA volunteers were permanent residents, whether born in Britain or Ireland.

On 24th November 1920 the government announced in the House of Commons that they had captured secret Sinn Fein documents, amongst which were detailed plans to destroy the Stuart Street power station in Bradford, Manchester that proved electricity to many parts of the city including mines and factories. The government alleged that the plans contained maps of the station and details of the shifts worked there and that three raiding parties were to have been used in the attack, comprising 65 men in total. In a newspaper interview Mr SL Pearce, Manchester Corporation’s chief electrical engineer, stated that the information on the workings of the station appeared to have been gathered in October when four men and two women had visited it on a Sunday morning by prior arrangement.

On 2nd January 1921 Police Constable Henry Bowden was patrolling some warehouses on Ordsall Lane when he came across ten men in the vicinity of a large grain warehouse, owned by the Lancashire & Yorkshire Railway Company. They supplied him with their names and addresses but he still insisted that they accompany him to the police station. When they reached Oldfield Road one of the men suddenly produced a revolver and fired at the policeman. Fortunately for him the bullet passed through his wrist and entered his shoulder. The men ran off.

A fire was later discovered at Baxendale in Miller Street, Shudehill. Police later arrested four men were in connection with the shooting: Patrick Flynn (22), Jeremiah Roddy (20), Daniel O’Connell (25) and Charles Forsythe (32). Forsythe was the landlord of a boarding house at 3 Poole Street , Salford, where the other men were lodgers. They and another man Patrick Waldron were later charged under the Defence of the Realm Act. On 22nd February Flynn was sentenced to ten years penal servitude for attempted murder.

On 13th February the IRA carried out a series of co-ordinated incendiary attacks on factories and warehouses in Manchester, Rochdale, Oldham and Stockport. In Manchester the targets included the wholesale druggists Potter & Clarke, Luna Street, Openshaw; the resin distillers Smith and Forrest, Holt Town; the Union Acid Company, Mitchell Street, Newton Heath and the Premier Waterproof & Rubber Company, Dantzic Street. During the attack on Smith & Forrest the watchman John Duffy was held up by three men armed with revolvers whilst they made preparations to fire the premises. When he made a sudden movement one of them fired at him but missed. One of the other men commented “That was a lucky escape, mate”. Finally Duffy made a run for it and again his luck held for the bullets the men fired after him missed their target.

Six days later the IRA mounted further incendiary attacks against ten farms in the Manchester area. The first outbreak took place shortly before 8pm and the rest followed shortly afterwards. The fires were set by soaking straw and hay with paraffin and setting it alight. The targets were Dairy House Farm, Dunham Massey; Dawson’s Farm, Dunham Massey; Baguley Hall Farm, Baguley; Barlow Hall Farm, Chorlton-cum-Hardy; Hardy Farm, Chorlton-cum-Hardy; Park Road Farm, Stretford; Lostock Farm, Urmston; Grange Farm, Bramhall; Cutter’s Hill Farm, Outwood, Radcliffe; and Hale Mill Farm, Culcheth near Leigh.

There was an eleventh target, namely Ivy Bank Farm, Sale. When the owner Mr. Jackson came out to investigate a disturbance shots were fired at him by a man in the yard. Fortunately for the farmer they went wide. Police later found a Webley revolver and can of paraffin in Dane Road. The cost of damage for the night’s work was estimated at £30,000. The geographical spread and the number of targets in the campaign of arson points to the existence of a well-organised and well-armed network of IRA members in the Manchester area. There was more attacks on 21st February at Poach Bank Farm, Bury and on 22nd February at Mill Hill Farm, Woodley, where a dutch barn was destroyed by fire

On 22nd March a PC Carr disturbed three men in a doorway whilst patrolling outside Manchester United’s football ground. He challenged them and in reply they fired at him but did not hit him. The officer was armed but had no time to fire back. A wallet was later found with a certificate from the Manchester Royal Infirmary in the name of Patrick Fennell and a picture of Terence MacSwiney. Fennell, who lived at 21 Bedford Street, Chorlton-on-Medlock, was arrested the following day and appeared in court in early April, charged with the attempted murder of the police officer. His landlady was later fined for failing to register her lodger under the Aliens Restriction Act.

On 18th July Fennell was tried before Justice Rigby Swift. At first he was found guilty of being at the football ground but acquitted by the jury of the actual shooting. Then the judge made an extraordinary intervention. “That is not a verdict”, he told the jury,” If the jury find that Fennell was present with other people taking part in something where shooting might take place he is guilty.” The admonished jury then duly returned a verdict of guilty on the second charge. Sentencing Fennell to seven years penal servitude the judge said that in doing so he was assuming that Fennell’s was not the hand that fired the shot.

The most spectacular series of IRA operations in Manchester took place on 2nd April. The day began with a co-ordinated attacks by the IRA in the heart of the city and ended with the shooting dead of a young Irishman by the police in controversial circumstances. The morning’s attacks all took place between 6.00am and 7.00am. It seems likely that the IRA deliberately chose to strike early on a Saturday morning, knowing that there would be fewer passers-by or policemen and that the chosen targets would have only cleaners in them. At Bridgewater House on Whitworth Street four men armed with revolvers held up the cleaner and nightwatchman. Somehow the cleaner managed to slip out of the building and summoned assistance from a police constable named Boucher. When he challenged the men one of them fired at him, wounding the officer. The men then ran off and the policeman tried to give chase before collapsing in the street and being taken to the Infirmary by tram. Police later recovered a revolver and a can of petrol. At 38 George Street the raiding party held up the cleaner at gunpoint and started a fire while at 33 Portland Street three men held up the cleaner and set fire to the building, using some of the cotton goods lying about. The cleaner, who was trapped inside, raised the alarm and firemen arrived, who quickly put out the blaze.

Two men held up the cleaners at gunpoint in the Lyons State Cafe, Piccadilly, whilst a third member of the party tried to start a fire with paraffin. “We are doing now what you are doing in Ireland” said one of men and as they left they fired a shot above the heads of the staff. There were also attacks on three city centre hotels. At Victoria Hotel on Deansgate two men had spent the night there as visitors. After they left staff discovered a fire in their room which had been started using paraffin. There was a similar attempt at the Albion Hotel on Piccadilly, where a man giving his name as H Wilson from Bristol had spent a night. In the morning a chambermaid discovered him spreading petrol on a second floor staircase and setting fire to it. He managed to escape in the confusion, leaving a bag behind. At Blackfriars Hotel two men who had spent the night there under the names of Kay and Matthews left early in the morning, saying that they would be back for breakfast. Later staff found that their room was on fire. One witness described the attackers as “well-dressed young men, between 20 and 30 years of age, of gentlemanly appearance”. A number spoke with Irish accents.

Later that same evening a large number of armed police raised the Irish Club on Erskine Street, Hulme. As they entered the club there was shooting between police and two Irishmen. Constable Bailey and Detective Bolas later claimed that as they entered the building Sean Morgan had confronted them with a revolver in each hand and that therefore Bolas had shot him dead and also wounded Sean Wickham, after the latter had allegedly wounded Bailey. The police arrested a large number of men at the Irish Club and also picked up others over the weekend, including Paddy O’Donoghue. The death of Sean Morgan was registered on 14th April after an inquest, the cause of death being officially given as “Bullet wound to the head. Due to being shot by a police officer whilst the said John Morgan (sic) was resisting the said police officer in the legal exercise of his duty. Justifiable homicide”. A memorial to Sean Morgan was unveiled in Moston cemetery on the ninth anniversary of his death in 1930.
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Despite the arrests of a number of senior figures, including Paddy O’Donoghue, the IRA campaign in Manchester continued. There were three attacks on 19th June on railway signalboxes in Manchester, similar to attacks that had been occurring in London. A signal box near Woodlands road station and a box near Fallowfield station were set alight. The attack on a signalbox near Marple station was more serious. Just after midnight Signalman Edward Axon was working alone when shots were fired at the box which wounded him in the groin and shoulder. Fortunately he was able to summon help and was taken to hospital.

A Treaty between the Republican Government and Britain was signed on 6 December 1921 and IRA operations halted. After a lengthy and sometimes bitter debate Dail Eireann approved the Treaty on 7th January 1922 with 64 votes in favour and 57 against. Sinn Fein had already effectively split into two camps with De Valera opposing the Treaty and Collins and Griffith supporting it. Most of the leadership of the IRA supported the Treaty, but many rank and file members and field commanders opposed, viewing it as a betrayal of everything they had fought for. De Valera resigned as President of Dail Eireann and was replaced by Arthur Griffith. Civil war broke out in June and lasted 12 months, leading to the defeat of the anti-Treaty forces.

The Civil War had some effect in Britain. On 4th June 1922 there were raids on a number of collieries in the St Helens area – including Bold, Sutton Manor, Clockface, Collins Green and Billinge – during which young men dressed in dark suits, armed with revolvers and seemingly well acquainted with the layout of the collieries stole explosives and detonators. There were similar raids in other parts of the country. In October there was an explosion in the Central Detective Office in a Stockport police station when a detonator that was being examined after a raid went off accidentally, slightly injuring a number of civilians and police, including the Chief Constable. John Mulryan of Wilton Street, Reddish was subsequently charged with being in possession of a quantity of arms and ammunition.

By the end of 1922 Irish Republican operations in Britain had come to an end.

Article by Michael Herbert

I think, actually, bed can wait. Might as well post this – I’m already addicted to this!

Today, I plan to attend a campaigning session to get 19 year old Tamoor Tariq elected as a local Labour councillor for Bury Redvales Ward.  He’s a very good lad, and I’m keen to help him. He invited me through his Facebook Events page and I’ll post to let you know how it goes. 3.45pm – 6pm.

Let’s prove to the voters Tamoor and Labour represent change after a disgraceful current Tory council.

Yesterday (16th) I was at Top Banana Studios with Changing Faces (will explain in next post) down in Birmingham. Got up at 5.40am . Left for Metrolink tram at 7am and got off at Victoria (last stop due to blimmin’ track replacements). Walked briskly to Picadilly Station and caught up with the gang. Bought loads of smarties and off to Brummy land. Got there, got a taxi to TB Studio. Soon as our taxi pulled up at the place, cameraman came out filming us exiting . Very embarrasing and weird to be honest. So, basically, got a warm up interview with group for Bridge Award (will explain next post too), then make up (yes I got some powder ) and then time for group photos. These were really good, I think. Doing the jazz hands, vinspired hands and peace signs. Then off to bluescreen to do group interview to camera. Missed James + Afshan though! Did individual pieces to camera and that was it. Oh no, a long bloody wait for a late taxi which meant missing the first train. Stuck in traffic – exec decision to dismount and walk to BHMNEW STREET. No belt on jeans meant I couldn’t run. Damn it. Had to waddle whilst holding my jeans up and then trying to jog.

The next bit just really peed me off. No seats on train for about 1 hr. Stood at back with crew, no air or space. Was travel sick and felt really tired. Got home in one piece though. Ate Jacket Potato with some cheese+tom pasta and Carrot Cake with Ice Cream.

Got some letters about EMA too. And some Dirhams for next weeks holiday in Dubai!!

Will post later to explain Changing Faces Project. Going for real now.

I will also post about preventing violent extremism and community cohesion in a few posts time. Just watching JASON DE LA PENA ♥ on Sky News before I nod off.

Yo…T-Pain is wylin’ out!! Why did dudecome to a party in a hearst bumpin’ Jay-Z’s D.O.A??? Maybe it was because he was burying his “BIG ASS CHAIN” and them silly ass hats….hopefully the auto tune was in there as well!

todays purchase was a good one if i must say. Fully rekindled my love of metal.

defiantly deserves 5Ps i spose you could say.

Go make up your own mind, cos i think its pretty damn fricken good. finger lickin’ if you like.

and check them out on myspace and shit too: myspace.com/burytomorrowband

Posted by Tomm!

Source: vietnamnews.vnagency.com.vn

It’s official – the spankin’ new music video for Blood Tribe’s “In Fair Verona” (directed by yours truly) is officially released! The release party went down this past Friday @ The Duck Inn in Evansville, with live performances by (of course) Blood Tribe, Shatter the Odds, Death of a Hero, and Reverend Fang Gory, where the video was projected for the crowd. The video was  VERY well received, and I was surprised to find that Rev played the music video I did for him (“Sick Made”) before he performed as well! So it was like a Cinephreak music video double feature. Rock. A fun evening indeed. Now you, too, can bask in the awesomeness of Blood Tribe’s epic debacle. Check it below!

ON YOUTUBE:

ON VIMEO:

Comments/ratings are always appreciated.

Be sure to check out Blood Tribe at www.myspace.com/bloodtribe as well as Dark Harvest Records at www.darkharvestrecords.com for more goodies. Rock on, and stay tuned for more awesome…