As I haven’t written anything during the Tory conference I decided to do a bit of a round up to cover the main highlights of the week and providing links to further articles on each subject.

The “Big Bold Welfare Shake Up”

David Cameron started the week by announcing he would be cutting incapacity benefits by finding 500,000 people to switch to Job Seekers Allowance instead at £25 less a week. The plan is to medically reassess people to see if they are really fit to work, as if that doesn’t already occur anyway. You cannot just claim “I am incapacitated” and get incapacity benefit, your claim has to be strongly backed up by medical evidence from professionals who decide how much help you are entitled to based on certain criteria. The fondness for stories highlighting benefit cheats who claim they can barely walk but then take photographs of themselves wrestling crocodiles probably give the impressing that anybody can falsely claim but these stories are the minority. The majority on incapacity benefit genuinely cannot work because of physical or mental impairments and have already faced assessment to ensure their claims are genuine.

As for announcing that these people pulled off incapacity benefit would then be given help to find work, as if helping people to find work were a radical suggestion, several schemes already exist already under Labour which help both the fit and able and those with disabilities; New Deal, Access to Work, Job Introduction Scheme, Employment Zones, Pathways to Work, Progress2Work, Work Trials, Programme Centres and more. The help is already there so basically all Cameron is suggesting is taking £25 a week of certain people who “aren’t disabled enough”. That’s those caring Conservatives for you.

Further reading:

The Tories see the welfare bill as a piggy bank to be raided for tax cuts of deficit reduction. – Graeme Cook.

Cameron’s ‘new’ policy on jobs has a whiff of the 1980s about it. – David Coats.

Holes In Conservative Welfare Plan – James Purnell.

Cant Judge a Party by Their Homophobic, Xenophobic Friends…

The Tories kindly invited their friend Michal Kaminsky of the Polish Law and Justice Party to speak at conference, despite the fact that this man and his party hold dangerously homophobic, racist, sexist and nationalistic views. It’s worth remembering that the Tories have other European friends, such as the Latvian ‘For Fatherland and Freedom’ Party who hold similar disgusting views and also like to celebrate their role in Hitler’s SS. Charming stuff.

Quite rightly Kaminsky’s appearance caused an outrage, prompting this open letter to David Cameron asking him to reconsider the Tory grouping with such a party, signed by high profilers such as Stephen Fry and Eddie Izzard and much questioning as to whether or not the Tories in general have changed their views on gay and lesbian relationships or was the Section 28 apology just part of the “not the nasty party”, “caring Conservatives” facade? Hmm… I wonder?

I’m sure not all Tories are homophobic but there’s definitely still elements of the party who I highly doubt have changed their minds since they brought in Section 28 back in 1988. If they truly were a party free from homophobia then they simply would not ally themselves with such people in Europe, they would be appalled by the views of such parties and want nothing to do with them, like the rest of us. Apologizing for Section 28 and holding their first gay pride event at conference means nothing whilst they still group themselves with these parties.

The Tory response so far seems to be that they will be “monitoring their new partners in Europe for evidence of homophobia”, well I’m sure that will make all the difference…

Further reading:

Tories quizzed over links to EU allies with ‘extreme views’. – Michael Savage.

How can Cameron be fit to be Prime Minister with such dubious allies in Europe? – Rachel Reeves.

Tory MEP’s false claims on gay rights. – Will Straw.

George Osborne: Bad With Sums

One would hope that a Shadow Chancellor could get his maths correct but George Osborne’s sums just didn’t add up during his speech to conference on Wednesday. At first it was announced with gusto that raising the retirement age would save £13bn a year, then the figure was quietly dropped to £3bn when people started asking where the mystery £10bn had come from. I’m no maths expert but a £10bn difference seems quite a large mistake in the adding.

Osborne also announced a one year pay freeze in 2011 for the 4 million public sector workers who earn more than £18,000 a year. The mean UK salary is £24,000, presumably they are worried about increasing it too much, lest we all get too well-off. They £18,000 cut of was set to suggest that the Tories wanted to protect those on the “lower” salaries of under £18,000, hugely ironic for anybody familiar with what is currently happening in Leeds, where the Tory/Lib Dem council have prompted a refuse workers strike by trying to cut the workers salaries from £18,000 to £12,000. An example of just how much they really “protect” those on lower incomes when they are in power.

The announcement of such drastic cuts, described as a massive gamble by much of the media, was said to demonstrate just how “honest” the Tories are. They are not honest, these are just the plans they are telling us about, I’m sure they have several nasty surprises ready and waiting to be unleashed if they do gain power. Plus, how can you believe a party that claims it wants to protect those on under £18,000 a year when it’s simultaneously busy attempting to slash the pay of those on £18,000 in another part of the country?

Further Reading:

Today Osborne ducked the key questions, aiming for one-liners and easy headlines instead. Rachel Reeves.

Osborne bets the election on public sector pay. – Andrew Grice.

George Osborne lifts veil on his age of austerity. – Patrick Wintour.

Mr Osborne’s maths… and morals. – Liam Byrne.

“We’re common people, donchaknow?”

The Tories are spending a lot of time and energy lately trying to play down what people see as the “Tory toff” stereotype, meanwhile Boris Johnson bumbles about the country like someone who just stepped out of a P.G Wodehouse novel, so it’s not going too well. The feeling is that class differences could prove to be a great weakness for the Tories at the next election so the Tories are desperate to prove that they aren’t a bit privileged or posh. They must be hoping that most of the country are dreadfully stupid because you’d have to be to fall for it.

Cameron’s class embarrassment started early on in the week when he was asked by Andrew Marr on Sunday if it was true that he and his wife have a combined wealth of £30m (kinda puts that whole £18,000 salary freeze in perspective doesn’t it?). Cameron managed to answer the question without actually answering the question at all, mumbling something irrelevant about changing house prices. He continued by stating his embarrassment about the existence of this delightful photograph:

The general Tory excuse for this seems to be “well we all did rather silly things in our youth”, that’s true. I also did silly things when I was 19, however I never found myself donning a £1,200 tailcoat, posing for a photograph on some steps outside Oxford, with my restaurant-destroying chums and an “I was born unto the ruling classes” expression upon my face. Denying and making excuses does no good. Nobody is going to forget their background or past behaviors.

Some argue that many members of the Labour Party are just as privileged and well-off. True, but I’ve never seen any of them in such a photograph either. The Tories like to ramble on about ‘Broken Britain’ and problems within society, the fact is people like Cameron know absolutely nothing about ordinary people, living in ordinary Britain, the North especially. Perhaps Cameron should take a visit to a real deprived estate or area; look around and talk to people and see what is really going on. I don’t mean a nice, planned out PR visit where we line up some young hoodies to hug and some crack dealers to cuddle, I mean an impromptu visit to the real world. At the moment I get the impression that the Tories get their main information about British society from the tabloids who are constantly demonizing anybody aged 11-19, telling us all teenage boys are drunk knife wielding thugs and all teenage girls are uneducated, pregnant, smokers.

Media “Fizzgate”

Tying in neatly with the toff troubles was the overly hyped “Fizzgate”, reminding us that the media will unashamedly add the word “gate” to anything. The fuss started after the Tories were warned not to be seen openly quaffing champagne, in case the came across as too triumphant, and of course too toff. They obviously couldn’t resist, however, because several high-profile Tories including David Cameron, Alan Duncan and Michael Howard were all snapped glass in hand.

The champagne theme continued behind the scenes as Tories brought a healthy trade to their little conference shopping mall, where bottles of Harvey Nichols champagne proved rather popular. Other treats available at the mall during the ‘age of austerity’ were £60 Tory cuff links, £50 silk shirts and Crombie coats for a bargain at £200 – £400. Not at all wealthy or privileged then…

More champagne news included a Tory party member allegedly stealing a bottle of champagne from the Midland Hotel and the Cambridge University Conservative Association (CUCA) distributing leaflets to members, including information of where to buy the best champagne. Suffice to say, getting a little tired of all the champagne related stories by now but they are still good value.

Further Reading:

Times are Toff for Cambridge University Tories – George Owers.

Conference shops prove Tory hit. – Brian Wheeler.

The perils of privilege: why class remains Cameron’s Achilles’ heel. – Andy McSmith.

The Big Speech – Cameron and the Contradictions

Despite borrowing and slightly altering a few phrases from successful politicians, like Barack Obama and Tony Blair, Cameron’s speech fell short of spectacular and even sense in some places. Many articles have already analysed his speech very well, so I won’t go into it in detail, suffice to say I wasn’t impressed. Cameron quoted false facts and figures, made several contradictions and misunderstandings. If he can’t even grasp some basic economic principles and get his statistics right in a speech then what hope would he have as PM, really?

Further reading on Cameron’s speech:

David Cameron’s speech: Reaction. – Will Straw.

Mr. Cameron, your speech was hypocritical, hollow and dangerous. – Rowenna Davis.

Cameron’s speech: an exercise in false brinkmanship. – Tom Nicholls.

More Bono than King, Cameron’s speech was sex, lies and videotape. – Alex Smith

So just how is Cameron going to give power to the people? – Steve Richards.

Keith Joseph and Ronald Reagan would have been cheering Cameron on. – Paul Richards.

Other issues worth mentioning from the Tory conference are the many blunders Boris Johnson seems to have made this week, as well as Grayling making an idiot of himself over Dannatt, but if I were to go into all the ridiculous things the Tories have said and done this week we could be here a long time…

Ok, so you know I’ve blogged about these dudes before. They’re awesome, I love their sound. On my going away party night, just before I set off for the U.S, Momenta played a rocking set at The TOFF in Town down Swanston. Everyone got into it and it went off. Stay tuned and check their Myspace out for the next gig, October 17th. Michael Dixon and Jeremy Kirk will rock you soon.

Fox hunters are being coached on ways to shake off their out-of-touch, upper-class, “toff” image. The Countryside Alliance is providing media training for hunt masters, kennel staff and others. The courses give guidance on dealing with the local and national press, mock TV interviews, and advice on how to behave.

Presumably if they act like they’ve just wondered off a council estate we’ll forget that their “sport” involves getting dogs to tear foxes to pieces whilst riding around on a horse sporting scarlet coats, incidentally, both horses and coats are recommended not to be seen in any television interviews.

Tim Bonner of the Countryside Alliance told the Sunday Express that “Too often, the people defending hunting on TV came across as arrogant, aloof, out-of-touch toffs, quite often on horseback,” Mr Bonner said. “Hunting is very diverse, attracting people from all backgrounds, yet you would not know that from the media coverage. We are preparing the ground for next year when we expect hunting to become an issue again, and making sure that when the cameras do turn up everyone will be confident they know what they are doing.”

It’s a bit much that you have to coach somebody on how to act so that they don’t come across as an arrogant and out-of-touch, can they not find anybody who isn’t arrogant and “toff”-like to do the interviews? If they can’t then the point they are trying to make about diversity is clearly rubbish.

Maybe they could hire a few hoodies as front men? Cameron knows a few…

This has become an issue ahead of the General Election, the Countryside Alliance are trying gather support as the Conservatives are committed to a free vote on the repeal of the Hunting Act if they win the next election. William Hague has described the Act, which was passed in 2004, as “deeply prejudiced” and “ridiculously unworkable” last month, although I would argue that repealing the act is rather more prejudiced against foxes…

Labour is keen highlight Tory support for removal of the foxhunting ban to show the party has not really changed. At the Norwich North by-election, Labour issued leaflets with a picture of a fox cub and the words: “Vote Labour or the fox gets it”.

I am doubtful that such image coaching will fool the majority of people and I rather think it is arrogant in itself to believe that people will fall for this media ploy. I suppose at least it gives Labour a good campaigning point for the election. “Cameron Wants Us To Kill Foxes For Fun”

Not the nasty party…?

Dangerous Temptation!

“Go on Timmy.  Try it, it’s fun.”
But Timmy knew better.

“Go on Timmy.  Take it for a run.”
But Timmy was no go-getter.

“Go on Timmy.  See if it’ll fit.”
But Timmy was a real toff.

“Go on Timmy.  See if it’s still lit.”
And Timmy had his stupid face blown off.

Idiot!

N.B. You can hear “Tempting Timmy” read by Radio 4’s Peter White by clicking on the file in the Poetry Audio box at the top right of this page.

Teenagers like to test authority. It’s like a chav getting his first gold chain, or a toff swishing her first pashmina around a well-groomed neck. It’s just the done thing, as sure to happen as teenage pregnancy while the government still gives you a house as a birthing gift (true story: when I worked at Portsmouth Ferry Port, I foolishly asked the 16 year old cafe girls their career plans. “I’ll probably have a couple of kids, that way I get a house and a car and I could probably give this up. I want to be pregnant this year probably.”)

And thrust these rebellious teenagers into an atmosphere where they are confined in each others’ company and you create a gladiatorial atmosphere of posturing and showing off. Who is the hardest, the most daring? Who really doesn’t give a shit? Trouble, it’s intoxicating for a teenager. Push it that bit too far, let’s watch the firweworks.

So you have to feel sorry for teachers. It is them that has to bear the brunt of the action. Nine hours a day for five days a week, they are trapped in a classroom with 30 kids, all of whom judge their own social standing on their ability to piss off, mentally destabilise, or maim the teacher.

Now the sensible option would be to arm teachers with the weaponry to hit back. A gun or a grenade, for example. Perhaps some tear gas.

I jest, forgive me.Though in some schools I am sure the subtle sound of an Uzi being placed on the desk and aimed at the “most challenging” pupil would improve results spectacularly. Unfortunately, in some areas of London or Manchester, it would be the pupil with the Uzi and that pupil would probably be well-versed in using it.

But teachers do need something. Shouting, detention and lines are not up to the job.

“Stop it Simon, I’ll put you in detention!”

“And…?”

“And… so stop it!”

“Fuck off sir, you twat”

“Get out!”

“No”

That would probably get that kid a suspension, if he’s lucky, and if so, a place in his year’s hall of fame of arseholes feared and respected by his peers in equal measure. It would raise him up to legend status. And the teacher? Well his career is fucked. No-one will be respecting his authority. He is impotent. A flacid cock of a teacher. No-one gives a shit anymore about what he says.

And this is the problem. Their is no fear. Children are not stupid. They recognise weakness. And teachers have been rendered weak. They teach with their arms tied behind their backs, their mouths taped over and their legs chained to the desk, while the government sends down memos telling them they are responsible for producing well-rounded citizens as the parents who’s job it should be are unfit to do the job.(Side note: if they are not capable, sterilize the fuckers. A pupil in my mum’s class is one of seven kids under nine years old, all of whom are from different dad’s and all of whom are on the social services “to watch list”).

It’s ludicrous. Hey Gordon, why not tell them to split the atom, solve world hunger and make Mars a viable living space while they are it?

So I have some sympathy for the teacher arrested for “attempted murder” in Nottingham. It could have been any teacher. It was an assualt waiting to happen. He has a stroke through stress, he comes back to work, and he has a class of little arseholes taunting the shit out of him. And he knows that he can do nothing about it. He knows he has lost the class. And all he wants to do is prove that they are not as powerful as they think they are, that he is capable of shutting them up, that he is not impotent.

So he smashes one of their skulls in.

While I don’t advocate it, I can see where it has come from. The kids are not alright. They are out of control. A newly qualified teacher friend of my auntie turned to the blackboard and a pupil snuck up and pulled her trousers down. He got detention. That’s it. When did bullying and assualt become legal just because it is done by a child and in a classroom?

The solution? Reintroducing physical discipline is obviously dangerous territory. The danger of a psychopathic teacher is always there. And just chucking badly behaved pupils out of a school isn’t going to work either. They will just roam the streets causing even more trouble.

But having some recourse is needed. Removing the key instigator, the bravest of the little shits, from the classroom and into isolation would be best for all parties. And the use of a security professional, just one per school, who is allowed to pop into the classroom, pick up said little shit and transport him to a secure room where a teacher does some one-on-one educating with him would, or should, work.The rest, seeing what has happened, should fall into line. The worse thing for a teenager to experience is loneliness, separation from the pack.

So why not put a security professional authorised  to use physical force into every school? At least then you can ensure the proper checks are done, that they are trained in restraint, and that the overheads are not excessive. Teachers are increasingly becoming referees. Put someone into a school who is qualified to do that. And that way the teacher does have a weapon of retalliation, so they can get on with what they are paid to do. Teach.

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Personally, I don’t have a problem with the monarch in the UK. Yes, the Queen is the head of state, but she doesn’t go abusing that position in the way most African leaders do. Will Self has a go at Prince Charles and although he uses lots of big words and puts his point across in a forthright manner I don’t think I want the monarchy to go. Why I hear you ask, well because it’s just grand to have an aristocracy that truly invests in its lineage. I wish there were more toffs, and I wish I had their telephone numbers!

People often tell me, “the appreciation of classical music is a definite sign that you’re getting old”, but why should that be the case? Am I doomed to middle-age at the not so tender age of 21, with senility looming by 30? Some who know me personally may respond with a resounding “yes”, but despite that, some people question why I like “classical music”.

It has, no doubt, been identified with the older members of society as well as being accociated with the upper-middle class, for reasons that is quite obvious so I won’t get into. However, specticles such as the BBC Proms, I believe, has made it innaccesable, even taboo, amongst us peasants. For example, the pomposity of “in jokes” and traditions: I remember watching a clip (on Room 101 I believe) from the Proms where a Cello player plays a mournful, minor-key piece, to which the crowd of toffs are handed hankercheifs and they proceed to “fake cry”.

Anyway, I digress. Basically, I urge any of the young folk out there to shake off any of those preconceptions, because there is some superb music out there, great for relaxation or as an accompianment to other tasks, such as writing or cleaning.

Also, just because you like “classical music”, it doesn’t mean you have to like all of it, as there are a huge variety of styles (after all, it has a history far longer than “popular music”.) For instance, my discovery of classical music came from learning to play piano over the summer. I like Beethoven a lot, while I can’t understand Mozart at all (they are extremely different), but I have become obsesssed with the Romantic period, esspecially Frederic Chopin, whose genious is beyond explaination. I’ve been fairly successful at learning the Nocturne I’ve “You-tubed”, as well as a few others of his, all of which are a absolute joy to learn and play. 

Just give it a try. Don’t worry, it won’t make you a 70 year-old aristocrat… I promise.

Short film by Mike Leigh.
A friend showed me this the other day.
It’s basically a 20 minute monologue performed by Jim Broadbent (who also wrote the piece) as the 23rd Earl of Leete.

Just watch it all, and you’ll soon realize how hilarious it really is.

Crewe and Nantwich hasn’t seen so much media attention in decades. But as the cameras, journalists and politicians disappear, what’s the end result? Edward Timpson the Conservative candidate has taken what was a Labour seat.

Tamsin Dunwoody, the Labour candidate, should have easily taken the seat. Her mother, Gwyneth, had a 7000 majority at the last general election. So what went wrong? Labour ministers are claiming it’s the economy that’s the problem. But wasn’t that what they were blaming after the local elections just three weeks ago?

I know the economy doesn’t change overnight, but you would have thought they’d have changed their tactics. But they did – bringing class back into Labour canvassing. But the clear answer is that claiming the ‘Tory toffs’ are back didn’t work.

No Labour official has said in so many words that the tactics were wrong – they just “disapprove”. Which is as close as you’ll hear.

I’m not saying 8000 votes disappeared from Labour just because of the class effect. But I don’t think it was just the economy either.

New Labour’s campaign in the forthcoming Crewe and Nantwich by-election has hit something of a low, with the attempt to portray Conservative candidate Edward Timpson as a “toff” drawing a lot of well-justified flak. Timpson is indeed a very wealthy man; Labour candidate Tamsin Dunwoody’s attempt to portray herself as an unemployed working mother of five rings particularly hollow in the light of the fact that her late mother was the last MP. Evidently the hereditary principle is alive and well.

And yet, nasty and irrelevant though this particularly piece of campaigning undoubtedly is, there is a question that needs asking here about the inclusivity of British politics. The preponderance of Old Etonians at the top of the Conservative Party is well known; but Labour has now moved a long way from its Trade Union roots and the recent contest for the leadership of the Liberal Democrats was conducted between two men who had attended the same public school and university.

Now as far as the individual is concerned, the fact that he or she has been to a certain type of school probably doesn’t matter very much. But the collective picture is a different matter. The fact that we now have a professional political class – drawn across the parties from people who have similar, privileged backgrounds and who increasingly have no experience of an occupation outside politics – has to be a concern in a country where public faith in politicians is at something of an all-time low and in which the proportion of the electorate who turn out to vote is steadily declining.

There’s a concern that politics is increasingly becoming a rich man’s game, and that applies across all the parties. In a society in which most people are having to work harder and harder simply to keep financially afloat, and in which the idea that a family can live comfortably on the national average income is increasingly a piece of history, only those who have made their pile (or indeed inherited it) are in a position to commit the time and resources needed even for membership of a local authority. And, for all the recent revelations about the John Lewis list our politicians in Britain remain among the lowest paid in Europe, increasing that pressure further.

Now the job of democratic politicians is to represent, and to use their judgement in doing so – there will be no advocacy of plebiscitary politics on this blog. But it seems to me that when the body corporate of our political institutions is drawn from an increasingly narrow part of society, democracy has to suffer. It’s the shared, closed assumptions that are so damaging; the sense one has that, for example, Gordon Brown’s 10p tax debacle came from the fact that nobody in Government knows or cares what it is like to raise a family on £18,000 per year.

And this remoteness plays into the hands of extremists, who play on the fears of precisely that excluded class.

At the last General Election in 2005, Labour won the Crewe and Nantwich constituency seat with a 7,078 majority. This has been a solid Labour seat, and yet when voting takes place this Thursday in the by-election, they will lose it to the Conservatives. It’s sad watching the Labour Party resort to “class-war” tactics labelling Edward Timpson, the Conservative  candidate, as a  “Tarporley Toff” and following him around with activists dressed in top hat and tails. The “toffs” claim is based on Labour claims that Timpson went to a public school and is apparently wealthy.

These are claims which assume the electorate is stupid. The Labour candidate, Tamsin Dunwoody is the daughter of the late Gwyneth Dunwoody and the grand daughter of Baroness Norah Phillips. She owns a large estate in Wales and is listed in Burke’s Landed Gentry the official list of “Toffs”. Her Conservative opponent Edward Timpson is NOT listed in Burke’s.

But, the Labour Party claim is even more hypocritical considering the individual wealth and public school background of many Labour Ministers. Harriet Harman (ex public school herself!) has already said that this class-war strategy may not have yielded “the most positive” campaign and yet PM Gordon Brown is thought to have personally authorised the use of class as a campaign issue, despite the reservations of a number of senior ministers and advisers.

Wealth is no longer a major issue in British politics. We are all now aspirational. Gordon is obviously still locked into a 1970’s time warp and he is paying the price for it in the polls.

Memo: for N.American readers, public schools in Britain are actually fee paying schools. They educate about 8% of the population vs government funded schools which educate the remaining 90%+.

H/T Tangled Web

Okay, es ist nicht Daytona-Beach und es werden wahrscheinlich auch nicht so viel heiße Öfen kommen, aber für alle Fotografie und Motorrad-Begeisterte ein absolutes Muss.

http://www.magic-bike-ruedesheim.com/

Also, rauf aufs Töff und dahin!

You’re English!

Algerlega þemalag síðasta laugardags. Það var svakalegt. Weird girls kvöld númer II, og hvernig það þriðja á eftir að verða get ég ekki einu sinni gert mér hugarlund um, því að elskurnar mínar, við vorum frá toppi til táar klæddar í spandex. Þá er ég að tala um heilan galla, aðeins með op fyrir andlitið. Svakaalegt, og jú, snilldin, rennilásinn í klofinu. HAH! Hann kom sér vel þegar að pissa þurfti á skrallinu, eins og flestir vita er oft barið á salernishurðir vegna óþolinmæðis og þær hefðu einfaldlega verið sparkaðar niður ef við þóttumst ætla að klæða okkur úr öllum gallanum til að pissa.

Fyrst var myndatkana fyrir SHUT Magazine, Hörður hinn mikli tók myndir, og efa ég ekki að þær verði neitt annað en stórfenglegar. Eftir það var haldið á leikvöll í grenndinni og tekið upp vídjó, svona eins og hefðin er. Heima hjá Kitty voru í boði steiktar kartöflur á la Kitty og heimatilbúnar pizzur á la Hulda plús helling af áfengi! Damn straight!

Á leiðinni niður í bæ átti það óhapp sér stað að Kitster steig ofan í opin ljóskastara sem ekki var gler yfir á Austurvelli, á endanum náði ég að tala hana til og sannfæra hana að hún þyrfti að fara upp á slysó sem og hún gerði. Fékk 6 spor. Sárið var ógeðslegt, oj. Eftir allt hú ha-ið splundruðumst við píurnar svo lítið en á endanum náðum við saman aftur á Kaffi Kózý því að þar höfðu verið lofaðir okkur fríir kokteilar. Naaammi.

Kvöldið endaði heldur illa hjá 2 fýsum í hópnum en ég var rænd í enda kvöldsins. Ekki af einhverjum klókum þjófi sem að ætlaði sko ærlega að hagnast, heldur einhverjum helberum og hreinræktuðum fávita, því að taskan mín varð eftir á Kaffibarnum (fann hana daginn eftir). Arnar húsvörður/dyravörður/fyndni gaurinn hafði fundið hana, og einnig dótið mitt úr henni um öll gólf. Þar á meðal 17.ooo kr sérsaumuðu Starkiller buxunum mínum (hafði verið í þeim yfir gallann á leið niður í bæ, en að sökum hita farið úr þeim, sett í poka og ofan í veski). SVEKK! Þær voru út ataðar í glerbrotum og bjór/djamm ógeði. Auk þess sem að tekið var úr töskunni var ilmvatn sem að er aðeins til á eBay, en þó eBay!. Lyfin mín, myndvélin hennar Kitty, snúra fyrir mp3 spilara, meikið mitt (í alvöru, hver stelur meiki, í alvöru!?) og annað óþarfa drasl.
Vá hvað karma mun taka þennan/þessa í rassgatið. Mhhhmmmm.

Myndir frá fyrri part kvöldsins hér.
E-r á myspace-inu mínu. (Eiginlega sömu)
2 af nokkrum á Reykjavíklooks.

Shizzle!

Lilja.
X.

Heldur stefnan…

Einhvernvegin svona hljóða ‘kvót’ frá einhverjum Óliver. Ég var göngu upp Laugavegin og las þetta snögglega af auglýsingaskilti fyrir Domo. Fannst þetta eiga vel við mig þessa dagana.

 Ég verð að fara taka mig á ef ég þykist ætla að standa mig í þessum bloggheimi. Þið verðið að afsaka. Pían er í 2 vinnum og 21 einingu í skóla, ásamt því að eiga í fullu með sjálfa sig.

Fyrir utan félagsfræði, uppeldisfræði, sálfræði og mörg önnur fræði verkefni þá hefur ýmislegt gengið á. Þar efst á lista má nefna Vaknaðu! tónleikana sem að Forma stendur fyrir. Björk, KK, Esja, Lay Low, Pétur Ben, Wulfgang og Magga Stína, ég held þó alltaf að ég sé að gleyma einhverjum. Síðan verður lesið upp úr dagbókum átröskunar sjúklinga. Eitt sem að ég hefði viljað koma að en er þó voðalega tæpt útaf þéttri dagskrá er að koma ljósi á manneskjur sem að hafa náð bata meðal annars vegna Forma, eins og ég sjálf. Ég vil að fólk geri sér grein fyrir því hversu mikilvægt starf þessar stelpur eru að vinna og allt án launa, þó svo að starfið sem að ég hef unnið fyrir þær er það mest gefandi sem að ég hef nokkurn tímann unnið. Þær eru að taka við einstaklingum sem að geta ekki leitað neitt annað. Eru ekki nógu grannir en án efa jafn veikir og hver annar sem að er með 16 BMI. Landspítalinn einfaldlega hefur ekki nægt pláss, og ég vil taka það fram að ég er ekki að gera lítið úr starfi þeirra þó svo að þar sé margt sem að hægt er að bæta. Ég segi þetta meira í þeim tilgangi að fólk þarf að vekja ríkisstjórnina til umhugsunar um þetta mál. Það vantar meðferðarstofnun, og það strax. Meðferðarstofnun fyrir þessa einstaklinga er jafn mikilvæg og hver önnur meðferðarstofnun fyrir alkahólista eða fíkla. Þetta er lífshættulegur sjúkdómur sem að dregur til dauða og margra annarra fylgikvilla sem að fylgja manni mörg ár eftir á og jafn vel lífslangt.

Þeir sem að þekkja til þessara málefna vita að það er hægt að skrifa bók um þetta. En ég ætla að láta gott heita hér og einfaldlega að biðja ykkur um að sýna þessu málefni stuðning og kaupa miða. Miðaverð er 3.900 kr og fást miðar á midi.is, Skífunni og í BT.

 Um helgina var haldið í afmæli til Sunnu sætu þar sem mikið var um gleði. Jafnvel þó svo að ég hafi misst af sörpræsinu mikla þá skildi það eftir sig bros á þessari fallegu stúlku sem að endist allt kvöldið. Takk fyrir mig.
Laugardaginn var það GusGus. Jafnvel þó svo að ég átti frátekna miða fyrir mig og Katrínu þá þurfti ég að bíða í röð í klukkutíma, enda var opnað 40 mínútum eftir að það var sagst ætla opna. Það er eina sem að ég hef út á að setja um þessa tónleika, pínu lásí. Kitty hélt fyrirpartí eins og henni einni er lagið og fengu veigar að njóta sín. Mín fékk sér kannski einum of mikið af gula hlaupinu og lét það til sín segja þegar að ég týndi öllum og var eins og einfari sem að vafraði milli fólk og tók dansspor með ókunnugum sem og kunnugum. Allt við þessa tónleika var æðislegt. GusGus, búningarnir, tónlistin, dansinn, söngurinn, orkan og gleðin. Ó mæææ deeeis. Þetta verður seint toppað, og þá eflaust verður þetta einungis toppað af þessu tríói.
Eftir á var það Kósý, samtal við ókunnuga úti á götu, eftir partí hjá ókunnugum (Takk Gestur, ég man meira að segja nafn hans) og svo te partí hjá Kitty daginn eftir. Alveg fín helgi.

 En ég er haldin út, á meðan að það er sól, að hengja upp plaköt fyrir tónleikana! Woop!

Lilja.
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Þarfnast meiri umfjöllunar…

 Svona þegar að ég er í gati og hef ekkert að gera. Hún var einfaldlega svo æðisleg. Hún byrjaði á fimmtudeginum eiginlega.

Fimmtudagurinn 22. febrúar.

Endurgerður Q Bar. Ekki svo mikið hlutlægt, heldur huglægt. Formlega opnaður sem “Queer” Bar. Mikið var um húllumhæ sem að Óli Hjörtur stóð fyrir og fríar veigar svo langt sem augun eygðu. Kampavín, hvít og rauðvín, bjór, Smirnoff Ice og Cult Shaker. Ég held að enginn hafi verið að hata það.
Ki Ki nokkur Ow þeytti skífum og gerði það, eins og alltaf, með glæsibrag og stóð fyrir miklu stuði og dansi fram að lokun. Ljósmyndir voru teknar og getur þú spekka mig, Katrínu og Fanny á einhverri blaðsíðu Fréttablaðsins í gær. Mér finnst við sætar. Ég hitti mikið af fólki og tók dansspor með flestum. Harpa nokkur sem að ég hafði aldrei verið formlega kynnt fyrir fyrr en fyrir nokkrum vikum var þarna, þessi fallega kona er í einstöku uppáhaldi hjá mér. Þau eru ófá danssporin sem að við höfum tekið á Sirkus og nær hún alltaf að kreista fram bros á andliti mínu. Friðrik minn var þarna auðvitað, Svala kíkti við, ég hitti Daníel Ágúst, gamla grunnskóla vin og síðan einn gamlan og góðan myspace félaga. Hah.
Ágætt kvöld.

Föstudagurinn 23. febrúar.

Þið fenguð svona gróflega lýsingu á honum hér fyrir neðan. Þetta var æðislegt. ÆÐISLEGT. Allir klæddu sig upp eins og ég veit ekki hvað. Við vorum með magadansara, gull litaða stelpu frá toppi til táar, mafíuósa Jesú, Kattarkonuna, Ofurhetju og sjórængja. Ég gæti haldið áfram. Allir voru svo ofsalega uppteknir af því að hafa sig til að öll drykkja gleymdist. uppúr 1 áttuðu allir sig á því að full skál af bollu sat og beið okkar inn í eldhúsi. Eftir mikinn glowstick dans og þeyting út um allt að finna fullkomna aukahluti fyrir átfittið sitt var sú ískalda bolla kærkomin. Öllum virtist vera sama hvaða glasi þeir drukku úr, allir voru að reyna að, tjah, verða fullir. Allavega hífaðir.
Okkur tókst það.
Haldið var fótgangandi á Sirkus og mörg voru andlitin sem liti tilbaka eftir að hafa gengið fram hjá okkur. Margir spurðu sig hvort að öskudagur hefði ekki verið á miðvikudaginn. En þetta var okkar öskudagur.
Þetta kvöld lifðum við allar eins og kóngar, höfðum tilkynnt komu okkar á Sirkus fyrir fram. Því löbbuðum við raklaust inn, tókum af okku og upp á stóla! Eins og kvöldið áður var Harpa þar með Krumma að dj-a. Spilað var mikið af nostalgíu 80’s hitturum. Áður en ég vissi Var Daníel Ágúst kominn upp á stól við hliðina á mér, síðan þotinn upp á borð. Kitty mætti með kampavínsflösku frá barnum og bauð vinum í glas. Þar á eftir mætti Daníel með eina slíka líka.
Ég er frekar ánægð að allir enduðu jafn mikið á rassgatinu og ég. Því að það var ég, á rassgatinu. Katrín yfirgaf okkur fljótt. Seinna stungu Kitty og Fanny af. Ég neitað að fara og ætlaði að dansa eins og engin morgundagur væri. Tók nokkur dansspor með Hörpu og Daníel og þegar að ég viðurkenndi að áfengið hefði sigrað hélt ég heim.

Sunnudagurinn 27. febrúar.

Bíltúr austur fyrir fjall. Verslað í Bónus í Hvergerði. Ég elska litlu systur mína. Maturinn var bestur.

 Góða nótt.
Lilja.
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MONEY, SUCCESS, FAME, GLAMOUR…

Þakkir fara til Kitty og allra stelpnanna sem að gerðu föstudagskvöldið síðasta að einu því besta sem að ég hef upplifað! Ef ekki bara það besta. Myndbandið segir mikið, og myndarnar enn meira. Þær eru hér. Gervi blóð, trúðamálnings, æðislegir búningar og átfitt, bolla, myndataka fyrir SHUT Magazine, glowsticks (teipuð um líkama okkar), kampavín, dans uppi á stólum og borðum á Sirkus og síðan voru líka sætir strákar þar. Ó mæ.

Þarna hækkuðum við allar standardinn á hvað er geggjað partí. En ég hef engar áhyggjur, við virðumst alltaf geta toppað okkur.

Lilja.
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Þegar að fríar veigar eru fyrir hendi…

Og dansvæn tónlist spiluð alla nóttina, er ekki við öðru að búast nema að maður endi uppá stól, að dansa eins og að það sé enginn morgun dagur. Þannig líður mér oft þegar að ég missi mig í dansi, alveg eins og að það sé engin morgundagur. Allar tilfinningar varðandi álit annarra á sjálfum sér fara í burtu eins og þeim væri sturtað niður í klósett, og maður missir sig. Verður alveg sama.

Ég elska það, þetta er svo mikil útrás fyrir mig.

Ég er ekki frá því að maður getur orðið háður dansi, eins og að ég var hér áður fyrr ‘háð’ því að hafa allt í röð og reglu, áráttu og þráhyggjuröskun. Það róaði mig, að hafa stjórn á einhverju. Nú er það fokið út um gluggann, ásamt annarri röskun, guði sé lof, enda varla hægt að sjá í gólf inni hjá mér fyrir drasli og hefur vinnusemi mín aldrei verið lakari. Sem lét mig hugsa um þetta, kannski væri þetta mín nýjasta fíkn. Dans, fólk og félagsskapur. Katrín var einmitt að pæla í því um daginn hvað það væri sem að væri ástríða hennar, hvað gæti rifið hana upp úr rúminu, í náttfötunum og svefni næst. Við svöruðum einróma “djamm”. Hvort sem að það er slæmt eða ekki. Það er bara eitthvað við það að vera saman komin með fólki sem maður elskar og líkar vel við, hefur gaman af nærveru þeirra, tala saman og fara trúnó, síðan er það dansinn. Ó þessi dans, ég gæti talað endalaust um dans. Ég er búin að sitja í allt kvöld og hlusta á Lo-Fi-FNK, RJD2, Does that offend you, yeah ? og Bookashade og ég þurfti að hemja mig frá því að standa bara upp á stól mínum og dansa.

Þegar að föstudagur rennur upp…

Þá verður gaman. Kitty er búin að skipuleggja myndatöku fyrir blaðið SHUT magazine (afsprengi Wrong Eyed Jesus Magazine sem að meðal annars Kitty sér um) með mér og nokkrum öðrum stelpum. Búið er að redda ljósmyndara og bakgrunni. Aðal þemað í fyrsta tölublaði þessara blaðs er ‘weird girls’ og eins og stendur mun Beta prýða forsíðuna, þið sem að voruð á Sirkus þar síðustu helgi munið kannski eftir henni klædda upp sem dauða brúði. Hot stuff. Hvernig myndir okkar munu verða ætla ég að halda leyndu, en verið viss, þetta verður geðveikt. I’ll keep you posted.

En, verðandi næstu helgi…

 Hver kemur með mér að dansa á Sirkus næsta föstudag ?

Lilja.
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Endlich war es soweit. Ein Wochenende in unserer neuen Heimat, Motorrad vollgetankt, schlechtes Gewissen gegenüber Lieblingskunden gemildert. Also Kopf frei für eine Moto-Ausfahrt.

Die Route · rot = geplant, weiß = tatsächliche Route

Von Langenthal aus geht es durch das Emmental zum Schallenbergpass und von dort aus weiter zum Glaubenbülenpass dann den über den (zu-) gut ausgebauten Brünigpass nach Brienz und dem Brienzer See.

Am See entlang nach Interlaken und am Thuner See entlang bis Gunten. Dann rechts hinauf und auf kleineren aussichtsreichen Straßen nach Thun kurven.

Über das Emmental geht es wieder nach Hause nach Langenthal.

Insgesamt sollten es 304 km werden aber Herr BMW WCS-1 (mein toller Bluetooth Helm) und das Wetter sollten die Route soweit verändern, dass ich sogar ein paar km Autobahn gefahren bin…

Deswegen weicht die tatsächlich gefahrene Route von der geplanten Route ab.

Ich bin kein Frühaufsteher

Eigentlich wollte ich ja so um 10:00 Uhr losfahren, aber irgendwie habe ich es nicht geschafft, etwas früher aufzustehen, deswegen hat sich unsere superelektronische Markise schon ausgefahren.

Dann musste ich noch die Route auf den Garmin laden und, und und und
Also bin ich halt erst so gegen halb zwölf losgefahren.

Kabel sind Freunde

Als ich in der Garage verzweifelt versucht habe, meinen BMW Helm per Bluetooth mit meinem Garmin Zumo zu verbinden kam mir zunächst in den Sinn, dass es früher sowas altmodisches wie Kabel gegeben hat. Aber nach ca. 10 Minuten probieren hat es endlich funktioniert und ich konnte endlich das Dunkel der Garage verlassen.

Ä bitzili langweilig, aber schön zum Eingewöhnen

Vielleicht hätte ich für den Anfang nicht nur Hauptstraßen auswählen sollen, denn die ersten paar Kilometer durch das Emmental waren schon recht langweilig. Andererseits hatte ich so mehr Gelegenheit, mich an der schönen Landschaft zu erfreuen.

Danach ging es von Süderen den Schallenbergpass hoch und wieder runter. Der ist wirklich schön zu fahren, allerdings muss man schon wissen, dass es sich um einen Pass handelt. Sehr anspruchsvoll war er ja nicht gerade. Jedenfalls ein guter Einstieg ins Kehrenfahren.

Endlich Kurven, Tiere und Tropfen???

Nach dem Schallenberg in Schangnau geht’s immer weiter Richtung Luzern weiter über Escholzmatt und Schwändi nach Flühli. Hier haben sich die kurvigen Landstraßen versteckt. Lediglich ein paar Regentropfen trüben den Kurvenspaß. Solang es nicht schlimmer wird, ist ja alles im Lack.

Gesperrt für Busse und LKW – Schnee!

An der Talstation der Sörenbergbahn war ich dann schon etwas durchgeweicht. Zeit für eine kleine Pause. Ein Schild: Gesperrt für Busse und LKW und verengte Fahrbahn versprach kleine motogeeignete Straßen. Die Auffahrt zum Glaubenbülenpass. Wirklich eine Offenbarung. Kurve an Kurve an Kurve. Guter Belag. Für meinen Geschmack ein halbes Motorrad zu schmal; es sind aber ausreichend Ausweichstellen vorhanden.

Die Passhöhe mit knapp 1600 Metern begrüßte mich mit Schnee. Nicht nur links und rechts der Fahrbahn, die augenscheinlich erst freigefräst wurde und sich durch 2 Meter hohe Schneewände schlängelte, sondern auch von oben. Ich hätte mir etwas wärmeres anziehen sollen. Im Tal hatte es 23 Grad, hier oben zeigte mein Thermometer gerade mal 5 Grad an. Aber es geht ja schon wieder abwärts.

Über die “Autobahn” nach Interlaken

Unten im Tal angekommen lotst mich mein Garmin auf den Brünigpass. Dieser ist so gut ausgebaut wie der

Der Brienzer See

Reschenpass. Alleine das Schildchen Passhöhe markiert diese gut ausgebaute Straße als Pass.

Unten angekommen fahre ich durch Brienz am Brienzer See entlang. Voraus liegt Interlaken, der Thuner See, schwarze Gewitterwolken und Blitze. Vielleicht verzieht sich das Gewitter ja, bis ich ankomme. Mache ich halt noch ein paar Fotis…

Das Piepsen im Ohr, der Stau und der Regen
Kurz vor Interlaken hatte ich dann eine Baustelle mit 3 km Stau und Gewitterregen. Das Piepsen, dass ich seit einer halben Stunde im Ohr hatte ist auch wieder vorbei. Leider kann ich aber seitdem keine Befehle vom Garmin mehr empfangen. Der gute BMW Bluetooth Helm ist leer und braucht eine Steckdose. Kabel sind Freunde. Schade, weil nur über Display ist es etwas mühsam.

Also stehe mich eben im Regen nach Interlaken und dann weiter nach Thun und folge dann den Schildern zur Autobahn nach Bern. Ab Kirchberg dann auf die Landstrasse und auf dem direkten Weg nach Hause.

Schee war’s !

Weitere Bilder findet Ihr im Flickr…