Thursday 30 June 2016

Good-bye European Union

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For my readers around the world you may be aware, or maybe not, but the United Kingdom has been through two months of electioneering about if the U.K should stay in the European Union, or if the country should leave. It came as a bit of a shock to say the least that the winners were the people who wanted to leave the union.

It came as such a shock because every organ within the new world order was used to try and get the British public to vote to stay. And that's were I think the revolt came, and a revolt it was. Please let me explain.

I have grown up being part of the union. I've never had a chance before to have a say if I think It's a good thing, or a bad thing, I just excepted we were part of it and there was nothing I could do about it. I was quite pro European, even if some of its faults effected me personally, and not always for the best. I personally think that immigration is a good thing for all societies, and that working together as friends is a lot more positive than being enemies with someone. But like I say there is always a but in life. As the elite at the top who control all our lives, and all their cronies carried out a campaign of fear, threats and intimidation I slowly began to think that maybe I don't want to be part of any political organisation whose sole purpose is justified by these three elements.

There were two incidents that I found deeply insulting about the In camp's ploy to stay part of the status quo.

My first career after leaving school in Lowestoft was working in the fishing industry that was a major part of the area, and had been for generations. My grandfather was a fisherman, and my dad's early career was connected to the industry, so when I got a apprenticeship as an auctioneer on Lowestoft Fish Market for The Colne Shipping Company it just felt as natural as fish in water (excuse the pun). I loved the job, becoming the youngest in my profession, and could have happily spent the rest of my days working in the industry. It was one of the world's most efficient fishing operations, without the need for financial support from any government, and without the industrial strife that effected most other U.K sectors during the 70's and 80's.

Then the British Prime Minister at the time, Margaret Thatcher, signed the United Kingdom into the European Union's Common Agriculture and Fisheries Policy. Within fifteenth years after this the fishing industry had collapsed because of it. Ten thousand people who relied directly, or indirectly, on the industry had lost their lively hoods. Now just a handful of people eek out a living from it.

What what was the first thing that I found deeply insulting with the In camp?

Well the first thing was seeing Sir Bob Geldolf, a multi-millionaire from the Republic of  Ireland, and supporter of the In camp, high-jacking a demonstration of the remaining fisherman who had sailed up the Thames to support the Out camp. He was on a rival boat sticking two fingers up to the fisherman and calling them wankers for trying to save what little remained of a once thriving, and proud community.

The second was when I read an article in the Easter Daily Press  just a day or so before the vote, about George Osborne the British Chancellor, a leading figure in the In camp, warning the local fisherman that if they didn't want to see their lives destroyed they should vote to stay within the European Union. It was not only a blatant lie, because the industry had already been destroyed, but it was an open threat to the brave remaining souls who put their lives at risk on a daily bases to put fish on George Osborne's privileged plate.

I've told no one which way I voted, but I know one thing. The metro-elite got what they deserved, a vote to leave, because the little people of this country were brave enough to tell them to get lost.

Regards

Mark

Sunday 12 June 2016

Earlham Cemetery

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I have attended many funerals and cremations over the years, and by its very nature these events are not something you look forward to going to on a regular bases. This week I went to the service of lady I got to know only quite recently, but who with her husband David I became friends with. Her name was Megan and her cremation was held at Earlham Cemetery.







For some reason I have never been there for a service although I have driven past it on hundreds of occasions as I've used the outer ring road in Norwich. Then again we are all guilty of never taking any notice of things that are on our very own door step. I arrived early and although I knew some of the family members, and we chatted, I decided to take a walk around the memorial garden. There were lines of roses that had been planted to mark the burial spot of loved ones ashes.






What I did notice was the quietness. The area was developed in the Victorian period on farmland, but over the years the city of Norwich has grown up around it, and now it's in the heart of the area with a four lane road running around the top end of its boundary. The chapel for the cremation service is a newer structure built in the mid sixties and although it is used by people of all faiths, and in today's age people of no faith, it has a vaulted roof that is so reminiscent of a church.






The service was emotional. Megan was once a Country and Western singer, and when they brought in her coffin they were playing one of her songs. She seemed so alive when you could hear her lovely voice. The chapel was packed and afterwards as we all stood outside in the sunshine I was introduced to various family members, and friends. As people began to make their way back to their cars to head onto the wake being held at the Brickmakers pub in Horsford, I decided to take a walk around the old Victorian grave yard. The area is slowly becoming a nature reserve with trees, bushes, tall grass and wild flowers, and is looked after by The Friends of Earlham Cemetery. It's a quite, peaceful place, and as I looked at all the different shaped grave stones I noted some of the dates and ages of their occupants. When I came across children the same age as my own, my heart really felt for the parents that must have once stood by that grave grieving for their beloved child.

It made me think about the emotions I try to portray with the various characters in my books, FRENZY a Daniel Jones Story and it's sequel Daniel Jones DOOM. I wondered if they truly show, through words, the emotions that I want to try and write about.

By the time I had walked through what felt like a wooded glade to return to my car, my soul was well and truly yearning to be with my own children. I had to leave the wake to pick up my son from his school, and when he came out I just had to hug him, and give him a big kiss ( although he didn't seem too keen with my actions). When my daughter arrived home I did the same to her, and that night when I drifted off to sleep I said a short prey of thanks for two such wonderful gifts that I have in my life.

Regards

Mark