The Sisters Of Mercy - Temple Of Love (1992) (Single)

From Twitter: "Jon2aylor Trevor Phillips attacks grip of middle class http://bit.ly/dw2aHB >Phillips is right about this.."

The definition of 'middle-class' is so fluid as to have rendered itself redundant as this article clearly testifies. The term is so meaningless that it has now begun to irk me, like so much else, when I see it used by people who you would think would know better.

I don't have a university degree but I have a pretty well paid job, does that make me middle class?

I might have a pretty well-paid job but I don't have anyone working for me, i.e. I am not a manager, so does that make me working class?

I live in Cheshire, near to Hale and Bowdon (home of numerous footballers), so does geography make me middle class?

Not only that but I have a mortgage on my house (I don't like to say "own" as I am really just paying a big fuck-off loan back) so does that make me middle class?

Or does the fact my wife and I have effectively saved for years (a working class trait allegedly) to get to where we are, along with the fact that we live very frugally, make me working class?

I used to work for BT and they gave me free shares so does that fact make me middle class?

Or does the fact that I would never dream of buying shares off my own back make me working class?

My daughter attends the local state primary school (so am I working class?) but do my aspirations to get her into the local grammar school make me middle class?

I do not think of myself as well educated but anything I do know is largely self-taught through reading and making an effort to educate myself so where does that put me?

See what I mean - a completely fucking redundant term that only seeks to create differences between people. 'Divide and conquer' is the tactic deployed by bosses when it comes to attacking their workforce. I would argue that social classification is the 'divide and conquer' tactic deployed by the State to attack the population - albeit at a low level. But do it for long enough and it has a significant psychological impact.

If you have to work for a living and can not afford to do anything else then you are working fucking class my friend.


The Sisters Of Mercy - Temple Of Love (1992) (Single) (East West MR53 1992) 320kbps

1. Temple Of Love (1992)
2. I Was Wrong (American Fade)

The Sisters - pwd: c4ctusm0uth

Memorial Tablet

Memorial Tablet Squire nagged and bullied till I went to fight, (Under Lord Derby's scheme). I died in hell - (They called it Passchendaele). My wound was slight, And I was hobbling back; and then a shell Burst slick upon the duckboards: so I fell Into the bottomless mud, and lost the light. At sermon-time, while Squire is in his pew, He gives my gilded name a thoughtful stare; For, though low down upon the list, I'm there; "In proud and glorious memory" ... that's my due. Two bleeding years I fought in France, for Squire: I suffered anguish that he's never guessed. I came home on leave: and then went west... What greater glory could a man desire? Siegfried Sassoon

Zig Zag Mar 1984 - East German Punks & The Glove

Desert Island Discs (pt 2)

OK, so I am sat on the desert island having carefully chosen my 8 songs to see me through and would you believe it? I went and forgot to pack my literary item and my luxury item. What a knob!

(Walker was too kind to point out that I had fucked up)

I've built a raft, paddled approx. 1500 miles across the Pacific and picked up these from the shops:

Literary Item - The Power And The Glory by Graham Greene

Luxury Item - Cannabis plant

& my overall music choice would be Michael Nyman's Memorial.

Right, better get back in that raft and start paddling....

WTF?

Brace yourselves because there is going to be a ton of fucking swearing in this post.

I am getting abso-fucking-lutely sick to the back teeth of the sniping and back-stabbing that appears to pass for 'solidarity' or 'unity' among the vast plethora of socialist blogs/commenters out there.

Here they are pissing their pants with glee when Lindsey German resigns from the SWP. Here's another one about the SWP shrinking. Here's one supporting Len McCluskey for GS of Unite and, what a surprise, here is one criticising the same decision.

It isn't so much the blog posts themselves, I am sure all of those concerned are charming people, it is the degeneration apparent in the comments once they get fucking going. "If you haven't got anything good to say then don't say anything at all" always seems a reasonable commenting policy to me. But not for Socialist Unity apparently.

Nasty factional nonsense about far-left, ultra-left, right-left, left-right, inside-left, left-wing and left behind in the changing room. It is utter fucking rubbish. Do socialists really think that the average working class man or woman gives a flying fuck about the SWP's problems? It would be good if they did. But they don't. They probably haven't even heard of the SWP. Which is a shame.

Does the average Unite member give a toss about who runs for GS? They should do. But they probably fucking don't. Which, again, is a shame. Even if they did care. Are they really so up on Marx, Trotsky et al to distinguish between which grouping is supporting which fucking candidate? No, of course they fucking aren't.

I've said all this before in a roundabout kind of way but the Left's own magnified self-indulgence is its biggest weakness. It hypothesises and theorises while disengaging from reality, splinters into bitter factions who divvy up and then argue over dwindling numbers of members and subsequently descends into politico-babble about fucking 'dialectics'. Who the fuck cares?

I am not a member of any far left group and I am not a member of the AF (from whose site I filched the picture). Indeed, I am not a member of anything other than my union (the wholly mismanaged Unite). I am happy to work with anyone who believes that getting rid of capitalism is a fucking brilliant idea, who thinks that war is a shit idea and who doesn't give a toss whether you're male/female/black/white/gay/straight/what-the-fuck-ever. If they believe in the individual right to self-determination, the right to free association and the abolition of wage-slavery then I am not going to get into a dick-waving contest over who has read more Marx. It doesn't fucking matter. Even if they have no fucking clue what those terms mean and just want better pay and conditions then that's a start isn't it? The "Revolutionary Education By Numbers" (Standard Socialist Pamphlet No. 365) can come later.

But I will say that my heart and mind are firmly with the anarchists these days. At least they don't fucking kid themselves.

The Wolfhounds - Rent Act (EP)

The directors at Kraft must be shaking in their boots. After all, some British MPs have invited them to cross the water and come and answer some questions. God, I bet their shitting it. They don't have to come of course and if I was on the money they're on I doubt I would bother.

But the whole Cadburys debacle has to be seen as a resurgence of the worst excesses of capitalism in action.

Kraft launch a £11.9bn takeover bid for Cadburys. They don't have the money to do it but they can borrow it, to the tune of £7bn. Yes, borrow it. £7bn worth of borrowing.

Not only that but the publicly bailed out Royal Bank of Scotland, 84% owned by us remember, helped them in the bid to the tune of £630m.

During the takeover Kraft pledge to keep the Cadburys Keynsham factory open. Once the takeover is complete however it transpires that the factory is to close, with the loss of 400 jobs, because the work is going to Poland. Something that Cadburys themselves had already instigated. Kraft insist that the work building the factory in Poland is already too far advanced to cancel which, of course, they were completely unaware of during the negotiations.

So that's 400 jobs to go with the remainder looking like they are on decidedly shaky ground given that Kraft have borrowed the money for the takeover and will need to repay it at some point. Hmm, how are they going to repay that volume of cash I wonder? Couldn't be through factory closures and job losses by any chance could it? No, of course not. They pledged to keep Keynsham open.... oh, ye.

With me so far? Hostile takeover of UK company by US company, part funded by us through our stake in RBS, resulting in job losses in the UK. Sweet.

It's a future of grim uncertainty for the 6000 remaining employees of Cadburys in the long term then but how did the Chief Executive do out of the deal? Surely he's done himself out of a job?

Well, he has but I doubt he will be wondering where the next meal is coming from any time soon.

The Chief Executive, Todd Stitzer, is sitting on £12m worth of cash and shares, as a result of the Kraft takeover, if he leaves the company. I'll break that down for you: ~£1m 'compensation' for one years salary, a bonus worth around £2m (nice - a bonus for shafting your employees) and the ability to cash in shares worth £8.6m. Lost count yet? Because he is also sitting on a pension worth around £1.5m a year. I bet he feels just terrible about all this.

Oh, and did I mention that assorted City flunkies - investment bankers, lawyers, PR advisers and accountants - also racked up fees to the tune of £2m a day during the 5 month long takeover wrangling? Didn't think so.

In summary then: big businesses back to their day jobs of swallowing each other up whole despite capitalism's hollow competitive-market promises, funded by those massive shits - the banks - which have in turn been funded by us, jobs lost and factories closed as a result but don't worry about the CE(O) - he'll survive, while MPs and Unions alike flap about ineffectively promising to do something but really just selling out the workers for the 'best deal'.

It's like the Financial Crisis™ never happened.


The Best Of The Wolfhounds is available here.

The line-up for this recording:

Callahan - Vocals, Guitar
Golding - Guitar, Vocals, Piano
Oliver - Bass
Stebbing - Drums, Computers, Percussion
Matt - Backing Vocals


The Wolfhounds - Rent Act (EP) (Midnight Music DONG43 1989) 320kbps

1. Rent Act
2. Everybody
3. Died The Small Death
4. Recycle

Shit! I hate capitalism! - pwd: c4ctusm0uth

Afternoons

Afternoons Summer is fading: The leaves fall in ones and twos From trees bordering The new recreation ground. In the hollows of afternoons Young mothers assemble At swing and sandpit Setting free their children. Behind them, at intervals, Stand husbands in skilled trades, An estateful of washing, And the albums, lettered Our Wedding, lying Near the television: Before them, the wind Is ruining their courting-places That are still courting-places (But the lovers are all in school), And their children, so intent on Finding more unripe acorns, Expect to be taken home. Their beauty has thickened. Something is pushing them To the side of their own lives. Philip Larkin

Zig Zag Mar 1984 - The Wolfgang Press & Dave Ball

Joy Division

You've heard the music...

Now read the books...

And see the film...

But I wouldn't get involved with this if I were you.

And thanks to Harpymarx for the tip off about this months Uncut.

Jobs For Which There Is Only One Cure #2

Lifestyle Manager

Are you too busy grafting to do a bit of cleaning? Convinced yourself that the company you work for will fall off a cliff if you don't work an 80 hour week? Or maybe you're just too wrapped up in your own work-related self-importance to realise that it doesn't fucking matter?

If you answered yes to any of these questions then what you really need is a Lifestyle Manager!

A Lifestyle Manager is somebody that you pay to get all those little jobs done because you are just too damn busy working all the hours God sends earning enough money to keep up your pretentious lifestyle.

I first came across this ludicrous job title while watching Spendaholics. The program itself aims to sort out the finances of the mathematically-challenged who are spending way more than they are earning and who have subsequently run up massive debts. The receptionist in question, in the episode linked above, is introduced to a Lifestyle Management company in London with a view to earning more money to help her pay off her whopping debt. They take her on for a day to show her the ropes. She ends up dealing with a guy who is too busy and/or important to polish his own shoes or take his own suit to the dry-cleaners. Not only that but the bloke in question has a date lined up so the Lifestyle Manager has to order flowers for his date to arrive prior to the evening, buy her a gift as though it came from him and then pick up some breakfast items in case he gets lucky.

Given the fact that this guy is unable to think, act or even do for himself, I thought the breakfast was very presumptuous. What woman in their right mind, other than a craven gold-digger perhaps, would go for such a guy? "Hi, the names Bond, James Bond. I need help tying my own shoelaces." Quite.

Google 'Lifestyle Management' and you will get in the region of 75 million hits. Clearly big business then.

Let's have a look at 'Ten' which was the first non-sponsored result on the list.

Here's a quote, "Ten's Lifestyle Management business organises over 20,000 complex requests monthly – from sourcing plumbers and cars to organising travel and booking inaccessible tickets or restaurant tables." I mean, fuck me. Complex requests like phoning a fucking plumber, hiring a car or booking a plane ticket. Ye, I can see how the high and mighty with too much cash to spare might not be able to manage to book a fucking restaurant table for themselves. All that complicated picking up the 'phone, dialing the number and speaking to somebody.

Here's another quote, "We also source hundreds of vetted and trustworthy cleaners and gardeners and can dramatically simplify your home life by undertaking the tedious (cleaning, lawn mowing, ironing), the time-consuming (French polishing, washing windows), or the tricky (chimney sweeping, gutter clearance)." What the fuck is the world coming to people? God, can you imagine having to mow your own lawn? How simply tedious. And who has the time to wash their own windows nowadays? How simply frightful. Oh no, I'd much rather spend time working myself into the grave than get on with the jobs at home.

I daresay all the pricks that buy into this crap also drop their kids off at the nursery, or with the nanny, everyday because they just had to get back to work. They couldn't afford not to, dahling.

And here is the fucking nail in the coffin, from a 'Case Study' no less, "Mike has been a Ten Lifestyle member for the past 6 months during which time the Ten team have assisted Mike in sourcing things from skilled trades people for home, pre-cut pumpkins for Halloween, arranged his daughters 16th birthday party, flights and many other services." Read it again. They've rung a couple of electricians or plumbers for him and booked some plane tickets. Well, whoopee. But the icing on the cake is that this complete and utter knobhead pays people to pre-fucking-cut pumpkins for Halloween. Who the fuck pays for pre-cut pumpkins?!? Where is the fun in that? "Look children, here's something I didn't make with you earlier. 'Cause I was at work." And I am not even going to begin to start on the absence of thought he gave to his daughters 16th birthday party. I'm sure it was a ball.

So the next time your sat on the throne having a shit, trousers round your ankles, mobile phone glued to your ear while you wheel-and-deal, laptop open and perched precariously on your knees as you check your e-mail for the nth time that day and you are just simply too busy to wipe your own arse - you know who to call: a Lifestyle Manager.

Quelle Surprise

Following the 'revelation' that MI5 are "devious, dishonest and complicit in torture", what never ceases to amaze me is that people are still surprised when these stories are uncovered.

One of those "champions of the people", a judge no less, described MI5 as complicit in the torture of a UK citizen, of having a "culture of supression", of not respecting human rights and of misleading MPs who were supposed to scrutinise their work. It's a bit like the pot calling the kettle black.

I would hazard a pretty safe guess that MI5 are exactly like the police when it comes to 'getting a result' and we all know what their track record is like. For as long as I can remember there have been miscarriages of justice perpetrated by the police, subsequently investigated by the police and then exonerated by, you guessed it, the police. Recent examples include Ian Tomlinson and Jean-Charles De Menezes but those are only the recent blights on a path stretching back to the Birmingham Six, the Guildford Four and, if only the evidence had stuck, the Secret Seven.

Not only are those MPs not keeping MI5 in check but the governments top lawyer wrote to the judges asking them to tone down their criticism, which they duly did. It was only when the newspapers (the ones that still actually carry news that is) kicked off that the comments were published. And now they have, we are getting the all-so-typical calls for an inquiry. Ye, thats just what we need. Another fucking inquiry. Like Chilcot, I shouldn't wonder, it'll really get to the root of the problem. A massive spend fest for the lawyers while everyone gets ready to cover their arses. And everybody gets off with a slap on the wrist.

As if further proof were needed what a crooked bunch the whole lot of them are (like I said, quelle surprise), a different bunch of expenses-claiming MPs had the cheek to bollock another copper. What for? For not giving detailed enough evidence into the whole sorry News Of The World 'phone hacking saga. He forgot the details when he was stood in front of the Common's select committee but it all came back to him when he got the FOI request. The MPs have been investigating press freedom, privacy and libel but that wasn't important enough for News International's chief executive to get out of bed. Rebekah (her spelling, not mine) Brooks asserted that it would be a 'waste of time' to give evidence on something so trivial. Clearly she understands the game - judges, coppers, MPs, security services and the gutter press. Is there a bed big enough to take them all?

Jobs For Which There Is Only One Cure #1

Project Manager

This post is borne from personal experience of the last twenty years or so working in IT for two different companies, many different customers and numerous projects. My work is pretty much the same whatever - I build and configure firewalls of varying flavours on various hardware platforms. Oddly enough, the project management has always been pretty much the same - chaotic.

In the last 3 working days, call it 22.5 hours, I have spent 2hrs 5mins on two conference calls where the sum total of my contribution has been four words: I've said my name. Twice. Two different projects, two different PMs.

It isn't that I want to attend these things. I get the invite, roll my eyes, e-mail the PM to check my attendance is necessary and then think of the work I won't get done because I will be sat on a call listening to people talking about the work that has to get done. I mean, for fuck's sake. In response to my e-mails begging forgiveness the PM will generally say, "We might need you for something." Might. For something. Is it just me or does that sound like first degree vagueness to anyone?

I blame the whole concept.

According to Wikipedia, "Project management is the discipline of planning, organizing, and managing resources to bring about the successful completion of specific project goals and objectives." Contrast "specific project goals and objectives" with "might need you for something". I'm already working on your project, I already have work lined up to complete the project's goals and objectives but that isn't enough. You need me to sit and waste time talking about the work I am going to be doing. Or not as the recent case(s) might be. It's rare that a call concludes without reference to 'how urgent the work is' as well. My teeth grind as I resist the urge to state the obvious, "Well, if I wasn't on this call I would be getting on with the work."

Scroll further down the Wikipedia page and you come to "History of Project Management" and here is where we begin to understand the true nature of the beast.

"Until 1900 civil engineering projects were generally managed by creative architects and engineers themselves." Really!? You do surprise me. People managed to complete work projects, whether big or small, in conjunction with each other, by using their own creativity and communicating. And they did it themselves. They project managed themselves. So all those Dark Ages castles, those medieval churches, hell, even the country houses of the landed gentry were completed by people using their own initiative to communicate and co-ordinate their ideas and plans to get the job done.

And so it was from the dawn of humanity until the middle of the last century when "The 1950s marked the beginning of the modern Project Management era. Project management became recognized as a distinct discipline arising from the management discipline." And this seems, to me, to be pretty much where it went tits up. Big business in the post-war era needed jobs for a lot of guys who had just come back from trying to kill each other. Couple that with the consumer boom apparent in the States, and elsewhere shortly after, and a layer of middle managers is created whose sole purpose is to be 'Yes' men to the senior managers while achieving very little productive work. Sorry I forgot, they also arrange conference calls - lots of 'em.

And what do middle managers need to keep them busy?

That's right: project management. A whole slew of principles and techniques that crept out of the woodwork - Critical Chain Project Management, Agile Project Management, PRINCE2 - to slap a name on something that workers had been doing quite happily amongst themselves for centuries.

Zig Zag Mar 1984 - Elephant Talk & Paul Weller

Dave Chapple At The Right To Work Conference

Dave Chapple of the National Shop Stewards Network at the Right To Work conference last Saturday:

The rest of the conference is on YouTube thanks to Reel News

The Right To Work conference workshops are now online too.

Masters Of War

Masters Of War Come you masters of war You that build all the guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks You that never done nothin' But build to destroy You play with my world Like it's your little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes And you turn and run farther When the fast bullets fly Like Judas of old You lie and deceive A world war can be won You want me to believe But I see through your eyes And I see through your brain Like I see through the water That runs down my drain You fasten the triggers For the others to fire Then you set back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion As young people's blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud You've thrown the worst fear That can ever be hurled Fear to bring children Into the world For threatening my baby Unborn and unnamed You ain't worth the blood That runs in your veins How much do I know To talk out of turn You might say that I'm young You might say I'm unlearned But there's one thing I know Though I'm younger than you Even Jesus would never Forgive what you do Let me ask you one question Is your money that good Will it buy you forgiveness Do you think that it could I think you will find When your death takes its toll All the money you made Will never buy back your soul And I hope that you die And your death'll come soon I will follow your casket In the pale afternoon And I'll watch while you're lowered Down to your deathbed And I'll stand o'er your grave 'Til I'm sure that you're dead Bob Dylan - from "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan" - Copyright ©1963; renewed 1991 Special Rider Music

Desert Island Discs

I imagine my thoughtful pose hasn't changed much since this picture was taken.

The venerable Walker has had a bit of a thing lately for Desert Island Discs over at Burning Aquarium, well 2 posts - one for Morrissey's selection and one for the mighty John Peel's. Quite how Peely manage to select 8 tracks I'll never know but if he can do it then, by damn, so can I. Plus, I kind of told Walker I would. Me and my big mouth.

Cue much chin resting in hand and looking thoughtful while I try to dredge the memory banks for ideas. Mrs H and I had a discussion about it, while I procrastinated in the background of my brain, and between us we decided that any tracks chosen would have to have a certain resonance. That is, a personal attachment arising out of a significant memory or an emotional attachment not necessarily bestowed by times gone past but nonetheless important. I think most of these fall into the former. I also had to choose songs that I would never tire of hearing lest I drive myself insane on that remote Pacific island.

Anyway here we go:

1. The Cure - Charlotte Sometimes

Absolutely worshipped this song as a Goth in my formative years and, having only relatively recently read the book, I s'pose I still do. I will also never forget the eager anticipation and monumental let-down I experienced on receiving the video singles collection - Standing On A Beach - and waiting for, and then wincing through, the accompanying video. It's awful. Robert Smith said he nearly cried the first time he saw it. I know how he feels.


2. Michael Nyman - Memorial

Nyman dedicated this work to the Juventus fans that died at Heysel but I heard it first when watching the Peter Greenaway film The Cook, The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover. My girlfriend of the time and I went to see it at The Cameo in Edinburgh. I'll warn you - it isn't a romantic comedy. As I recall there is a shot pretty early on in the film of someone being forced to eat dog shit, not in close-up mind, and a few people started walking out. It was their loss. The film is brilliant and so is this piece of music.


3. Nirvana - Dive

In the early 90's I was working as a BT engineer and my rota was such that I had every 2nd Friday off. I also had a very tall mate called Mark who played the drums in a couple of bands. I can passably play rhythm guitar of the simple bar chord variety and, is there no beginning to my talents you cry, I can sing a tune along as well. Mark had the rehearsal space, the drums and the amps. I had my own electric guitar and a steady supply of hash so many a Friday would drift past with us thrashing out Nirvana tunes on guitar, drums and vocals only (I like to think we inspired The White Stripes). God I miss doing that.


4. Joy Division - Insight

This one is pure indulgence to the depression illness. If Mrs H hears Joy Division on at any time she knows it's a bad one. And for the lyrics: "Guess your dreams always end, They don't rise up - just descend, But I don't care any more, I've lost the will to want more"


5. The Smiths - What She Said

Andy introduced me to The Smiths around 1985/6 I think it was and at first I didn't get it. But when I did, they were unstoppable and Morrissey could do very little wrong. This is also by way of penance for the time I deliberately knocked his sandwiches into the sand, in retaliation for him accidentally knocking my coke over, on a primary school trip to South Queensferry. He cried and I have never forgiven myself.


6. Otis Redding - These Arms Of Mine

If you don't love Otis Redding then you don't have soul. Simple as.


7. The Four Tops - Wak Away Renee

Surprisingly for The Four Tops this wasn't a Holland-Dozier-Holland number. It's a cover of a song originally written by Michael Brown, of The Left Banke, when he was 16! My love of Motown stems from my sisters brief dalliance with the early 80's Mod revival. She would be playing The Jam, The Chords, Secret Affair and the rest along with a selection of Motown classics. I refer to it as a 'dalliance' though as within a few years she was buying Whitney Houston, Madonna and all manner of SAW tripe. I like to think she set my musical taste on a far preferable trajectory to the one she subsequently chose. This one's for her as, despite our closeness for most of the 80s, we rarely speak now.


8. Crass - I Ain't Thick (It's Just A Trick)

An anarchist anti-manifesto in the space of 4½ minutes of punk invective. Fucking genius.


The password for all the 7z files is the usual one - c4ctusm0uth.

Dear God, Please Can You Fix It For Me...

A picture of the Tree of Hope outside the church opposite my house.

Has there ever been a more passive, or futile, way of trying to achieve change than by prayer?