The Swipe Volume 2 Chapter 23
I woke up on Friday morning seriously expecting the worst of news. That somehow, despite all reasonable predictions, the country had managed to fuck itself over once again. I still remember the day after the Brexit vote, reading the news in the small cottage where we were holidaying up in the hills above Coniston in the Lake District, wondering if it wouldn’t be better if we just never came back down the steep stone track again.
Sanity, this time, has prevailed, and the sorry bunch of chancers, incompetents and conmen who have blighted the UK’s economic social and moral landscape for the last fourteen years have been kicked unceremoniously into the long grass. Sadly, characters like Lord Scarecrow Jacob Rees-Mogg will be unaffected by their fall from grace. A little humiliation in the local sports hall, then off to have a little cry in their beds stuffed with money, It was all a game to them, a chance to extort power and money from the little people. We were ruled by vampires, and too weak from blood loss to do much about it.
In the end, I guess we have to thank that ridiculous ham left out in the rain Alexander Boris De Pfeffel Johnson for the slow slide back into reason. If this was the sort of person the Tories thought was suitable for power, what did that say about them as a party, as a government, as human beings? From Johnson, found guilty of contempt and ejected by the same people who made him leader, it was a short and very bumpy run to BDSM-bot Liz Truss and finally, lastly and leastly, personality vacuum and nightmare gnome Rishi Sunak. Calling a snap election was the smartest thing he ever did. Pull the ripcord, jump out of the plane before it goes into the side of the mountain. He’s already quit the Tory leadership. I give it six months before he gives up his constituency and fucks off back to America. Sooner if the new team revoke non-dom status for creatures like his parasite wife.
To today, then. Rainy with the occasional shots of sunshine. That’s probably a good metaphor for the coming months. There’s a broken country to heal which takes time and yes, money. Let’s hope we start taxing those who can more than afford it and start taking better care of the vulnerable. Which, let’s face it, after the last near-decade and a half of battering, is most of us. I dunno about you, but I feel bruised and banged up.
I hope for change. I’ll settle for better. For now, at least, hope is back on the agenda, and that’s a feeling I really, really miss.
Sorry, rant over. Let’s have some links.
Wherever you are, whenever you are, however you are, welcome to The Swipe.
Rob is reading…
The election results, enjoying certain results with an unhealthy glee. Congrats to my local MP Matt Rodda, re-elected to parliament on an increased majority in Reading Central and Olivia Bailey, accepting the mantle in Reading West and Mid-Berkshire. My town is fully Labour for the first time, and it’s a sweet feeling.
Rob is watching…
The election results KIDDING. I couldn’t do that to myself. A new season of The Bear is giving me all the stress I need right now, thank you so much. Not seeing why the critics are giving it so much hate based on the first three episodes, to be honest. The show is as beautiful, heart-breaking and funny as ever.
Rob is listening…
Sod it, I’m off to my happy place.
Rob is eating…
I’m working on my pizza game. Homemade dough is still hit and miss, but you can get great chilled packets (Pizza Express-branded is especially good) which you can roll out and fling in the oven for a surprisingly quick evening meal. Toppings of choice—anything seafood. Prawns, shelled mussels and good tinned tuna under a quick tomato sauce, over a blanket of pre-grated mozzarella. You heard me. No need to go fancy until I have the basics right. A pizza peel makes all the difference. Dunelm do a solid example for a tenner, Lakeland is another option. Don’t fuss with pizza stones or steels. Just get your oven as high as it’ll go, build your pie on a circle of baking parchment and straight onto the top shelf. No more than ten minutes. Perfect with a glass of fizz and a huge Labour majority.
Rob’s Low-Key Obsession Of The Week…
Theo Jansen’s Strandbeests. I’ve mentioned them before, but they return like old friends and I am constantly, pleasingly mesmerised.
Let us consider life without the constant babble of signal and noise we carry with us at all times, in our pockets, at work, at home. We managed without the internet for hundreds and thousands of years. How do we return to that state of grace? I still intend to be writing The Swipe after the fall, basing my content on neighbourhood gossip, the changes of season in the garden and the adventures of Millie The Cat. Hand-typed, A5 pamphlet, posted or hand-delivered. Please like and subscribe.
This one is tangential to The Day Job, and very much in the ballpark of my film geek proclivities. I love the notion of a film festival where there is a risk of the whole theatre going up in flames as in the end of Tarantino’s Inglourious Basterds.
While we’re on the subject, a short list of those films we can no longer see. Incidentally, I’m reminded of a film which only exists as a single print, now missing in transit and presumed lost. Any of the Readership know what I’m talking about, because I can find no reference. Or maybe that’s the point…
I intend to start rolling all of these phrases out into everyday use. The verbal equivalent of the thumbs down in traffic—so much more effective than a raised middle finger.
It Ain’t What You Say, It’s The Way That You Say It.
So, I knew there would be some hot takes on the world of Winnie The Pooh once it entered the public domain. This is the hottest and strangest yet.
Take ten minutes and marvel at how pianist Keith Jarret pulled beauty out of disaster. As someone who can find middle C and that’s about it, this story is utterly extraordinary.
Russell Crowe seems like a guy who has taken life by the scruff of the neck, given it a big snog and a slap on the butt and dragged it off to do his bidding. Seriously, this is what living your best life looks like.
Back, momentarily, to The Bear and its incredible first episode. Experimental but accessible, and a route into Carmy’s motivations and character. Action over dialogue, and don’t be afraid to let the audience do some of the work. Silence is golden.
Fair warning. We’re finishing with a very long piece on the history and use of punctuation. I appreciate not all of you will be as interested as I, who constantly struggle with the right way to add pauses and gaps into my writing. Punctuation is desperately important. It’s how you breathe life into a piece of prose, getting it to sound the way it does in your head. Also, this is a very long piece on the history and use of punctuation by Nicholson Baker. Hope that helps change your mind a little bit.
I have been lured back into the crazy and ramshackle world of Guided By Voices, who throw records out like Reading Buses—reliably and with a cheap and cheerful charm. Don’t like this one? There’ll be more along directly. Very taken currently with “Serene King’ which shows off the band’s unerring surety of direction towards a chunky, loose-limbed style of power pop. Do the lurch with me.
Thanks for your patience this week while I get some baggage off my top shelf. See you in seven.
