So there is other stuff going on in the world other than sore feet…although when you have the latter the former becomes insignificant, or so I’m told. But then, my feet are perfect!

I have a few other pastimes and once again I’ve been extremely fortunate to cross paths with some remarkable characters in all spheres, particularly where music is involved. The most recent ‘bright spark’ is a wee Mancunian who professes skills in writing, badminton and paying the guitar – and although he has a bit to learn in all three disciplines, there is already signs of promise and I’m sure you will be hearing and reading a great deal more of him in the years to come. Please pay him a lot of attention.

A few days after I wrote Mother Theresa I sang it to Steve outside his house when he was recovering from a desperate stag weekend in the Lakes. It was the Bank Holiday Monday and a few hours later the events in Manchester made it all seem irrelevant. Sometimes these things provoke a reaction that we all can ascribe to. If you’re a musician – and have a Mojo that’s in tune – you become a conduit. That’s why you should listen to him.

So, here’s a couple of videos of Manchester – please share them wide and far. Of course, just as in everything else – and as Isaac Newton observed in his third law, there is always an equal and opposite reaction – and the counter is below… Not that it is equal in any way… just a grumpy old man’s take on the same thing!

Manchester – Live @ Garstang Unplugged

Manchester – Steve Canavan – a tribute.

Believe

Well, after nine years of trying to do the ‘right thing’ through the ‘usual channels’ and bring a small, but important matter to the attention of the relevant authorities – including our politicians – and been roundly shat upon ever since, I figured it’s finally time for Quid Pro Quo. Unfortunately the three monkeys of the judiciary, parliament and civil service still have their hands covering ears, eyes and mouth, so this time it will have to be the organ grinder herself.

Do join in…

Mother Theresa

Sitting here looking out the window
Wondering what to do
I’m sick and tired hearing all your lies
After all that I’ve been through
You say you care and don’t despair
‘bout what you’ve gone and done
Don’t you realise that I despise
All that you’ve become

Hey Mother Theresa
What you trying to do
You say you have the answers
But you know that it ain’t true
You turned your back on all your friends
Relinquished all their love
For a vanity excursion
Of Eton’s Old Boy’s Club

Being true and strong don’t get me wrong
Is never circumspect
A steady hand will sure command
Loyalty and respect
But when you say the only way
Is to bow to your demands
It’s a grave mistake when you forsake
This green and pleasant land

Hey Mother Theresa
Frack it night and day
Lining pockets of the bankers
Is the price you have to pay
For a tenancy in Number Ten
For the power for the fame
Never mind our children’s future
To you it’s just a game

If led by fools then chaos rules
Is the mantra of the day
Look behind and you will find
Clowns are already there
Political perversions
And dirty shady deals
Britannia’s aristocracy
Consumed by lust and zeal

Hey Mother Theresa
Why don’t you come along
To the foodbank by the Guildhall
Explain just what’s gone wrong
I’m sure it’s really complex
But tell us all the same
How this proud historic country
Could harbour so much pain

So vote for May on Election Day
Set sail for pastures new
Hard times ahead it must be said
For the many not the few
But not for Caledonia
She’s tired of playing your game
She’s cleared her eyes seen thru the lies
Independence will proclaim

So hey Mother Theresa
Don’t you run away
With your influential donors
The masters and their slave
For the fat and greedy bankers
Will always have their day
Whilst the puppets of democracy
Their principles betray

Don’t patronise, don’t sympathise
Don’t say you feel my pain
The deep sense of betrayal
Embarrassment and shame
Gambled on our future
Stolen all our dreams
Squandered them a-plenty
On squalid, filthy schemes

Hey there, Theresa
Kick off your kitten heels
Let loose the pack of bloodhounds
And see how the fox feels
It’s really very simple
It’s nothing that you’ve said
We see the lies behind your eyes
And the promises betrayed
Hey! Theresa.
You ain’t no mother, ain’t no mother of mine

© Mar’sel 2017