‘Something to tease, something to please, something to test, something …..’

This would be funny if it wasn’t so true but it remains true that many more people fail to engage with elections than would be needed to swing the result. There are many reasons for this disengagement but the main one is highlighted in the cartoon; too many people think their voice does not matter. It’s why the current form of regional devolution foisted on Manchester is so damaging; it’s more of the top-down, centralising stuff that we’ve had for the last thirty years. Power-grabbing not problem-solving. We need an alternative. Listening. Bottom-up. Inclusive.
From our very own Welsh correspondent
Richard Emmanuel Jones

Today’s poem is a Satyr’s pasty of the saucer-eyed opprobrium eater Samuel Tailless Coalbridge. That’s according to my notes here. Bryn’s writing is not very good. His handwriting I mean – Mae’n ddrwg gen i Bryn! God rest his soul! – his poem writing is unclassified. Bryn lived in a one-roomed bedsit above the mynach where for twenty-seven years he enjoyed shamelessly and without toil, the generous benificements of a modern western classless meritocracy. Mair the papers says he had two cars and she saw one once – parked half a mile away – and he got in the passenger side! Well, well, boys bach, if he could afford a chauffeur then I think ‘hounding him to his death’ was a bit strong wasn’t it Mrs Bryn’s mam isn’t it? The lazy scrounging bugger! Indeed.

In Aberystwyth Major did
A stately DSS decree
Where poor and needy people ran
And queued times measureless to man
To pawn their dignity.
So twice nine chairs of cerulean
With numbers tolling from red screen
Enfolded carpets bolted to the floors
Where blossomed electronic gadgetry
And here were glass screens thick
And time-locked doors
That gave the Social their security

But oh! that damned deep dividing chasm
Twixt rich and poor the seeds unfairly sown
A savage place! as soulless and degrading
As e’er before a counter girl was haunted
By woman wailing for her crisis loan!

A drunkard on a bender
In the office once I saw
It was a man of aged years
That wondered amidst present peers
Who really won the war
The homeless boy that needs the rent
The cripple needs the bed
The junkie needs to pay the man
A price upon his head
The single mother without fare
Her children cannot feed
She prostitutes her self-esteem
The State buys souls that bleed

And all did frightened see him there
Affix on each a mile-long stare
And all did cry Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
The DSS refused him thrice
And all can see he’s better dead
For he on Special Brew hath fed
And drunk all earthly paradise.


M.C. Escher (Dutch, 1898-1972): Rippled Surface, March 1950. Linocut in black and grey-brown on japan paper, 33.6 x 40.1 cm; image: 26 x 32 cm. National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. © Cordon Art B.V. – Baarn – Netherlands. Image: © The National Gallery of Canada. © This artwork may be protected by copyright. It is posted on the site in accordance with fair use principles. — with John J. Dunphy.


Here’s a beautiful piece on electronic games masterpieces that is well worth a read. The games medium is coming of age and starting to show just how powerful it will become.


And it’s true; ‘Journey’ is a hauntingly beautiful game both to play and to watch. Available here;




Edgar Alwin Payne (American, 1883-1947): Sycamore in Autumn, Orange County Park; c. 1916. Oil on board, 32 x 42 inches. Private Collection, Courtesy of The Irvine Museum, Irvine, California, USA. © This artwork may be protected by copyright. It is posted on the site in accordance with fair use principles.

It’s almost impossible to explain to people outside the UK how much of a spanner Boris Johnson is without then being forced to conclude that many, many people in this country prove themselves too dumb to vote for having elected him. Here he is mowing-down a small child in a game of touch rugby. This accident was completely foreseeable so I can only conclude his handlers and the childrens teachers wanted him to be hurt.



Best homework excuse ever.



I may well be sick but this sort of thing tickles me;


And this;


And finally this;


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