"I'm Madly In Anger With You"

A was placed on my week a few days ago when one of our clients from Unity slashed himself in the Home Office in protest (and no doubt frustration) at the length of time his case is taking. It's crazy that people feel they have to do stuff like this to get their point across. I'm beginning to get the impression from things I've read in the news and seen at Unity that the government is more interested in fulfilling their precious stats than the actual human cases, something I also believe is fuelled by the crap put out by the likes of The Daily Mail that portrays asylum seekers as 'spongers wanting to take advantage of British generosity' or whatever their latest bile is.

It drives me mad. The impact of this stuff is devastating for the people involved, case in point up above with the guy who slashed himself. Add to that the ridiculous amount of red tape and bureaucracy people have to jump through in pursuing their asylum cases and cowboy lawyers too lazy to a job properly and out to make a quick buck. Add to the inefficiency of the system - wrong information from one case being added to another wrongly, which can seriously scupper things. For instance, one guy I'm trying to help currently in detention who can't be removed to his country of origin as they refuse to recognise him as a citizen and who won't take him back. He has applied for bail umpteen times, but has been refused on the grounds that he absconded, which he didn't. His case worker also got the sack, and though he's since been given a new one, it appears he's just been left to rot in detention. It's not helped that he also has PTSD due to torture and this is getting worse because he's in detention. The stupidity of it all is beyond belief.

At the same time I do recognise there are opportunistic cases, such as the recent case of two British fascists wanted by the long arm of the law in England, applying to the US for asylum. They did get rejected. I think these situations are in the minority. There are genuine cases on the go where all someone wants is to be safe and get away from the nightmare they face back home. We see them in the centre, with folk frustrated beyond words and bursting into tears. It seems to me that the UKBA persecutes people for the 'cheek' of wanting to live somewhere safe instead of putting up with torture, civil war, the risk of death, violence and sexual abuse on the grounds of ethnicity, gender, politics and/or sexual orientation. It's that simple. People just want to be able to live safely. Yet it's easier said than done.

Most pointless strike ever?

So, the UK postal system has come to a standstill because the little darlings that work for Royal Mail aren't happy about something, throwing their dummies out the pram and gone on strike. I do find it laughable. Striking for conditions etc? It should be the public striking thanks to the shoddy service provided. I don't trust the Post Office as far as I could fling it. Stuff always seems to be getting lost. And the amount of times I've fallen over a pile of mail left outside the close (some letters being ripped open by opportunistic passers-by as a result) because the postie couldn't get in and didn't bother bringing it back the next day. Not to mention the few times we've seen a postie helping themselves to our mail! Of course, not all are like that, but there are those who give the rest a bad name.

So my job hunting is slightly up the swanney as I can't post anything out as it wouldn't arrive on time. Aside from that, I've had interview invitations not arrive till very late, or in the case of The Boy, not arrive at all and potential jobs lost as a consequence. At the end of last week, he got an email from a potential employer who seemed to be from a parallell universe sending him an email late on Thursday night asking him to return the attached equal opportunities form by post first thing the next day. I don't think he was amused.

The part of me that really would like to get a job is thinking the time could be ripe for applying for one of the many temp jobs with the PO to cover the industrial unrest and xmas (though I get the impression they are now filled); the leftie mild Marxist part of me is not wanting to be a 'scab' and my inner big feartie doesn't fancy racing for safety through the streets of Glasgow, pursued by burly striking postal staff yelling 'scab' and wanting to kick seven shades out of me. I think the inner big feartie wins!

Grandparents are not what they seem

They say the older generation are not appreciated these days by the young, and cast by the wayside. This isn't the case for Michael and myself. Both of us are of the opinion that we have rather nifty grandparents who seem to get up to all sorts of mischief. Michael holds his own in rather high regard, and is often sharing anecdotes about his late grandfathers. Let's just say Barrhead has to be a duller place without the indomitable George Collins! And perhaps this might encourage him to post his own blog with such tales. But what about my own grandparents? They all have a similar strength of spirit and quirk of character, that is worth preserving for posterity. So in no particular order and all that:

'Jean the Haricot Bean'

My mum's mum, known to all of my generation of the family as Gran, went by the rather impressive moniker Jane Anne Paterson Hunter Henderson. Everyone called her Jean, Haricot being a nickname I suspect my Grampsie gave her. Sadly, she passed away in 2004, but left behind memories that I'm sure will be passed on for some time yet.

Like all my grandparents, Gran was only in her forties when I was born. It is perhaps this that her youthful vigour can be put down to. Quite simply, she was slightly mad, but in a good way. She was probably the only grandmother amongst my associates who could go on a night out with you and dance you off the floor. Additionally, Gran was well known for her singing voice, and every party had at my grandparents house, it was compulsory for everyone to get up and do a song, in traditional Glasgow fashion. However, it was Gran who was the piece de resistance and the headliner. She was a small woman, at only '5 feet, one and a half inches' (her words), but she certainly had a set of lungs on her and could 'gie it laldy'. Her song was The Wonder of You, which would be sang with great gusto, her daughters on backing vocals and my Grampsie plinking away on his keyboard. I don't think a Henderson party was a Henderson party til she got up and did her piece.

Another thing I remember Gran for were her bizarre turns of phrase, the most memorable being "You'll get yer heid in yer hons tae play with" for anyone who was getting up to mischief. The first time she said this to me, I did a double take. When someone was ill, they were often told by Gran "It's far fae yer arse, ye'll no sit oan it." And to anyone was tired - "Ye've goat eyes like pissholes in the snow." It has to be said, Gran wasn't someone to be crossed and didn't suffer fools. She might have been wee, but she was scary when she got going - I can easily picture my six foot plus tall brother cowering as he got a ticking off from our Gran who came up to his shoulder.

I think one of my most enduring memories of her is once when we went shopping with my aunt. I must have been about eleven at the time. There we were in the old Pollock Centre (now Silverburn), walking along, when all of a sudden over the piped music came a 1950s rock n roll classic. The 1950s were the teenage heyday for Gran. Suddenly, surrounded by lots of other shoppers, Gran started jiving...

'The One Man Band`

My grandfather, husband of Gran, is 72 going on 17. These days he resides out in Eaglesham with his mad Westie Toby, enjoys bowling and going along to 'the club'. He is known to us lot as Grampsie. He enjoys the horse racing, and the football, getting royally pissed off if I call him during a game. In the family, his cooking is legendary, as are his musical abilities. He was in a skiffle band back in the day, and can play piano by ear. He has his own music room in his house where he plays his keyboards, or bashes about on an old guitar I gave him, Toby often sitting next to him howling along. Grampsies favourite band is Queen, though he is also partial to a bit of Paul Anka.

Wherever Grampsie goes, he normally starts tapping his hand on any available surface, stamping his feet and sings whatever happens to pop into his head. It can be a fairly entertaining experience. Once when I was living with my aunt, I was tidying up the kitchen and playing the Grease soundtrack. Grampsie came in for his daily cup of tea (and Toby his daily bark - the dog thinks it's human), and immediately started dancing, tapping and singing along to Greased Lightening . I had to make him a copy of the CD.

Grampsie is also quite hard of hearing, and things need to be loud for him to listen. So picture the scene at my brothers 21st birthday party. A rather dodgy DJ had been hired. This was someone who played what he wanted to listen to, treating it as if he was having a record session in his own home. Thus we were treated to very loud, very trashy dance music. Imagine Michael's glee, when Grampsie, after uttering some choice swear words, got up and told the DJ to turn it down so he could hear himself think. And down it stayed til Grampsie wandered through to the bar and the DJ thought himself safe.

'Ronnie Corbetts No.1 Fan'

My Grandma might be thought of as a quiet wee soul, which in some ways is correct. She is a beacon of sanity in many aspects, but at times has her moments. My dad's mum, Grandma resides in Paisley, and can be described as rightly proud of her Irish roots, of which she has taught me all about. Grandma was the youngest of nine kids, her mother, Sarah coming from Ballyshannon in Donegal and father, Thomas, coming from Ayrshire. She has lived in Paisley all her life and seems to be a proud 'Buddy'. Additionally she also financed my travel to and from uni in the last two years of my degree, so has a rightful claim on my degree scroll!

Grandma has come out with a few lines in the last few years, stopping me in my tracks on many an occassion. For your edification:

• During a telephone conversation in which the tennis was mentioned, Grandma informed me she enjoyed watching Wimbledon because she thought Andy Murray had nice legs.
• Apparently had a thing for Ronnie Corbert that used to freak her kids out. Karen-Anne, my aunt, and Grandmas only daughter, reckons it might be a thing of the past. I'm not so sure...
• Also thought Jeremy Clarkson was quite nice too until he happened to be disparaging of Gordon Brown as a 'one eyed Scottish fool'. As a Scot, Grandma was rightly offended.
• And let's not forget Engelbert Humperdink.
  

Grandma also has little time for computers and the internet and gets a tad fed up when I show Karen Anne how to do something on her laptop, resulting in us both getting rather involved. I recently suggested Grandma take a beginners computer course at the local library, enabling her to be a 'silver surfer' and also keep in touch with far flung family members via email. She actually seemed taken by it.

And so, the motto is, value your elders for the wisdom they provide and respect the fact they can likely outlast you at a party and deck you with a mean left hook if you are a scallywag!

Stephen Gately 1976 - 2009

As a teenager, I was quite a big fan of Boyzone, although I flitted on to other things when I got older. I can't really say 'grew out of' because it's patronising and my mum has since become a fan. Ronan was my favourite out of them, but I did have a big soft spot for Stephen. So I was very floored last night when at 3 AM the following conversation was had:

Michael: "Hey Mandy, you're a Boyzone fan aren't you?"

Me: "I was when I was younger."

Michael: "Stephen Gately's dead."

Me: "You what??????"

I suppose I could be of the not bothered camp, as this was someone I followed as a kid and might come under the giggly 'what were we like at that age' moniker. But I'm quite sad to hear he's gone. Also marginally freaked out by the fact he was healthy (you had to be to do those dance routines!) and only 33, yet he just went in his sleep. Only six years older than yours truly. I guess it's one of those things that when you're young you think you're never going to die (well, I tend to think of it as an event so long off it seems a bit mad), and when something like this happens, it is a massive shock and reminder that you never know when your number's up.

Stephen is regarded as significant also as one of the first major pop stars to come out as gay back in 1999. Doesn't seem like a big deal now really, but when you think back to what it was like then, only a few years after George Michael's arrest for cottaging, it is was quite significant. According to my mate Paul, Gately ended up coming out after a 'quality Sunday' rag was about to publish it's own 'exclusive' on his sexuality. Just goes to show how homophobic the press were a decade ago, and sad to see that sensationalist attitude still exists today in the media; for example David Tennant kissing John Barrowman at Comic Con in San Diego - The Sun had a field day. Like so what - Barrowman will snog anything that moves and Tennant, well what's the big deal about a straight guy kissing a gay guy? But I digress.

So, I guess I'm really taken aback that one of the guys from my teenybop era has just suddenly gone. Let's just hope the sensationalist media give Stephen's family, friends, partner and bandmates a break, not like they 'considerately' did for Matt Lucas after his ex, Kevin McGee, committed suicide. One rag had an article about it on their website, complete with pictures taken of David Walliams and Jack Dee going into Matts house to look after their mate. No wonder paps end up getting decked by celebrities!

Metallica Appreciation I

I'd argue that since we started dating, Michael has been trying very hard to get me into Metallica, but didn't succeed til fairly recently. I put it down to him playing Welcome Home (Sanitarium) on one of his random playlists one evening and me going "OMG! THAT'S BRILLIANT! WHO IS IT?!" To which I got the usual mild sardonic Michael Stare, and the reply of "Metallica" in tones of, 'you really ought to know who that is, and by the way, didn't I tell you they were great?' I am really losing the battle here of telling Michael he has a dodgy taste in music. Well, there are in fact other artists he likes that are lousy, so maybe it balances out...

The whole getting into Metallica thing for me is kind of interesting. The last musician I got into in such a huge way was Rufus Wainwright a few years ago. Since then, I've been very hard to please when it came to music, though there have been a few bands I've gotten very partial to in the meantime such as Crowded House and INXS. I'll grant that Michael's absolute favourites,Big Country aren't bad either. I guess I've just been hanging out for the X-Factor, and I mean the proper X-Factor, not that tawdry excuse of a 'talent contest' on the box. But, then, I just happened to encounter the 'Tallica, and let's just say it's been a very happy musical love affair ever since. I mean ,Kirk Hammett has managed to usurp George Harrison as my all time favourite guitarist and they've just about toppled The Beatles as my Favourite Band, full stop. I apologise now for the gushing prose, but heck, I was a music journalist in my late teens, and to do that effectively, you need to be a bullshit merchant. I guess once a bullshit merchant, always a bullshit merchant!

I thought it would be an interesting exercise to go through some of the songs I've seriously gotten into in comparison to some and write my thoughts on them, as one is wont to do when they have a blog and have the chance to bat their gums on whatever they feel like. I have a feeling this might be an ongoing, if irregular, exercise. And hopefully won't lead to a heated debate til 4AM between me and The Boy over why I think some songs are great, while he reckons they're crap, henceforth known as 'The One Controversy', which can be explained as thus: One is a Metallica track highly regarded by the vast majority of fans, though one I don't feel acquainted enough with to comment on, but my general impression so far is that it's great. Michael thinks it's over-rated rubbish.

Without much further ado:

Nothing Else Matters

Could be counted under The One Controversy. I have to say, it's my favourite. It's one of those songs you hear for the first time and it completely blows your socks off. Actually, I got a bit emotional first time I heard it. Yes. I can be a complete Girl at times (how many sexism accusations could this raise I wonder). What really cemented it for me was watching Metallica perform it at the 1999 S&M show, a clip I saw courtesy of YouTube, which I recommend to just about everyone:

I can't think what there's not to like about it. In fact Michael only dislikes it owing to teenage love gone wrong. It's not the kind of thing you reckon Metallica would do, but there you go. If anything, it shows how powerful a lyricist Hetfield is, and to me is a song about staying true to yourself, your beliefs and general chosen path in life. For example:

“So close no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
And nothing else matters

Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
And nothing else matters

Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
And nothing else matters”

Stories associated with it I've come across online is that Hetfield wrote it about a girlfriend (who he can't remember) whilst on tour and had no intention of recording it. Until Lars convinced him otherwise. These days, Metallica dedicate it to their fans, and it has been covered a few times. Most curiously enough by a group of Gregorian monks doing their chant thing!

All Nightmare Long

From the latest album "Death Magnetic", which isn't a) distorted and too loud (how the heck can Metallica be too loud!) or b) another miserable failure. The intro to this is the ringtone on my mobile - the effect of Robert Trujiillo's nifty bass riff on me. All Nightmare Long is one of Hetfield's little ventures into HP Lovecraft land (minus arguments between Cthulhu and the Flying Spaghetti Monster), along the lines of The Thing That Sleeps and The Call Of Ktulhu - though the latter is really an instrumental by Cliff Burton (RIP). Being a Lovecraft fan myself, this of course it something that appeals. The particular story this is based on is The Hounds of Tindalos by Frank Belnap Long, described by James Hetfield as a 'head****' (censored for the courtesy of family members who might happen to be reading!).

I read the story myself the other night. It's certainly a mind twister, but in a good way. Not quite on the weirdness level of Lovecraft though, but then, he is a special case. I watched the video to All Nightmare Long a few weeks ago - now that does fit Hetfield's description of The Hounds of Tindalos and quite possibly one of the maddest things I've ever seen. Link to the video here. Seriously, don't watch if you're scared easily. If you find mild horror hard to stomach, then I'd avoid, because it's quite extreme.

The Outlaw Torn

Doesn't fall under The One Controversy - Michael reckons it's one of the last classic Metallica songs. I'd figure it to be a little problematic to some of the more anal 'Tallica fans, purely by virtue of the fact that it's off the not very liked "Load" album. But then, people are fickle. This was also part of the S&M show. Hetfields vocals kick ass (I was going to say soar, but really!) and Kirk Hammett really churns out the guitar solo. I note that some fans on YouTube - I get much of my Metallica fix there when checking out live stuff - think this is the craziest guitar solo Hammett has ever played. He pretty much lets rip.

Welcome Home (Sanitarium)

Pretty much has to get mentioned as it's the song that hooked me. From “Master of Puppets”, this is off the last album that Cliff Burton ever worked on. I will explain who Cliff is eventually, I promise, for those getting a little puzzled. Nifty intro, and probably some of the bleakest lyrics I've ever heard. For instance:

"Welcome to where time stands still
no one leaves and no one will
Moon is full, never seems to change
just labeled mentally deranged
Dream the same thing every night
I see our freedom in my sight
No locked doors, No windows barred
No things to make my brain seem scarred"

If Sylvia Plath lived an extra couple of decades and got her mitts on a Gretsch Flying V...

...probably completely killed that song for Michael now! He's not too fond of the first Mrs Ted Hughes to say the least.

The Call of Ktulu

First off, it's spelt Cthulhu and comes from, 'Ride The Lightning', and the bands first instrumental. According to Cliff Burton is responsible for introducing the rest of the group to the joys of Mr Lovecraft, the idea of the song allegedly coming from The Shadow Over Innsmouth (personally, I'm a little dubious, but open to being corrected) . The opening of this frankly awesome track is played by Cliff Burton, who to me played the bass like it was just another six string guitar. I've always thought of bass guitar as being a simple tack on affair to bolster the rhythm. Then I heard Cliff Burton. I was still a bit dubious about bass being able to sound that great, then I came across a live video of Cliff playing the opening riff to For Whom The Bell Tolls and I'm still eating my words.

So, Cliff Burton? For the uninitiated, Cliff was Metallicas second bassist, who replaced Ron McGovney. The story is that Lars Ulrich and James Hetfield were out to replace McGovney as they thought he was, frankly, shite. They saw Cliff play live one night, were rather blown away by him, in the words of James Hetfield:

"We heard this wild solo going on and thought, 'I don't see any guitar player up there.' It turned out it was the bass player, with a wah-wah pedal and this mop of hair. He didn't care whether there were people there. He was looking down at his bass, playing."
James, Rolling Stone, 1993

After the gig, they went up to Cliff and said, “PleaseJoinOurBand! PleaseJoinOurBand!”, to which Cliff said no, but finally said yes at the end of 1982, on the basis the band relocated to San Francisco from Los Angeles. Needless to say, Lars et al made the flit. Cliff played on the first three Metallica albums. The group were starting to get huge, but sadly in August 1986 while on tour in Sweden, their tourbus crashed and Cliff was killed. He was 24 and is still missed like crazy to this day. The remaining band members weren't sure whether or not to go on, but got the blessing of Cliffs family and recruited Jason Newsted as bass player. He left the band rather acrimonously in 2001, and was replaced in 2003 by Robert Trujillo.

The Unforgiven I/II/III

I think this can best be described as a three parter. The first one appears on “The Black Album”, and is fair enough. I actually prefer no II from “Reload” (another disliked album). Again, it's a lyrics thing, not to mention the fact I think the entire song is greatly improved by having the electric guitar riff. Lyrics wise:

“Lay beside me
Under wicked sky
The black of day
Dark of night
We share this paralyze
The door cracks open
But there's no sun shining through
Black heart scarring darker still
But there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining through
No, there's no sun shining

What I've felt
What I've known
Turn the pages
Turn the stone
Behind the door
Should I open it for you? “

I like the turn of phrase. Blame it on a mixture of being raised on Bob Dylan and listening to John Lennons wackiness as heard in “Revolver” and I am the Walrus. Plus I just like a good lyric. The sentiment also appeals, probably because I've been through a few periods in my life where those lines would just fit. I think James Hetfield views the Unforgiven trilogy as a marker of his psychological state thanks to the crap he's been through, from the slightly mad childhood that left him a bit wonky, to his recovery from alcoholism. In the behind the scenes footage of “Death Magnetic” where the band are deciding the final songs to go on the album, he's emphatic that The Unforgiven III should be included as he says it shows a personal journey for him. Number III takes a completely different tune from the first two and isn't quite so heavy, in a light at the end of the tunnel. Or to put it another way, he's happier in his dotage, though at 46, he's not quite in his dotage! Either way, III is a pleasant, slightly melancholy, but lighter affair. I wonder if we'll see IV?

St Anger/Sweet Amber

No doubt the “St Anger” detractors will insist I get my head checked for this as that's seen as the worst album. Metallica were pretty messed up at the time, Newsted having just quit, the band infamously enlisting a therapist to help them work out their issues and Hetfield vanishing for several months to go into rehab for alcoholism. For the record, he's been sober since, and good on him. I just like the energy behind it, and the demented drumming. I have a history of panic attacks, and strange as it may seem, St Anger sums up pretty well the racket that goes on in my head when my anxiety is playing up. I guess Sweet Amber can be said to be the come down of it. Hetfields vocals, which are quite raw, also strike a nerve for me. A bit of Aristotelian catharsis there for you.

Enter Sandman

Okay, having gone on for longer than I thought and on fewer songs than I envisaged, I'll make this the last one for now (it really is going to end up the blogger version of The Unforgiven I, II and III!) This again comes under The One Controversy between myself and my dearly beloved. He thinks it's overrated and overplayed. Probably doesn't help that I mess about playing the riff of it whenever I remember to practice guitar! For the record, this is ironically the song that got Michael into Metallica as it was used in ECW as The Sandmans theme (the former being a crazy, extreme pro-wrestling promotion that has been revived in recent years by the WWE, the latter an even crazier, drunken pro-wrestler who comes down to the ring guzzling beer before thwacking opponents with a Kendo stick). Anyone who knows Michael will know he is a huge wrestling fan and a walking, talking encyclopedia on the subject.

There's something darkly Roald Dahlish about it. I'd say Gaimanish too, but that might be a bit obvious given Neil Gaiman was the originator of the most successful comic strip of the 90s, The Sandman. It's like a black lullaby, the kind of thing you'd play to your kid if you had a cruel streak in you. In fact, knowing me, my own offspring are probably going to be the sort who'd love this being sung to them at the age of four! Again, the lyrics illustrate it best:

“Hush little baby, don't say a word
And never mind that noise you heard
Its just the beast under your bed,
In your closet, in your head

Exit light
Enter night
Grain of sand

Exit light
Enter night
Take my hand
We're off to never never land”

*The writer of this post was greatly traumatised in bringing it to you as it was originally written in Open Office and pasted onto Blogger, which then took it upon itself to reformat just about everything and required meticulous editing in the Edit HTML window to get rid of reformatting, taking away an hour of said writers life that will never be gotten back. The writer can found sittingrockinginacornerbabblingpleasemakeitstop/canihaveacupoftea/will larsulrichlikeit/wibblewibble/wantmyteddy.*

Insomnia on an HP Lovecraft Kick

Looking up Cthulhu cartoons online. This is my favourite. Cthulhu versus the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Removing Myself from the Latest Unemployment Figures

The fortnightly trip to the Jobcentre rolled round yet again to scribble my signature on a piece of paper in order to get the pittance. Our local Jobcentre is a very depressing place, with a staff who could do with learning how to be nice to people. Luckily for us, we have a rather nice guy who seems to like having us in, actually provides the help the Jobcentre constantly blows it's trumpet about, but in reality fails to deliver and in general, is quite sympathetic to our situation. The rest of the staff seem to treat us as no better than scum - as in how dare we have the audacity to graduate right in the middle of a recession. From the perspective of someone who studied Sociology and might actually know what they're talking about, I think this attitude sucks. It can be detrimental to a person's confidence, so how the heck can they be expected to find a job if someone who's meant to be helping them treats them like crap?

Also, there appears to be the tendency to get folk on the books into any old shite job, that will more than likely result in said person back at the Jobcentre and going through the whole farrago again within months. I talk from experience on that one. It seems to be, to use a cliche, a case of using a cheap plaster from the cornershop to mend a huge gash. I also find it interesting that I make enquiries from time to time to other members of staff (as in the advisers, or those who see themselves as God, and not the folk who just get you to sign) about some of the schemes the Jobcentre likes to boast about, such as Training For Work, WorkTrial etc, and I'm essentially told to shut up because they're not going to help me with that. I think that is what we can call not doing your job properly.

I can understand that working in a Jobcentre and dealing with the mass unemployed isn't the most easiest job in the planet. Probably not the nicest job in the planet, as not everyone you deal with will be nice to you. But at the same time, is it not important to remember that the folk you are meant to help are in fact people, not statistics, who have their own needs, dreams and plans for the future? I'll happily agree with the maxim there are those who like to scrounge of the state, but is this not the minority rather than the majority? It appears to me that this is the attitude of certain Jobcentre staff I've encountered. Some of us, like me, would much rather be supporting themselves through work than having to sign on.

Ten Hours of Craziness

My normal weekend routine normally consists of reading through a pile of good books, being jumped on by gerbils and drinking copious amounts of tea, but it was a little different this weekend. Or, at least, today. It was the day of the Unity Conference, held at the Pearce Institute in Govan. It primarily consisted of a report on everything Unity is doing (believe me, it's a lot), and general organising. Unofficially, it is also the chance to eat copious amounts of home made veggie pakora, samosas and cakes, which were rather lovely.

I'm a volunteer with Unity, mainly in the Centre itself, where I do my bit trying to support detained asylum seekers, and also chatting to those dropping by on their way to the Home Office, offering any help and making tea. It's got to be one of the most rewarding things I've ever done and I've met a lot of lovely people. Associated with the Centre is the charity, complete with shop, a football team, English classes and soon, and LGBT support service. One of the things I like about working with the organisation, as well as the fact that it helps out people who find themselves in a wide range of difficult situations (some of it can be quite harrowing), is the fact that everyone who pops by is so friendly and are out for each other. It's also opened my eyes to a lot of things, primarily the reality behind the tabloid fuzz on asylum seekers.

Some of the things disturb me, such as the fact that of late, there have been a large number of young children being detained in Dungavel or Yarlswood over the summer, despite the fact the Immigration Powers That Be are meant to be running a scheme called Alternatives to Detention, where children are 'only' detained in extreme circumstances. Also there is the fact that anyone can be detained at the drop of a hat and needless to say, this results in shock, depression and other things. And don't get me started on the legal side of it! I spent most of the conference running around after lots of cute toddlers, however, and a whale of a time was had by all playing with a flourescent pink bird puppet, a monkey, reading stories and getting covered in home made stickers. And these are the same kids that are whisked willy nilly off to a detention centre. It's not particularly fair.

On a lighter note, after that I headed off into town to see The Boy (aka Michael) and my friends perform at the latest Word Dogs, a spoken word event involving several local writers. It was rather good. The Boy gave his best performance yet, and Hal Duncan almost stole the show. I was also glad to see my good friend Paul Cockburn get up and read some drabbles (100 word fictions). He claims to struggle with his fiction, but he's definitely a great writer and probably doesn't know just how good he really is - yes Paul, that can be taken as a hint not to give it up! My mum, her partner and Michael's mum, Trish, came along too. I think it's safe to say it was something different for my mum, who must now be wondering at the company her eldest daughter keeps. Trish was very proud of her own offspring, but it seems a certain Mr Duncan, has made an impression, as Trish has been raving about him since she got home, so we've been informed by Cat, Michael's sister. As I've known Hal (or Al as the scruffs who go down the pub with him call him) since I was 19, I find it quite interesting when other folk I know become his fans. After all, he's the lovable, skinny and slightly mad dude who introduced me to the wonders of a good pint of Guinness and Rufus Wainwright!