Thursday, 14 July 2016

The GovCoin Misdirection

It was one of the greatest feats of misdirection in recent history, while the wizards were keeping some people amused, others in abject fear, and still other groups in shock at the stupidity of it all.  With the media fast disappearing up its own arse we were all so busy looking at the wizards right hand no one bothered much to watch his left hand, or indeed the 20 guys behind him.  That left hand instigated something that although innocuous on the surface has far reaching effects in a negative way for many people.  But these effects will reach for further than those at the very bottom of the pile, like a cancer it will slowly creep upon us in a way that it will affect everyone.  From the money grabbing criminals known as the big banks to the guy who runs your local bar and so far beyond.  

They gave us a cast of characters to leave our mouths open in awe at their stupidity, or somethings even their forward thinking.  They kept everyone busy while the real damaging shit was done behind the scenes.  Recent british political news has obviously been written by a psychotic on mescaline, or so it would appear at first glance. But rule one of being a total bastard of a politician is if you are going to hide something that could be really bad then the more of a shit storm you could face the bigger your misdirection must be.  Its name is ‘GovCoin’ and it's the terrible secret they don't want you to know about.

So the bastards went all out… they opened up the battery of media control guns and fired at each other in a play fight that kept everything they wanted away from prying eyes.  But now it’s time for me to expose these devious bastards and make their plan more well known.

But first let's have a recap on one of the most explosive weeks in British politics in its history and see the scale of the misdirection campaign.

If some bastard had wrote a movie script with the events of the last few weeks in the British Isles in it, it would be rejected due to being too fanciful.  We’ve had the politicians behind the Brexit leave campaign all say ‘fuck it we’re all leaving’re on your fucking own!’ The Prime minister (or ex prime minister by the time you read this) has resigned and a new one put in place without any member of the public getting a chance to vote on it. It's a coup by the hardcore conservatives in the Tory party.  The whole thing smells worse than last week's fish. A bad smell that is permeating the country.  It puts a person in charge of the country who is anti intellectual, anti equal rights, anti workers rights and anti a whole lot more things in charge.  It's all going to go to hell in a hand cart.  The fact that Boris Johnson, the guy who acts the british buffoon but has a heart of solid ice is now the Foreign Secretary boggles the mind

The Labour party is split down the middle into the parliamentary party (the members of parliament ) on one side and the Labour party members on the other.  With the parliamentary party wanting the leader of the Labour Party kicked out on his arse in what amounts to a coup by the Blairite hordes. The party members who don’t seemly get a say in this until it's all sewn up don't seem to want rid of Jeremy Corbyn.  They like the guys and in fact it’s seen more people join the party than in recent memory.  The leader of UKIP (that loathsome little toad Nigel Farage) has sodded off as well and no one really seems to care who the hell is in charge of that crowd very much.  He’s served his purpose in the whole thing so it’s a case of ‘bye bye, astalavista, toodle pipski, piss off’.

Its a fucking mess, the whole god damned thing. The political maneuvering by the Tory party factions was a sight to behold to anyone who watches carefully.  A vote by Tory MP’s was had… then one by one they all dropped out until Theresa May (Margaret Thatcher's Mini me clone) was the only one left standing… “It's ok guys! We don’t need a vote on who will lead the country as there’s only one candidate Left.”  This all smells wrong, and you know as sure as all green hell that Andrea Leadsom will be given an important role in Mini Thatcher’s cabinet as a reward.

No one in the UK has voted to have Theresa May as Prime Minister, she has already made if very clear there will be no election until 2020.  The last time this handover without an election happened it was Gordon Brown taking over from Tony Blair.  In that case Theresa May was very vocal about the fact that there should be an immediate election as Brown did not have the mandate of the country.  No one had voted for Brown as Prime Minister...he just dropped in like a substitute at the 89th minute.  

How ironic that when it is Theresa May she has suddenly changed her opinion on such inconsequential things as people actually being able to vote on who they would prefer as Prime Minister.  While I detest everything that David Cameron stands for..he may be a cunt, but at least he was an elected cunt.  Some people actually voted for him.  No one apart from members of parliament that are representing the Tory party have got any sort of vote on who the next damn Prime Minister of the UK will be!

That brings us up to date...

Thats one helluva misdirection!  A one so big it risked damaging britain in the process.  What was it all for if not really about leaving europe or not?  The bottom line is neither sided of the referendum is going to get everything they voted for, so in a fucked up way the status quo after all this has been preserved.  3 steps forward 5 steps back.

So while every bastard has been consumed with the fall-out of the labour party attempted coup and the brexit vote...a changing Prime minister and rats deserting a sinking ship, one of the most worrying decisions about the british welfare system in its history has been made. A new trial technology has been put into place currently for a smallish number of people.  It means they can only get paid (and by extension spend from it) money direct from a government app on a smart phone.  

Oh but it gets so much better…. This ‘virtual currency’ is a non tradeable one developed by a company called GovCoin Systems Limited.  They are a city of london start-up that specializes in Bitcoin type virtual currency systems. Pay attention as this is a complex rabbit warren you may need to read a few times!

Now GovCoin Systems Limited chairman is a man named John Edge, who freely admitted in a speech he gave on the 16th  october 2015 when talking about crypto currencies that “no one understands in any sense.”   He’s also the chairman of Identity Economic Holdings whose sole shareholder is  the mysterious Id economic Holdings Llc. He is also managing director of 15 other companies all linked to money and digital identity security.  Of most interest politically is the fact he is director of  Whitechapel Think Tank Limited.  I’ll let you do your own research on that one. (which will lead you down a maze of shell companies that own each other with no easily discernible end.) None of these companies have posted any records whatsoever!  Hes not surprisingly a hard core Tory party supporter and one has to wonder if that is why one of his many companies have been awarded this contract.

But the icing on this whole huge fucked up cake is that he is a former Head of Electronic Client Solutions at JP fucking Morgan!  This is no man of the people or tech guru, more of the global banking elites ‘man’.  But it gets even more scary…. Hold onto your hats as this should concern everyone reading this.  He is the co founder of ID2020. This “aims to develop a legal digital identity from birth for everyone by 2030.”  Something they are terming a ‘Self Sovereign Identity’. I’ll be amazed if you ever hear of this man's name in the media or read about him in a paper. He’s a ninja, invisible until it's too late.

But what does the idea of forcing people on benefits to require the use of a smartphone app that they can only be paid and spend money with?… well apart from the fact the cryptocurrency would be non transferable and non tradable (so no changing it for proper paper money anywhere!)

This means that benefit sanctions could be put into place (and no doubt will as one thing the Tory party are fluffy bunnies) if you spend this virtual currency on anything through the app that they don't like.  If you control the way money can be spent, you control the person.

Spend more than they think you should on cigarettes or beer? Well that's a sanction for you sonny Jim! No more money for you for 6 months! Supporting a cause that is contrary to the government's decision? That's another 6 month sanction boyo!  Good luck trying to feed your family.   So your guy you know you runs a bar… suddenly no one on benefits can go there, your mate who runs a shop? Suddenly large sections of his stock will not be allowed to be bought by some people.  It’ll be a step back to the dark ages with a knock on effect that will resonate to every area of life.

But while on the surface it seems a not bad idea to make sure those on benefits are not wasting their money on things we deam as ‘luxuries’, it has a very far reaching effect for both personal freedom and the economy.  It all seems very voluntary at the moment, but no one brings in a highly invasive method of control and admit what they are doing.  They have to ease it in, change public opinion so that people on benefits are not just seen as ‘scroungers’ but actual barely human scum. But then we’ll all be clamoring for a method of ‘sorting the bastards out’ such as this.  The main hole in the whole system right now is that it requires the benefit claimant to have a working smartphone.  But i can see some sort of government sanctions very limited smart phone being made available to benefit claimants in some way.  

The big question is what will happen to those who cannot , will not or refuse to have a smartphone? Will they then be excluded from claiming benefits at all?  It's no secret in westminster circles than the Tory party have been looking like many western governments for a way to get involved in blockchain based cryptocurrencies.  By getting onto the bandwagon, taking control of the reins they are then making damn sure that they have control of it and can make it little more than a tool for the financial elite and the banks.  So instead of it being a way for people to not have to rely on notaries or banks, they will be tied to them even tighter than ever before.

Former Cabinet Office minister, Matthew Hancock spoke publicly of the Try governments longing to use blockchains in government. “Monitoring and controlling the use of grants is incredibly complex. A blockchain, accessible to all the parties involved, might be a better way of solving that problem”.

So instead of Bitcoin and other cryptocurrencies democratising economics and removing  the middle man they look to be about to end up in the worst hands of all.  It's becoming very clear that some have very nefarious intentions for the whole thing.

But let's predict the future a bit here. Let's say you are behind all this and you REALLY want as many people as possible to use a currency you control., that cannot be exchanged or traded, that you can withhold or award on a whim and you control 100%.  You need this as your overall method of control, but you know as sure as trees a fuckign green people won't agree to it given a choice.  You play the long game.  You start it small, make sure it's as easy as falling out of bed to use and that it has initially some very big plus points.  Later after you have had a word with your good friend Rupert Murdoch and ask him to change public opinion even further away from seeing people on benefits as human beings towards animals who barely classify as human.  Horrible stupid people that need to be controlled for their own good. Once the public is clamoring for action (maybe even letting a few large scale political demonstrations take place); then and only then do you make it all far more hardcore.

People will not see the suffering in the media as your good mate Rupert controls most of it.  This gives you room to expand so that all government employees get paid the same way (only with a little more leeway).  It opens up doors to ‘for the good of the country's health you can no longer buy ‘x’ with GovCoin’.  After that you can do and control whatever you want, it's only limited by your darkest nightmares.

Invasive technologies rarely appear fast as they seem, when it involves control of large amount sofc people, it is planned years, sometimes a decade or two in advance.   The real power behind the throne never shows its face, it doesn't have to as it calls the shots.

So I urge others reading this to extend this research and dig deeper before it moves too far along.  Otherwise the phrase ‘I am a free person’ will have no meaning a couple of decades from now.  The whole idea should freeze you to your very soul.

Sunday, 26 June 2016

The God Damned Brexit by Tony X Stanton

The whole Brexit thing has gone to shit.  I don't care which side you're on of the whole thing, because it's all going spectacularly wrong in ways that some had not foreseen.  I’m English, in my mid 40’s and have been lucky enough to work in a fair few countries, both European and otherwise over the years.  But no matter where I have been living and working there is always one constant… politicians are a bunch of lying bastards.  All of them to a man (or indeed woman).  I trust them about as much as I trust a crazy guy with bolt cutters near my cock.

When the votes started to come in on the early hours of Friday morning, I was drinking in a nightclub with my fiancee.  Due to having a damn ulcer, finding a drink that didn’t flare it up had become like russian roulette.  Ciders sent it into orbit, anything fizzy likewise and as for my old usual nightclub drink of newcastle brown ale...well that wasn’t much better.  So I was stuck on this horrible flat fosters in tiny bottles obviously intended for midgets.   My broken rib made me feel like I was being repeatedly stabbed with white hot screwdrivers.  Mirroring the terrible sense of dread that was overcoming me.

At 1st it all looked like the status quo would be maintained and there would be no leaving Europe for the British Isles.  But as more and more votes came in my terrible suspicions were shown to be true.  The idiots had taken over the asylum.  After decades of the populace being dumbed down by a combination of the Murdoch controlled media and successive political parties, those with the loudest voices and the lowest IQ’s had taken over. It was a coup by the idiot masses.  I’m not referring of course to people who voted as their conscience told them after reading all available facts, but of course the the fact it had now given carte blanche to the racists, bigots and xenophobes to use this as a big stick to bash anyone not considered English enough with.

There are many out there on the extreme right wing who have been waiting patiently for decades for an unspoken permission to be their ‘real selves’ and revert back to 1970’s English stereotypical racists.   As nearly everyone in England saw the when they woke up on Friday, it’d all gone pear shaped.  The pound had gone suicidal and taken a nosedive off the top of the stock exchange roof.  Pension funds thought that was a great idea, and so joined it and followed suit.   £150 million had been wiped off pension funds...the list goes on.  Those who felt they had been abandoned by governments both Tory and Labour were crowing all over social media like they had just won a huge pile of money.   The air was toxic with decades long friendships coming to an end over a matter of opinion, families in crisis after huge arguments because someone based their entire reason for voting on what was a proven lie… the stories go on and on.  It wasn't pretty.

But that now needs to be put to one side as what's done is done and you cannot unwind a clock. A second referendum would only draw out an already hideous process and affect the markets worse than ever.  The big questions that have to be faced now are the hard ones no politician wants to have to face.  The Prime Minister (A pig fucking Eton educated toff who was a member of the appalling Bullingdon club in university) played a political masterstroke in the aftermath.  Even as a person who hates everything he stands for I am intelligent enough to see an amazing bit of political maneuvering when i see it!  Instead of immediately putting into action article 50, which would then set the whole process in motion...he resigned.  This had a number of effects that may not be immediately obvious.  Firstly the pretender to the Prime Ministerial crown Boris Johnson.  If (or indeed when) he is elected as party leader would then have to ‘press the button’ that would nuke the united kingdom as a group of countries.  This would leave him as the last prime minister of the UK as we know it.  The kilt wearers can't wait to be shot of us (quite rightly as well); the Northern Irish are partly panicked as it put the peace they have had in danger (due to much of the good friday agreement being based on EU rules that would then no longer apply) and also partly thinking of finally reuniting Ireland.   Then we have the Welsh, (who no bugger can work out) and which way they are going to bounce.   No one wants to be the man to press that button to start all that.  We’d need the mission impossible music playing very loudly in the background at least.

So the winning side appears in the last 24 hours to be backing off a fair bit.  That nasty little bug eyed bastard that is the leader of the UK independence party Mr Nigel Farage couldn't wait to pop onto morning telly to say ‘actually guys you remember that promise to put the £350 million we give to the EU to the national health service?  Nah never said it bruv! Aint gonna happen!’   When it was pointed out that this was in 4 feet tall letters on the side of his ‘battle bus’ he spelt out that that's was a ‘mistake’ and he’d have never promised such a thing despite travelling around in a vehicle that had this promise in huge fucking letters on the side.  So it appears despite being a bug eyed little bastard, he is indeed as blind as a bat.

Then we have Boris Johnson himself, who was yet another member of the reprehensible Bullingdon club and has known the prime minister for many decades.  The word from Westminster is that Boris and Davey boy do not get on these days and Boris picked his side purely as a bit of political maneuvering to enable him to eventually be prime minister.  While appearing on the surface to be an amiable buffoon in the best British eccentric tradition, that is in fact all an act and just theater as beneath the surface is a quick witted intelligent political thinker with a heart of ice.  In the last 24 hours at the time of writing he also has stated that there should be “no big hurry” to enact article 50 and set in motion the whole process.

The elephant in the room after all of this is the fact that the referendum is not legally binding.  It's basically a huge opinion poll.  The vast majority of members of parliament do not want to vote to leave Europe.  So by stepping down as prime minister David Cameron has put Boris in a position he now doesn't really want to be in, has the vast majority of members of parliament mostly in favour of either ignoring the whole referendum thing and doing what they want anyway; or voting against their conscience.  Either way nothing can become law in the UK without going through both the House of Commons and the House of Lords.

But what about the real life effects?  As I mentioned at the start, all politicians are lying bastards who are chasing power and position and the very idea of the populous is secondary.  The EU are running around like headless tits panicking at the reality of something happening that they really, really didn’t think the British would vote in favour of.  Wanting us out as fast as possible before we infect the rest of europe with our disease, all the while nothing is actually going to happen until a new leader of the country is found in October.

Many people voted in favour of leaving because they were scared the country was about to be taken over by immigrants and that we were not making our own decisions any more.  Some of that was ramped into orbit and often downright lied about by Murdoch's media empire.  We’ve bred a populace that believe what they are told and accept whatever new bogeyman we have been told to hate.  They’ve been dumbed down to the point where they don’t even question the facts any more.  But more worrying than some people on social media having a good crow about being on the winning side for once is that this has opened up the extreme right wing in a way that's fast being seen as acceptable. Those odious little toads are already holding up banners in large towns all over England saying that after closing the borders we should deport all the non white people.  With the leadership of both main political parties currently up in the air, nothing being done until a new prime minister is in place...this opens up a fast track for the far right.  It’s all very very worrying.

Part of me feels sorry for the normal people who voted to leave.  Many of whom are now being called racists.  Many are not, but alas they voted along with the people who are, therefore people are lumping them together in the same way the racists and right wing politicians lumped together all Muslims together as evil suicide bombing rapists.  People who have been born in this country or have lived here paying taxes for decades have been subject to abuse simply for not being English or not being white enough, in the last few days more so than ever.  They don’t feel safe any more, and to be quite honest I don't blame them!

The right wing hubris is fast getting out of control although it’s all getting rather fuzzy telling who is a racist and who voted as their conscience told them to.  Let me give you an example.  I’ve seen many people in my hometown (99% of who.. although I ‘know them’ it's not a case of being mates with them) declare that their vote wasn't for racist reasons and they aren't a racist.  Now in a lot of cases this is probably true, however what worries me is when it's said by someone who has stood in a bar and said on many occasions that all Muslim babies should be skinned alive and then burned.   You know I could be wrong...but that does sound almost like that person is a wee bit racist!   It's going to get harder and harder to tell who is a goose stepping nazi and who simply voted as they thought was right.

But people are allowed to vote as they wish although if we do not want a massive world wide nazi resurgence then all politicians need to start thinking of the big picture and not just themselves and their own careers.  My feeling is this has scared the political elite (who ironically will still be in charge after we leave Europe) enough for them to try and mend this fucked up situation as well as they can.  The fact that it even seems that the Murdoch media is starting to wind back the rhetoric a wee bit today says a great deal.  But just like me….the country needs an escape plan. I’ve got mine in place….lets hope they have one as well.  As once the people who voted to leave see that things have not gotten better as they were promised but have indeed gotten far worse...heads will roll.  The option is to either use what little is in the coffers to buy people off with some extravagant spending or to admit…. It's all gone pear shaped guv.

This is why it's best not to discuss religions or politics with friends or relatives.

Monday, 14 December 2015

Fear and Loathing at the School Xmas Play

The annual schools Christmas play… something that strikes terror and joy into parents lives in equal measure.  They are never dull in my experience and always good for a few bar stories at a later date.  My all-time favourite was from when I was 10 and two angels had a full on punch up on stage during the song ‘Little Donkey’.  Blood was spilt, teachers panicked and parents laughed, people in my town still speak of that Christmas play in hushed tones.

This year I had not one but two school plays to attends, one for each of my two children.  The first was my sons I’d been looking forward to it as he rarely got to attend a school play let alone be in it until recently due to some caveman type attitudes where I live in some schools towards kids on the autistic spectrum.  But alas I was hit by a rare but mega migraine on the way there…. So I never made it into the hall to see him sing tunes from the musical Oliver.

Now my daughters… there was no way I was going to miss that one as well.  So I wrapped myself up, looked after myself…and I even drank very little to ensure all went according to plan.  Drinking less over the festive period isn't easy, it seems events conspire to make you want to drink more, or failing that free drinks are provided that often its rather hard to say no to. (Especially those little green and blue ones!)

With the tickets booked and after being hammered for raffles tickets at a most exorbitant price, in we all trooped into the school hall.  Complete with hand painted backdrop obviously done not by children but by an adult on too much mescaline.  Things didn’t start well….

The whole play was one of those ones where a school buys  / rents the entire thing costumes, music script etc from a place then puts it on.  The trouble is it all hinges on the background tape with the music and songs working and being queued up correctly. Something you maybe unsurprised to learn wasn’t done.   So after the poor kid who was tasked with the opening spiel about the middle eastern couple looking for somewhere to stay to have a baby and ending up in a fucking stable, spoke his lines perfectly only for absolutely nothing to happen.  This poor lad stood there like a plank of wood terrified that now everyone was looking at him and he had nothing to say and had no idea what to do.  The panic on his face created a suspense that drew in the whole room.

A quick glance to the other side of the room saw a group of teachers frantically trying to get the CD player to work (only to not notice that they had the damn thing stuck on pause).  I wasn’t completely surprised to notice one of the teaching assistants that was there helping out was someone who myself and my other half had bumped into only two nights previously drunk out of her mind in a nightclub. But as I’d agreed to say nothing, I stuck to that deal so her identity remains classified for now. Just as the little lad was about to burst into tears with the stress of not being able to stop every fucker in the room staring at him like it was his fault. The music started mid song and out sang every child.  Some sang the wrong lines in the wrong place, somewhere out of key but it was such a relief that I swear I felt a pressure change in the room.

I’ll spare you the script as I’ve no doubt even the most stupid already have heard a version of it.  A middle eastern couple try to find somewhere to stay, she’s highly visibly pregnant (with what they say is the son of god…not a line I’d use to try and get a room ...but that’s just me).   Everyone tells this strange couple to fuck the fuckidy fuck off and make them sleep in a stable with a load of filthy fucking animals.  Something they are then supposed to be glad about. In fact the story treats it like this is an amazing act of charity when it reality it’s all a bit seedy.  Somehow a field full of guys allegedly ‘looking after sheep’ hear about this pregnant woman and walk off to find this small venerable child.  One of these guys may nor may not have been Jimmy Saville and one may or may not have been Bill Crosby.  Then up trot some mystic types that obviously are recruiting for a cult with some dodgy gifts that would make most people rather worried if they were reduced to giving birth in a stable full of horse shit.

They usually cut out the bit about a king murdering a shit load of babies out and cut the play just before that bit as it could put a bit of a dampener on the whole festive spirit.

The school had recently had an infestation of head lice, what I found interesting is that although no parents admitted to their child having them there had been a sudden surge in men with newly shaven heads accompanied by wives or girlfriends with slicked back hair. As my eyes wandered around the room I started overhearing the usual parents who were not impressed that their little Johnny (who quite obviously was the next big thing in acting) only got to say three words.  Then I heard the ones bitching about why their favourite Christmas songs weren't in the play.  But some highlights stick out more than others.

oOne child, a blonde girl had been dressed like a huge silver star.  A baby in the audience with its mother (I assume it was its mother but it could have easily have been a very stupid person baby napping a small child) took one look at this huge silver star with blonde hair, bare flat feet and huge hands and screamed blue fucking murder!  It was convinced that this Silver Star person had come to eat its soul and obviously wanted to get the hell out of Dodge City ASAP.   So queue lots of chair scraping as the mother (or was it??) took the poor terrified child out into the corridor and no doubt gave it a damn good talking to.

The second was the child I shall nickname ‘thumbs’ as he spent the entire time he was on stage (a not inconsiderable time  as it happens) with one thumb aloft like a bastard child of the Fonz and the logo form the Fallout computer games.

Just when everyone thought it was all thankfully over, then occurred the highly of it all, when one of the little darlings dressed as a villager decided that what the audience really needed at exactly that point was to see his fucking awesome Spiderman boxer shorts!  God damn it he would make sure that no one missed out on that opportunity!  So he then proceeded to lift his villagers costume up above his head and flash the entire audience for 5 whole minutes with no adult intervention.  The screams of ‘weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!’ may have been a bit off putting to some I imagine.

So there goes a cautionary tail of why school Christmas plays are never boring and why its always worth doing your best to attend for the sake of your child, certainly, but also for the sake of all the awesome bar stories you will then have for the coming nights out over the festive period.

Wednesday, 4 November 2015

Things I learned while dressed as a nun by Tony X Stanton

It’d been 3 very long hard days, 72 hours of constant stress and looking after my two kids while my girlfriend was away.  While she’d went away for a reunion for an old place she worked twenty odd years ago I was looking forward to a reunion with both my sanity and of course her.  I’d counted down the days, the hours and the minutes until she finally came home.  She’d said as she appreciated my having to pull three solo days with the kids while she was away I could pop out on Halloween.
But it came with a catch…
Well more of a dare really, she dared me to go out that evening with a costume she’d bought on her way home.  The costume was that of a nun.  To be quite honest I had no problem going out for a drink dressed as a nun…or a Mexican dancing girl or a lama for that matter.  I needed a break, and not being exactly a stranger to ‘showing off’. I agreed.  But it wasn’t what I expected at all.  What I figured would happen would there would be lots of other people in fancy dress, mine would be a novelty for all of about ten seconds then it’d be a new sort of normal until I went home.
But here are some of the things I learned from being dressed as a nun for a single evening.

Hands! Hands Everywhere!

Rule one of being dressed as nun is whatever you do, don’t bend over.  I dropped one of my coins at the bar and when bending to pick it up I suddenly felt four distinct male hands on my arse.  The weird thing is all of these four blokes knew I was a bloke dressed as a nun.  Not one could have mistaken me for a real woman or a real nun.  So there motivations seemed a bit odd as there was definitely a sexual motivation, all four were as far as I am aware just normal heterosexual piss heads of the same variety you’d find in any pub or bar in England.  But this mystery soon cleared when…

Suddenly people tell you all their sexual fantasies.

Yep, this was another one that caught me by surprise.  It seems that the very sight of someone in a nun’s habit brings out the need to share their deepest darkest sexual deviancies.  So suddenly it was like I was a priest at a confessional!  Unsolicited information was now shared where a number of blokes mentioned that they ‘had a thing for nuns’.  Yeah. Ok I can sort of relate to that.  But for a small number the very chance to touch someone when they are dressed as a nun and not get arrested for it seemed to be too much to handle.

Wimples are very comfortable.

I thought that wearing this bloody penguin outfit would have been a bit chilly, and the wimple would make me sweat and set off my psoriasis.  I couldn’t have been more wrong.  It’s actually fairly functional I found.  I didn’t sweat very much, hardly at all in fact which was amazing considering that it was a very warm pub environment full of people.  The robes part of it actually let air circulate pretty well. So even though I had my jeans and a T shirt underneath (So no, I didn’t have stocking and suspenders on under it before you ask) I felt exactly the right temperature.

In fact the only thing that drove me clinically nuts was the lack of pockets. Now I know that Nuns as a general rule aren’t allowed possessions, which they are supposed to have nothing that they’d need to put in pockets.  But common sense would dictate that not all orders can be like this; maybe they’d find something and need to keep ahold of it until it could be handed back to its owner? Either way having to pull this damn thing up to get either the money out of my pocket to pay for a drink or to check my phone was pissing me off.   Yes I could have taken the whole load of gear off and stuck it behind the bar to collect the next morning.  I could have got rid of it, or even took it off and change only just before I got back home.  But where is the fun in that.

It was an experience, and I was rather worried when halfway through the night I started to notice myself checking that the headdress was lying correctly.  So when I got home many photos later and took it off I was glad to see the end of ‘Sister Mary of the immaculate Pint glass’.  I think next time I have to dress up in fancy dress…it may be something a bit more normal.

Friday, 25 September 2015

The Bad Influence by Tony X Stanton

I remember my mother sitting me down on plenty of occasions when I was about 5 or 6 years old and warning me about other kids who were a ‘bad influence’ and could encourage me to get into trouble.  She was and remains a singular woman and most times she was right, although on subject she couldn't be more wrong.  I didn't have to worry about people being  a bad influence on me, because I was the bad influence.  To be fair, this didn’t really kick in until my teens, when I seemed to go from sweet little kid to total fucking lunatic overnight.

I’ve always tried in life to do the right thing, most times I’ve managed it but sometimes I either haven't or I’ve went down a different path.  I sometimes see myself as a toxic individual who has a nasty case of ‘it seemed  a good idea at the time’. I’m usually the guy who when everyone is ready to go home after a night out convinces everyone to have just one more… one more drink, one more bar, one more song.  It’s always ‘one more’.  But never in an alcoholic way, simply as I hate the whole idea of things ending or winding up.  The very idea of ‘an end’ is uncomfortable to me, once I am on a roll, be it work or play I have a tendency to keep going until there is no option but to stop due to tiredness, lack of resources or inclination.

I’m an extremist by nature. I remember when I was about 4 years old a friend of mine and I wanted to climb / walk up a wall like batman did in the old TV series.  So I came up with the idea of waxing some string to strengthen it and use that.  I clearly remember the afternoons it took with wax candles covering this string and trying to get it ready.  When the day finally came, a fantastic sunny day, and we tied the string not to the top of somewhere small as my friend Andrew insisted (he was 2 1/2 years older than me) but at the top of the highest bloody wall I could find in the entire housing estate. After Andrew tying what seemed like  hundred knots in the string around a railing, it was decided that we’d start from the bottom, of a 20 foot wall with a sheer drop onto concrete.  (See kids! This is why you listen to your parents!)  we did our best to climb the string, Andrew declaring it wasn't strong enough, but me? I knew different. I was convinced of such and would prove it.  So I kept on climbing, getting halfway up when I started hearing a horrible stretching sound, somehow the waxed string held and I reached the top and felt like king of the universe. I was Batman goddamn it!

I managed to get Andrew caught up in my enthusiasm, and I declared to this much older boy that it was rather hard climbing up, so maybe we should climb downwards instead.  Of course it was Andrew's turn next.  He didn't want to do it (probably as he had at least some semblance of common sense, even when caught up in the moment.) But I insisted, a deal was a deal and he had to do it.  I’ve always had that horrible ability to cajole people into doing stupid things I want them to do, or to help me in doing the crazy things I want to.  So Andrew started climbing down...the waxed string did not hold and he fell 20 feet onto concrete.  He broke his arm, something somehow I managed to keep from my parents who to this day don't know why the kid I used to play with suddenly had an arm in a plaster cast.  His mother for whatever reason thought it best not to mention this to my mam.  He walked around for what seemed like forever with that plaster cast and never once would mention or discuss ‘the Batman incident’ again.

But that wasn't the end of me encouraging him to do crazy shit.  In fact just a couple of months before we moved away when I was 5  and never saw him again something else happened.  My mother used to let him take me to the cinema on a Saturday morning. It was much simpler times when kids could walk the streets without fear of paedophiles, muggers etc.  we used to queue up and watch really old black and white films from the 20’s and 30s which for some reason the local cinema used to put on for us kids.  The queue was always long and we always would chat away about whatever the latest ‘thing’ was while we waited. This one time (the last time I was allowed to visit said cinema in fact for reasons that shall become very obvious), I decided that we should see how hard we could punch an old glass window on the cinema and not break it.  Hey! Don't judge me! I was 5 for god's sakes!

I was informed by Andrew that this could be a very bad idea, but I managed to talk him around with how cool it would look to the other kids queuing up and how it was the sort of thing Batman and Robin would do. That was all the damn convincing he needed.  So we started punching this small glass window. taking turns we punched this dirty glass window each one punching harder than the next.  Getting more and more worked up about it, until Andrew (at my prompting as the queue was moving) punched far harder.  His hand went through the glass and seemed to cut his hand to ribbons. I still remember the blood running down the dirty shards of broken glass washing it with his blood.  I felt like running as I KNEW this was my fault, but I didn't because he was my best friend and he was badly hurt. I stayed put even though I knew it would have consequences.  rather unsurprisingly the noise of both breaking glass and screaming kids drew some attention from the people in the cinema, police were called Andrew it turned out wasn't as badly cut as everyone had thought  due to it being a hot day.  I tried to explain it was all my idea, to take the fall I should have done.   But as I was aged 5 and he was 7 ½ years old they didn't believe me or him.  So Andrew took the fall for it and we were both given lifetime bans from that cinema.  Andrew’s mother stopped him playing with me after that, although he still visited when he could escape right up till I moved away. I shudder to think what would have occurred if I had stayed there, the way I kept ramping things up could never have ended well.

As I grew older I kept that side of me in check, it scared me and I could never get the thought of the blood running down the window out of my head. I knew I’d fucked up and as a result it fucked me up a bit.  But once I hit my late teens all bets were off and if there was a crazy idea you can bet your arse I’d be behind it, if there was something crazy to do it’d usually be my idea.  (Usually by making others believe they’d thought it up all by themselves), But as a rule I was the bad influence encouraging others to do things.  I was the secret bad egg, the rotten apple in a fake apple skin.

Around this time I was best mates with a guy I’ll simply call R as he now has a rather nice job, a family and friends who have no idea how much of a fucking nutcase me and him used to be.  R had ‘issues’ and hadn't had an easy life up till he moved into my home town.  It was a case of two people just clicking together and working as friends immediately.  He was also one of the few people I’d met who could be just as much of a bad influence as I.  I however knew he had a bit of a pyromaniac tendency, something once afternoon I decided to encourage.  Every sunday afternoon we’d walk around a long walk near my home town called the ‘Derwent Walk’. It was miles long and lined with trees and bushes either side and when the sun was shining as it was on this day it was glorious.  

There was never anyone about apart from the occasional jogger or bloke walking his dog, so we could play our music on his ghetto blaster at full volume.  The mix tape for Sunday's usually consisting of Alice Cooper’s ‘Raise your Fist and Yell’ album and some Rush tunes.  I remember mentioning to R as we both lit a cigarette that it’d be fun to see if one of the bushes would light on fire.  So after checking there was no one there...R set fire to a small branch.  However in the hot dry weather the brush went up like a bomb with flames 6 feet tall within seconds.  Before I could stop him R lit another bush...and another...then another!   Before we knew it a 100 meter section of the derwent walk was an inferno of burning bushes with not a single sighting of god in any of them anywhere.  Suddenly the reality of the situation kicked in. Oh Fuck! We’d just set the place on fire! We were fucked!  We were going to fucking jail for this!

So we ran…. not along the Derwent Walk itself but off one side…. through muddy fields (me losing a shoe in the process, something which was interesting to try and find an excuse for to my parents later that day).  We ended up behind bushes about ½ mile away the sound of fire engines filling the air with faint voices of the fire crew.  Eventually we calmed down and decided never to speak of it again… it made the local papers and it was put down to vandals.   On a positive note though, after that R’s pyromaniac streak vanished!  Never again did he set light to things like that, so it cured him.

Once again that put rest to any crazy ideas I’d have for a while…  Although as I got older the ‘it seemed a good idea at the time’ thing reared its head from occasionally until it got louder and louder.  So my tip is this: If you ever meet me and I convince you of an awesome idea to do something crazy, say no. Make an excuse because as a general rule it hasn't really worked out too well for others.

When the real fun began was when in my late 30’s I met up with 2 other people just like myself. But that is a story for another day.

Thursday, 24 September 2015

“Minus Money / Broke” by Tony X Stanton

“Minus Money” by Tony X Stanton

I walked along with my son, the sun beating down on my head, somewhat of a rare occurance in my home town.  It often seemed to me that the little town of Consett not far from Durham in england was quite similar to the Adams family house in that it seemed to have a perpetual cloud hanging over it.  But on this rare (some may even say freak) occasion the day was clear as a mountain spring and a warm sun beat down.  The sort of day that you wake up to and it makes you feel alive.  I however didn’t feel happy or even in the same galaxy as happy, due to a strange combination of circumstance, bad luck and some epic miscalculations of my own I was flat broke.

In a previous article I covered how I went to Montreal (in canada for those with the geography knowledge of a dead hamster), to spend a year working and experiencing a different culture at the same time.  But all did not go according to plan.  when I was informed that someone back home had a serious health problem the very last place I wanted to be was stuck the other side of the damn planet.  I couldn’t think, let alone work.  I needed to get back home ASAP, yesterday if possible.  In one way I am thankful that the firm I was working for were prepared to let me leave early only 3 months into my contract.   However what I wasn’t aware of was the fact that as such I’d be liable for all expenses incurred to relocate me to montreal by them, and not just the current month, but three further months of the rent on the apartment I was renting.

So after they had deducted what they claimed I should owe them (even though it was for compassionate reasons), it meant working the last month and a half for nothing.  Did i mention that this was on one of the summer blockbusters?  It seems karma wasn’t kind to the film.  So when my girlfriend came over to help me move all my crap back to england I wasn’t just broke. I had minus money.  The very idea of having less than zero is a very bizarre one when you think about it.  If I have £100 and spend £80 of it I have £20 left, However if you spend £150 then you have minus £50.  So I wasn’t just broke, I was less than broke into a mirror universe where suddenly every single penny seemed to be worth double its value.

Money I used to piss up against a wall on a friday or saturday night suddenly would be enough to have kept me for weeks. Not just my current decisions but every single one I had made came back to haunt me with a vengeance.  In fact they still do every single day.  All the times I had thousands in my wallet and wasted most of it as I ‘could afford it easily’ are now the stuff of my darkest nightmares.  Logically I know there is no way I could have ever known what was going to occur, logically I was in the clear. However emotionally and psychologically I wasn't.  I’m no stranger to either failure or great achievements, however this time every single decision I had ever made had sparked off an endless stream of ‘could haves’, ‘Should Haves’ and ‘Might have beens’.

Suddenly everything feels like my fault, even things that patently are not and cannot be. This is the curse of being so broke your into theoretical minuses.  Every single time you pass a mirror you don't see yourself, you see an abject failure of a human being you couldn't stop this all from happening. So I avoid looking in mirrors now, the one in our bedroom has an old t shirt over it in fact.  I tell my girlfriend that’s due to it being rather sweaty and needing to dry off a bit before going in the wash. But the reality is it’s often painful to look at myself.

So while walking around town to bum a cup of coffee from my parents in the cafe that day with 50p in my pocket, in fact in my whole world the universe saw fit to make that less.

“Dad! I need a wee!” said my son.  Young lads of his age often need a piss, it’s sort of part of their makeup, they eat their own weight in food, grow too fast and piss their own weight each day.  In a normal world, a world without theoretical minus money this isn’t a problem. But in town the only public toilet is in the Bus Station, a collection of various people at the bottom of life some of whom are actually trying to get a bus.  The thing is..the toilet costs 20p.  For virtually every other person 20p is nothing, it's not worth even thinking about. However when your entire world consists of 50p suddenly it feels like someone is about to repossess your house. Sure, I could have snuck him around a corner in a backstreet and he could have taken a piss for nothing there, but that is not the behaviour of a dad, that is not the behaviour of someone I want my son to have fond memories of when he is an old man.  So I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the change, all I had in the world. Three Ten pences and a single Twenty pence piece and I handed the twenty pence to him.

No doubt someone is wondering why I don't just go and claim some sort of dole money?  The simple answer is that as I left my job of my own accord, albeit for very very good reasons that certainly come under the heading of ‘compassionate’, I can't and wouldn't get a single god damned penny. All I would get is my stamp put on and that is not worth being harassed and made to feel like even more of a failure than I feel deep inside every single day.  So my days are spent at the moment trying to work out with my girlfriend how to keep my kids eating and provided for, looking after my son who is a 24 hour a day job on his own and trying not to go nuts and run round with a  rocket launcher and 46 pipe bombs in the centre of town.

I’ve been on the bottom before when I was far younger and spent 6 months living on the streets in a cardboard box. So I know exactly what poor and having nothing feels like, although in this case it’s worse as I’m not just poor, I have minus money.  The most heartbreaking moment for me was when my kids came back from my parents and decided that they would give daddy some pocket money.  Toa child the solution is simple, if your down because you have no money, then you simply give that person money and they they’ll be happy.  It was the one time I almost cried.

But here’s the kicker I’ve learned from being less than flat broke.  People you often think of as friends run like the wind, fair-weather friends indeed.  People who you have lent money to on many occasions find reasons not to pay it back.  People try to take advantage of you every single hour of the day.  I ended up having to write a book on slimming for the princely sum of £20 just to be able to afford food one week.  Others suddenly see you as a guy that it used to cost a fair bit of money to hire, think they can get the same work for nothing or very close to it. I may be financially in a subterranean vault, but I am no ones mug.  Some seem quite perturbed by this fact that I won't work for nothing or do anything for such low fees again.  It never crosses their mind that one day the tables may be turned, maybe they won't but do they really want to take that risk?  The old adage of ‘be nice to people on the3 way up as you’ll sure as hell meet them on the way down’ is very very accurate.

But I don't want charity, I don’t need your or anyone else's money. I don’t need a break, I’ve had plenty of them in my life.  I just feel like I need life to stop shitting on me long enough to find a way out.  Every idea of a way out, I can promise you I have already thought of.  My skillset on paper should be a license to print money.  I’m a  3D artist, have worked on triple A hollywood films, I’ve worked for the biggest computer games company in the world as a senior artist, I’ve lectured all over the world (usually at a loss to pass on my skills to others), I play about 16 different instruments, I compose classical music, electronic music and just about every other type of music, I’m an experienced programmer, I’ve been writing nand published since the age of 14, I’m a painter, I’ve been a world record holding escape artist and much more… But none of that means a thing any more. 20 plus years of it and I have less than nothing to show expect a pretty nice demo reel, a mind full of awesome stories and the memory of the times when I had something and felt like something other than a failure. 

These days I have about 15 mins a day to do my emails, the rest of the time is taken up just trying to survive. I cannot give up any ‘surviving time’ on a speculative venture that may or may not make money.  When you have nothing everything is a risk with very great consequences, if you pay one penny more for something than you need to then your fucked.  Maybe I should put all my articles and other experiences into a book and self publish it? It’d be one helluva read as I’ve not had the most normal of lives.  But right now it’s going to be a fight to keep from drowning and to keep positive enough to keep putting one foot in front of another.  But I’ll keep fighting because I’m a big believer in Karma and although my depression is biting hard right now, one day it’ll ease and then karma will look after me.  So don’t count me out just yet, there is still a little fight and a fair few good ideas left in the old dog yet.  The great magnet looks after its own.

“Dont mistake my kindness for weakness. I am kind to everyone, But when someone is unkind to me,weak is not what you're going to remember about me”

Alphonse Capone

Friday, 11 September 2015

Confidence and Aggression

I sat watching the remains of the late night Thursday crowd in the bar, their drinking pace slowed down by now so much so all it was missing was the theme tune to the film chariots of fire in the background. The testosterone filled air over at one end of the bar late in the evening only could mean one of two things. Either there would be a short fight involving lots of pushing or one half of the couple who owned the place would sort it before it came to that stage.

It ended as the latter much to the chagrin of many of the punters in need of some evening entertainment. It's a scene repeated around the world in various forms. The outcomes are always the same. Either someone wins or no one wins. Occasionally someone ends up in hospital or dead. Whichever way you look at it, it can get messy.

Why do some males feel the need to assert their masculinity? How does it often get to the point where physical violence is the best solution? Maybe it’s down to the lack of confidence that many males feel in an increasingly demasculinized world plays a part. Could it be the lack of heavy industry and a world devoid of 'men's men' has contributed to a state of lack of confidence on their masculinity? Has it now become the state that some men missing confidence brought to their lives by ‘doing a hard days graft for a hard day’s pay’ feel the need to overcompensate?

I have noticed over the most truly confident of men rarely bite with overly aggressive types and never end up fighting. Simply put they have nothing to prove to anyone and are far more prone to simply ‘letting it ride’ that others would punctuate with a swift bottle to the face. After the whole 1990’s ‘girl power’ and ‘ladette’ culture, some men were left feeling that maybe they weren’t the strongest sex after all, maybe they’d been misled all this time by women who just let them think they were in control when really they were little more than puppets. That can have a profound effect on a generation!

In my travels to many different places and cultures I also see a disparity sometimes where you would expect a hard drinking down to earth culture in a rough area to have endless fights, only to find there are hardly any. Then other times you are in a supposedly civilized and ‘upper class’ area or place only to find anyone daring to not look at their own shoes finds themselves son the other side of one of a vast cornucopia of meat heads and knuckle draggers. So maybe the upper classes are not as different as they’d like everyone to believe? (Something most people have worked out long ago, but they seem to have totally bypassed.)
But is the solution to bring back hard work and give men confidence to behave like 1970’s caricatures of what men used to be like? I don’t think so, I’d prefer to think it’s all part of an evolutionary process where the male mind is finally starting to leave behind its knuckle dragging ways and push aside violence and aggression when it’s no longer need. It’s rare to come across a bloke these days that fight son a weekend for ‘fun and relaxation’. In that regard the film ‘Fight Club’ wasn’t that far from the truth. Back when I was in my 20’s and further back than that it wasn’t unusual for blokes to have a fist fight on a weekend to ‘unwind’ after a hard weeks graft.

But it’s also entirely possible that I’m talking total bollocks and making a prime mistake of using too small sample size to enable me to gain any true meaning and simply reflecting my own biases. A true man isn’t judged by whom he can beat up, but by smaller and often more important things like the ability to stick to his word, to protect those who are unable to protect themselves and to help out where he can. Besides which, how many noses you’ve broken isn’t really something that you can put on your CV at any point in your life unless you’re a mixed martial arts champion or a boxer. …and I for one am far too old for either of those professions.