Whit Weekend

Where to start? Maybe Friday and very early in order to avoid the traditional ritual traffic jams as cars full of people head onto the roads to enjoy quality time in queues en route to somewhere or other, but not where they live. This strategy succeeded and Brighton Hill, in the rough end of Basingstoke, was reached before eleven, including the ritual search round the ring roads for the destination. As it happened this led to a tour of the posh narrow lanes outside of town, where very dear properties are found. A kind builder offered directions and then escorted me along the short cut since he was going home anyway, and that was quite close to Brighton Hill.

Saturday was demo day, when large numbers of humans fed up to the back teeth with the fake pandemic, took over the streets of central London, disrupting the traffic and entertaining the tourists, just like the good old days when sane people confronted Thatcher and Blair to dissuade the dark state forces decades ago. All good fun and energising as well as tiring and giving a renewed sense of purpose to the old blogger.

Sunday was for the old school friend providing hospitality to the old blogger and entailed risking joining the ritual queuing of cars full of people heading for the beach, since Sun was forecast and in the interests of social distancing it seemed like a great plan to cram onto sandy beaches and sit eating sandwiches cheek by jowell with perfect strangers in order to spread deadly diseases to give the kind government reasons to pull the plug on the midsummer further easing of restrictions and return to new normal, just because they think they can. Bastards.

Anyway, the main queue was dodged by diverting on a scenic route through the New Forest, via Godshill, where we hoped for a glimpse of the Creator made in the image of man. However He appeared to have joined the others on the ritual trip to the beaches, since they were His flock and that's where they were flocking. Stopping in Ringwood for coffee was nostalgic fun taking one hour, just right for the one pound we donated to the district council so Daisy could be safe in the car park and we could pee before coffee. And after, just to make sure.

The route went towards Wimborne where the old school friend and I attended the long abandoned Grammar School in the sixties after passing the exams to sort out the wheat from the chaff, though which was which is still unclear and the old school friend spent more time in the brighter streams than me due to her superior intelligence, especially when paying attention to the teachers and repeating what they said to show they understood. Being a trouble maker, the old blogger questioned everything especially the things which didn't make sense, and often asked: Yes, but Why? which usually annoyed the teacher who didn't know or was too shy to say. Sex being a subect often dodged as taboo, and there was a lot of that about in the sixties. And seventies.
At Holt where the old school friend lived as a girl, a halt was called to explore old haunts, including Gaunts House, which comes later in the story. Before that a coffee stop was made on the property of cousins, who happened to be at home and welcomed us to discuss the old days, which was nice, though not the Mad Cow Disease, which was not nice at all for the cows, who went mad due to being fed the brains and bones of other cows allowed by mistake by Maff, the government department looking after such things. Hmmm

After the relatives, the next halt in Holt was to visit the parents in the cemetery, where they lay under the earth, next door to their daughter, the old school friend's sister, which was poignant for us and inconsequential for them, since they were dead, though the sister who lived her whole life with a learning difference seemed to reassure the old school friend that all was well in the spirit world. Which was nice. Flowers were placed to brighten things up further, then off we went and found Gaunts House and drove in without permission. Since I had some history going back over twenty years here, it seemed appropriate to have a look round, and surprise surprise found, lying on the lawn another bloke, called Michael, who was on a similar mission but from a later time. We all went for lunch at The Stocks and discussed issues in common, having passed with care a small convoy of Gypsies with horses pulling the carts. They turned up later at The Stocks for a drink, which was nice, since they are the salt of the Earth, Nature herself, and wonderful informants for foragers seeking knowledge of things to eat. Strangely, many folks don't like them, but then some folks don't like immigrants or anyone not like them. Peculiar!

The trip home to Brighton Hill was swift, due to leaving before the folks preferring to carry on getting sunburn before heading back to the cities. An eventful day and proving yet again that what passes as normal in many segments of the whole, a lot of the homo sapiens branch to be honest, is neither wise nor sane. Hey ho, on we go, trying to return to Nature where we belong!

Tomorrow it's Krishnamurti and four days Retreating in Peace. After that, let's see ...

National Trust or not ...

Standing about in the Park in Hexham went well, with earnest junior Resister engaging with Naturopath to add depth to the learning at primary school ... mature female Resisters take him seriously too, which pleases him since he is a serious young boy, possibly about 50 years old in his own mind, but still willing to learn more. Lunch at a cafe run by a serious man from Madeira, Joao, speaking English at least as well as native speakers and reluctant to amuse those trying to speak Portuguese, closes the chapter, apart from a daring trip round Waitrose with two old folk with no masks, a thing considered normal only a year or so ago.

Monday was a day for the old folks to test their National Trust membership again, since pre-booking is required in the New Normal era imposed worldwide as the neo-fascists continue their Common Purpose mission to knock off whole swathes of humans considered surplus to requirements. Eugenics. The booking requirement is dodged thanks to common sense at the entrance, then things go surreal as coffee is sought and all sorts of madness unfolds when the Resistance to compliance with rules making no sense requires the two old folks to play roles of carer and old blogger with mental health. The Trust supervisor kindly obeys the Disability Discrimination Act and old normal is restored. An attempt to visit the interior of the House is prevented by staff with masks insisting on Trust members wearing them too. Since the Sun is shining we resist the temptation to cause more trouble and set off for a walk uphill. More trouble ensues anyway, as the Patient and Carer are separated and the House staff mobilise to locate the missing carer as the mad one paces anxiously and looking worried. Ten minutes or so later the carer turns up having wandered off, raising the question of who is the patient and who the carer. At this point the House prefect apologises for the mask issue and says mental health meant exemption from rules and we could go inside after all! By this time the outside was more appealing, so we took the scenic drive without restrictions and a ice cream by the lake. A nearby adventure playground, ideal for children advised it was closed for no good reason ... but that's another mad restriction requiring complaints from visitors with children. God help us. As a teenager, surveying the world half a century or more ago, it was clear there were serious issues out there and if the world of war and poverty was sane, then I'd better opt for insane ... funny how things turn out.

Tuesday was yesterday and plans developed for an adventure starting Friday, heading South once more for a couple of weeks perhaps as cold spring turns warmer and midsummer approaches.
A birthday party for a younger grandson of the carer who lost her patient at Cragside was held at a nearby Italian restaurant owned by Albanians. Let's just say a party of eight, including two young boys, two parents and four old folks all talking at once was challenging. I like a challenge.

Wednesday today dawns damp, though some Sun is forecast for later. Anyway the legs are still working, the feet are itching and Nature is calling me home. As for the rest of the day ... let's see.

Fun from London to Newcastle

On Wednesday, while elder daughter and dentist dealt with teething issues, the Father continued to have fun with mental health issues. Which is to say that in a world which has clearly gone mad with fear, the only solution is to amuse the fearful and Resistance alike, and hope to lift the general mood of doom and despair. It's clearly too much for one old blogger, but the Resistance is growing all round the world it seems, though one keen Resistance man from Kazim's cafe had alternative theories, including a Flat Earth and instead of a flu like coronavirus a bacterial infection causing the blood clots, i.e. not so much respiratory but cardiovascular trouble. Who knows?

Since this was the only day when elder daughter required light nursing and car transport from Lavender Hill to Larkhall Rise, the responsible father stayed local, ready for action, which arrived soon enough and the patient was dropped off to rest, while the father walked back to settle the bill with the receptionist, who was having palpitations with the stress of the driver insisting on avoiding a ticket or towing away. It seems selfish now, but it seemed best to avoid stress and her stress was due to her mistrust after all. We all smiled in reception as the plastic card worked its magic and the relieved receptionist, who was Polish, and her colleague supporting her as she feared a heart attack, calmed down.

That was more or less Wednesday and an early night before dusk, a deep sleep with dreams then awake before Dawn on Thursday, ready for a rest day for daughter and an early walk over the river to see the 24 bus at Pimlico and the drivers, now without conductors. After breakfast with daughter, who was not eating solids, and permission to spend the day on the buses nostalgically, the nearby bus 88, from Clapham to Parliament Hill via Whitehall, offered free transport upstairs, without masking, obviously, then a good chat with Elvis the black driver from Cameroon via Germany about the good old days when strong unions went over the top to foment revolution, which was the reason for the silly old blogger driving buses for a living in the first place.

A coffee and pee at Roni's and a chat with Roni, an Israeli Afghan entrepreneur, a swift walk up Parliament Hill, with a view including Whitehall and Lavender Hill, plus a chat with an ex-trot and her daughter about the good old days of revolution, led down to South End Green and 24 bus back to Pimlico, a walk home to see Kazim and friends, including fellow Turks Emre and Atakan, plus Maya, Japanese wife of Kazim. .. then on for early tapas with Jean-Pierro the Sicilian and other Italians running the Spanish restaurant, this time with the help of a Portuguese chef.

Another early night led to the Friday return and a last chat with Kazim and a futile attempt to settle the bill for all the refreshments of the week, then as soon as the dentist approved the healing the journey home on a very busy road meant most of the day in traffic.

Yesterday's fun was a Freedom March from Gateshead to Newcastle with Resistance folks and Dawn from Ferryhill Station. But that's a whole other story ... meanwhile, today, Sunday, Hexham calls, and A Stand in the Park as usual, this time with an old friend and her young grandson.

London fun day 2

More strange goings on in and around Battersea with an early walk for coffee with Kaz or Kasim or Kazim. The Turkish script is not Latin anyway so take your pick. First, two Poles arrived for food, then four young men, while chaos ensued with only two staff and more consumers. Kaz has stress. Two more staff arrive later, but before that Emre and Kaz multi-task at speed and customers are patient since they love the staff and come regularly to eat, chat then go on to their work. Later customers sit with their drink as long as they want, and Kasim sits down with them to socialise and listen to them.

Time for a quick walk over the bridge to Chelsea, along the Embankment and back across the other bridge into Battersea Park and Buddha shining in the Sun. After meditation a wander through the Park finds Alex awaiting a client for meditation of a physical kind, with two wooden rings suspended from the large branch of an old tree in a glade, and music playing. A very deep conversation ensues as we discuss current issues, notably the depth of the plot to reset the world for the benefit of the plutocrats, with petty prefects everywhere issuing orders. The two petty prefects arrive on cue, lanyards swinging, clipboards poised and instructions issued about danger of branches breaking and killing people. Though she seemed more concerned about the tree. She listened impatiently while Alex observed that uniformed police officers had already passed by without and concern. The prefects moved on to find other folks to bother and Alex and I finished our chat and left the rings dangling where they were.

Back to La Patisserie, and Denise is eating breakfast outside as the traffic passes by. Keen to talk we converse about this and that ... she rescued a pigeon some years ago and the pigeon moved in and stayed. Which is interesting. Inside a young man is awaiting his breakfast and his friend. They are off to the horse racing at Brighton for the day, and both insist they are fully aware of the plot and never wear masks or accept jabs. Resistance everywhere! Including a retired civil servant eating beans on toast but no eggs.

A swift walk back to Larkhall Rise finds elder daughter eating her brunch of four scrambled eggs. She likes eggs. After both meals we wander off in search of a battery and watch strap on Clapham High Street. The kind man chats as he works and discloses his own scepticism and she returns in the light rain while I wend my way round to Lavender Hill, via a bookshop where to suave intellectual bibliophile enquires not which book I seek but why I appear to have no mask. Probably a Guardian reader and since I don't want a book anyway and no time to argue with such people I make up an author he may have heard of but does not stock, simply to infect his books with the deadly virus he fears.

Back at Kasim's another sceptic awaits for conversation as thunder and lightning plus rain goes on outside. After which, as Kasim prepares to close at 5, I wander along for Tapas at a Spanish restaurant staffed by a Brazilian and two Italians. All keen to only comply with rules as little as possible to keep the business open, whilst engaging in radical conversation. Let's just say youngish men from Sicily are not keen on fascism and leave it at that. The last copy of The Light is left with him and fond farewells with the young female chef and older Brazilian woman include handshakes of course.

Quite a day and an early night before more fun in the morning. Though not for the elder daughter since that's surgery day. 5 hours in the chair ...

London fun day one ...

Yesterday was driving ... from Stanhope to Larkhall Rise near Lavender Hill near Battersea near the river. .. Thames that's called. South side.  The elder daughter drove two hours South from the Scottish Borders where she lives with her wife and foster child. She needs dental surgery and wants the best, which happens to be in Lavender Hill, near Larkhall Rise, where Airbnb is booked until Friday. Between appointments we both have time to explore London, together and separately. Which is nice!

As it happens today, Monday, is the first day of a kind departure allowing Lockdown relaxation, enabling cafes to permit customers to sit inside where it's cosy, instead of outside where it's  fine when sunny but not when it's damp and cold or even pouring down. Of course these rules are kindly meant to confuse us all, except the leaders and corrupt experts who design the farce to deceive us. Fear is their currency, of course.

An early start and a wander to Lavender Hill at 6am finds Kasim, a Turk, married to Maya from Japan, in their cafe called La Parisienne, serving food from everywhere, including all day breakfast from working class British cuisine and healthy alternatives too. Rumi the great mystic pops up with sung poems stirring the soul, while Kasim becomes best friends with the blogger.
Kasim seems to love everyone who comes in, though not the nasty scaffolder who hit him on the head with a pole a while ago, leading to serious surgery to repair the brain.
Not nice at all!

Anyway, a follow up visit with the elder daughter for brunch led to more stories from Kasim between introductions to passing customers, including builders eating all day breakfasts. Before that a brief coffee in a Portuguese cafe found Algarve cuisine from Estoril involving more all day breakfasts and a conversation with young man converting lofts with his uncle and rushing his all day breakfast plus coke or pepsi cola, offering heart attacks on a plate and stress.

After brunch a wander towards the river found Battersea Park and the Buddhist Peace Pagoda, not far from tall buildings most empty and very posh and priced at several million pounds each as an investment by Russian folks seeking safe havens for their cash. After the Pagoda a group of men on an outing from Tooting sitting in the Sun enjoying the company of others after being locked in their own flats for their own safety, were supervised by Anita and Majek, employed to organise such events, which is nice.

Thunder and lightening enlightened the return to Larkhall Rise for a rest before a walk towards Brixton in search of Little Portugal and wine from Dao, found Omah offering directions. A black man aged 70, with a birthday the day after the old blogger in 1950 led to a strange uplifting conversation about the meaning of life and whether we would have volunteered to come to Earth if we'd known the scale of the problems. As rain set in the wander failed to find the Portuguese Quarter despite enquiring from many people so the eggs required by the daughter were purchased then Spanish wine from a kind brown man of unknown origin plus handshake led me home to Larkhall Rise before the downpour really poured down, and supper before an early night.

More multiverses. ..

Here we go again! Groundhog Day! But what on Earth does it mean? I mean how to explain the world that barely makes sense? The Many Worlds Theory, attributed to Hugh Everett, makes a comeback, and David Bohm's Emergence and Implicate Order ideas always held sway with physicists open to mysticism. After all, Bohm spent much Time exploring with Krishnamurti, and he was revered as the New Messiah by Annie Besant and the other Theosophists, who had been searching for him since Madame Blavatsky had visions. What you seek, you find, was said by someone else, possibly in a version of the Bible of the Jews and the Christians, and the author of those books is unknown. So, it's tricky. I mean, what on Earth is the point of a Holy Book, composed of many wise stories and two main Gods? And two main volumes, the Old Testament, for the Jews, with a rather fierce God called Jehova, putting his fear into any humans subscribing to that religion. The New Testament God was kinder and included his son, himself a Jew. This son of this God, went on to found another religion, Christianity, which is puzzling when he already had Judaism and that fierce God. As for Jesus Christ's story, including some excised or edited by representatives of the New God to suit their power hungry ambitions; hmm, after all, a Gnostic Gospel suggesting Christ had a wife, called Mary like his Mum, undermined the edifice created to celebrate the compassion of God, the Father, who permitted his son to be nailed to a cross to suffer a nasty death alongside thieves, who sang the basic lesson along with Jesus: Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. Or was that Brian? Never mind, it still works. Monty Python's Flying Circus reached thousands of viewers in search of the Holy Grail. As far as organised religions go, this one seems fine. It certainly upset the Catholic Christians, plus their friendly enemies, the Church of England. As for the Methodists, Baptists and Witnesses, who knows? Let's just say a sense of humour is essential to live a contented Life, shall we?

After heavy rain during an essential trip East to the defunct coalfield along the coast, where strong communities withered as time moved on and old miners died along with their Trade Union, ritually murdered over an epic one year strike, with the radical Thatcher bossing the cabinet about and the miners mostly inspired by the radical Scargill. Local police were stood down or posted elsewhere, while troops from London, some from the Met, some army, fought battles in Easington and other pit villages. So, 1985 it seems, was the turning point when the neo-liberal experiment won power, public utilities privatised, unions smashed, wages and conditions of the working classes stagnated, and over-qualified youngsters found work flipping burgers for the lethal enemy of public health, Big Mac and his pals. After the Iron Lady rusted and the softer Major consoled the casualties, a New Labour leader emerged to gull the working class as domestic programmes consoled further and money flowed into jobs for bureaucrats and social entrepreneurs. Blair showed his true character in symbolic ways, to remind us that neo-liberalism was still in play. His first decision, to maintain the awful OFSTED and its nasty chief, Woodhead, followed by the pact with the Dark forces taking apart the Middle East along with other NATO allies, in search of fossil fuels they controlled, ensured his reputation as a war criminal and Luciferian. That brutal game plays on today and many refugees from the invaded nations found havens in the communities of the defunct coalfield and cities around with houses to spare.

Meanwhile, back in Stanhope, the rain refreshes the plants and fills the Wear again, as it makes its way through Durham to the coast at Sunderland. Whether it's really possible to step in the same river twice is an ancient question from a Greek philosopher, of course. But let's just say many Mackems seem to swim upriver for holidays in caravans which doubles the population of the Dale in Summer, enabling commerce to remain open in the winter for the locals. And incomers like your's truly!

Yesterday's early walk in the woods was heavenly as a strong Sun evaporated rain from ground in a magical mist, with perfume released from refreshed plants plus sound effects from tweeting birds.
No photos or films could possibly describe it, and anyway it may have all been in the mind. Another universe you could say. The universe  the day before yesterday in Horden Colliery in the rain, a world suffering; in 1955 a thriving mining village; in 1985 epic battles to defend the community; the old blogger in 1985 in London urging the bus drivers and conductors into action, collecting money every Friday to to take to the now defunct Kent coalfield villages and even managing to persuade the members to offer one day on strike in support. Not much compared to the year of fighting by the miners, but symbolic anyway. Another universe of nostalgia in one small fragment of Universal Mind, which appears from time to time in meditation, when all is one, as taught by Buddha and many others. Why such suffering is found in so many worlds is impossible to understand fully with left-brain measurement. And violent revolution in pursuit of peace is clearly contradictory. How on Earth we humans are to resolve the question is often asked. Maybe one way is to relax and focus on the Universe we truly desire, whilst keeping awareness in peripheral vision? And create a peaceful world in the only universe each of us may actually control. Another pilgrimage to Brockwood where Krishamurti taught is planned. K was possibly Buddha reincarnated, by the way.

What on Earth is going on? Well, love still pertains wherever we go. In blighted Horden the Matriarch speaks of her extended family and their love for each other. As new, re-formed community appears, the beauty of the coast and dene will draw appreciation from locals and incomers alike. The traumas and addictions will lift, with new jobs and other ways to find purpose. Personally, retirement was always my first choice. I just wish I'd discovered it decades ago ...

So, there we are ... living, each of us in our own little worlds. Beyond that there are surely better worlds. Imagine! No more War! Start there ... When multiverses collapse into the Unity, we all return to One, don't we? The tricky thing is, in an eternity, that seems to take for ever ...

Women of the Resistance

The Resistance continues as always happens when Dark forces take Power flagrantly, flaunting their pathetic latest mission to turn off The Light. In previous crises, like WWI and WWII, the men mostly did the fighting, whilst the women took care of the children to ensure sufficient humans to continue the strange games humans play, including killing each other. The women in the first World War, discovered new freedoms whilst the blokes were busy wondering whether to do the sensible thing and make friends with their enemies, shoot their officers and return home, or maybe just hope for the best, aim to miss (as frequently happened), and wait for the storm to pass.

As for Human Nature, which is fundamentally different from the rest of Nature, thanks to thought, which led to us thinking we were Separate from the Unity seen in Revelation, and therefore permitted to break the Laws of Nature, one of which is Thou Shalt Not Kill, interpreted in different ways of course, according to which cult we subscribe to, but basically we may find human beings have a fragment of their Soul chipped off in indulging in murder of another ensouled creature. Cannibalism, though frowned upon these days, is allowed if the ancient ritual teaches not to waste good food since it's freshly dead and nourishing.

Meanwhile, back in Weardale and nearby, two young women arrive from the Resistance, for lunch. Both friends of each other and the old blogger, one a vegan, the other omnivorous, though neither cannibals ... discussion ensues during consumption of food, including the assertion from the women that the Resistance this time is mostly them, whilst most men, as they colourfully said, seem to have lost their balls. Obviously football is on telly full time in the crisis, and actually playing the game is restricted as is going along to stadia to watch, in case of covids, even though evidence suggests that they prefer it indoors, so they can watch the footy too, as the blokes eat pizza, drink beer and get fatter, all of which does wonders for their immune systems. Never mind, they find time between games to pop along to the clinic for some very safe poisons to protect them from those pesky covids, most of which have already settled in to the body of the host and joined the other trillion or so lurking about awaiting their chance to spring out, usually in winter, and have another go at killing the host.

Anyway, all that's virology, and not relevant to this post. Yet another powerful woman, a local influencer, slightly older than the other two, signs up to the Resistance, which has no formal membership by the way, in case Dark forces are reading this rubbish, like you dear reader! The elder has seen the Plan of the Great Reset long ago and wisely decided not to scare her friends any more than necessary as hypnotism mesmerised the masses (if that's not oxymoronic).

Weather Saturday, is perfectly wet, which Nature here in Weardale requires. Howie the little Shitzu cross, who charms most humans, requires a walk, which is the job the old blogger enjoys, whatever the weather. The retired Nurse who takes care of Howie at other times, whilst Mick the old human Howie usually entertains remains in London where he began, and has found a new lover; good going at 81, rests for an hour or two.

Sunday, Sun returns as the temperature picks up, and another trip over the hills to Hexham to Stand in the Park reveals more women, of various ages, most mature, and fewer blokes again. Hugs are optionally shared, plus information, and the May edition of The Light, already out of date, but full of propaganda disproving the official lies, with extra copies for Weardale. The Light of Truth shines brighter as the Shock and Awe phase of The Great Reset moves on so humans may have their holidays and covids too. The kind fascist junta decrees we are nearly free as long as we behave nicely, though a third wave as the covids return in normal flu season in September is quite likely. Great, the Fear is primed and ready to go.

Meanwhile, Wear and Dao prepares for a trip to London next week, and maybe later trips to see the K crew and Findhorn folks ... as for the Camino addiction, there are plenty of pilgrim routes in the UK, and anyway those walks are essentially in the mind, of course!

Sap Rising

May in Weardale and maybe throughout the UK tends to be a conditional month as its name infers. Some years may be hot and dry, others cold and wet ... or a combination of conditions. This year, 2021, Spring was slightly behind after a colder winter due to global warming. Nature has a way to delay plants to save too many suffering, though the sheep up here seem to cope, since lambs are born with warm woolly coats already on ... after all, the market for their tender meat allows them about six months of gambolling about, which is charming for us all to see, including the farmers working flat out at all hours to help the mothers bear the babies and protect them from the lambing storms, a normal event up here in sheep country. The cycle of life goes on.

On the political level, the previous Prime Minister of this island (plus a part of Ireland, for now) was called Theresa May, and she was well known for being unsure which way to turn. The current clown, was elected after being selected to lead the nation out of the European Union with a firm hand, despite previously, as Mayor of London, being firmly in favour of playing a part in the EU. Not to say he's opportunistic or hungry for power, of course. And who could have imagined that this charming Eton Boy, with his sophistry and love of democracy in Ancient Greece, would join the worldwide plan to launch fascism far and wide? Including in Weardale, where a young friend of his called Rich, was elected, thanks to the votes of disenchanted Labour voters, believing the lies of the Tories and fed up with the corrupt rule of Labour in Local Authorities. Local Elections loom this week, coincidentally in the very year of Local Agenda 21, which is funny, because the Covid was launched in 2019, hence its code name. It all starts to fall in place. Watch out for increased powers for Local Authorities and groups of them, to devolve power not to local communities but to power hungry devolved Authorities already deeply involved in the closing of playgrounds, toilets, libraries and other services, in order to confuse the people and ramp up the Fear, the method designed to reset the world and reduce the population of humans deemed surplus to requirements. Watch out for buzz words like: Common Purpose, Building Back Better, Great Reset, New Normal and more as NLP continues to turn words upside down. SAGE (not wise); NICE (not nice); Full Fact (Lies); Anti-Vax (trust in Immune System and no trust in corrupt Big Pharma) and so on.

Who on Earth can we trust? Let's start with negation shall we? Strip away those best not trusted and see who's trustworthy. Which is many more than cynics may believe, and many fewer than fully hypnotised people, believing the BBC and other enemies of freedom and democracy, seem to trust ... Fear being corrosive and undermining what used to be common sense.

First, drop the divide and rule, a tactic used forever by power mad plutocrats, and instead unite and fight ... though not violently this time please!
Brexit or Remain? That's settled for now, to the dissatisfaction of both sides.
Black or White? We're mostly over that in UK and EU, though US still has issues.
Carnivore, Omnivore, Veggie or Vegan? Decide for yourself, of course.
Other topics to dispute? Forget it for now, we all see the world differently anyway.

The sap is rising in the plants and trees, and in the blood of humans fed up with the loss of freedom. In the cities, mass demonstrations continue and will increase. In towns folks gather in Parks to discuss concerns and shake hands with friends and strangers. In rural areas, like Weardale, folks mostly crack on and ignore rules which make no sense, find exceptions if they feel like it, have no intention of informing on neighbours of their shocking habits of walking dogs many times each day, despite strict orders to stay indoors. Stay indoors? Are you kidding me? Indoors is where that virus lives, the one that kills the vulnerable, like every other coronavirus every other year. Outdoors is where fresh air and vit D from the Sun lives. My neighbour next door announced, when the Coup was launched on the false pretence of saving everyone from dying ever again: Right then, it's up to us, the healthy ones, to get out, get on and get infected, to build up herd immunity as soon as possible. Let the vulnerable decide whether to shelter or take their chances.
Heartless? No! It's common bloody sense ...

The Resistance is underway. It's not that dangerous you know. Wearing masks is not legally required, in fact it's unsafe in normal circumstances. Social distancing? That went out the window a while ago. Politely declining to obey orders? How hard is that? You may find the police have plenty of criminals to round up, without arresting ordinary people going about their normal business. And anyway, police officers are only ordinary people in uniforms, after all ...

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