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Saturday, 16 January 2016

We'll be wearing Leather pants (Colin Fox and I)

The yule season was quiet, but blissful. I had a shite start to 2015, but 2016 has seemed that little but better as my toe makes circles in its, so far, calm (ish- I'll get to the politics soon) waters.




We are renovating the house- the box room has at last been beautified, as has our bedroom. The teenager has made his into a joiners workshop... And keeps it locked. A mistaken glance in yesterday had me scraping my eyes.

 We've had a wood burner fitted down stairs and a fireplace  fitted in our bedroom. Bathroom next and my partner and fellow time traveller (always forward- sometimes draggingly slowly, sometimes quickly and sometimes, like holidays, like fucking greased lightning on speed and five gallons of 5++ strength coffee) is now talking about an extension, though the Christmas engorging has added extensions to both of us which have been condemned and hopefully will be torn down by the time of my 50th in February. Middle aged, with a mortgage, a family car, a dog and responsibilities... Who'd a thought? I'm thinking of getting a motorbike, a number of tattoos and hitting club land in leather trousers. 50 is the new 20. Midlife crisis are for my 60's. Time to live fast... Or at least "make it last... Dying young is still an option, but staying pretty ain't.).

And my once obsession with my party, the SSP, has floundered on the dawn shoreline of the latest expulsion of green, rancid gas of Trotskyists who have inferiority complexes -not all Trotskyists have these- most are reasonably sane. Only the ones who rely on SWP fuckups, ( and fuck ups who are ex-SWP, and some who deny ever even thinking of those three letters placed beside each other -which is a lot of ex-SWP types)... That dawning fetid orange refresh sign that is the online abuse and insult to everyone's intelligence, "Rise."


The party that has no leader (Jonathon Shafi); that is grassroots (grass roots students, professors, ex-swp organisers, PR companies, journalists and professional politicians); that will "take the fight to the SNP," according to SSP spokesperson and definitely not leader Colin Fox (who after spending all week fending off curious journalists because of his sharing a list with a woman who lied for Tommy Sheridan in court,has been ringing around SSP organisers assuring them the SSP are in control of Rise) but want SNP'rs list vote; the party whose friendly online activists will condemn you as misogynist, a scab, pale male and stale, a conspiracy theorist, mentally ill etc etc if you ask them questions about their organisation; the party that is not a party (but is registered as a party -regardless of the fact it did not have to); the party that forgets the past because "it happened 5 years ago and 'we 30, 40, 50 year olds need the votes of young folk who five years ago were fighting over Pikachu and the blue one that flies and looks like a painted dog turd -and that is exactly what Rise is. In my opinion.



Will the principled left survive this nonsense from people who just before the referendum campaign were condemning socialists who agreed with Scottish Independence as Nationalists? Of course it will, in other parties or none-or lying low in the SSP... The Principled left will be on the streets, but not trying too hard to get Colin, who wavered over what way to jump during Sheridan's wrecking of the left between 2005 and 2007, into an office in Holyrood, those days are gone, Foxy. You are donning the leather pants and dad dancing to Snakehips Ft Tinashe & Chance and it really looks sadder than a Flock of Seagulls reunion tour.  


In Glasgow, Rise will man (and woman- shit, this gendering of roles is a fucking nightmare- perhaps by even THINKING that, I'm worthy of a Rise online attack) stalls in Buchanan Street, next door to Shafi's mates on the SWiP stalls. There will be banter. There will be number swapping, cigarette smoking, joking, back stabbing and petition signing. And Govan, Drumchapel and Yoker will never know what the big orange signs on the tables where studenty types hide behind were all about.

Happy belated New Year.

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