The summer sun has stirred your seeds, hatred
A bitter wind blows through the weeds, hatred
Go pour another beer. Pick up a stone
Whoever shouts the loudest leads hatred
All blood is red. All children are our own
One love. Not everybody bleeds hatred
Brave in a crowd but coward when alone
At work, at home, nobody heeds hatred
Go snort a line. Pick up a traffic cone
All boys together. Hatred breeds hatred
Your country back? No country I have known
Here be all races and all creeds, hatred
Your flag is upside down, mate, and your tone
Is strident, hun. Hey, unmet needs, hatred?
There will be harvest when the weeds are mown
Love conquers all, love supercedes hatred
Call me a snowflake. Woke as to the bone
And God alone will judge our deeds, hatred
© Gail Foster 3rd August 2024
Britain
John Simpson at Devizes Arts Festival

John Simpson at the Corn Exchange, Friday 31st May
One would expect a reporter of John Simpson’s standing and experience to be very careful and specific with his choice of words.
Simpson has been with the BBC for 52 years and has reported on 47 wars. He is a man whose words are to be listened to, and on Friday night a packed house at the Corn Exchange were curious and enthusiastic to hear what he had to say and ask him questions about his long career and the state of the world as we know it today.
The man is all bon homie and old school decency, and one suspects that his affability and fair manner have got him out of many a sticky situation. He starts off light, laughing about being punched on his first day on the job and being mistaken for David Attenborough, and chatting about family. He has a book to promote but avoids saying much about that at all.
He talks about the BBC, saying that these days there is opposition from all sides towards the organisation and that he’s never been told to tone it down in all the years he has worked for them. He talks about Trump, his ‘habit of tweeting insanities’ and strategy of giving away positions and key elements before presenting final agreements as amazing victories. He’s disappointed that the 30th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square protests will be overshadowed by Trump’s visit to the UK. He says that Gaddafi was off his head, that Saddam Hussein scared him, and that al-Bashir was weak and wanted to be liked. He liked Thatcher, although ‘When she was good she was very very good and when she was bad she was something else’. He says that Mandela treated people as the best version of themselves and waxes lyrical about his admiration for Václav Havel. He acknowledges that China is to be taken very seriously indeed and thinks that the best strategy is to keep it in play. China is, says Simpson, surprisingly open and anxious to be part of the international community.
He saves his most emotive words for how he feels about Britain today. ‘The line of confrontation’ he says, ‘is very disturbing indeed’. He compares the UK to France in the 50s, which was, he says ‘extraordinarily violent’. He says that there is a ‘vicious divide which stirs up the weakest intellects’. He talks about the ‘disgraceful’ messages that his colleague Laura Kuenssberg gets on social media and says that he holds social media responsible for the current ‘nastiness and violence’, for which he gets a round of applause. He refers to ‘disturbing threats to freedom’ and says that he feels more able to talk freely about other countries than our own these days. He’s dismayed to see our reputation plummet in the eyes of the world. ‘It’s painful to find that Britain has become an international joke’ and ‘It’s important to realise the way we’ve damaged our country’.
He wonders if Brexit was ‘the tinder that started the whole performance’ but stops short of apportioning blame to any particular entity. ‘This Brexit business is going to change things’ he says sadly, wishing that we could be ‘back the way we were before all this started’.
There are points where Simpson catches himself just before he falls into an abyss of pessimism and says something about hope. He does, after all, have a young son to be optimistic for. Terrorism is 7 or 8% of what it was in the seventies, he says, and a billion have been lifted out of poverty in the past 13 years. But when it comes to Britain he struggles to find any positives at all, and this from a man like Simpson is disturbing. ‘We need to try and be less divisive ourselves and more accepting of other points of view’, he says, wishing for the best but sounding as if he is whistling in the wind.
He sticks rigidly to his three-quarter hour talk and fifteen-minute Q&A plan, but then he didn’t get where he is today by faffing about. Those who wanted endless war stories are disappointed, but those who wanted his views on current situations are not. He signs books afterwards and is very approachable.
I ask people what they thought of the great man. ‘His description of Mandela – it revealed that what we all hoped to be true of him actually was’ says one audience member. ‘Honest’, ‘Genuine’, ‘Empowering’, and ‘Awe-inspiring’, say others. ‘I was sitting there thinking what have I done with my life’ says my friend. The general feeling is that it has been a privilege to hear John Simpson speak, and that people have been delighted by his wit.
And then off he goes, with shrapnel in his side and a shard of hope in his heart, to his next adventure.
In the Market Place I take a picture of him smiling.
© Gail Foster 3rd June 2019

The Day That Brexit Broke My Brain
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall
And in my head there was a pain
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The voices came and said again
‘Dividing, all dividing, all’
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall
Last night I stayed up late to see
Our Parliament in disarray
And dreams of Bedlam came to me
Last night I stayed up late to see
The frenzy and insanity
That’s Britain as it is today
Last night I stayed up late to see
Our Parliament in disarray
‘Division!’ And again the call
The knell of the division bell
Dividing, all dividing, all
‘Division!’ And again the call
And all divided and we fall
In broken pieces into hell
‘Division!’ And again the call
The knell of the division bell
The sun is out and you may sing
Your hopeful songs with fingers crossed
And wonder what today will bring
The sun is out and you may sing
Of hope and keep on whistling
My voices say that hope is lost
The sun is out and you may sing
Your hopeful songs with fingers crossed
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall
And in my head there was a pain
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The voices came and said again
‘Dividing, all dividing, all’
The day that Brexit broke my brain
The sun was shining I recall
© Gail Foster 26th March 2019
Owen Smith Doth Take The Pith
*
I’m not impressed by Owen Smith
Methinks that he doth take the pith
Just wasn’t sure until today
What moved me so to feel this way
…
Today; the leadership debate
I didn’t have too long to wait
Once you’ve seen it, it’s distracting
Owen Smith is over-acting
…
See him roll his sleeves up there?
He’s channelling a bit of Blair
Then he’s Harry Potter, then
He’s Brutus dressed as Mister Benn
…
Jazz hands. What’s that all about?
Turn it down, no need to shout
For no-one needs a politician
Who thinks he’s at a Glee audition
…
Now Jeremy, he plays it calmer
More yer kitchen sink type drama
Monochrome, with moody stare
More Alan Bennett, to be fair
…
Owen’s acting sounds to me
Like desperate soliloquy
His every cliché rings a bell
And all his soundbites bore as well
…
I reckon Owen Smith’s a fake
He’s on the stage the pith to take
Off, off, and let the curtain fall
I don’t trust Owen Smith at all
*
© Gail Foster 18th August 2016
Captain Pugwash Britain

Today we are Captain Pugwash Britain
~~~~~~~
Image © Ted da Yonga 2016 Quote © Gail Foster 2016
Well, Well, Welby
Well, well, Welby
Beg your pardon
He’s got three Poles
At the bottom of his garden*
And joining in with daily prayers
Some Syrians beneath the stairs
Asylum seekers in his shed
And Communists
Beneath his bed
He’s just doing what he can
To pander to the ‘common’ man
To separate the issues, see
Of race and the economy
With good intent to bridge the gap
‘Twixt logic and the racist cr*p
For Welby is a diplomat
Just in case, and just like that
It’s not that we’re a racist state
Good luck with that one, Welby, mate
Imagine pubs across the land
The dodgy banter, beer in hand
That Archbishop got it right
We’re all white mate, we’re all white
Share our wealth with all the planet?
Outrageous! (outraged Bob from Thanet)
But what of all the fish and bread
With which five thousand mouths were fed
Would Jesus Christ have found it hard
To put up Poles in his back yard?
by Gail
* A play on the words of an English joke, “Well, well, well, three holes in the garden!”