Lost Gold

Our current email round between the surviving Lads, has lately taken a sombre political turn. The issue facing us is the rising tide of populist, media-driven and corporate-funded fascism. Sounds like hyperbole? Not a bit of it: it's on the move again, fuelled by the inequalities and myths propagated by the likes of our cuddly bear of a twat prime minister, whose agendas are worn so far up his sleeve as to be practically flown at full mast, as brazen and cocky as he is.

The general concensus amongst our shrinking number is that our party of choice - The Labour Party - is no longer a credible force of opposition to it all. Sadly, at present, that appears to be the case, with Johnson's cabal seemingly able to do anything and everything they want, say anything and everything they want; in the full knowledge that they will simply double-down when called to question on anything: the privilege of an overwhelming mandate.

Those of us struggling to come to terms with the death of the dream that began our lives in the cradle to grave welfare state, post Second Word War, when we turfed out the toffs and decided that there was a better way forward; are frankly at a loss: something radical needs to happen to stem this filthy tide, but the question is what, exactly. Maybe we're simply too old to come up with a strategy that fits this era, who knows? But in the loss of our collective dreams and aspirations of a fairer and more stable society, I'm reminded of the chorus to 'Farewell to the Gold' written by Paul Metsers; a song about the dreams and aspirations of gold rush miners:

Farewell to the Gold,

That never I've found;

Goodbye to the Nuggets, that somewhere abound -

For it's only when dreaming that I see you gleaming,

Down in the dark, deep underground.

For those unfamiliar - or too young - the photograph above is of the great Aneurin Bevan, speaking in 1950; who must surely be revolving at a spectacular rate of knots in his grave at what these bastards have done to Britain and the National Health Service. We are sorely in need of his like at this time of need and no mistake.