Yesterday I cried on air.
The topic: the lack of after care for servicemen who arrive back in England having done tours of duty.
Alcohol abuse amongst the youngest, depression and Trauma amongst the least educated, paranoia and anxiety amongst the rest, not to mention a damaged immune system from the victims of ‘Gulf War Syndrome’ who were used as human guinea pigs by The MOD to test out new vaccines and tablets.
All my contributors were men who were suffering from one or the other of a litany of damaging conditions.
I don’t approve of war, I especially don’t approve of war when it uses young men as cannon fodder or as lab-mice for new drugs.
The men said the ‘NHS’ had no way of helping them since they had no experience of surviving in a war zone.
18 years of 3 hours sleep a night, with a knife under your pillow. 18 years of anxiety, paranoia and guilt, 18 years of living a half life.
By the time my last caller revealed how one session with a trained NLP councilor had turned him round I started to blub. He said the birth of his daughter made him look at his behaviour and his anger.
Just exactly what are we fighting for in Afhhanistan and Iraq? Whose war is it anyway?
NO MORE WAR such a feint naive cry heard in the midst of arms deals.
The rest of Fridays show was lack lustre. I got back to the flat as soon as I could.
I had been to the ‘National Portrait Gallery’ to buy my great nephew his birthday gifts.
The two women behind the counter were educated artists. One French the other not.
Both had painted mouths. There is nothing more satisfying than chatting lipstick with two artists who really do get ‘Russian Red’ and “Wild Woman lip gloss’
A girl is nothing without her ‘Mac Red.’
Jim got back from the theatre in double quick time. He’s using his motorbike, which is just as well, since his car has died, mine is at home as is the Jacmobile which is parked under the trees in Sussex.
We had no option but to take the train to the Junction. Well we did actually taxis, buses, shanks’ pony, but we chose the shortest journey. The train took 7 minutes to Waterloo after which we wended our way through the underpasses – horrible painted a sickly odenil green – to the IMEX where we were meeting B. She came straight from work in Bond Street. .
Friday night and the three of us were going to see ‘UP’ in 3D.
The cinema gives me vertigo it’s so massive, the screen curves and the rake of the seats feels like your tipping forward, just writing about it makes me queasy.
We were all given very big black 3D glasses. A sign said not to touch the lenses with your finger tips, every child that had been taken to the cinema for half-term had touched the lenses with their grubby little digits. Spanish, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, English, Irish and French were all spitting on tissues wiping away the sticky prints of overexcited children.
But when the film started you could see why those lenses had been smeared. The film was, to quote the younger set, ‘AWESOME’. I cried, laughed, whooped and applauded with the rest of the IMEX audience. It was a geat way to end the week.
B took her route home to Hackney, Jim and I jumped on a number 77. Every time the recorded voice told us it was ’77’ we both said ‘Sunset Strip’ and clicked out fingers twice. Most of you are too young to remember the American serial. ‘Kooky’ and fast cars, the first time I’d seen West Coast boys. click, click.
This morning we awoke in the flat. Jim’s rehearsing and the lodger is leaving later…..
The old git and myself went to Battersea Square for breakfast. He had scrambled egg and toast, I had yoghurt and mint tea. We found a wallet by the bus-stop with money and all sorts, so we called a telephone number on a bill and a very grateful woman came to the caff and collected it from us. She was both shocked and amazed that she got it back. Aint that sad…
I left Jim to his bike, whilst I walked to the Woodman to watch Arsenal thrash Tottenham 3-0.
I sat on the leather sofa as the Gooners cheered around me. Still there’s nothing wrong with watching 22 young men run around a piece of grass. My cup of coffee was passable which was more than Spurs were doing with the ball.
Th AA have just arrived, checked the battery, which is knackered, driven me to ‘Halfords’ to buy a new one, driven us back to the flat, fitted the battery, taken my signature, and driven off to deal with more halloween casualties.
We now have a car again and I’m about to settle down for my Saturday night ritual, dancing, singing and a plate of something lovely.
The ‘oosbind has just called he’ll be home in 15 minute, let the weekend begin.