Me so far, progress report.

Just imagine for a moment that you were born to a lower class family (in monetary terms) and destined to work on farms or drive trucks all your life. In itself, and this being the UK that doesn't seem the worst fate in the world. But, and there is a but as you can well imagine, just think what that would be like if you were actually in possession of a mind that is creative, thirsty for knowledge and not willing to settle for what you have been given in life and beats you up on every corner?
Welcome to all that is David James. If you wish to know me then read on, if i am boring you then please don't, either way one of us will lose out because that is what the game of life entails. I have driven trucks, tractors, excavators, motorcycles, I have built them, painted them, mended them and sold them, I have sold mowing equipment worldwide i have been a John Deere dealer, a used Audi dealer, a 4x4 dealer and a motorcycle dealer, I have owned a tyre business a haulage business, a groundcare business and lately I have begun to write, I have written poetry for memorial services all round the world, a poem for my great hero Colin McCrae that went viral. two books and a novelette and am currently penning my favourite book to date called Caradoc that will be out in the Autumn.

This is all well and good I hear my audience cry, but where are you going with all this?

Well there-in lies a tale. Here is the disappointing bit to a man who oozes confidence and apparently takes life by the throat and squeezes it dry. He is anything but confident, he is anything but Mr Cool. This man is his own worst critic. Nothing is ever good enough, he batters himself with thoughts and questions every moment of every day, he cant settle and he cant live, more importantly he is slowly, piece by piece destroying himself.
Sounds very dramatic. It should, because it is a snapshot of your author. I don't want doctors and pills, I don't want the comforting arm that says everything will be OK, I don't want sympathy most of all, I just want one person that understands who I am, what my exceptional needs are and just what they are getting when they approach me or make my acquaintance. That will never happen. This week I have realised this and it frightened me, but it also raised questions as to why I need to be put in a certain box and then get a tick by it.

The fact is, I don't need a tick or a box. I have been given my wonderful mind full of thoughts and inspiration as a gift. That gift has been a burden, a crown of thorns, a curse. That is until the last few weeks.  I have realised that I am special, I have a mind that has seen so much and dealt with every emotion, it has laughed and cried, it has fought and lost and fought and won, it has reinvented my life a number of times and inspired me through experiences others from my background could only dare dream of.

So why now do i need to own up?

Well, there is the devil, always in the detail. You are only as good as the man you portray and of late I have not even been close to the real me, let alone the mindful me, I have dithered, I have worried, I have stressed and I have made myself ill and worse I have made those around me feel confused and resentful. It is not a made up disease and it is not imagination, it is nothing that simple, if you possess such a mind as I there is never a simple answer, it has to be sought, I am by divine right a complicated creature who is burdened with thoughts that my background has ill-trained me to deal with, in short I should not exist.
There remains one thing for me to do and that is to own up to those that know me and read my wittering, yes I am complicated, yes it sometimes confuses and frightens me and yes i make mistakes that are off the map, but am I a bad person for all that?  Bet your damned life I am not. If I say I love you i damned well mean it, if i say i don't like you then yes you guessed it. If i ask of you then its because i need help desperately and if you ask me for help it will always be steadfast and guaranteed. In short my mind is too honest to bother with lies, too busy to suffer fools and far too soft for its own good, it sees the best in everything and everyone and I have to accept that also leaves me very vulnerable.
So there you have it, David James, the open book, the not so cool rock steady guy but also the resourceful thinking man with a wealth of life experiences, I am now more comfortable in my own skin having divulged my shortcomings to all those around me, I am far from perfect its true but I am also a million miles from someone who needs to be feared, have I made it in life? Well that is down to how you perceive making it, if you want the answer so far then it is "I have lived".

That is the best I could have ever hoped for.

Keep the rythym

Who says who loves or cries?
Who says who lives or dies?
Our past is just a guide
The future likes to hide

We can sing we can whistle
Chew on life like it is gristle
But the song will sound the same
So why the hell play it again.

Life will trip the unexpected
Leave you flat and then rejected
But you have to keep the rhythym
Or you're living in a prison.

People try to break your heart
If they love you from the start
Keep yourself a little distance
So you recognise resistance

Fly your kite when winds are strong
Don't kid yourself that you belong
Ignore the headlines in the paper
If it's true you'll see it later

Life will trip the unexpected
Leave you flat and then rejected
But you have to keep the rhythym
Or you're living in a prison.

Bugger the football

Blame it on the football
Say it's just a bore
Head off for the shops
Ignore the final score

The country is expecting
But never giving birth
Our national games injecting
Its usual trail of mirth

If you dont follow footie
It really is quite sane
I'd rather watch old Sooty
Hitting Sweep again

Grown up men are screaming
At boxes on the wall
Once again with feeling
Oscar winners all.

The players are like film stars
All preened unto perfection
Owning flashy supercars
'Cos they cant get erections.

The managers are pacing
The touchlines like a track
Their hearts are always racing
A loss could mean the sack

Of course we couldnt leave
Without a word for FIFA
Who run the betting syndicate
For currency and reefers

There cannot be a scandal
The votes have been cast fair
Antartica in twenty six
I still wont bloody care!

A song for some guy.

I gave you my world
You gave me the same
Your flag I unfurled
But you lost your aim
The print far too small
It couldnt be read
That my love was never
The song in your head

The care and attention
I lavished on you
Got hardly a mention
I know this is true
But you were so busy
And I just in love
So blinded by feelings
I placed you above.

But tables have turned
And I am alone
Crashed and now burned
Without heart and home
I fell in too deeply
I let down my guard
I fell far too steeply
The landing so hard.

I will pick up the pieces
Its just what I do
Then iron the creases
Still left there by you
Love is for fools
None bigger than me
I played by the rules
But nothing's for free


Time will pass honey
While I try and mend
No person, no money,
Can make the hurt end.
Your words are just hollow
The hating's begun
It's so hard too swallow
Thought you were the one.

A Farewell To A Working Class Act.

What a thoroughly selfish act Rik Mayall has just performed, how dare he rob us of his comic genius in such a way, who on earth allowed this to happen?  Surely there must be leave to appeal?

"I feel sorry for you, you zeros, you nobodies. What's going to live on after you die? Nothing, that's what!

This house will become a shrine! And punks and skins and Rastas will all gather round and all hold their hands in sorrow for their fallen leader! And all the grown-ups will say, 'But why are the kids crying?' And the kids will say, 'Haven't you heard? Rick is dead! The People's Poet is dead!'

And then one particularly sensitive and articulate teenager will say, 'Why kids, do you understand nothing? How can Rick be dead when we still have his poems?"

Sadly, it's not the case, an icon of many of our growing years has been taken from us and in a manner that only Rik himself would be able to pull off, there one minute and gone the next. The fact is, Rik was everybody's favourite crazy uncle, or at least the one we all wanted, he was cool, funny, quick witted and was a pioneer of the "new wave" comedy that hit our screens in the 80's. It seems so unrealistic that such a giant is no longer amongst us, like we have lost a part of our family, a part of our own very make up, it brings us yet another mortality check at a time when such stalwarts are becoming the fondest of our distant memories.
Rik Mayall WAS comedy during the eighties, he wrote it starred in it and made the viewing compelling and a must watch, he was the cool crazy comedian that spanned the generations yet his wit was always edged toward his own generation, with cliches and innuendo's that only the youngsters would enjoy, but such was the man's genius that he still held court with parents and grandparents alike, testament to his infectious humour.
His like are rare, talented writer and meaningful actor along with a sharp wit and mesmerizing stage presence.
The list of dignitaries offering their thoughts will be long and endless over the next few weeks, rightly so, but Rik was above all ours, he was the hero of the council estate, the working man's hero at all times. he pretended to be up market but failed miserably much to our relief in the characters he played, somehow he always turned the tables on the toffs and made them look like they were the ones out of place, that is what made him so cool.
I will not be all sad and tearful at Riks passing because I really dont think he would want us to be, I think he would just like to be remembered for what he stood for and for his sharp witted hilarious come-backs and sarcasm delivered as only he could do, I dont think tears are needed, we need to just celebrate the life of a comic genius and someone who we could all relate to and love. What better epitaph could there be for someone who spent his life endearing the nation to his wonderful style of comedic genius.

Rest in peace Rik, the people's comedian and legend of the working man, we truly will miss that inimitable style of yours.

Twenty First C.

Patients lie dying on hospital floors
Girls young as eight being dragged into wars
Indians rape and kill all their daughters
Following Christ gets you sentenced to slaughter

Muslims all cry when the world screams hate
Yet their brothers and sisters cant tolerate
A different perspective from Sharia law
Its not what our sisters are being born for

No-one should dictate the life of another
We're in this together all sisters and brothers
Religion's a  faith not a judge and a jury
No God should be preaching such hate and fury

Police find a crime and they bury it so
No-one will care if there's no-one to know
Politics lost to a whole generation
Cos spin got fed to our trusting Nation

No-one is voting cos they just cant be arsed
As another pointless law gets stamped and passed
Welfare will not care its running out of money
Those that are working ain't finding it so funny

Teaching ain't working cos the kids cant spell
With Sat's tests and this test its going to hell
If you dare to say its crazy and you just cant face it
They will only point the finger and call you a racist

The land of the brave and the true ain't so clean
Fighting in wars just to gain gasoline
Shooting at the kids as they're leaving their school
The gun law is for sure the stupidest rule

You cant heal a wound with a pistol or a shotgun
History shows only talking gets the job done
For every weapon that some brother buys
A family is broken and another mum cries

For all that we brought to the twenty first C
Life ain't no better for you or for me
We still keep fighting we can't make amends
All in the name of imaginary friends

So sit in a room when you get the chance
Block out religion and politicians trance
Remember that life only gives us one shot
It ain't that much but its really all we've got.
 




 




 

Self Rule.

The sail that catches the wind of change
Shakes the lives of kindred spirits
Banished thus to never reach a destination
In life we are but pushed not driven
Our conscience judge and jury both
No life in exile deemed worth living
Such constant peace never raised a smile
If nothing else the daring senses
Lead us to a common fate

The wild exuberant petulant child
Sings for supper and always eats.
But time tick tocks with adult humour
No escape from minutes plus
Our chants our slogans fade to history
The shouts still echoed lost for us.
And time will prove our own undoing
For we are but specs of dust.
Such self importance sent forth spewing

Reality no check for us.

Writers and Politicians, never the twain.

Should there ever be a time when someone who enjoys writing puts pen to paper or fingers to keyboard and enter the world of politics? The obvious answer is no, of course not, politics is a little like religion, it's a kind of taboo that should only be mentioned in passing and only then very sparingly.
The problem is your blog author is anything but conventional and staying quiet is not one of my stronger points. I have been watching the rise and rise of UKIP in recent days and wondered I am sure much less than the rest of Westminster if this is a flash in the proverbial pan or a sign of things to come?.
If I was a gambling man the odds would be fifty fifty. Now, just compare that with less than twelve months ago and those odds would be one hundred to one against in Westminster's favour, that in itself says more about just how disillusioned the general public really have become with the irreverent spin from the three main parties.
So, if we fast forward another twelve months are we going to see Farage pushing for PM? Well anything is possible in the current climate and I think the balance of natural selection from the suburbs of Oxford and Cambridge, so often the prolific breeding ground for Westminster proteges is truly on the wain, the country has had enough of the "upper class twits" to coin a well known phrase and indeed wonderfully funny sketch from my beloved Monty Python. The truth is despite David Cameron or any of the other strange looking gentlemen currently holding court in parliament protesting in front of any cameraman that will stand and listen, the fact is they don't actually "get it", they never will "get it" and indeed the only thing the majority of the country are hoping they do get is a good boot up the backside out of office.
If you have just realised after reading this that that is actually the reason you voted UKIP then you are half way to understanding just why they have become so popular and why they are a clear and present danger to the mainstream parties who just cannot adapt to a changing society and believe their way is how its always been done....I believe a few Tyrannosaurus Rex and their pals had the same belief a few million years ago
.
If I am being honest, Nigel Farage is as creepy as that Ed Miliband fellow, to this day I cannot understand how a virtual unknown became Labour party leader over his sibling who was a well known spin doctor but eminently more photogenic and camera savvy. I am sure David is so very happy he took the decision he did to get the hell out of town, pity they cant all do the same.
So, for now we wait and see what happens, though Europe choosing one of the biggest federalists in modern history as it's new candidate for leader is a little like letting a fox out to round the chickens up, then complaining you have no eggs. I honestly believe if there were a middle ground non invasive pro Great Britain party with common sense moderate views we would actually see off the dumb-dumbs from the South East. OK not in my lifetime maybe, but I hope so for the sake of the next generation.

Wealth?... why health of course.

Its an age old issue, how and what do you gauge as success?  For some success is being able to walk 3 metres to the next hand-rail, for others its securing a multi-million pound deal, it can be your first new car or the holiday of a lifetime, but for most of us success is gauged by what we own in a materialistic sense.

It seems so strange that we are humbled when we meet celebrities with million dollar bank accounts yet turn our noses up at a raggedy man in the street begging. The reality is both rely on us to eat, so why do we see the tramp as much less a human being? That is an easy question to answer, we see success with the super star celebrity and all his trappings, they are after all, who we aspire to be, on the other hand who ever aspired to be a tramp?  The fact is the tramp may be there because a life changing situation occurred that he had no control over, but because we see wealth as the only goal we strive for and material goods a sign of success, we see the tramp as a failure. How sad.

I have been well off and I have been poor, self-employment is a risky business and going into business even tougher.  When I have been wealthy I have found it easy to have lots of friends around me, yet when the money has been harder to come by, true friends have been in short supply. I am a strange individual in some respects in that I don't value money, I am not the best guardian of it and I can never seem to make it last, but with or without it my mind is never closed to those who are rich or poor, in my eyes we are all equal, money is just another false God, yet those who practise it's teachings seldom find true enlightenment or fulfilment, indeed how ironic it is that the tramp would be just as excited and elated to find ten dollars on the side walk as the celebrity would be to be chosen for a leading role in a new blockbuster, they are equally as happy as each other albeit at the opposite ends of the scale. True wealth is in the spirit and the mind, it is no coincidence that wealth and health are very similar sounding words, for without health you're money is as irrelevant as your views that society programmes you to make.  Health is the real wealth.

A Morning Tale.

Across the misty morning skyline, dew abounds though soul's enlightened,
As rising sun sends trusted fingers through the night-falls weakened heart,
The shadows cast seem never ending,  Ash and Oak's defiant stance,
From daylight's slow encroaching march, that signals Nightingales advance.

The chorus beckons, dawn wins over, songs from every bird with voice,
As sunlight shares the secrets night holds, in her presence none can hide.
The still air blessed with heavy moisture sweet the taste when so inhaled
Natures calmness here a blessing, though cursed as doldrums under sail

The tawny owl swoops through the woods and now retreats advancing light,
No use the sharpest eyesight here, that saw her hunting pitch black grounds,
The daylight beckons all to waken those that slumbered darkened hours,
For now another day is made, that we can claim we lived as ours.