Never More then Ten feet Away

I think I’ve mentioned before that I don’t know any Tories. Nor do I know any EDL / BNP / UKIP voters. Or no one who would ever admit to it. And looking at my chosen close friends, I would be less surprised if they confessed to necrophilia

I don’t read the political leaflets that come through the door and discard them with the pizza delivery leaflets. I would have more faith in a pizza if one stood for election. I did have a cursory glance at the Labour leaflet because the candidate looks like a Tory (I know, sweeping generalisations) and wondered if there had been a mix-up at the printers.

Hippy and I went off to exercise our democratic right yesterday. We live in probably one of the most diverse areas in the country. I was stunned at the ballot paper – it was just a huge list of racist / prejudiced parties including one I’d never heard of. I think it was called send them all back but I hadn’t got my glasses on. Send who back where, me to Wales perhaps.

I don’t believe in the secret vote. I don’t think prejudice should be hidden I want to know who these people are so I can avoid them. Who are these people? I defend free speech and their right to say it. But I also defend my right to know who is saying it.

Do they shop in my (Indian) local shop, my (Jamaican) hardware store, my (Pakistani) chemist? Are they stood next to me when I stop on Kato walk to see how the building of the new extension of our local mosque is coming along?

I voted Labour in the local (that doesn’t mean I have forgiven them for Iraq) and I voted Green in the EU because fracking and badgers, once I found the boxes to tick in amongst the list of local c*ntery.

The UKip campaign car was parked outside our house the other day. Hippy and I glared at it. sTo Hippy’s great discomfort the elderly car owner waved at him turning out to be someone who once worked at his place. Odd thing to do with your retirement, most people do the garden or go on a cruise, not take up casual racism. Though I can always tell when my Mums newsagent has delivered her the Daily Mail as her usual Welsh paper hasn’t arrived, as she phones up to tell me that Chinese Face Flannels will give me cancer and side boobs reminded her she needs some new vests. Nothing that an emergency delivery of the Guardian and some of Damarts finest doesn’t quickly remedy.

Kato Walk

Kato has learnt that if I am stuffing my pockets or bag with carrier bags/ little bin bags this on the balance of probability means a walk. Kato waits angelically beside her lead until I put my hand on her harness and she just can't resist affectionately rugby tackling me in excitement.  Once I’ve picked myself up off the floor and checked the right one of us is wearing the harness we set off. Firstly to the green bit nearby for a poo. There’s nothing Kato likes more than having a poo somewhere that isn’t our garden. I envy her relishing such simple pleasures.

Today she made me laugh, I decided to clear our drive of nettles & weeds. So I unravelled one of those extra strong rubble sacks to collect up the bottles / cans / litter that get thrown over our gate. Kato gave the rubble sack an odd look that seemed to say “Bit of a challenge but a walks a walk” and sat expectantly by her lead.