Many things incl ITN, demos, joy of new friends and our club, Bosnia

= Life after the London Raid of my Manc Folk (i missed the c of Manc at first- I did not mean that. then I wrote 'men' that. Dunno, it's strange)

I feel now like leaving the post at that- though I was forming eloquent posts on the walk home. I call them eloquent but perhaps my mind drifted more than I thought, into snatches of song and the like. As in dreams where the exciting mission-impossible-like plot where Adelai Niska presents you with a deadly poisonous injection to be self-administered as punishment for failure on reflection doesn't quite fit in with sitting in at some gangster rap recording studio spying on the messages they record. Seamless in the dream, but raises questions on waking. But I digress.

So I went to the demo- read tab's blog and comments for my general recollection of that. I went without muslm folk- who were significantly lacking sadly- and had an entirely different demo experience- the one where all kinds of people and cultures come together and discuss the situation at hand, and of Britain, politics, religion, language, culture, knitting, the works and socialists and respect party ppl earnestly work on recruiting you to their causes (or as Ray would say 'causii') My coach buddy was a gentle soul- not much addicted to politics but a pacifist rather and a vague world's faiths encompassing spirituality. She had children my age and was very kind to me, to which i responded with an endless flow of prattling conversation - mostly about my family. I tried to be conscious of the need to ask her questions in return- when tired she simply requested a moment to sleep and dozed off occasionally :) It was a very comfortable arrangement though- no holding hostage to anyone's ear. Unlike the certifed Bore who had collared the poor sleepy boy next to her. Oblivious or merciless i know not- i expect the former, but the kid's monotones ruffled her not. She didn't stop until he actually in desperation asked if he could use her shoulder ( a complete stranger i assure you) as a pillow and fell asleep on the surprised lady.

Man I'm too tired too talk about the ITN iterview anymore- though I will say to you all this one thing and listen close: Do Not Trust Journalists. They have Ulterior Motives. ALWAYS. Whether they are sweet and charming and aquainted with your uncle, or chain-smokey and snoopy- they are as one in their aims. They are for the Story. The one that they have pitched to the producer and will dovetail neatly into their programme- whatever that maybe. However innocuous your comments may be do not misguidedly feel glad that the world will hear such sweet moderation. When mingled with shots of shadowy blurry folk, voice-over solemnly speaking of Angry Young People, and parks turned freakishly alien purple, you become nothing but an Other. I gave Miss Emma Murphy the benefit of the doubt- pretty, sympathetic and patiently encouraging she seemed. The reason we're frustrated by the media becomes so easy to understand when you glimpse how they work it. I think this piece is what we were slotted into http://video.msn.com/v/en-gb/v.htm?g=12d834fa-4333-4e34-a783-e727a1e27195 - Alhamdulillah she found us to talk to and not the 'radicalized 7/7 supporters' she was looking for.. That's one of the few reasons it's worth it- if it's not us doing these things and being portrayed badly though we say positively gentle things they'll find some loser who'll happily rant ignorantly on camera for them.

Once more unto the breach dear friends, once more

Yes it's been a while. Since the latter days of uni the lethargy had descended upon me but lately it has been lifting lightly away. (Alliteration seems to have seized me by the throat. I will fight him off)

I have by found that Etsy was not in fact The Way Forward, at least not for me. Hand-crafted commerce requires a more personal touch I feel, an old-school tactile market scene is called for. Perhaps it was the giddy riches that Marrakesh revealed, the open sweat and blood craftsmanship that produced the wonders of Fez- a laser etched plate may look neat but it cannot compare with brass that has been worked on for weeks. The leather tanning and zelij factories displaying what unbelievable and beautiful feats we can achieve without machinery, Alhamdulillah- (which so dazzled our party that we fell delightly to our knees in their rubbish tip of fragmented tiles, greedily gathering the so despised and discarded treasure. The locals pointed and laughed.) Mrs C's knitting lore was also passed on during that time in Marrakesh, and- though the many tales of Knitdom must be shelved until my knitblog-in-process is open for business- I can now see first-hand that the finished article must be at least seen to be appreciated. Far better is it to see the craftsman at work- it enhances its beauty no end- and to practise yourself brings the understanding higher still. Morris- I so get your Arts&Crafts movement.

None of this is what I wanted to talk about though- I got side tracked. I'll make a new post because these things are so not related except to say that I have returned today overcome by the momentum gathering in my young life. Bring it back to that lifted lethargy stuff. I will expound in the Part II: Feeling active- het up enough to care again+ our Myf Club of fun and acting as young or younger than our age. As you can see we need a real name..