The Politics of Dancing

My mother’s favourite poem was Sea Fever by John Masefield. I had it read at her funeral. ‘I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.’ It’s lonely, of course, that does it. There is something about the sea that speaks to us in the p...

The Sentimental tears of the drunk are a fast flowing river. The sea is never far away Swallowing life in great gulps. The tide of life is against us Always sweeping against the troubled stones. Licked by the unfeeling water We too are swallowed by the sea.

Dreamily dozing Half awake to the sounds of consciousness The letter forming world is slipping slowly away Dreamily dozing wanting But not hoping, Not that, For something to take the pain away. The hours are like broken glass The jagged unformed thoughts The visitors are like broken glass The jagged unformed memory prodders and Unpleasant sunlight mixed with the smell of decay Oh for something to take the pain away. Yesterday today and tomorrow strange words Like vapour from a broken hour glass The gassy breath of living or dying Who can say? Certainly not the white coated servants. Oh for something to take the pain away. For my father Alex Talbot April 2009

It seems now that the police now have cart blanche to coral peaceful protesters for hours on end, eight hours in the case of those protesting in front of the Bank of England last week, deny access to either water or toilet facilities and claim this to be part of an exercise in facilitating our right to protest! Now how many people who feel angry about some issue or other observe this police action and are deterred from making any public protest by this aggressive and hostile police action from attending future protests? Well I unhappily must put my hand up. This is of course the intention and this action has the grubby little fingerprints, the DNA, of ACPO [1] written all over it. We sleepwalk slowly into a police state and have only ourselves to blame for letting such a state of affairs stand without an explosion of indignation. [1] Association of Chief Police Officers., unaccountable and wholly lacking in democratic legitimacy

Today there will be mass protests in the city of London. I know some people who will be there, I will not. I have never been a good protestor, overly self conscious; I never felt comfortable shouting slogans or carrying placards, always felt peripheral, surplus to requirements, more observer than protestor. I wish them well. The right to protest, to reclaim our rights as citizens, to occupy our streets is fundamental. We are not citizens under licence. Much is always made of violence, which the media of course love, good TV footage. My experience, I was involved in the famous Poll Tax riot in London, is that it is the police who invariably come tooled up for a ruck, who are, 'up for it!' I remember the aggression of the police on that day, though managed to get away before things got really rough. I am not large, cannot as they say ‘handle my self’ and anyway lack physical courage, in any melee I simply represent cannon fodder. However I remember Orwell’s remark, ‘when I see an...