Takk, and Good Night.

It's been a long time since I have written my last blog. I'd love to say that in that time I have found the cure to cancer, travelled to a far off distant land where I had under gone a life changing experience, and finally worked out the answer to the ultimate question, "Why do footballers get paid so much money?" But I haven't done any of these things. I have been really busy instead, and haven't had time to write this.

Although that's an excuse which if remotely pulled apart would fold, it is the truth. I have had just as much time as someone that has achieved all of the above, but I've been knackered. We've been doing a lot with the house; cleared the loft, decorated the kids room, got the office back. Also, we've had a couple of emergencies, I've been to Sweden, and I've been to see Status Quo; all of these things would normally have featured in the blog, but there you go.

Finally the event that has inspired me to pick up the old quill again, is a chance meeting with an idol of mine. No-one will know who she is but I have admired her for years. She is an Icelandic singer/songwriter with a voice that was initially made with honey but then dragged through a load of broken glass, and finally 20 Marlboro. The result is exceptionally enticing, but this is not all that she has. She has a heart that appears to have been broken so many times that it needs to be thrown away and started again. The lyrics are brilliantly written, and she is the right side of underground that makes her cool, without being depressed. It's all presented through a smile that makes any audience feel for her, and want to put an arm around her and let her know that it will all be alright.

Well, I heard that she was playing in Manchester at a small venue that is new, and so I never played there. The gig had sold out straight away, and in my normal timing, I missed out. But where there's a will there's a way, and I looked on the Internet tout sites that showed that one ticket was going for £97. I suppose that Romeo would have put his hand in his pocket for Juliet, Anthony for Cleopatra, and Jose Mourinho for himself, but this was more than my love was worth. Instead I went to my old mucker Damo, who in the time that he hasn't been playing in my band has become a bit of a player in the Manchester music scene. So it turned out that his management company were promoting this gig as well, and a phone call later Mike Holley plus one were on the guest list for free. Obviously destiny was calling, and the angels had not orchestrated such divine fate ever before.

The gig was only 300 people strong, and packed into a small corner of the venue where the stage was. Due to the abysmal architecture of the Victorians who clearly were not thinking of gigs when they were building this original textiles emporium, they had put thick pillars right down the side of the stage which meant no visibility to the stage from anywhere except from right in front of it. Was it that the angels had packed it in? Ian and I stood at the bar having a pint listening to the voice that was being played through a harp that heaven was holding, and occasionally catching a glimpse of her forehead.

The gig finished and strangely most of the 300 people left immediately. I was still having a drink, and Ian, who turns into a pumpkin after 11 o'clock left as well. So that just left me with my friend Carling. We went to the merchandise table to see what was on offer, and I asked if they had anything signed. They replied that they didn't but if I wanted, the guy would go backstage and ask her. I was just stood there, and there wasn't a queue, so I said, "well, yeah... if you don't mind". The bloke disappeared through another door, and I was left there waiting, feeling a bit stupid for asking.

Then the door opened, like it used to for Stars in their Eyes, a bright light shone from behind, and small doves escaped from the gaps and flew off to spread the word of peace. A weird ethereal music was to be heard, but from not one particular source, and then as my eyes adjusted to the light I could make out the diminutive form of Emiliana Torrini breaking through the barrier into reality. My reality.

She asked me if I had enjoyed the gig, and I responded from a voice deep within that, "I had, thank you very much." I explained to her that I really enjoyed her music, and tried very hard to not sound like a serial killer. There were a couple of others stood by us, and I just stood there as she pulled out a marker and marked her own album. "Takk! Emiliana T. To. Mike, with luurve..."

I looked her straight in the eye and thanked her very much again, we shared a brief moment and then she disappeared back through the door that she had come.

I went away from the venue whilst being carried by an army of the doves that had escaped previously, and returned home to my normal life but with the knowledge that that had just happened.

As in Mr.Benn when he returns home from a drug enhanced escape in the costume shop, and always has a souvenir in his pocket. She is now in a frame on the wall in my hall, always there to remind me of the night that I saw heaven, and looked an angel in the eyes.

In Pursuit of Happiness

I mentioned in my last blog about the fact that money can't buy happiness, and although it is something that is said a lot, it is always scoffed at when it is raised. It makes perfect sense to me, but last week had me thinking about what exactly does it mean and why is it that so many people do not believe in the maxim.

The phrase, and the teachings behind it, come from Eastern philosophies, where the mind and the spirit being at one with nature and the environment that you exist in, is the key driver of happiness. The whole bit about a monk that owns nothing is the richest man on earth. Now I appreciate that this is not everyone's cup of tea, and I think it would be impossible to exist in the western world effectively, and do this. But there is some sense in the theory.

As long as you are wrapped up in the Western culture of more is more, and that material gain is king, then you will by definition never be happy. The chain will continue forever. No one can own everything in the world. As long as you strive for more then you will never fully appreciate what you have, and then true happiness will always evade you.

When I was a kid, I would be happier to be an adult. When I was an adult, I would be happier when the band took off. When the band fell through, I would be happier when I found a good job. When I had a good job, I would be happier when I had a pay rise. And so the chain goes on. This example does not even touch on the countless material possessions that I have had that would enrich my life, and the novelty wears off and I search for the next life changing device that would make me happier. There is no end.

YOU CAN NEVER WAIT FOR HAPPINESS, IT IS RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW.

As long as you wait for something else to happen to make you happy then you will never truly be fulfilled. When that thing happens you will eventually need something else to happen.
Break the chain now. Reflect on everything that you have and appreciate it. Not just possessions, but everything in your life. We are so lucky compared to billions of people around the world, and the multiple billions that have lived through history. We are well off, in terms of health, opportunity and inspiration. Do not take this for granted.

Once you look at what you have, you will undoubtedly realise that you have too much. You can't concentrate on the good things because they are muddled in with the old, broken things.
Another example that everyone could benefit from. Recently, I looked through my clothes. Now, I have never bought that many clothes, not really my thing, but everything that I had was a favourite. I never threw anything out because I was emotionally attached to almost everything. But when I thought of the last time I wore something it was going back years. So I just threw away, or gave to charity, nearly everything that was in my drawers or wardrobe. It left me with a few t-shirts, my work suits and shirts that I still wear, (literally six shirts) and any sports kit that I still wear. Everything was clear. I then went out and bought some nice new things where I had gaps, and put them in my wardrobe. Now, before I used to look in my wardrobe I would never think that I had nice things because all I could see was the old, tatty stuff. Now when I look in my wardrobe, I see all the stuff that is pretty recent, and that I wear, this makes me now feel much better about it, and psychologically I now feel richer and better off.

The same applies for absolutely everything in your life. Do not hang on to things just because you might one day use it. If you haven't used it for a couple of years, then give it away. If by chance you do need it shortly after then treat yourself to something that you actually need (it probably needed updating anyway). You will have the money because you won't be wasting it on the other things that you don't need.

If you follow these simple rules then you will always be surrounded by nice things, you will always be happy, you will be existing in the Western world but maintaining your happiness, you will not want more all of the time. You will learn to appreciate what you have because you will always be looking at it from that perspective, rather than what you don't have.

This way when you hear the next person say that money can't buy you happiness, you do not have to scoff, but instead give a knowing nod to another enlightened soul that has moved away from the thought control that this culture injects into us.

It all makes sense, and since I have been making changes according to it, it has made a difference to me. It can make a difference to everybody.

To back it up, did you know that 90% of lottery winners lose their money within ten years. This is because they weren't happy beforehand, and so the promised land for them lie in possessions. Eventually their money runs out and they are still not happy. Just think of all the good they could have done, and the lasting happiness that they could have achieved.

"Keep what you've got, by giving it all away" - Ian Brown.

New Year, Same Revolution

The New Year is a time for reflection and new beginnings. It needn’t be, but as we are all influenced by the culture around us, there is no getting away from the constant reminders at this time of the year to have a resolution of some description. People should constantly reflect on their own lives and make promises to themselves to improve parts of it, otherwise they are just wasting time. And that time is precious when you consider how quickly the past year has gone.

In 2008 my journey through life has progressed quite substantially. At this time last year I was still coming to terms with fatherhood and trying to make the step from “hospitalised detailed parent” to “relaxed normal life parent”. The transition has been difficult and there isn’t really anyone that can help, you just have to keep going. I particularly think it’s hard for Dad’s because you don’t get a chance to completely leave one life and carry on with another. You have to keep going with the life that caused you stress and anxiety before you had kids, and then add on a load more anxiety and stress, especially in our case. I found that very hard near the beginning of the year, but I have made a massive leap forwards in my own mind with regards to this.

Also, I went on a bit of a self-discovery journey, to understand who I really was and what I should be doing. That was a good period, where I had a lot of energy, and truly found some answers that had been evading me for the last ten years. It made me feel passionate about the things that I want to move towards, and not so down on the things that I am doing at the moment, as they are just a means to an end and I know the purpose of them. I think this will be hugely beneficial to me in the future, and already I am making progress with most of my goals.

Specifically, I have started writing the book that I have always wanted to write, and although it is hard going, I’m on the journey. Our finances are really sorted out now, not only are we on top of everything that we need to be, we also have an aggressive plan to knock off as much of our mortgage as possible in the next 4 years. One of the best things that we have changed about the way we live is simplification. We always ask ourselves do we need it, rather than just want it, and therefore we try not to waste money on unnecessary items. Obviously occasional things slip through, and I’d like to introduce the newest member of our family, the Epiphone Hummingbird, my seventh and sweetest guitar. But we also show our appreciation to others that help us, especially the people that help Sophie on a daily basis. This is one of my main drivers for eliminating my debt, to have the ability to help others. Money does not bring you happiness, that is guaranteed, but it does give you choices. The choices you then make are in your control, but rather than increasing your material wealth there are many other choices you could make.

So, compared with previous years, I feel that I have moved much further towards my future happiness, and not just wasted another year.

As for 2009, well, I have promised to myself that I will get fit. It is definitely something that I have always wanted but never had the time to fit it in. But now I will fit it in, and I have joined the Gym at work in order to be able to be flexible around workload but also not sacrifice any of my time back home with the family. We shall see how this progresses, but it has started well.

I really want to finish at least a first draft of my book this year, but it takes so long that it may prove to be unrealistic. I want to start getting up earlier, and hopefully trying to write a blog in the morning before work. I have started doing this inconsistently, and I wouldn’t mind really making this habit stick.

It is also no surprise that I am a bit of a new-age hippy, and into the Eastern philosophies, and for this reason I really want to dedicate 10-15mins a day to meditation. I find that this really helps me to remain calm and keep things in perspective. It is easy to not do, but then it is only when everything gets on top of me that I remember to do it again. To make this a habit would be great.

So, here goes for 2009. I wish everyone all the best for the coming year, and hope that what ever promises or plans that people have made, they come true and bring you the happiness that you initially thought they would.

A Bleak Winters Journey

As the two friends boarded the train at Heaton Chapel they prepared themselves for a journey that neither of them would believe. It was bitter cold that was biting their ears, and heavy rain that fell all around. The puddles were becoming lakes so quickly that Cunard were setting up business alongside them. There were no idle passers by, only people leaving for a purpose.

The first steps of any journey are usually the easiest, and the train rolled into Piccadilly on time, as expected. The sight that met our travellers though as the doors opened was a huge crowd of people all trying to leave the platform in one direction as fast as they could, but something was appearing to prevent them from doing this. It was a sight like the end of a football match where the hordes of supporters try to clamber out of the stadium by any means possible. There were elbows being pointed, and minor affray at every point. This was possibly the first sign that evil spirits were in the air, and that they should turn back before worse magic would unravel.

Once through the throngs of people at Piccadilly, (it turned out to be some ticket inspectors choosing Saturday afternoon to check 500 peoples tickets as they left the platform) a swift transfer to the other side of Manchester was necessary before catching the next train. This was swifter than first planned, and needed a mild jog for the last 5 minutes to ensure that no disappointment would follow. Whilst the rain and wind blew around them like a scene from Twister. It had metamorphosed into the day that people walked around with inside out umbrellas and dogs flying in the air like kites.

Manchester Victoria was reached in a record time by foot, and through the corner of my eye I could see Roger Bannister weeping. The two journeymen purchased tickets from the Victorian ticket office at Manchester Victoria from a girl called Victoria that looked like Victoria Beckham crossed with Queen Victoria. They reached the train and the conductor was called Sue.

A forty minute ride to Hebden Bridge was the next step, and so the passengers relaxed into the carriage, took the weight off of their feet, and remembered that it was 1pm and that lunch had been missed. A couple of chewing gums did not fill the void in their stomachs, so they began to eat fellow passengers, starting with the fattest and cleanest. By the time Hebden Bridge appeared in the steamy windows there was no other soul on board, just a pile of shoes and a News of the World.

The two travelling companions departed the carriage to find themselves on the platform of a station that looked like the kind used in American Werewolf in London. It was deserted and the station itself had not been changed since circa 1920. It was a classic station with one track in and one track out, and it needed Poirot to shuffle along to fully complete the scene.

It was so bleak that it inspired one of the travellers to quote, “There is more colour in Russia.” A phrase that should be emblazoned on every tourist information poster in the area. Finally the third train arrived to take our trusty guides to their final destination. A small backwater, in the bowels of the North West of England where time forgot to move on. It was still 1958, and peoples haircuts proved it. It was named after the witch hunt ritual of burning anyone called Lee. However, if I was called Lee and I lived here then I would be passing a box of Swan Vestas to the angry mob of farmworkers.

In search of some light refreshment, our heroes ventured to enter a local hostelry that had some friendly types outside the main entrance, only to discover a big blackboard outside stating in a “No Blacks” kind of way, “No Away Supporters”. As this was the only place to go before the stadium then the decision was made to journey on to the stadium. Often a good travelling technique when one finds that all other avenues are closed.

One compliment that has to be given to the population of Burnley is that they do not do things by half. If the decision is to keep the town looking like it did 50 years ago then this is what they do. A consistent portrayal of the era is echoed into every last detail, and so once inside the stadium the theme continued. The tannoy system was connected by bean cans and tight string, and only worked if the wind stopped, which it didn't for long. When finally the weary men sat down in their seats, there was a feeling that they had sat where many men have sat before. Literally, as they had not cleared away their dead.

The onslaught that then ensued was of biblical proportions. The brothers in arms stood together in the trenches, settling themselves and taking stock of their surroundings. The first long range missile came over the barricades, and a direct hit... kazamm... half the army were wiped out. Secondly, a fumbled hand grenade dropped right at the feet... boom... the rest of the army were decimated. Finally, a volley and a strike and… poww... the rest of the stragglers were floored.

That was it. Eleven minutes in total. Not a soul survived.

Gradually though, a miracle developed. As if from a zombie film, the dead army began to awaken. They came back stronger and more determined. Two attacks hit the opposition right where it hurts, and a third would make it level. The masses were shouting, “We're going to beat you 4-3, we're going to beat you 4-3”, and a renewed optimism was present.

It was short lived, however, and the travelling armies had another bleak prospect on the horizon. They would soon have to leave this shelter, and venture back into the land that time forgot. Not knowing what surprises would face them on the way.

The crowds left the pile of rubble and bricks, that local people call Turfmoor, and headed back to the homeland. Our two protagonists resembled Napoleonic soldiers returning from Russia, defeated, hungry, wet, and cheesed off.

When eventually the anachronistic skyline, of modern juxtaposed with old, silhouetted against a murky grey backdrop, the two travellers revelled in the warmth of the homecoming. As they departed from the train they had deserved a heroes welcome, a fanfare and parade. Instead, they were ignored and brushed aside, average people mistaking their battle scars for tramp-like dirtiness.

The pair trudged out of the Victorian station, passing the Victorian ticket office, long after Victoria had gone, looking forward to a cup of tea and a Victoria sandwich.

The Ambulance Preservation Society

As the sirens were heard, and the common sound of an emergency went wailing through the night, the ambulance weaved its way through the relatively quiet streets on its way to the hospital once more. It had made the journey many times but every trip promised new adventures for the fixtures and fittings. Perhaps this would be the journey when the defibrillator was used, or maybe the airway un-blockers that hang over the bed.

The men and women that make the life changing drive throughout the day are always very calm and professional. They save lives continuously, and I have often wondered whether they even realise anymore that they make more difference on a Tuesday evening than most people make ever. It amazes me that they can be party to abuse and assault from our ever greatening thick population. Eventually they will all change their tune and understand the vast difference that these people make, but sadly this will often follow a tragedy, or a narrowly avoided tragedy.

We must really appreciate the impact that this service provides and the huge steps that it has taken to improve our safety and care. I had never appreciated the amount of professionalism and speed to which these people operate. Multi-tasking at its very best. They must talk to the hospital and alert them of an arrival stating any issues and an ETA, explain to the driver where to go, communicate effectively with the significant loved one sat often in shock on the make shift passenger seat, fill in a form asking questions of a comprehensive nature, and ... oh by the way, save someone’s life as well. Seriously... if you or I was ever to try and jump in and do that then it would go pear shaped in a jiffy.

Well, as is our life, I was a significant passenger again last Tuesday night. As always, I was trying to keep rational and calm and answer questions as quickly as I could, whilst trying to talk to my little girl and try to reassure her that everything was going to be alright. It is a deeply enlightening experience and if it wasn’t so terrible then I would recommend it to everybody. You will never think so clearly and focused about one thing, apart from maybe a Tibetan monk that has spent years trying to perfect sitting on a leaf.

At these moments occasionally something will pop into your head that you would not normally think. Extreme lateral thought. This kind of thought happened to me last Tuesday night. I wondered if it was possible to live in an ambulance.

They’re like Tardis’ but without the aliens (they do have Doctors though... aah, you like that). An ambulance is the cool crash pad for twenty somethings that cannot afford a rung on the property ladder. “Moving” or “stationery” can be your choice. But bear in mind that “moving” would make you into a Gypsy, which isn’t necessarily the market I was looking at.

Let us have a look at the wonderful attributes that an ambulance possesses. A bed, a power source, more cupboard space than you can shake a stick at, two chairs for guests, a ramp to ride your bike in and out (especially useful if you go for the stationery model), communication ready, disco lights for those outside barbecues, and a big cab at the front. My tip would be to convert the front cab into a chemical toilet and then knock through to widen the living space. You will then have a completely functional pad and for a snifter of the price of a traditional studio flat.

What’s more, here are some more ideas to personalise your Ambul’ouse. Give it a cool paint job to make it look less like the type of vehicle that people will run to if they need help. Rip out the interior fittings, just keeping the cupboard space and other fixtures. Replace with some choice contemporary furniture, and go for a nice, chic dark wood effect. The shape of the van itself is a classic symbol of popular culture, which would be instantly recognisable and sought after by other medical profession obsessive’s.

It appears to me to be a win-win, and a solution to a much pondered problem. We save the landfills getting filled up with decrepit machines that no longer have a use, whilst housing young people and enabling them to move away from their family seat.

I must admit now though, that this idea is not new, and that I have blatantly plagiarised it from another point in history. The classic Gypsy caravan that everyone knows and loves, the type that was commonly seen on the Flake advert in the 1980’s, is in fact no more than a revamped Sky television van from the 17th century. Oh, well, it’s far enough away that I can’t be sued now.

England's Glory

I feel what it must be like to be a Man United fan this morning. I watched England last night and not only did I enjoy watching the performance, which was exceptional considering the reserves that were present, but also the confidence that I had in them getting a result. They now have a belief amongst themselves which has been present for the last handful of games and this can only be a good thing when it comes to preparation for the World Cup. Last night the obvious show ponies were not there, and it is hard to say whether this had anything to do with it, but the passion and desire to win, even in a friendly, was clear and apparent.

I have actually begun to enjoy watching England football matches again. This is something that I have not had since the days when I didn’t know as much about football. The initial event dies down the older you get, but the performance and the manner in which it is delivered become more important. Most fans only want to see a desire to win, and they will go home satisfied.

I like the Italian chic that we have now as a unit. There is a cool confidence that is comfortable knowing itself. Capello looks like the type of man that either the team play well for, or he will ring up a member of his family that will put horses heads, or a New Forest pony’s head in Wright-Phillips case, in their beds. That’s what we need.

However, to every ray of sunshine there must be a cloud racing across the sky to cover it. Ying and Yang. The law of nature. One England team does well as another falls apart. I am talking about the cricket team, who are currently on tour in India. All of the good things that I was saying about the football can be said in reverse for the cricket. Heads are down, no confidence, no real direction or hunger, no amazing talent coming through and surprising people.

I am sat here at six o’clock in the morning watching the third one dayer and preparing for the usual collapse. I enjoy watching cricket for the statistics that appear for every ball that is bowled, and you can always tell who is in the ascendancy by the number of statistics that the commentators say they are breaking. The records are all being broke by India. A young side with lots of talent and future.

The catalyst for the downturn in England’s fortunes was the prostitution of their involvement in the Stanford Series. They had their pants pulled down by a Texan billionaire and like an abused convict smarting from the showers, they are now recovering and getting back their confidence. Some of the young players though could have been turned forever.

Another thing about India that I have wanted to get off of my chest for a while is the call centre culture of the new Indian mega-industry. As an industry itself it is a bizarre concept, get a load of technology that will make it possible for anyone around the world to be connected direct to an Indian call centre, and then undercut call centres in other countries by 4/5’s to ensure the business.

The service levels are expectedly worse than the service levels of a domestic customer service line, but because of the cost companies chose to ignore this. A weird culture has developed in India itself, as the operatives pretend that they are English, giving themselves English names and using English current affairs briefs to converse with you on a “normal” level. All very strange, and I would encourage anyone to get them talking about current affairs if you get a chance. They will begin well and read what is on their crib sheet, but then as you delve into more detail they will just change direction of the conversation and talk about something else instead. You can have a bit of fun with it, that is if you’re in the mood for fun and not exceptionally frustrated.

Also, the operatives are under extreme conditions often having to commit to a company for two years and agreeing not to sign to anyone else if they lose their job with the company that they are with. Their accommodation is paid for by the company and therefore if they lose their job they are genuinely destitute until their ban is lifted. This is pressure to deliver. I feel that this pressure is unfair and you are asking people to deliver promises that it is impossible for them to make.

Most progressive companies are beginning to return from their Indian experience and resort back to British call centres, finally realising that the customer service is the only point of a call centre and if you compromise that then any money that you spend is wasted. But there are still some that are attracted by the carrot of low costs, and in the current climate, costs are everything.

At my work we now have our IT service helpdesk in India. The one benefit that has grown from this is that the IT skills of every European based employee have grown ten-fold. It’s amazing what you can learn out of forced frustration.

One day it will all come back I am sure, but we need to see it through first with tolerance.

Halloween and Hallo Obama

It was in the early evening, as the sun was going down for the day, the dust, which had been worn like a reminder of the recent cellar clear out, had just been washed from the pores. The white jumpsuit that had been bought especially for the occasion was taken from the sealed packet and donned with the usual efficiency. As he looked up from his shoe coverings he could see the flash of something black. It looked like a bat, but surely it was too early for such a creature of the night. There it was again but this time it could be seen clearly. It was covered in black PVC, the kind reserved for fetish parties. She had black cuffs that went around her slender arms, and a mask that protected her identity.

He put on his mask to conceal his identity also, and then both the mouse and the bat descended into reality disappearing into the night to fight crime and save the streets of Stockport, again.

Just another Halloween party for Claire and I, a very well dressed Bat Girl and a quite debonair looking Dangermouse. We were disappearing off to a house party where the only crime was that they had laid on food and I had just eaten.

We like a nice dress up. We always dread it at first but once we are in our costumes and take on the identity of the character we transcend in to their soul. For that night I was Dangermouse, the national treasure that I soon realised had not travelled as far as Italy, as he was unknown to some Italians at the party.

To be philosophical, perhaps we dress up to escape the monotony of our normal lives. We all like playing roles and there is something appealing about masking your real identity. Throughout the ages we have masked ourselves in attire that would add mystery and intrigue to the evening. The Halloween party of current times is just a reincarnation of a Venetian Ball. Or perhaps we just like dressing up to look like spanners once a year.

In the writing of this blog, history has been made. Finally the Americans have voted with their heads and they have now picked someone that they can hopefully be proud of. Obama certainly seems the real deal, not since Kennedy has anyone had the star quality, and in a country where this is important this is surely a good thing.
He talks about peace, and hope and a future. These have been alien themes for too long, and now maybe the world can begin to rebuild. Also, not since Kennedy has someone promised so much of these dreams and truly connected with the people of the most powerful country in the world. This can only be a good thing.

Still the American South are lost back in the Civil War, and the lines of segregation are very much those that ran along the Confederacy. Possibly because Obama is black, it was only 40 years ago that they weren’t allowed on buses, and maybe because the gun toting members of those communities still like war and other right wing pursuits.

But, thirdly and unfortunately another factor that could be the same between Obama and Kennedy is the assassination risk that he holds. Already there has been an attempt from a group of bungled Neo-Nazi’s, and now there must be a large number of sworn enemies of the president planning and concocting a death squad.

If history teaches us anything, it is that there is always a large section of society that does not embrace change, always a section that sees through the positive enthusiasm of a new way and cling to the old. There is always a business that was making money in the old way and will not in the new. These are the people that will try.

But as long as he stays away from Texas and doesn’t drive past any book depository, then hopefully the world can enjoy some much needed harmony.

However, in this time of jubilation, cast a thought to John McCain who has not only lost today, but also did not win over the people that a half brained idiot, half monkey, had managed to win over twice. It’s a strange world.