Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Obituary of Common Sense

On BBC Radio Stoke's Mid-Morning show, presenter Stuart George mourned the death of 'common sense'. So many people asked for a copy of what he read out, it is re-produced it here...

Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.

He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as: Knowing when to come in out of the rain; why the early bird gets the worm:Life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault.

Common sense lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you can earn) and reliable strategies (adults are in charge not children)

His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of an 8 year old boy charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate, teens suspended from school for using mouthwash after lunch, and a teacher fired for reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.

Common sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the job they themselves had failed to do in disciplining their unruly children. It declined even further when schools were required to get parental consent to administer sun lotion or an aspirin to a student, but could not inform parents when a student became pregnant and wanted to have an abortion.

Common sense lost the will to live as the churches became businesses, and criminals received better treatment than their victims, Common sense took a beating when you couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar could sue you for assault.

Common sense finally gave up the will to live, after a women failed to realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common sense was preceded in death, by his parents, truth and trust, His wife, discretion, His daughter, Responsibility, His son, reason.

He is survived by his 4 stepbrothers

I know my rights

I want my rights

I want it now

I’m a victim.

Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If you still remember him, pass this on if not, join the majority and do nothing.

This is a modified version of a text that's originally attributed to Lori Borgman (www.loriborgman.com)

TO LISTEN CLICK http://www.bbc.co.uk/stoke/content/articles/2009/02/03/obituary_common_sense_feature.shtml


Friday, November 12, 2010


Powerful song - Powerful message- shows you how organised a system is ....
Gives one hope that every bad thing will soon come to an end ...


Well Jo'anna she runs a country
She runs in Durban and the Transvaal
She makes a few of her people happy, oh
She don't care about the rest at all
She's got a system they call apartheid
It keeps a brother in a subjection
But maybe pressure can make Jo'anna see
How everybody could a live as one

Gimme hope, Jo'anna
Hope, Jo'anna
Gimme hope, Jo'anna
'Fore the morning come
Gimme hope, Jo'anna
Hope, Jo'anna
Hope before the morning come

I hear she make all the golden money
To buy new weapons, any shape of guns
While every mother in black Soweto fears
The killing of another son
Sneakin' across all the neighbours' borders
Now and again having little fun
She doesn't care if the fun and games she play
Is dang'rous to ev'ryone


She's got supporters in high up places
Who turn their heads to the city sun
Jo'anna give them the fancy money
Oh to tempt anyone who'd come
She even knows how to swing opinion
In every magazine and the journals
For every bad move that this Jo'anna makes
They got a good explanation


Even the preacher who works for Jesus
The Archbishop who's a peaceful man
Together say that the freedom fighters
Will overcome the very strong
I wanna know if you're blind Jo'anna
If you wanna hear the sound of drums
Can't you see that the tide is turning
Oh don't make me wait till the morning come


Friday, November 05, 2010


Am dedicating this Poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti. 1830–1894 to my father on this, his birthday. R.I.P Daddy - 5.11.2010

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Monday, November 01, 2010

Meus Amigos (My friends)

A ballad to all my friends
Those countless unseen rays of sunlight
warmth to the shuddering flesh
Those welcome drops of rain
relief to the desert of loneliness
The sturdy clutches of mahogany
support for the desparate struggler
The strong North Wind
Like the Monsoon for the dhows of ambition

A song to my badde's indeed
vital sinews -
joining my skeleton of society
Beautiful organic bark -
shielding my sensitive ego
Long eye lashes-
Keeping away the dust of failed dreams and corruption
A heterogeneous society-
United in my acquaintance

A ballad indeed
to mis amigos
that support team
that dream team;
their counsel-
healing balm to my defeat
their prayers-
i arise to fight again
their time-
priceless like pearls
their love-
caress to my scarred face

Like ever- green muyembe tree leaves
My friends beam with the hope of spring
when the autumn of failed dreams,
serves deathly pale frustration
Like the sun-pecked snowflake,
they brighten the bite of winter
soothing the pain of despair
Assurances for a better tomorrow

O Rafiki Wangu-
are like the mahiiga of the Kitara kitchen
or the indian spices in the pan-fried rice
the eucalyptus firewood that burns bright
like cheese that glories the pizza
Without them-
the food of maturity cannot be prepared
the akaro of learning cannot be mingled

These banywani Bangjye
are the salt
that stings my ulcer of childishness
the majjuutta that smoothens my skin
protecting my insecurities
Like shock-absorbers for the E200
Or oil to the door hinges
Jurimu para made it bearable
When Rwabigumire ascended yonder-
Chasing away the demons of sadness
with laughter and jokes
Creating a different vigil

My friends have been there-
Beaten the dew in my stead-
as I pursued my priceless jewel
Mortgaged their lives' savings
Shared their secret recipe's of success
Staked their reputation
that I might blossom and shine

Like the still waters of the Bunyonyi
they have listened to my rumblings
and like the Kabalega falls
roars and bellows
so have the arguments we've had
enriching the flora and fauna
of knowledge, intelligence and wisdom
with the silt of maturity

Like the pussy-cat
snuggling in my seat
I have learnt from mes amis
love, care, dedication-
of course
My hands have been burnt-
Betrayals happen, trust is broken
crushes for some, disappointing others
Angered some-
but at the day's end, I say
my cronies have planted in me-
patience, joy, respect- and more -
they have weeded out seeds of misery
buttressed my manhood
Respected and encouraged my ambitions
So today,
I harvest -
these grains of gratitude

Salaries and bonuses
I have had my share
Family and relatives have blessed my house
but a man with friends so true-
the pride of the pack he be-

14:00 30th October 2010

On National Express to Londres