A Tale of Two Wirrals

I was sitting in Wirral Town Hall with a copy of Plato’s ‘Phaedrus’. On the walls in the space were the framed photographs of those from the area who had been awarded the Victoria Cross. Each had been furnished with a birth date and death date, each decorated with the legend of their respective life after valour. 

I had before that point, assumed that the VC was more often than not, a posthumous award. I was then, somewhat fascinated by this opportunity for a shift in my appreciation, brought about by the fact that I had arrived early for the local council election count.

I was invited to attend by Jan Williamson, social media companion, labour candidate for Liscard council, and out and out Toffee. 

I expected her to be nervous given the interesting media exposure she had been the subject of. Underhand, negative and unkind; not then in any way representative of the ironic and dry witted authenticity of the candidate now standing in front of me, ready with red rosette and  blind faith; the person I know to be Jan Williamson. 

The main hall needs painting. There’s a checkpoint of tables. On one side; the counters waiting for the votes to be tipped out; postcards from another place. The counters idle themselves looking across at the candidates and their agents. The camera crew and arrive as  the posturing photographer sized the venue for the best angles, and the most appropriate backdrop for post election comment. 

Some candidates talk behind their hands. Some nod at one another, loose change becomes the percussion for the hubbub of the mid-term political indications dance. 

Clipboards are handed out to sheep tally the votes counted by the counters. Clusters of candidates trade rumours of upsets like folk sharing ghost stories by the campfire. The air is tinged with a whispering expectation.

Jan of course, wins. Everyone sings except the losers who clap and attempt some obligatory eye contact and then the counters filter home after smoking on the front step of the Town Hall. 

I hope that Jan’s victory, in the midst of interpretations intended to damage her reputation, is representative of a simple truth returning; that authenticity of person is more essential to people than the deceit of the airbrush - as for my mind, those framed legends of valour, with their quiet eyes and lifetimes, are indeed already testament.

Tents From Spread Tables

If it wasn't for the fact of night and my ticket, I would have wondered how it was that i found myself in the middle of a plot of Mercedes and Audis - a veritable showcase of cars cooling to accept the Mancunian frost on offer; free of charge...

But fact it was, so i queued on kind invite and managed to resist the swell of security and volunteers asking which table i was supposed to be sitting at, before taking my seat with friends.

Things took time to warm up - the hosts 'on de mic' used tactics more characteristic of any big fish little fish cardboard box event - and thus; seemed at times, far from the madding crowd of fund raising for the floods which devastated Pakistan - the reason for the event...

The Venue was furnished with large screens and poor lighting. Mr Khan, when he arrived, was within a bubble of suited ushers who provided route through the cheap seats and into the inner sanctum of the 'expensives', to take his seat while various select individuals graced the stage to address not-many-of-the-attendees, which was a great shame, as the sound dispersal was strictly speaking; poor, when counterbalanced against the bulk of equipment dropped at not-so-strategic grid references around The Venue.

Films poured from the big screens of river waters ripping through towns, concrete collapsing, crowds of people stood stock still as lifetimes of debris swept passed en route to somewhere else. I know the figures for this tragedy; I learned of them from the comfort of my laptop sofa seat. I am shaking my head now reflecting at the devastating magnitude of the Rain. This tragedy is immense and under reported - the UK seemingly more interested in the X Factor and why we are in the clutch of below ZERO temperatures and SNOW (hint - isn't that because it's Winter?), than the plight of our fellow human beings seven hours flight from here...

A good friend of mine used to play cricket with a passion at County level. By text, he described Imran Khan as a legend, and that he would present as a man with an 'Aura'. I can but agree with my friend on this point, as Mr Khan did indeed present in this way. Even from our seated distance though, it was such a shame, for my mind, that the overall organisation of the event wasn't sharper thus making the most impact in terms of raising funds for tents from spread tables.

There was however, a BIGGER agenda being ladled here - the issue of Mr Khan's ascendance - by predication - to the seat of office in Pakistan to promote the trigger pull for massive change needed for Pakistan, and to move away from it's increasingly cobwebbed interactions with the US...

I could be wrong however in my assumption, as I couldn't exactly hear what was being said, and therefore I stand accused in the shadow of my naivety.


Time, as they say, will tell all - though time does not measure equally between political machines and individual need - the latter, being perpetually stripped bare of bureaucracy is the more immediate, and thus, exists without the luxury of lies.