is the kind of school I went to:
England and Wales
In England and Wales, Catholic schools are either independent or voluntary aided, with the funding divided between the state and the Catholic Education Service. The service provides education for approximately 840,000 pupils each year through its 2,300 schools. In addition, some 130 independent schools have a Catholic character.[8][9] The Catholic Education Service in their website indicates that they interact on behalf of all bishops with the government, and other national bodies on legal, administrative, and religious education matters. This as their website indicates is to: “promote Catholic interests in education; safeguard Catholic interests in education; and, contribute to Christian perspectives within educational debate at national level.”[10] There have been considerable changes to the way the money has been collected to the support of Catholic schools. The money towards the Catholic community in regards to building and supporting schools has risen from 50% to 90% in both England and Wales. In 2009, Catholic schools in England comprised two-thirds of all religious secondary schools.[11]
Oh, and FYI, I had a reading quotient of 150 at the age of ten.
So suck that up, buttercup!
In the light of this:
An extract: “Whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine, whine.”
Ad infinitum. Or until his oesophagus finally gives way beneath the weight of all that bile. (Enough to fill a thousand oceans.)
How are the Dalit People getting along these days?
Now, that’s the way you measure the calibre of a country: the way in which it treats its ‘untouchables’, not by the technical quality of the probe it dispatches to Mars.
Long Live Phoolan Devi.
Or maybe not cos she is dead.
‘Raj’ is a really good word to use in scrabble, by the way.
And if you want to read a magical, kaleidoscopic novel about India, the Great Game and the North West Frontier, then you could do worse than Rudyard Kipling’s ‘Kim’.
When I’ve been in hospital I’ve encountered men and women who, frankly, should have been firmly ensconced in prison.
The last time I was in there was this guy wandering all over the ward yelling that he was ‘gonna hurt someone’ if he didn’t get his ‘Lorazies’. It was the sheer number of nurses who seemed to have nothing better to do that to run around after him that got to me. It was as though they were in competition with one another to see who they could get him to ‘warm to’ first. ‘I- Nurse A am really great at interacting with Mr Psycho Patient (No apologies made for that), whereas as she – Nurse B- can’t interact with him at all. In fact she seems to be a little afraid of him. This means that I – Nurse A – really am the superior nurse.’
Later I sat with him in the exercise yard and said: ‘Funny how you’ve got all those nurses running around after you, isn’t it?’
Response: ‘Yeah, good, innit?’ a la ‘it’s a fair cop, guv.’
How do I get involved? I have been labelled a witch by other service users (one of whom physically attacked me). I am not sure to whom I can turn. I was also forcibly medicated when I was in hospital. My perpetrator is the doyen of the ‘user service movement’. So where should I go? I am alone all the time and I take pills, so many pills. I live near Hanover Court. I am even rejected by the marginalised. Where should I go to from here? I still love him by the way.
I would be grateful for your advice.
…telling me that I am a witch and that I should be burnt at the stake. I asked one of those popular bloggers (one of the purdy and cool ones) whether they could put my plastic surgery button up and they said ‘why are you being a dick?’ A bit mean. I only asked a question. As I said even in the mad-o-sphere there is a hierarchy – probably based on the way you look. my exterior. She prolly saw my pic and said ‘she’s a witch. I bet if we put her on the ducking stool she wouldn’t drown.’
four hours sleep in two days
ooh, Loopy Louise got loadsa prizes
dey must wuff her
Loopy Louise just choose not to put dem up ’cause she is so purrdy modest. A good trait even in witches like her. Riecat. Louise is away. Punting.
WHY DON’T YOU RESPOND? WHY DON”T YOU RESPOND? WHY DOEN”T ANYONE RESPOND?
I don’t know why I chose to pin
My colours to your mast
For this was a war I could not win
A river in which I could not swim
Your reputation is destroyed
The dogs of vengeance are deployed
The newspapers snoop and vultures swoop
Picking over your remains, saying,
‘Go on defend her if you must
But be assured we’ll grind you into dust’
Yet I did not elect to join the winning side
I did not elect to be swept away by the tide
But still I was sucked in and swallowed whole
I dutifully played my allotted role
They say you hated her
I disagree. I saw you
Foraging for affection
On the day of my defection
You did not ask for much
But she was far too delicate to touch
As incorruptible
As a wedding dress
As pure as an ivory rose
With bright, white petals
Defying the darkness
But she was so hard to impress
Enmeshed in the webbing
Of purity, of perennial insecurity
She is somehow seductive
Gentle, subdued and soft-hued
She was the stone wall you clung to
Like creeping ivy and wandering
Through the wilderness you needed to be close
To the stillness at the centre of the whirlwind
She has never sinned
Ambivalence made no sense
And this was the consequence
The two of you are dissected, then polarised
And you are transformed in their eyes
Reduced to the status of saint and sinner
One spoilt, the other serene
One corpulent, the other lean
You are despised, she is idolised
You are sour as curdled cream
She epitomises youth and truth
A sycophant’s wet dream
She is so easy to adore
This is all that remains
A drowned world
A planet aflame
Much has been lost,
And little has been gained
But I do not regret a thing and if I had to
I would do it all again because even the devil,
Yes, even the devil
Deserves an advocate
http://www.pigdogfucker.com/2008/05/17/647/#respond
Readers, are you sane people like DG, or are you paranoid lunatics who think crime is a serious issue worth bothering with? When a woman whose 18-year-old daughter killed herself in jail after being sent there for being a bit mean to an old geezer [*], kills herself out of depression and grief and someone writes a tribute article to her, do you say:
“Pauline Campbell was a brave and compassionate woman. She will be sorely missed.”
or
“Oh, FFS! If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”
If you have any views on why the bunch of eejits who believe the second point tend to congregate on liberal blogs rather than whimsical blogs about London scenery, feel free to post them in the comments. Also feel free to prove my point by posting ignorant rants in the comments about how Sarah Campbell was, like, EEEVIL JUNKI3 SKUM and deserved to DIE!
[*] yes, the old geezer had a heart condition that the girls didn’t know about, and when they were a bit mean to him he died of fright [**]. This, in a sane world, would be punished in the same way as being a bit mean to anyone else – i.e. mild disapproval. What matters morally is what could be reasonably expected from your actions (for the avoidance of doubt, “being a bit mean to an old geezer” does not allow you to reasonably infer “old geezer will snuff it”), not their actual consequences; and if you don’t understand that then you have the moral sensibilities of a five-year-old.
[**] fucking hell, this is an 18-year-old girl we’re talking about. if you’re an adult male who’s scared of an 18-year-old girl, you don’t deserve to walk this earth, you ridiculous pansy.
Apparently, he was old too so the world won’t really miss him. Just a minute – isn’t that ageism? Aren’t we fortunate to have Guardianistas ready and willing to tell us which ‘isms; are permissible? You might be able to tell his widow yourself. Maybe these people will let you have her contact details: http://tiny.cc/jGZzx . Although I find it outrageous that they’ve given her a voice at all. She too is old and therefore expendable so who cares about her feelings? Off to weep copiously for the saintly Pauline Campbell.
The F word, to their credit, did permit me a voice:
Is anyone aware of what happened to Ms Woolley? If most women in British prisons have a mental health problem then it is highly likely that she had one too. I wonder what the repeated insinuations that she was partially responsible for Sarah Campbell’s death did to her. Still, it’s easier to idolise the dead than it is to help the living.
The Guardian piece, by the way, was more than a tribute piece. It was posted in someone’s personal blog on ‘Comment Is Free’ which implies, to me anyway, that ‘comment is free’ and it was a pretty dire piece. Their ‘tribute’ was here and did not permit comments: http://lifeandhealth.guardian.co.uk/women/story/0,,2280454,00.html
So Sick of Drowning 