The Angry Exile: Shock - other things besides MPs piss taking on their expenses are still happening.

The Hangman

Into our town the Hangman came,
Smelling of gold and blood and flame.
And he paced our bricks with a diffident air,
And built his frame in the courthouse square.
The scaffold stood by the courthouse side,
Only as wide as the door was wide;
A frame as tall, or little more,
Than the capping sill of the courthouse door.
And we wondered, whenever we had the time,
Who the criminal, what the crime
That the Hangman judged with the yellow twist
of knotted hemp in his busy fist.
And innocent though we were, with dread,
We passed those eyes of buckshot lead --
Till one cried: "Hangman, who is he
For whom you raised the gallows-tree?"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
And he gave us a riddle instead of reply:
"He who serves me best," said he,
"Shall earn the rope of the gallows-tree."
And he stepped down, and laid his hand
On a man who came from another land.
And we breathed again, for another's grief
At the Hangman's hand was our relief
And the gallows-frame on the courthouse lawn
By tomorrow's sun would be struck and gone.
So we gave him way, and no one spoke,
Out of respect for his Hangman's cloak.
The next day's sun looked mildly down
On roof and street in our quiet town,
And stark and black in the morning air
Was the gallows-tree in the courthouse square.
And the Hangman stood at his usual stand
With the yellow hemp in his busy hand;
With his buckshot eye and his jaw like a pike
And his air so knowing and business-like.
And we cried, "Hangman, have you not done
Yesterday, with the foreign one?"
Then we fell silent, and stood amazed,
"Oh, not for him was the gallows raised."
He laughed a laugh as he looked at us:
"Did you think I'd gone to all this fuss
To hang one man? That's a thing I do
To stretch a rope when the rope is new."
Then one cried "Murder!" and one cried "Shame!"
And into our midst the Hangman came
To that man's place. "Do you hold," said he,
"with him that was meant for the gallows-tree?"
And he laid his hand on that one's arm.
And we shrank back in quick alarm!
And we gave him way, and no one spoke
Out of fear of his Hangman's cloak.
That night we saw with dread surprise
The Hangman's scaffold had grown in size.
Fed by the blood beneath the chute,
The gallows-tree had taken root;
Now as wide, or a little more,
Than the steps that led to the courthouse door,
As tall as the writing, or nearly as tall,
Halfway up on the courthouse wall.
The third he took -- we had all heard tell --
Was a usurer, and an infidel.
"What," said the Hangman "have you to do
With the gallows-bound, and he a Jew?"
And we cried out, "Is this one he
Who has served you well and faithfully?"
The Hangman smiled: "It's a clever scheme
to try the strength of the gallows-beam."
The fourth man's dark, accusing song
Had scratched our comfort hard and long;
"And what concern," he gave us back.
"Have you for the doomed -- the doomed and Black?"
The fifth. The sixth. And we cried again,
"Hangman, Hangman, is this the man?"
"It's a trick," he said. "that we hangmen know
For easing the trap when the trap springs slow."
And so we ceased, and asked no more,
As the Hangman tallied his bloody score.
And sun by sun, and night by night,
The gallows grew to monstrous height.
The wings of the scaffold opened wide
Till they covered the square from side to side;
And the monster cross-beam, looking down,
Cast its shadow across the town.
Then through the town the Hangman came,
Through the empty streets, and called my name --
And I looked at the gallows soaring tall,
And thought, "There is no one left at all
For hanging, and so he calls to me
To help pull down the gallows-tree."
So I went out with right good hope
To the Hangman's tree and the Hangman's rope.
He smiled at me as I came down
To the courthouse square through the silent town.
And supple and stretched in his busy hand
Was the yellow twist of the hempen strand.
And he whistled his tune as he tried the trap,
And it sprang down with a ready snap --
And then with a smile of awful command
He laid his hand upon my hand.
"You tricked me. Hangman!," I shouted then,
"That your scaffold was built for other men...
And I no henchman of yours," I cried,
"You lied to me, Hangman. Foully lied!"
Then a twinkle grew in the buckshot eye,
"Lied to you? Tricked you?" he said. "Not I.
For I answered straight and I told you true --
The scaffold was raised for none but you.
For who has served me more faithfully
Then you with your coward's hope?" said he,
"And where are the others who might have stood
Side by your side in the common good?"
"Dead," I whispered. And amiably
"Murdered," the Hangman corrected me:
"First the foreigner, then the Jew...
I did no more than you let me do."
Beneath the beam that blocked the sky
None had stood so alone as I.
The Hangman noosed me, and no voice there
Cried "Stop!" for me in the empty square.

Maurice Ogden

Thursday 14 May 2009

Shock - other things besides MPs piss taking on their expenses are still happening.

For example, there are still people who want to fuck things up for other people because their noses are slightly out of joint. A guy called Mike Burgess is one of them.

A county court is to rule whether a homeowner can stop his local village cricket team playing because of the threat of players knocking a six on to his roof or into his garden.
In a long running dispute that has more the hallmarks of a bitter divorce than a neighbourly dispute, a judge will be asked to hand down a legal ruling that will have implications for amateur cricketers up and down the country.

What bastards. How dare they start playing cricket at Mr Burgess. Quite aside from the risk of stray cricket balls it's also the world's most boring sport (according to a survey of literally everyone who lives at my house). Yeah, I'd be pretty pissed off if I'd bought a house and then cricketers came along afterwards and spoiled it... except that's not what happened.

It centres on Shamley Green, near Guilford in Surrey, where cricket has been played on its village green for 169 years, despite roads running through the playing area and the backs of houses dotting the boundary.
But four years ago, when Mike Burgess moved into a bungalow on the edge of the boundary and just 25 yards from the crease, all that changed.

Er, how can I put this? I think something along the lines of the cricketers were there first, a cricket green is a hard thing to have failed to notice when you were house hunting, you bought the fucking place anyway, stop whining you pointless waste of a skin.

Aware that a crisp, square leg pull could run under his gate or through his hedge; or a slog could arrow straight onto his roof, he issued a set of demands that would protect his bungalow.
After a flurry of arguments, legal letters and even a session of independent mediation, Mr Burgess is now asking the court to issue an injunction against the club, preventing it from playing on the green until his demands are met.

Ahhhh diddums. What is this? The Midsomer Murders version of the fuckwit who buys a house next to an international airport and fucking complains about aircraft noise? What the fuck did this idiot expect when he bought a house by a fucking cricket green? If it didn't stop him buying the house at the time this twat should be shown the courthouse door. Never mind giving him an injunction against the cricket club, it should order him to sell his house if it's such a fucking problem (and give the club costs). Wanker.

They include calling for the club to put up 25ft high nets around his property to protect it from any stray balls, and for players to be declared out if they hit it so hard it clears the nets and hits his property. He also wants a health and safety risk assessment to protect other homeowners and the general public while a match is on.

Bearing in mind that he chose to buy the house despite the obvious presence of the cricket club he should be told in no uncertain terms to buy his own fucking nets. And I don't just say that because the contemptible prick has used the elfin safety bomb. Yes, I can see how there's a risk when the cricketers are playing, but that's my point. I don't need some overpaid council H&S fucker in a fluorescent jacket to tell me, and neither does Burgess, because we've already seen the potential risk ourselves. That being so a responsible adult should be acting accordingly - either accept the small risk, look like a twat by wearing a hard hat all the time, or sell up and fuck off.

Mr Burgess, 54, a clinical audit specialist, said: "This has nothing to do with stopping cricket, I like cricket [which, if true, makes you an even bigger twat in my book, but horses for courses and all that - Angry Exile] , but the injunction is designed to instigate what needs to be done to create a safe environment."
He said a young girl was knocked off her bike last season by a ball while cycling along a road that runs close to the wicket, and claimed he had the support of local homeowners.

All of whom could and should have put their houses on the market if it was a real problem. For that matter, how come none of them went to court before their saviour moved to the village four years ago? And why is Burgess bringing up someone else's kid being hurt? Ah, the "won't someone think of the chiiiildren" tactic. Again, the kid's parents should be doing this.

"It's a shame it's come to this but health and safety issues need to be addressed and resolved.
"Just because the cricket club were here before myself and others does not give them rights over our properties."

It doesn't you witless cunt. They'd always be responsible for damage to your property anyway you complete knob. What this is about is not that they have any rights over you or your property but you demanding to have rights over them. You're a weapons grade shitbag and I hope the court has the bollocks to say so.

Also needing a lesson in personal responsibilities and liberties is a gay rights pressure group called Pride in Canterbury, who complain that the town isn't gay enough. This is apparently because it doesn't have a homosexuals' community centre, dared to show a play in which a homosexual character was depicted in a stereotypical way, and lacks a gay bar. Oh for fuck's sake. Look, this doesn't take the fucking wisdom of Solomon to sort out. Buy some land there and build a community centre for homosexuals if it's important to you, though if you ask me any "community" centre that is for one section of the community just makes that group look insular and selfish. My 2c, that's all. And if the play bothers you the obvious thing is to boycott the bloody thing. It won't close the play but just like the off switch on your TV it's easy to avoid being offended if you want to. In fact you'd have to be actively seeking to be offended to buy a ticket for a play that you know in advance has got something in it that you don't like, but of course professional offence takers do that sort of thing all the time. Look, it's not all about you, okay? There's nothing written down anywhere that says gays or anyone else have the right to not be offended. I get offended by stuff all the fucking time, including people who try to impose their views, values or demands on other people by running off to courts and ombudsmen, but I'm not crying into my beer about it. I have no right to for one thing, and I can harmlessly blog about how much it annoys me instead. As for the gay bar or lack thereof, again why don't they fucking open one themselves if they think it's such a good idea? If there's a market for one there could be some money in it, so what's stopping them? I think the thing here is that they're not demanding the right to open a gay bar since clearly that's a right they already have, and quite right too, but the right to have someone do it for them. That's where I fall firmly on the fuck off side of the fence. What do they expect here, that the council should compel the next applicant for a pub licence to make the establishment for gays only? Uh-uh, that's not how life works. If Pride of Canterbury want a gay bar they shouldn't expect it to arrive on a fucking plate. Stop wishing for it and whining about the council - find premises, see the bank, find staff and open the fucking thing yourselves.