The Angry Exile: Why not just go back to feudalism?

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

Monday, 15 June 2009

Why not just go back to feudalism?

Prince Charles is at it again. He's been banging on about architectural monstrosities and carbuncles, which I meant to blog about a few weeks back when I saw this or something like it, but didn't find the time.

The Prince has written to the Prime Minister of Qatar appealing for him to scrap plans for a modern steel and glass luxury flats scheme, designed by Lord Rogers, at Chelsea barracks. He has proposed instead an alternative, more traditional scheme by one of his favourite architects.
The intervention has put the future King on collision course all over again with the architect Lord Rogers, whose proposed extension of London's National Gallery 25 years ago he memorably described as a "monstrous carbuncle".
Ken Livingstone, the former Mayor of London, however has accused the Prince of trying to circumvent the lawful planning process.

Ow. Ohhh fuck AHHHHH fuckfuckfuckfuck FUCK this hurts. I'm agreeing with that repulsive newt loving wealth thief Ken Livingstone, and it fucking hurts. But painful as it is, and not in any way diminishing what a detestable little prick I think Red Ken is, he's absolutely right.

Ken Livingstone, the former Mayor of London, accused the Prince of exploiting his privileged position to try to change the design. "If world class architects think they or their designs are going to be the subject of pressure by the heir to the British throne there is a danger that we will lose the ability to attract them at all – which would be a recipe for excessive caution and mediocrity."

Oh, Jesus, this is like having cock surgery without anaesthesia. Actually sounds a bit free market... is it the same Ken Livingstone? [Checks - yep, it said former Mayor, so it's him alright]. He's not alone either.

Among the critics, Nick Raynsford, the former Labour planning minister, claimed that the Prince had set a "very dangerous precedent" and accusing him of behaving in an "almost feudal" way.

Yep, that crossed my mind too. What the fuck does Charlie thinks it has to do with him anyway? Will someone please shove a fucking calendar in his face and remind him what fucking year it is. But since His Royal Wingnutishness was echoing the thoughts of local people I'll spell it out as clearly as possible:

What the fuck has it got to do with ANYONE what someone else does with their property providing that whatever it is doesn't affect anyone else?

Seriously, I can't understand this thing people have with wanting to tell other people how to develop land they've bought and paid for, I really can't. A neighbour is redeveloping and intends to create a sundeck at the back of his house that overlooks our garden, and I'm not really that thrilled about it. But here's the thing - it's not going to affect me and it's not my property. If he was building an incinerator that might affect my health, or a tannery that would cause such a stink that our garden would be unusable, or something that actually overhung the boundary, or discharged something nasty onto our block, etc. etc. then I'd be protesting about it. If he knocked his place down and built a fourteen storey cock shaped tower I'd also object since it would probably knock a fair bit off the value of our place. But a sundeck? Can I complain about that? Well, some people certainly would, just as plenty of people other than His Royal Headcase objected to the Chelsea Barracks development, but here's the thing - if it doesn't actually hurt, whether physically or financially, then what right does anyone have to object to what people do with their property? Now one point of view would be that this sundeck prevents Mrs Exile and I walking around in the garden naked, but this is nonsense. If I want my dick to get a suntan all it will take is me not minding the neighbours seeing it, and if that happens a far more likely scenario is the neighbours objecting that my dick prevents them using the sundeck.* So while I have the right to moan about the sundeck they have the right to say fuck off, it's our place and it's not hurting you, but if it's a big deal make us a fair offer for the place and it'll be yours to do what you want with. In the same way I'd been hoping that someone would have the balls to say it to the Prince of Whines and that they were still going to go ahead and build this:

I mean, is it so bad? Personally I find it a bit uninteresting. Looks kind of like a new university or a shopping centre to me, but whatever it looks like is irrelevant. Their place, they ought to be able to build anything they like. And really Charlie ought to understand this perfectly well because it turns out that he's planning to put in a new car park on Duchy of Cornwall land despite objections.

Jo Heydon [a local resident, said]: "I wrote to Clarence House to inform them that there was a huge degree of public disquiet over the fact that the Duchy supported the planning application despite the environmental damage.
"I got a letter from Sir Michael Peat [Charles's principal private secretary], not addressing any of the concerns raised, but merely stating that he had passed my letter to the Duchy's land agents. They, of course, wrote to me saying that they thought car parking was needed in Rock."

Hypocritical twat.

* No, I'm not referring to the shadow it casts.