Political roundabout

We're all dwelling in a well of hatred at the moment, the reds hate the blues, the blues hate the reds and plenty of hatred for the all the other parties too.

A thousand negative political promises - it's all someone else's fault, make them pay, stop their benefits. Nothing maters, nothing to achieve, just the hate and the need to make the others suffer - "Join with me and we'll stop the Tories", "Lets take our nation back from the foreigners", "We'll change the law to make it so".

And the press and pundits point their figures, mock and laugh  with their supercilious sneers and jeers - "He can't eat a Bacon sandwich, "He went to a posh school", "He's got no backbone". They tell their pre-fabricated lies, spout out their tired and trite opinions, all the while bowing their heads and scrapping up a few pennies tossed to them for service to their Baron's prejudices.

And the voters who stand by too apathetic to make a choice "It's too difficult to decide", "They're all the same", "You can't believe a word they say". They believe its all so easy to do but can't themselves make a single choice when called upon one year in five. Just give me something for nothing, take it away from someone else - the football chants ring out "You're gonna get your F***ing head kicked in".

And it's not just here, around the world the same sad refrain rings out, the Tea party, Fronte Nationale, Golden Dawn, ISIS each promising simple solutions to a complex world and blaming those who dare to be different. Only thier way is right no--one else can be trusted for they have committed the ultimate sin they are a different colour, a different class,a different  faith or a different nationality. Don't worry about doing something to help just hate them.

The Old Door.

Over the years the walls and woodwork had been repainted, re-plastered and re-varnished many times, reflecting the change of fashions and tastes of its inhabitants, or just to freshen up the gradual erosions of time.

But really the house remained fundamentally unchanged, an old, much loved, much loved home full of memories of children growing up, long cherished pets, and departed family members. The same repeated stories recurring down the years with the residents own little twists.

And amongst the many things its generations of dwellers had in common was that each of them ignored the small wooden door that hung on the east facing wall of the living room, just about a foot off the floor.

Of course every so often someone would try & open it. They’d pull for a bit, then give the brass handle a shake and try again. But it wouldn’t budge and without the key to the lock there seemed no way to open it. It might have been possible to try and force it as it didn’t appear particularly solid, but then that would have risked splintering the wood and each resident felt the damage would have been a shame.

In any case if you went around to the opposite side of the wall which formed part of the hallway, there was nothing to be seen. Just a plain piece of plastered wall, painted a pale salmon pink to match the carpet.

So it remained a strange anomaly, a door too firmly shut to open, too high to step through and without a destination. It served no purpose; it wasn’t a real door just an echo of a door, an illustration or museum piece of what one might be like.

Then one day that all changed.