Your religion and nationality do not make you smarter, more entitled, chosen or better than any one else

See the light

I am British and a Roman Catholic. I can think of nothing else I'd rather be, either as a nationality or for a faith. If push came to shove, I'd like to think I'd put my life on the line for either, although who knows until you are confronted by such a choice, what decisions you would really make.  Both work for me rather well. Both are irrelevant to what I have to say next, but I wanted to put that there, so you can read what I have to say, being informed of where I stand. 

Being born in a Western, Liberal Democracy is the nearest thing you can get to being born with a winning lottery ticket in life. For me, it means that I got a free education, a nutritious school dinner when I was hungry, free milk at school, a life untouched by war and civil insurrection, free medical care, access to the library, access to pubs, the ability to buy the records that I wanted to buy and the books I wanted to read. Such things, which us people born in Edgware General hospital in 1962 took for granted, are for some people only things to dream of. In fact, even in this country, people born a few years before me or after me will not have access to all of them. I took it all for granted and perhaps, you could say, my generation have squandered it and pulled up the drawbridge behind us. Did it make me smarter? I wish I could say it did, but I think, if anything, it made me a bit lazier than my father's generation. When he was born in 1917, most of those things were not available. His generation fought a war, so that we could have a better life. We stand on the shoulders of those giants. I see so many pages on the web misappropriating the imagery of WWII, claiming that our mollycoddled generation are in some way the same. We are not. It is for each generation to build on the achievements of our forefathers, and I can see very few nations that my generation can claim to have done that in. When we say we have pride in our country, we rarely are referring to our country now. Most people who claim to be "proud patriots" have little pride in our current generation. Not so long ago, the country was ablaze with anti immigrant riots. To my mind, terrorising women and children in hotels is despicable, when I see it compared to my fathers generation facing down Panzer tanks and Fokker Wulf fighters, I feel sick. As far as a I am concerned, you can only consider yourself a patriot if you left the country a better place than you born into. If you have made a difference somewhere, then sure, call yourself a patriot. If you just like the idea of being a British patriot is because your Dads Uncle Tony flew a Boulton Paul Defiant during the Blitz, you are just sad and deluded. JFK once said "Ask what I can do for my country, not what my country can do for me". That was his definition of being a patriot. We've lost our free milk and our free education, they want to take away our free NHS, shut our libraries and tell us what is OK to read and listen to. If you really are a Patriot, those are the things you should care about. 

When you kids say "What did you do when they wanted to charge us for education, health, when they shut our libraries and restricted our reading, listening and viewing choices" what will be your answer? If it is "nothing", you can post all the Union Jack emoji's that you like, but you are not a patriot and you have let your country down.

And then we come to religion. Belonging to a religious group can be a life enhancing experience. Many people who have faith give huge amounts of time, money and energy in the cause of making the world a better place. Many lay down their lives for the cause of peace and justice. Some of the best people I've ever met, have made massive contributions to the wellbeing of their fellow man and this was inspired by faith. But it was not 'being religious' that made them good people. It was the fact that they put something back into society. Sadly, for too many in our society, being religious is simply an excuse to pretend they are chosen, they are better or they have wisdom denied to the rest of us. Such people give religion a bad name. Their entitled attitudes and their sense of being the part of a chosen minority, for me, is sickening. I am not directing this at any one faith. All major religions, Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, etc have zealots who think visibly identifying themselves and shouting loudly about their sense of entitlement is enough. They don't have compassion or feeling for their fellow man, the lesser, non chosen ones. I am not a theologian, but I do believe that God will take a very dim view of those that exploit religion for political ends, to the detriment of fellow human beings. I am perfectly happy for people to chose their attire according to their beliefs, their tribe or their musical tastes. I am comfortable with people making diet choices based on medieval texts and holy books. If people want to believe in what I consider to be completely bonkers nonsense, that is fine. Where it is not fine is when such people start feeling and acting as if they are superior to the rest of us. They are not. If God has chosen you and you have faith, all you have been chosen for is to join a particular club with like minded people. If you believe you are enlightened, it is your job to persuade the rest of us that your chosen path is right and that your lifestyle is exemplary do it by making choices that all decent human beings will applaud, not just like minded zealots in your little club. If I look at you and see someone who has something good to bring to Planet Earth, you have my respect. If your religion is simply a tool to wield power and influence that your actions do not deserve, then you are the opposite of what you purport to be. There is a saying that God moves in mysterious ways. As far as I am concerned though, the devil does not. The devil seeks to corrupt by tempting us with power and influence. Perhaps his biggest and best trick is to persuade those who claim to be ultra religious to act like complete dickheads to the rest of us (treat that as a metaphor if you are an atheist). 

In short your religion and nationality do not make you smarter, more entitled, chosen or better than any one else. It is your actions and efforts for your fellow man that you should be judged by. I happen to believe that there are too many small minded people, living in echo chambers, populated by other small minded people, reinforcing each other in the stupidity, shouting down the voices of reason. I happen to believe that most are not evil or bad. They have just insulated themselves from information and data that contradicts their viewpoint. It took me a long time to realise that the reason many people hold what I believe to be stupid and idiotic views is not that they are stupid and idiotic. It's just that the only information and data they are exposed to is data that supports their stupidity. Let me explain. For millennia, even the wisest and best educated scientists and astronomers believed the earth to be flat and the centre of the universe. There was no credible data to contradict this, so it was a perfectly reasonable and sensible view. When the likes of Copernicus proposed otherwise, wise people listened to his argument but religious authorities called on him to recant. That is the difference between closed and open minds and it tells you everything you need to know. 

My question to you is whether you are on the side of Copernicus and reason or are you on the side of the zealots of the day who persecuted him. I started this by saying I am a Roman Catholic and proud of it. I am not proud of the Catholic zealots in my religion who persecuted Copernicus and whatever religion you belong to, you should not be proud of such zealots in your faith who similarly bring it into disrepute. 

READ THIS BLOG AND YOU'LL BE HAPPIER, HEALTHIER AND RICHER!

 Here's a question for you. If you had the choice between being happier, healthier or richer, which would you pick? What if you could pick all three? Sounds great doesn't it? Now usually, when you see something on the internet with such wild claims, you can be pretty sure it is posted by a snake oil salesman, wanting to part you from your cash. I'm not asking for cash, there is no scam here. I am merely sharing this information with you because you have the good taste to read the Barnet Eye blog!

But how can I make such extravagent claims? Am I happy, rich and healthy? Well although many people have the perception that I am a miserable git, I actually have a complete blast most of the time. Like most 62 year olds, life has had its share of challenges, but I wouldn't swap my life for anyones. Am I healthy? Sadly, age has taken its toll. I can no longer play football, due to a life of wear and tear. I have had my prostate removed following a bush with cancer and I've got a list of minor medical issues as long as a Zebra's nose. But apart from the football, none massively interfere with my ability to have fun. And I do work on my health. I thnk I can actually say I am fitter than most men my age. 

Am I rich? I'm not in the Elon Musk league, but I have enough money to do all of the things in life that matter to me, so I'd say I am rich enough. If I was the type of person who wanted a Ferrari or a cocaine habit, I'd not consider myself rich, but to me such things are not interesting. I love music, football, food and driunk and I have more than enough to indulge these passions. I've got an OAP pass for the trains and I live in London, so I can't say I miss the Ferrari.

So to sum up, I am happy, I am healthy enough to have fun still and I've got enough cash to do the things I want to do. in life. Yesterday, I was pondering these issues. How did me, a dyslexic with no real talent at anything get to the point where I can make such bold claims? It all dates back to when I was at school. When I was thirteen, I suffered from really bad anxiety. I was actually on medication for it. I didn't realise it at the time, but I think this was partially due to PTSD from watching my mother suffer cancer and the brutal, ravaging effect it had on both her and the family. I felt I was the worst at everything, my mates got better school grades, were better at football, were witty and sharp, better dressed. I was failing at everything and mired in self pity and teenage angst. I am glad I was thirteen then and not now, when we cango online and join suicide pact groups. I don't know if I'd have gone down that route, but it never occurred to me. I do wonder where I'd be if there had been access to such information. 

But that was when I was thirteen, by the time I turned fifteen my life had changed completely. I was no longer anxious. In fact, everything had changed. This was not due to medication, medical intervention, counselling or mentoring. It was down to one simple thing, and every good thing I have in life has flowed from that. What was this thing? I discovered a purpose in life, something I wanted to do. If you've followed this blog you will probably know the story, I won't go over it again, but an event happened when I was fourteen. I said to myself "This is what I want to do with my life" and from that moment, everything changed.

So you want to be happier, healthier and richer? Why? My advice to you is to spend five minutes thinking about what really is the most important thing in your life. What is your dream, your ambition, your passion. I speak to a lot of people, who say "I just want to make loads of cash, because then I can do anything". This is a myth. Look at Elon Musk. He is the richest man in the world. However he couldn't persuade Donald Trump to not be Donald Trump! I suspect that the richer you are, the more frustrated you get with what you cannot do. Musk believed that his DOGE team would save the US taxpayer trillions, but he failed. He wants to set up a colony on Mars, but he's so far just managed to get men into near earth orbits, he wants to see us all being driven around in autonomous cars, but sadly it seems that this is a bit too hard even for the worlds best engineers. Now this doesn't mean that in fifteen years time, Musk won't have realised all of them. It just means that even with all the cash in the world, you still need time and a plan, if you have something you want. 

But if you had all the cash in the world, what would you do? Just supposed I said "For one day, you can be the richest man in the world, you can spend as much as you like" what would you spend the day doing? There really isn't that much you can do in a day. What about a month? The only rule is that anything you buy you have to give back at the end of the month? Would you go first class on a cruise, or live in a mansion, or buy a Ferrari and hurtle up the M1 getting flashed?  Think about it, what would you do?

When I was fourteen, I realised something. We have all been given that ticket, we just don't realise it. Just being alive in this age in a developed, peaceful country, gives us wealth beyond what even a King in the Dark ages could imagine. He couldn't eat strawberries in January, he'd never seen a banana and a chilli. If he wanted to get from London to York, it took days in a rickety stage coach and was uncomfortable even for a King. And even a man as powerful as Henry VIII had problems with his wives.

If you want to be happier, healthier and richer, the answer is actually surprisingly simple. Take a step back and focus.What is the first practical step you can take to acheive your goals. I don't know anyone in the UK who doesn't waste time, money and energy, hand over fist, on things that make them miserable, unhealthy and poorer. Just do a little audit of your life, your spending patterns, your social calendar and possessions. Cancel those subscriptions you don't use. Delete those events in your calendar you don't enjoy. If you are not enjoying work or it isn't delivering the goals you want, make a plan and find a new job. But most of all, decide what you really want. Set yourself a goal. Make it acheiveable. Make it something that will make you happy and fund it with the money from the things you spend money on that don't make you happy. Make the time from the things that you don't enjoy, that you do because you are stuck in a rut. And finally, go out for a walk. Spend time to look at the beautiful things that are all around you, trees, flowers, sunsets, etc.

And me? Yes I thought about this. And there are a couple of things that gave me pause for thought. There are only really two things I could think of, that would make me happier. The first is that I would love to see Boz Scaggs play live. He is only playing in the USA at the moment. The other is that I'd love to get a camper van and tour Europe for a month. So I can't afford to do both right now, so I need to see which is more realiseable and which can be done and when. What cash can be shuffled etc to make it possible? When can I fit it in the diary? How can I persuade my wife that it's a good idea? All of these matters require work on. But if I can do one or both of these, it will make me happy, be good for my mental health and be a sensible use of cash as I will thoroughly enjoy it. Such things inspire me to work hard and earn the cash that pays for them. I've set the goal. Now I have to get a plan to achieve it. I've spent my life organising things in such a manner. If you want something, then organise your life to make it happen. Lets just say for arguments sake, it cost £1,000 to fly to the USA and see Boz Scaggs. That equates to £20 a week for a year. That is four pints a week at most Mill Hill pubs, or five coffees in cafes. How much do I want to see him? So if I knock off an extra day a week in my boozing schedule and go for a walk instead, it will not only pay for the trip, but make me healthier.

Getting healthier is easier when there is a goal at the end. When I played football, I needed no incentive to exercise, but as your life changes, you need new ways to get yourself up and about. You don't need snake oil to be happier, healthier and richer, you just need to spend five minutes thinking about what you want in life, what you are spending your time and money on and whether it is really all being put to the best purpose.

Rock and Roll at 62 years old

 In about an hour I’ll make my way to my studio, collect my guitar and then drive up to The Builders Arms in New Barnet. I’ll spend the rest of the evening playing music in The False Dots, hopefully to a crowded pub full of people.

 We play a mash up of Ska Reggae and Punk Rock. If it wasn’t for the fact I need to drive the gear back, I’d also be having a fair few beers. I’ll also be having a chat with a few of my reprobate mates. It would be great to see a few of my blog readers there. Always nice when people turn up. In an idle moment I was wondering what AI should be doing to pass the time, as a 62 year old man. The results made me want to reach for the Bottle of Jack & Shotgun.  It seems to me there isn’t too much intelligence in AI! Here what it said >>>>>

A 62-year-old man can enjoy a wide range of hobbies, from active pursuits to more relaxed activities. Some popular choices include gardening, playing a musical instrument, joining a book club, volunteering, or learning a new skill like coding or a language. Physical activities like swimming, walking, or golfing can also be great options. Ultimately, the best hobbies are those that the individual finds enjoyable and fulfilling. 

Here's a more detailed breakdown: 

Active & Outdoorsy: 

• Gardening: Tending a garden provides both physical activity and a connection with nature. 
• Walking/Hiking: Enjoying nature and getting exercise is a great way to stay healthy. 
• Golfing: A social and relatively low-impact sport that can be enjoyed at any skill level. 
• Swimming: A great way to stay fit and enjoy the water. 
• Birdwatching: A relaxing hobby that can be enjoyed in nature and can be paired with photography. 

Intellectual & Creative: 

• Reading & Book Clubs: Stimulates the mind and encourages social interaction. 
• Learning a new language or musical instrument: Improves cognitive function and provides a sense of accomplishment. 
• Woodworking or crafting: Provides an opportunity to create something tangible and learn new skills. 
• Photography: A creative outlet that can be enjoyed outdoors or at home. 
• Writing: Journaling, creative writing, or blogging can be a fulfilling way to express oneself. 
• Genealogy: A fascinating hobby that connects you with your family history. 

Social & Engaging: 

• Volunteering: A rewarding way to give back to the community and connect with others. 
• Joining clubs: Provides opportunities for social interaction and shared interests, such as sports clubs or hobby groups. 
• Cooking or baking: A fun and practical hobby that can be enjoyed with family and friends. 
• Travel: Exploring new places and cultures can be a fulfilling way to spend time. 
• Playing games: Chess, bridge, or other strategy games can keep the mind sharp. 

Remember to: 

• Consider your physical abilities: Choose hobbies that are appropriate for your fitness level. 
• Explore new interests: Don't be afraid to try something new. 
• Have fun: The most important thing is to choose hobbies that you enjoy

The Saturday list #490 - Ten myths about illegal immigrants

I normally do nice, happy lists, celebrating silliness, but given the cobblers coming out of certain dodgy politicians mouths of late, I  felt it necessary to correct a few myths.

1. The UK is full and there is no space for asylum seekers crossing in boats. Last year, the UK had 108,000 asylum applications. That is undeniably a lot of people, but did you know that, according to the office for National statistics, 517,000 people left the UK. Now there were over 1.2 million immigrants, but less than 10% were asylum seekers, the rest were coming here perfectly legally. 

2. There is no space for all of the illegal immigrants. If you ever travel around the UK, the vast majority of the country is uninhabited. The problems with housing etc are largely because our cities have not grown to cater for the recent population growth. There are plenty of areas in the UK where population is declining. Of course, these are generally not places that immigrants want to live and they are shrinking because there is little work or prospects for the local population. Google AI says "Several areas in the UK are experiencing population decline. Coastal towns, particularly smaller ones, have seen slower population growth or even decline compared to inland areas. Certain local authorities in Scotland, including Inverclyde and North Ayrshire, have also seen decreases. Additionally, some towns in the North East of England and Wales have experienced a decline in younger age groups while older populations have increased. Finally, some cities in the Greater South East, like Oxford, Luton, Aldershot, and Ipswich, have also seen their populations fall. "

3. Illegal immigrants are taking social housing away from local people, who need decent housing. Of course, illegal immigrants, like everyone else, need to live somewhere and there is a fixed and stretched stock of housing. But housing policy in the UK has been failing since the days when Margaret Thatcher sold off the nations council housing stock, choosing not to replace it. Blaming people who have just turned up for decades of failure in housing policy is to allow those politicians, Tory and Labour, who have failed us, to escape blame for a situation they have caused.

4. Illegal immigrants are taking jobs that young people in the UK could do. I doubt any illegal immigrants are managing directors of FTSE or other major companies. Most do the absolute worst jobs, as cleaners, and in the building trade. UK residents generally won't do such work. It amuses me how often people who are rabidly anti immigrant are perfectly happy to employ cheap, dodgy tradesmen, paying cash for services, to get a "good deal". There is a reason that illegal immigrants do such jobs. It is because the UK population is addicted to wanting a bargain. 

5. Asylum seekers are sponging on benefits. I have a major problem with the UK government policy on Asylum seekers. They are actually forbidden from working by law until their situation is resolved. This means that the taxpayer picks up the bill, often for people perfectly capable of doing jobs. Personally I think that anyone going through the system should have to pay their own way, unless they physically can't.

6. Illegal immigrants are an army invading the UK, bent on changing our culture. Anyone who has ever been to Spanish coastal resorts, will see how well the English integrate when we go abroad. Anywhere with a large English population, will have English cafe's, English Pubs, etc. Interestingly they are usually packed in a way such ventures in London can only dream of. A mate recently posted on facebook that he liked going to Spain because you can get a decent full English at a recent price. That is how we behave abroad. Yet some people get the right hump when people from other countries want to keep elements of their own culture, for their communities here. No one is denying that we have problems with some of the people who've come here. My view is that the UK authorities should not be tolerant of anyone who arrives and breaks our laws. So long as new arrivals respect the law, contribute to our country and work to make the UK a better place, they should be welcomed. The 'army' arriving in boats, are simply people who did what Norman Tebbitt urged the English unemployed to do "GEt on your bike and look for a job". I don't understand how the right wing can celebrate Tebbit then get the hump with people who do just that.

7. Why don't immigrants go to other European countries instead of the UK? This is what Google has to say about the number of immigrants in various EU countries and the UK.

In absolute terms, the largest numbers of foreign-born individuals living in EU countries on 1 January 2024 were found in Germany (16.9 million), France (9.3 million), Spain (8.8 million) and Italy (6.7 million).

In the year ending June 2022, there were an estimated 10,388,000 people in England and Wales who were not born in the UK, accounting for approximately 14.8% of the total UK population. This includes both UK citizens and foreign nationals who were living in the UK at that time.

As you can see, Germany has a larger number, France and Italy have a similar number (bearing in mind populations, apologies for only being able to get UK stats for 2022). Whether you like it or not, EU Nations also have large immigrant populations. 

8. Why do we have to take so many immigrants with no link to the UK? Sadly, this argument is a fallacy. A century ago, around a quarter of the population of the Earth lived under UK rule. India, large parts of Africa, other parts of Asia, all were run by Great Britain. In the 1950's, the then Conservative shadow employment spokesman minister, Enoch Powell, who is best known for his incendiary racist speech that got him the sack in 1968 from Ted Heath's Shadow Cabinet, invited Commonwealth citizens (now known as The Windrush Generation) to do the jobs British workers felt were beneath them. The vast majority of immigrants come from places that the British used to run. Of the other places, we have been involved in wars in those areas and often our involvement helped trigger huge population movements of refugees.

9. The Reform and the Tories are more anti immigrant than Labour. Of course we all know what a certain Mr Nigel Farage has to say about immigration. But as he's never been anywhere near power, we have no idea what he would actually do in power. What we do know, is that there are many people in Reform who have defected from the Tories. Historically, the Tories are the party of business and business in the UK is addicted to cheap labour from migrants. The Labour party is funded by the Trades Unions, who are very anti immigrant. Unions exist to improve the wages and conditions of members. Immigrants undermine these goals. The Tories talk tough on immigration, but this is all for show. I believe the same will be true of Farage, given that his party is funded by wealthy business people.

10. In 100 years time, everyone in the UK will have brown skin and we'll all go to the Mosque instead of Christian Churches. Sadly, the reason people are not going to church is nothing to do with immigration. It is because they what is on offer doesn't appeal to them. The graph below gives some clue as to how we are changing.

The biggest source of immigrants is India, who are largely Hindu and most certainly won't be going to the Mosque. We also have large influxes of people from China and Ukraine. Of course many immigrants from Pakistan are Muslims, but they are not a particularly large part of the overall total. As for the Nigerian immigrants. If, like me, you actually go to Church, you'll know that half the congregation are Nigerian. In fact the church is more packed than ever, with Ukranians and Nigerians!

By all means, and I'd agree, that both Tories and Labour have made a dogs breakfast of immigration, and they are equally useless, slag off the government. By all means, and I'd agree, say that their policies are damaging the UK and causing division. But please, do me a favour and base your arguments on reality and the facts, not the myths perpetrated by the likes of shady snake oil salesmen such as Nigel Farage. 

I apologise for not putting up a fun list. It's just that I cannot stand liars. 

Friday Fun 11th July

We start this feature, as ever with the Friday joke.  As is often the case, we nick one from Dad joke purveyor and good mate of this blog, Robert Wilkinson

Apparently, putting alka seltzer into your mouth and walking into Tesco shouting ' the virus has mutated!' is not considered amusing by shoppers or management.

— Robert Wilkinson (@robertwlk) July 7, 2025

And on to the local gig round up. All of the latest local music news can be found on the Barnet Music page.

It would be great to meet you tomorrow (Saturday) night down at the Builders Arms for our Ska/Reggae night!

Friday 11th
The Builders Arms 8.30pm – 11pm - W3 Detour Trio (Original Rock/blues)
Butchers Arms 9pm – midnight - The Latest Flames (60`s, 70s covers 4 piece)
Barrington 8.30 - midnight - Karaoke with Neil

Saturday 12th
The Three Wishes 8pm, Edgware - The Tease (rock)
Butchers Arms 9pm – midnight The Fraud Squad (60s, 70s, 80s and 90s covers 4 piece)
Ye Olde Monken Holt 9.30pm – midnight Nially (Acoustic Covers)
The Kitchener 8.30 – late Karaoke with Johno
Maddens 9.30pm – late State of Play
East Barnet RB Legion  8pm - late £10 members £15 non members The Beached Boys
The Builders Arms 8pm – 11pm The False Dots + DJ Rebska (Ska & Reggae )

Sunday 13th

Butchers 8.30 – 11.30pm Jam night - Electric/Blues/Rock (Full backline available)
Toolans 8.30pm Theresa Rogers 
Maddens 5pm Blondie Tribute

Monday 14th
The Three Wishes 8pm, Edgware - The Tease (rock)
Ye Olde Mitre Inn, High Street 8pm – 11pm (stables room) Barnet Acoustics Session

Tuesday 15th
Black Horse 7.30pm – 11pm - Open Mic Night (1st Tuesday of month)

Wednesday 16th
Ye Olde Monken Holt 8.30 – 11pm Open Mic Night

Thursday 17th
Ye Olde Monken Holt 8.30 – 10.30pm - Irish Session
Maddens 9pm - Ronnie Gordon Legacy Band

Rock and Roll Stories #39 - Getting it all back together part two

 In the last last episode, I told the story of how the False Dots awoke from a ten year break and started rehearsing again. We left ot standing at the start of our second rehearsal after the break. Or last gig had been at St Josephs College, Mill Hill in 1990. We had no intention of gigging when we got back together. The intention was simple. Record some of the old songs for posterity. But the False Dots seems to be a concept that refuses to die. Gigging had always been our lifeblood. However, Paul Hircombe had rejoined on the express understanding that we wouldn't gig. As we started rehearsing the songs, we all found we rather enjoyed a regular Jam, usually on Tuesday night. There was no pressure It was a pleasant break from the kids for me. We soon had a selection of songs ready to record, but as is the way with musicians, when there is no pressure, nothing happens. 

Then tragedy struck. My studio business partner and best mate Ernie Ferebee became ill. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and passed away. The band felt it was only right and proper to do a fundraiser for his family. An old mate of ours, Rick Collins ran an annual cancer fundraiser at the Red Lion and all agreed that we should do this. We all, also agreed that it would be the False Dots farewell gig. We'd do it, it would give us a reason to pull the set together properly. Then we could record the songs. We had the basis of a set. Whilst myself, Paul and Fil had done a lot of gigs, Tony hadn't and it was a bit of a big thing for him. Actually having to focus was a good thing. The rehearsals became more structured and we put a fair amount of work into the set. We then agreed that Boz Boorer would jump up with us for an encore version of The Polecats hit Rockabilly Guy. As we'd not played live for a decade, a lot of our mates were quite interested.

When the big day came, we turned up and it seemed that everyone we knew was at The Red Lion. Mates we'd not seen for a decade. There were three other bands on with us and we were the second headline ( I can't recall who the headliners were). All the bands were friend of Ernies. The first two bands were pretty good, they had been playing out and about and were pretty slick. Tony seemed to be a little bit worried. Paul never seemed phased, Fil is a natural show off and was looking forward to it. I was apprehensive. A lot of time had passed since we last played and my guitar playing had gotten very rusty in the meantime. The other bands were doing covers, we had a set mostly of originals. We threw in a couple of covers as fillers. 

We took to the stage and to my amazement, sounde pretty damn good. I had worried about whether Tony would be nervous, but he actually played the best drums I'd heard him play, with the adrenalin of the gig. We did Not all She seems as our last number before Boz joined us. By then, the audeince were grooving. Boz's number was the icing on the cake. We came off stage and everyone was saying how good it was and asking when the next one was. As we'd specifically said it was going to be the farewell show, I said "We'll have to see". Then Paul jumped in and said "We'll probably do a few more after the summer". I had a quiet chat with Paul. He said "I'd forgotten that I enjoy all this, if you want to do some more gigs, I am up for it". I spoke with Fil and Tony and the message was the same. It was my 40th birthday in August. I suggested we had a big party and the band play it. Everyone was up for it. Tony was good mates with Huw Lloyd Langton of Hawkwind, who joined us on stage. It was the False Dots 50th gig and it felt like we were back. The party was at Bunns Lane Works, in an unoccupied unit, next to our studios. About 120 people came. There was much naughtyness that night. It was in some ways the last gig of an era. It felt like the gigs we did in 1980-81, with the parties and the shenangans. 

We settled into a pattern of doing 2-3 gigs a year. We recorded half an albums worth of songs with Paul. They sounded pretty good, but we never really did anything with them. I played a couple of them to people in the business and they simply smiled. Paul left in 2008 and Tony left in 2009. Then Connie Abbe joined on vocals and all of a sudden, without even trying, we had a proper band, one doing gigs in Camden and getting noticed back. I had my musical mojo back. It wasn't just a bit of fun. There is still a lot of road in the story, but Connie joining, for me was really the point where I felt I was back in a proper band, something I'd really last felt in 1985. There is a feeling you have when you are a proper band. I am just sad that Paul Hircombe left before we really discovered our old mojo. The 2000-2009 period was fun, but there was no real commitment to being a band as such. We just played together and did a few gigs. That is a very different thing. 

Fifteen years later, we are goin better than ever. Come and see us n Saturday at The Builders Arms in New Barnet, fro 8pm. It's free!

Call me Dave! As Grok becomes a Nazi, I look back on the racism I saw in the workplace

Perhaps the most (or maybe not given who owns the company) strange story in the news today is that Grok (Elon Musk's AI tool) has become a Nazi. It made me consider the racism I saw first hand in the workplace. 

Once upon a time, I had a proper job. I worked in an office, with responsible adults. We had a highly important job and if we screwed up, the whole country could come to a halt. On one occasion (before I joined the team), we took down the emergency services telephone network in the West Midlands because someone made a silly mistake. Another time we blocked the M1 and caused a 17 mile tailback (again before my time). All of these were caused by basic IT errors in important systems, that had completely unforeseen impacts. On both occasions, the chairman of the company was called by a chief of police and told off, in no uncertain terms. The company was one of the biggest on the FTSE. I wont say what it was or what the system did, but we all use its service on a daily basis and it has nothing to do with either road management or emergency services. I was brought in to fix the cock ups, as a hired IT contractor. Back in the day, when I still had a brain, I was very good at such things. They gave me all the hard jobs and the things that the permanent staff didn't want to do. I figured that if I did the difficult and horrible stuff, I'd have a job and be able to pay the bills. I was taken on for three months. The contract ended up lasting  a fair few years. I was on call 24 x 7 for most of that period. When I left, a permanent member of staff took over. After three months, he told me that he couldn't believe the organisation had kept me on for 13 years, and I'd been getting money for old rope, I'd fixed all of the problems and he didn't twig that it was a pretty robust system. After six months, he was gone. They put some new software in,  had serious problems and he couldn't hack doing 36 hour shifts fixing it and getting shouted at by everyone. 

I wasn't the only contractor doing such work. There was a team of us. We were well renumerated for our efforts, but were expected to put our lives on hold. I had young kids and needed steady money, much of which I was funnelling back into my studios, as we built them up. I still meet up with the team I worked with. For a period, I thought we had the best team of people in the world in our field. Whilst other teams floundered and delivered nothing, we did all manner of leading edge work. But as so often happens in such worlds, you get no recognition for doing a good job. One of my best mates was a West Indian chap. We are still mates, we are meeting up soon for a beer. In our team was a permanent member of staff of Pakistani heritage. She was a maths graduate. We were discussing what aspirations we had for our children. She said something about her the school her daughter was about to start. Another member of the team, who we will call "The Jay Man" said "I don't know why you are worrying, you'll send her off to Pakistan to get married when she's fourteen". My jaw hit the floor. The team leader, an Australian lady, immediately hauled the Jay Man off to an office for a telling off. She then tapped my West Indian mate on the shoulder and dragged him off for a telling off. Apparently he'd laughed at the comment.

Within three months the Aussie lady had gone. She was replaced by The Jay man. Our team had three people from ethnic minorities, my West Indian mate, a Nepali and a Mauritian. Within six months, all had gone. Their contracts had not been renewed. A permanent member of staff also left. The Jay Man made it clear he didn't rate him. After he left, he told us all "If I call up, I don't want The Jay Man knowing its me, so call me Dave". The three departing contractors all muttered that they'd been the victim of ethnic cleansing within the department. I sarcastically noted "How can you possibly think Jay Man is at all racist, what has he ever done to suggest that he has a racist bone in his body". As hired hands on short term contracts, there was no real recourse. I pulled Jay Man up on it in the pub one time. He simply said "I didn't rate any of them". 

This all happened a long time ago, DEI policy came and seems to have gone in the intervening period. Almost all of the people I worked with then are either retired or semi retired. The system I worked on is long gone. When I look back on my contract with that organisation, I see the vast majority of my time there as a brilliant time. We had a great team and did some great work. We watched each others backs. the final couple of years were a bit different. We still did some great work. There were still some good moments, but I've always felt really uncomfortable with the fact that something that was completely out of order was going on. As a non permanent employee, who had bills to pay, I was in no position to do anything about it. After leaving that team, I had a short break and then went back to the same organisation in a completely different team. The manager of the new team was an Indian chap, a lovely bloke who I am still good friends with. I mentioned the Jay Man to him and he rolled his eyes. He confessed that the individual was well known amongst the non white employees of the organisation as a 'difficult person'. He then asked me how I got on with him. I said that although I never had any issues with him, I found his attitudes to be very challenging. He was very reliant on me at the time, as I was the last person who really understood the systems I worked on, he'd got rid of everyone else. He knew my opinions on what had happened. My new boss told me something that chilled me to the core. He said "If you want to get on in this place, you learn to keep your mouth shut about such things".

If you'd asked me fie years ago, I'd have said that such things were thankfully, a thing of the past. With the rise of Trump, Farage and the Alt Right, it seems that racism and fascism has come storming back into the world of IT.

Reflecting on the 7/7 atrocity twenty years after the event

I've dodged a few bullets (or should I say bombs) over the years working in London. Twenty years ago today was as close a bullet as I am luckly to get. I was on the number 30 bus behind the one that got blown up. If I'd been a bit more decisive, I'd have been onthe one that went bang. I was doing some IT work at Debenhams and arriving at Kings Cross Thameslink, I found the Victoria Line was shut. There was no mobile signal and I dithered. I've detailed the story before. I am not going to again here.

It is important to remember the victims, support their families, where we know them, and applaud the courage of those who were injured and went on to do great things with their lives. For me though, I have found it difficult to even listen to the coverage today. In recent weeks, I've found myself far more affected by disturbing memories of past difficulties than I have ever allowed myself to be. Although the carnage of 7/7 was literally all around me on the day, I managed to stay detatched and unaffected by it. I went to work as normal the next day in Aldgate. None of our team were affected directly. 

But, with the sands of time flowing, there are lost artefacts being revealed as the fog clears. For me, the most incomfortable memories are ones of my own reaction to certain events. The most difficult of all was when the news that the Police had shot Jean Charles Menezes was announced. He had no name, the news came through that "One of the terrorists who organised the bombings" had been shot. We all cheered and went to the pub to celebrate. It felt like a first world war squaddie in a trench must've felt when they heard a top German sniper had been taken out. About three days after the atrocity, I was on a Thameslink train into town in rush hour, and I found myself sitting opposite a chap in middle eastern attire, with a large rucksack. He was sweating profusely and looked extremely nervous. I convinced myself that he was another bomber. I was conviced that he was going to blow the train up. Then I looked and noticed that there was another, similar looking chap sitting nearby. They both had the same ring on their finger. I convinced myself that both of them were part of a bombing gang. I determined that if the chap opposite me did anything that might be construed as trying to detonate the bomb, I would launch myself at him and do everything in my power to stop him. I assumed that the bloke with him was armed and would take me out, but it might give a few people a chance. Of course nothing happened and they were not bombers. He was probably terrified as he had a good idea of exactly what the person opposite him was thinking. When I got off the train, I realised that the bombers had achieved their target and made me paranoid.

I often wonder how many innocent men of middle eastern extraction were hassled, reported to the police, etc, by people indulging in the same paranoia I was experiencing.  It was not completely irrational, dozens of people had been killed a couple of days before. The message was "be vigilant". But where does vigilance spill over into racism, paranoia and plain stupidity?

 When the bombs went off, we had Tony Blair as PM and Ken Livingstone as Mayor. This morning, I heard both of their speeches again. What happened was appalling. But they were calm, measured and sensible. There were no indisciminate retributions. Once the Met owned up and told the truth about Menezes, we were all horrified. Churches got together with Mosques to demonstrate community solidarity. We've had a few terrible incidents since, but the police have done a good job and have managed to foil most plots before they materialised. For terrorists to murder 52 civilians going around their business in London is shocking. As Ken Livingstone said at the time, the terrorists were not afraid of dying, but they were afraid of failure. In London they failed. Some of us (me included) had a major wobble. But once I got my head together, I realised the truth in what Livingstone said. These were his words

 

I know that you personally do not fear giving up your own life in order to take others - that is why you are so dangerous. But I know you fear that you may fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society and I can show you why you will fail.In the days that follow look at our airports, look at our sea ports and look at our railway stations and, even after your cowardly attack, you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world will arrive in London to become Londoners and to fulfil their dreams and achieve their potential.

They choose to come to London, as so many have come before because they come to be free, they come to live the life they choose, they come to be able to be themselves. They flee you because you tell them how they should live. They don't want that and nothing you do, however many of us you kill, will stop that flight to our city where freedom is strong and where people can live in harmony with one another. Whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail.

 When Livingstone said those words, I hoped what he said was true. Twenty years on, I know it is. We face threats, challenges and forces that wish to see us wiped off the face of the planet. We have people in our midst, who wish to fall into the trap that the bombers wished to set, to get us to strike back at innocent people. To turn us against each other. 

By the way, can I tell you what I did on the Evening of 7/7. I went down to the Mill Hill Tandoori and had a curry. The owner is a friend, a Bangladeshi Muslim, who is the chair of a Mosque. It was the only gesture I could think of doing that might actually mean anything in my world. The restaurant was packed with people, who had the same idea. The love in our community was there for all to see.

 I was thinking about all of this over the weekend. What motivates a man to kill people he doesn't know, to main and destroy lives? My thoughts went back to something a good friend once said. We were discussing the nature of what the afterlife might be like, should such a thing exist. He said that  for him, Heaven was a place of love. Where you can be at one with everyone you love, with no need for lies and pretence, just the pure joy of being around those that make you happy. And Hell? He said that he thought the biblical depiction of it, with demons roasting your nuts over hot coals forever was wrong. It is just a cold, lonely place, where you have no love, just the knowledge that you are alone and this is because you chose to turn your back on love. To me, the hearts of the 7/7 bombers is a cold, bleak place. Their minds poisoned by people who had as little regard for them, as they had for the people they killed.

 The thing I soon learned working in London is that things get back to normal very quickly. Hitler bombed areas of London flat, to no real useful effect for his war effort. Terrorists of many hues have tried, but within a few days, those of us not blown up are back in work back in the pubs, back in the cafes and restaurants and back at the gigs. The horrible truth, if you are a terrorist, is that bombing London is completely futile. We just get on with our lives.

 

Guest Blog - Memories of Mill Hill Swimming Pool by Chris the Mill Hillian

Hendon UD Council opened Mill Hill swimming pool in 1935. The recent hot spell brings back memories of how it was in my boyhood. Every year, first of May marked the start of the outdoor swimming season with the reopening of the pool in Daws Lane. The swimming pool was filled with fresh water to replace the grimy green water left from the previous season. The gates were again open to visitors. It was generally the bold and the brave who fancied a dip straight away delighting in the clean fresh water although the water temperature was quite cold at the start of the season so visitors were few. The fountains which aerated the water located at each end of the pool sprang into life and the school swimming trips started up in earnest.

On the way home from school in the summer months leading up to the start of the school holidays in July, the 240 bus would stop outside the pool and one of our mates who alighted would hurriedly run to observe the water and air temperatures scribbled on the chalk board and shout them up to us on the top deck before the bus moved off, then, if possible we could dash home for our tea and go back for a late afternoon swim. There was much enthusiasm to take a dip when the temperatures were in the high seventies. As I attended St Vincent’s Catholic School we had special days off known as Catholic Holy days in May, June and July, it was amazing how many people you would mingle with amongst family and friends and people you had not seen for ages on those days, all sorts turned up at the pool throughout the season as it was the go to place to cool off and for sunny social gatherings.

As the weeks went by and the rising temperatures of June and July approached with the onset of the summer holidays, the number of visitors increased considerably, so when the temperature reached the mid-seventies in Fahrenheit, the entrance queues would get longer and wind their way around the corner into the adjoining car park with waiting time of up to fifteen minutes before passing through the clunky iron turnstile with your swimming togs under arm. If you were passing by and fancied a cool off, you could hire a costume and towel at the gate. I recall the entrance charge in the sixties for youngsters was about sixpence.

Once the full summer temperatures peaked in the scorching heat of mid-summer, the place was packed out and it was a job to find a spot to lay out your towels and claim your pitch for the rest of your stay, often from early afternoon to closing time at around 7pm. The noise emanating from the pool area when full would drift across the park alongside and beyond. Each passing 240 bus deposited another group of eager swimmers who couldn’t wait to get changed and take a plunge along with their family and friends.

Once inside, it was a real spectacle of people watching, whether it was noting the swimmers getting air and sun to their whitened skin after the long winter months, courting couples who liked to snuggle up once in the pool, Young lads rushing around chasing, diving and bombing in the water and stylish expert swimmers taking smart dives from the diving boards into the nine-foot-deep water in the centre of the pool. The novices and learners tended to splash very carefully at the front end in two feet six inches of water learning to swim until they had the confidence to venture into the deeper parts of the pool. Adults like my Mum, loved to swim steadily from right to left or up and down at a gentle pace in the deeper less busy areas.

It was quite exciting to rush in and out of the cold fountains and babies in nappies would splash in the warmer and shallow children’s pool by the far end fountain. The authorities decided to move the back fence outwards to enlarge the resting area and maintained a grassed area here for those who preferred lying on grass to hot paving slabs. I wonder how they managed the numbers before increasing the area.

Once through the gates the genders were segregated to the cold draughty changing rooms which were very basic with high open roofs of bare iron girders, glazed roof panels and uninsulated roof coverings. You entered the space and walked on a cold concrete floor and got changed in a narrow wooden cubicle with a wooden bench and partitions and enclosed with a plain wooden door painted sky blue. In the Male areas clothes were piled into an iron basket with a hanging frame and hook and handed over to the attendants who placed them in numbered rows in a spacious hanging area then handed you a disc with your basket number which you attached to your costume with a safety pin; it could be awkward if you lost it in the pool. In the higher sticky temperatures those changing rooms stank of a mixture of sweaty socks, B.O. and the chemicals used to keep the pool clean. Then, after an impatient wait to deposit your basket of clothes at the counter, it was out through the “sheep dip” as we called the foot bath and off to find your pitch linking up with all the people joining you.

 Some made a cautious and steady walk down the steps into the fresh cold water, whilst others made a quick stylish racing dive whilst some simply jumped in. There were two slides; a small children’s slide with a wooden base and a steeper and longer stainless steel slide next to the diving boards discharging into the deep water. On occasion an ambulance would arrive to remove a casualty who got it wrong or passed out.

After spending a good while in the cold water, you went back to the towels dripping wet, shivering and occasionally with blue lips depending on the temperature, then lay in the sunshine to warm up if the sun was out and could treat yourself to a cup of something from the pool café with a bag of crisps or any other snack you might be able to afford. If your Dad was with you there was a better chance of snacking as he could afford it as pocket money had to stretch a long way for school kids. It was great to meet up and banter with your school mates and exchange views on all the happenings around you and starting to notice how the people from your school looked slightly different in swimming costumes noticing that the girls who started to develop curves, but a bit embarrassing if they were one of your relatives receiving male attention. Looking at old photographs it is noticeable how much leaner we all were back then.

At the end of the afternoon and after a long wait to collect your clothes we dressed hastily wondered off home feeling tired but relaxed with wet togs under arm. Some liked to visit the café for a cup of hot Bovril but not my particular fancy. I would prefer an ice cream from the sweet shop opposite.

As the summer days drew to a close and days got shorter the numbers fell off, then the pool would shut again at the end of September for maintenance and preparation for the next summer season. Often lads would attempt a night time dip climbing over the fence and having a great time running away from the park wardens. All for a good laugh.

I am sure that many of the Mill Hill residents can remember those pool outings for many reasons. I particularly recall going into the pool in the hot summer of 1976 in July as I was working on a chimney in nearby Poets corner and the midday heat got to me and my assistant Dave so we simply walked down to the pool and on entering took off all except our shorts and dived in to cool off, it was magnificent! 

That was my last visit before it closed. Happy days!!!

As the years went by warmer heated indoor pools became more of an attraction than Lidos and the numbers and interests in our unheated local pool decreased so Barnet Council decided to close it for good. 

The place stood dormant for a while in a state of dereliction in the early nineteen eighties and I took my son and his friends to see as it was easy to enter into the old place and walk on the infilled pool where animals were housed for a while before it was turned into a garden centre. The Pool is now Etz Chaim school. 

Here are some more pictures of the derelict pool.

The Derelict changing rooms and pool

The Fountain

The Toddlers Pool

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Guest blogs are always welcome at The Barnet Eye. Chris the Mill Hillian is a member of a long standing, well known Mill Hill Family.