notes from
the MUCK . . .

How does your garden grow? With muck, muck and more muck! I spent much of today finishing the final muck box and then shifting muck from one box to the next. The first box, which the Big Lad is enthusiastically pointing out, has been rotting down for two years now and once we’d removed the top quarter of unrotted material, we found we’d hit the pay dirt.

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Need a ride?

You have a car that is pretty old; it's not the most reliable thing in the world, in fact it's pretty damn dangerous. You know you need a new one, desperately, but you're still paying off the installments on it to the guy who sold it to you who is very unreasonable and threatens you with physical harm if you in any way try and cut free from said payments. Also, some of the car works just fine, it gets you from A to B most days, the windscreen wipers are ok, and the lights, with the odd flicker, do a dandy job.

You've written a couple of letters asking for help getting out of your uneasy alliance with your car dealer (the last payment was years ago but he keeps demanding more) and have been ignored. Not only have your calls for help gone unheeded, you've noticed other car dealers who purport to be acting in the name of freedom, have actually been in business with your dealer, selling him some not pleasant "instruments of persuasion". You're a bit scared for yourself, and God only knows what will happen to that family up North who always seem to be on his wrong side no matter what they did or didn't do. Still, maybe someone will help eventually and you'll get a car that gives you complete peace of mind and conscience.

Then people start to talk about your car, and how bad it is, and how something should be done about your dealer...You want to be comforted by this news, but the murmurings are all coming from the same people that gave your dealer so many bad stuff...and when they tried to do something last time, you were the one who got really screwed, not the dealer. They talk of getting rid of the dealer; with the reason that he has a lot of weapons. Of course, they must be right, because if he does have any, they are the ones that gave it to him. Then there's the talk of "extreme action" and your heart skips a beat. You doubt very much whether these other dealers will listen to your actual concerns, or if they do, they'll only use them to justify what they were going to do all along. Things may well get a lot worse before they get better.

D-Day comes, and it's as bad as you feared, if not worse. The dealers do not come and work with your car to improve it. They do not hold up their hands and say sorry they gave your dealer so many weapons. They do not work with you to try and find another dealer in the area who could help you solve this decently. They take your car to the pound and crush it into a cube; sadly, you and your family were in it at the time; you tried to yell out but the person at the pound had earphones on. You just about managed to jump free at the last moment, but the rest of your family were not so lucky. The smiling faces of the dealers who have granted you freedom from your car proclaiming victory and urging you to show your oil stained thumb to the cameras is like a nightmare that never ends. You have nothing, and it seems this is just the start of the trouble...The new car is painted like a Cadillac but is only made of cardboard, and is actually an old bike that didn't work in the first place. You are told that you will get your choice of vehicle soon, and you ticked your choice, but there's no car to be seen, and even if there was, you doubt your family will be in it.

Eventually, they provide you with a burnt out piece of shit that barely moves. You can't go over 10 miles an hour, and there's a suspicious smell in the trunk. It won't work...ok ok, say the freedom dealers, we'll give you a jump start, then you'll have the best car in the neighbourhood. It's the very least they can do. On Wednesday a young man comes by; he is equipped with gaffer tape and blunt scissors. He puts on the wing mirrors which have been falling off, and tapes the exhaust to the car so it doesn't sound like a drag racer. Then he leaves.

You put on the news and see that the Bush administration has decided not to continue funding the rebuilding of Iraq. They had promised that they would rebuild what they had destroyed to such a high level it would be the envy of the region. Most of the money went towards security; armoured cars for Judges and politicians, 10 new prisons, as well as establishing and training bomb squads. Despite various claims from Bush and the administration that Iraq would be rebuilt, brigadier General William McCoy, who oversaw the projects said that

The U.S. never intended to re-build Iraq. This was just supposed to be a jumpstart
Phew, you think to yourself. I sure can count myself lucky. You go outside and kick the front tire of your car, which promptly falls off.