“The thing is, right, that it don’t seem to matter what I say she still comes at me. I mean day an’night, pal. She’s insatiable!”

“Am I s’posed to have pity on ya? I mean seriously, ‘ave you ‘eard yourself, you prick? You know I’ve not been gettin’ any since Deb left last year, an’ now you want to bend my ear about your old lady hankerin’ after yer cock?”

“Oh, I’m sorry mate, it’s jus’it’s been preyin’ on mi, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah. So, anyway, what’s the problem? I mean you’re not tellin’ me that you can’t get it up or nuffin’ yeah? I mean seriously, you an’ Mish ‘ave bin living together fer six years and she’s still after you in that way and you aren’t ‘appy about that. What’s up wiv ya?”

“Well, it’s not like there’s any problems, ya know, down there, but I get tired. I mean a couple o’nights without the full eight hours in the name of love, and I’m on board, but every night? I’m genuinely knackered, bruv.”

“Well, I can relate to that, but I can’t ‘elp thinkin’ that if it were to change, you know?”

I’ve been giving this a lot of thought since the 20th of January and I think that I’ve worked it out. What have I worked out, you ask? I’ve worked out why I like Barack Obama.

Sure we have some political opinions in common, we’re both educated Liberals with a belief in personal responsibility and straight talking, and overall he seems like a decent guy, but it’s more than that…

For the first time in a very long time I can point at him and say, ‘That’s the kind of person I want running my country.’. Why do I want someone like Barack Obama running my country? It’s really very simple, he has no problem telling truth to power (whether you see that as Americans or Corporate America or Old Money America, they are all getting the same rap), he has no problem with the politics of realism, and most important of all he has no problem reminding the people that he serves that while he can inspire and set the tone and direction of his country, without the people’s support and engagement in the day to day running of his country he cannot succeed. He has as much as said that he will work tirelessly to fulfill his office if everyone else will accept that in order for their great democracy to work they all need to be involved, engaged and working (for at least some small portion of their time) towards the common good.

There is no one in British politics at the moment (or at least no one making enough noise for me to have noticed) who is prepared to offer to lead on the basis of the challenge of ‘get involved’, no one reminding us, the electorate that politicians work for us, not for their corporate friends, or their social agenda, or their religion, or even for their own advancement; they work for you and me. Sure it is reasonable for them to expect to be well (though not over exuberantly) paid for their hard work, and for that work to lead to other pastures once they leave public life, but the first priority of any public servant should be obvious – the clue is in the name.

I am sure that President Obama is no saint, that he would love a Nobel Prize or to leave office and be an envoy for the UN in four or, fate-willing, eight years time, that he has ambition of his own, but for the first time in a long, long time I really believe that there is a person in the Oval Office who sees the truth that putting his or her ambition aside for the greater good of their constituency is the surest route to affecting change. If Obama truly embraces his duty and is the President of the People then he cannot be manipulated into inaction or pandering, as he has nothing to lose but his office, and the Office really is greater than the man.

I hope I am right about him, and I hope I am right to have faith in the American People that they will see (if I am right) that their prosperity, health and freedom is his mission day to day, week to week and judge him on that rather than anything else. If that can happen, if a good man truly can become President of the United States then maybe, just maybe a good man (or woman) really can come to the fore and lead us in Britain into an age where the good of the many and the rewards of the just and the caring is the bounty of all and far outweighs the greed for power and money of the few.

( X-Posted from my politics and V-log blog, Britvox )

It was getting cold in the deserted jetway; Gethin shifted in the wheelchair, trying to get some circulation going in his now sleepy backside. There was a time when he had been preparing for this mission that he had tried to make himself ready for the periods of time that he would be left alone in restricted areas of the airport. It amused him that people in general seem to trust people in wheelchairs, as if a disabled person would not do anything dangerous or confrontational, and that was why they had decided to have him masquerade as a paraplegic. Still the temptation to break cover and complete his objectives now that he had a good chance of making it to the plane before the assistance guy returned was really strong. Of course the empty wheelchair and discarded crutches would raise a red flag or two. Better to stick to the plan, to patiently wait for all the pieces to fall into place.

A voice from behind interrupted his thoughts:

“Ah, monsieur, tu es prêt?”

Gethin nodded without turning around;

“Oui, merci.”

“What do you want?”

I stared at her, unsure as to where this dominant styled submission had come from. It was not that I was upset by her desire to please me, to serve my desires, but she had previously been pretty clear about the fact that our physical relationship was about me pleasing her. I had been very happy about that; for all of the potential baggage I am sure that represents, and while this unexpected sea change was a good thing it was a curve-ball.

She could see my confusion;

“Don’t think about it, Paul. Tell me what to do. I’m horny as hell and I want you, but I need to hear that you want me and what you want from me, yeah?”

I nodded and stopped thinking. I let my eyes wander across her body and then back to her eyes, which I fixed in a stare;

“Let me taste your pussy. Don’t move to me, just open your legs more.”

She smiled and did as I requested. I slid off the bed and knelt before her; staring into her eyes. I laid my hands on her thighs and slid between them, pushing my mouth up to meet her wetness.

“How long have we been laying in this ditch, Chief?”

“Shut up Mankowsic, you want those dirtbags to hear you?”

Mankowsic smiled, only Chief Tillman could dead-pan such a ridiculous statement, after all they were a sniper detail over eight hundred metres from the ranch house that they were covering; unless the perps were pointing a laser mic right at them, his low whisper was not going to be detected.

He checked his notes again, re-measured the range, re-calculated the wind shear and then turned back to the Chief, who was checking his sights and double checking the rifle’s action. He was about to crack a joke when the radio crackled in their ears;

“All positions, target exiting North East Corner. Fire Team Alpha provide cover as required, extraction team are going in for snatch and grab.”

“Mankowsic. Ranges for the North East Corner.”

“Aye Chief. Eight hundred, twenty-nine yards, three degree shift for wind. Sights free, Chief.”

Tillman flipped open the sight covers and settled into the firing position.

They waited.

As the band struck up another cover classic and the gentle, partial buzz that he was nursing was amplified by the company and the sing-along spirit in the bar he felt himself let go and really experience the lyrics to song after song of timeless classics that he was in now way ashamed to have on his iPod.

It was only as the set got deeper and deeper into nostalgia and cliché that he started to veer away from the feel-good vibe and start to focus on the person who was not there. He had tried to drive her from his mind before he even left on holiday, but now, in the midst of a good time the only thing that he saw when he closed his eyes was her face, and more to the point the only thing that he could think was that more than anything he wished that she was there.

He knew in his heart that she was never going to be with him on trips like this or in fact in any way other than the friendship that they already had. Why could he not simply enjoy the fact that they had a connection? Why was context, as ever, king?

The table was littered with half empty wine bottles, and the air above the table was hazy with curls of cigar smoke. Hector was starting to despair of Paulo and David, who were apparently unable to come to any kind of conclusion to their conversation. Neither of them were exactly wrong, but neither of them were exactly right either.

Hector could see that they were both operating from a place of emotional investment; they were no longer listening to the caveats of each other’s discourse, but simply hammering away at each other’s position as if it had gone to a place where each of them needed to win more than they needed to hear each other.

He contemplated stepping in, reminding them that despite everything they were friends, that neither of them had started out wanting to hurt or attack the other; they had just wanted to have a conversation. He realised, of course, that if he did he would sound preachy at best and patronising at worst and then both of them would resent his interference to some degree or another.

As the cloud burned off Paul was left with a spectacular, if typical, Alpine vista before him. Even though he would not be taking to the slopes, due to work commitments, there was an undefinable joy in his heart to know that somehow he was actually living the dream that had begun two years before.

It had all started on a cold February evening in Stourbridge in a pub called The Bag of Spanners. As he cast his mind back he remembered that it was a conversation with Daryl about how much he was missing the Alps, despite having only returned three days before, when Daryl made one of his characteristic observations;

“Why the fuck are you not making plans to go and live there you plonker?”

That had really been all of the spur that he needed, and now he was indeed there, and there was no doubt that it had been the right decision. Daryl had, of course, been the most suprised of all. When Paul told him that he had found a job in Les Menuires, Daryl’s entirely appropriate response had been:

“I didn’t mean it yer twat!”

Some people have heard and others haven’t but on day four of my thirteen day skiing holiday I made a stupid mistake at the end of a run (just before the lift) and I have done some fairly crunchy ligament damage to my right knee. I’m ok, just a little miffed and annoyed at myself for screwing up, but I guess 22 years of skiing / snowboarding and just one serious accident is not a bad record, and equally it had to happen sometime…

There is every indication that with some physio, some rest and a bit of care (oh and the purchase of some hinged knee supports) that I could be skiing again next season, so it’s not all bad – hooray for travel insurance!

The accident has not left me with a pressing medical need to be sent home early, so I am marking time in resort, finding the internet when I can and generally just chilling, so at least the relaxation aspect of going on holiday is still being served 🙂

This post is not a request for sympathy, really, just the easiest way to tell as many people as possible at once, but there are a couple of people in Reading and environs that I might need to ask for some bits of help from in the short to medium term – good wine and a place in heaven will be your undoubted reward.

See you all soon(ish) and more regularly online after the 25th of Jan (when I get back home to a land of reliable and accessible internet connections)…

TTFN