Political Weekend (Part 2)

I am quite astoundingly drunk. Pumpkinheadedly paralytic and stupidly sozzled. I'm pissed up on booze and dumkopfed with the demon drink. That made clear, I shall attempt a summery of recent events.

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We saw the Loach film - bloody brilliant. Typical Locach formula of shaggable young idealist who joins the glorious resistance (in this case the IRA in the 1920s), only to find it descending into faction fighting, selling out to the very forces it was created to oppose, and splintering over issues that seem abstruse and small now, but which were at the time immidiate and vital.

More that that, Loach is smart enough not to heroise the protagonists or demonise the bad guys. The British occupiers or Ireland aren't monsters, and their Irish henchmen aren't simplistic traitors. The IRA are neither implacable saints of virtue, not psychotic killers.

Loach presents several sides of the argument unflinchingly, letting us the audiance decide on the rights and wrongs and grey areas of the situation. Of course, people who have already made up their mind in confortable ignorance will find the film biased, whichever way they lean.

See this movie. It's important as a historical document, and it reflects intellegently on the morality and paradoxes of occupation and resistance everywhere - including, of course, Iraq right now.

Then us loyal comrades of the glorious revolution went for the double whammy, and trundled from movie to marxist forum on Trotsky. The expected small turnout of 10 or so regulars was swelled by six newcommers. Including a duo of animal rights activists who were drawn by curiosity, the coy Adam who is actually amazingly switched on and informed, and the utterly airheaded Pippa, who has finally got it into her eternally distracted head that politics matters, but has yet to grasp that she has no grasp - whatsoever - of any of the issues. Interesting forum, but no new ground broken, as you would expect.

Then alchohol and curry with Tom and Roxanne...and bloody Pippa. We actually had a very useful discussion in the curryhouse, with the waiter, who was really keyed up by our discussion of class. Bloody Pippa does have one use - she comes out with such cretinious arguments - capitalism is human nature and people are born stupid, class no longer exists because people have electric blenders now, blah blah - that the rest of us can cobble together a lecture on the principles of marxism simply by replying to her.

Gareth was too shattered to go for the planned tripple whammey of me discussing the ramifications of these issues with him, but we'll do it soon.

Then a night spent snoozing on the sofa of Tom and Roxanne, followed by a day snoozing on the sofa, then some musical collaboration with Tom and making friends with Roxanne's willful 4-year-old daughter Tessa. She decided she liked me instantly, sat on my knee, called me uncle and demanded I read her a Paddington Bear story. Before attempting to bite my finger off.

Many drinks with Simon M at night, hence my current moderate incohearancy. So it's all his fault. Goodnight.