Churchill and the Magpies.

See that above?

That's our garden. We have an apartment so we have to share with others but it's usually as empty as that. We have a couple of benches and, in all that green, there are thousands and thousands of birds.

I have just bought a 35mm camera and some film is on the way so I should, when it comes, be able to take better photographs than this:

I've always hated digital cameras they have turned a load of people not interested in photographs in to a load of people who think they are photographers. I don't boast that I am a particularly good photographer – even though I have taken one or two good snaps in my time – but the photographs from the past, which are interesting to me, are the rejections; these days those rejections are rejected at source.

Now what is this about? Every morning at dawn that Magpie gets on the tree, which is about 60 feet high, and looks around the garden to see what is going on. He may be the male or the female but for the want of political correctness we will call him a male as the male and the female of the species are different.

He looks around and near the ground is his spouse. They have just had some babies – some chicks – so at dawn he looks around.

Around here we have Red Kites flying about but they usually appear on overcast days and as you can see today is a beauty.

Also wandering about is a crow. Now this crow would come into the garden with his spouse. He would land on our roof, about 3 feet or so above the camera shot, and when he would see the coast was clear Mrs Crow would arrive. They would go up by the trees and walk – yes walk – the whole length of the garden which goes on a good few yards behind the camera shot. They are looking, when they walk, for little bits of worms coming up for a drink but today there is only one crow. We don't know what has happened to Mrs Crow maybe she is a late crow; we don't know.

As this is happening there is a television beaming across the nation with a man called the Prime Minister answering questions from a grilling he received from MPs the evening before. When each question is asked a look of confusion appears on the man's face. It is a strange face as it has the look of a schoolboy with moused up hair trying to make its mind up which way to hang, rather like the testicles of a condemned man about to hang from a rope. 

He blinks a few times at each question and thinks of the time when he wanted to be another Churchill and the saying 'be careful what you wish for' comes to mind as he must have wished for some kind of crisis so he could do his Churchillian 'cometh the crisis cometh the man' act but the crisis is totally out of control and he knows it as he tries to defend the reputation of a ne'er do well, a mountebank, to be precise, of the first order.

And in the garden the crow, by himself today, as I said earlier, is skulking around by that little toadstool, you can see there, which is actually a water bowl for the birds which, if I think of it, I fill with water.

Mr and Mrs Magpie have spotted the crow as he seems to be heading back down the garden with a look towards the trees to the left of the picture. That is where the baby magpies are hidden in their nest. So the two magpies fly close to the crow – let's face it they are all in the same family of animals, both types of crow – so they know what he is after.

One magpie is to the right of the crow, as he walks past the trees and the water dish for the birds, and Mrs. Magpie is to the left. They stand at a distance when the crow veers to the right of the picture. The magpies then move so they look to be in a pincer type of position, ready to attack Mr Crow when, and if, he is foolish enough to try to get to the other side.

On the TV the would be Churchill wishes he was handling such a crisis with Field Marshal Montgomery leading the field but no - he is trying to use the word fantastic as many times as he can in a sentance with his fantastic cabinet, his fantastic plans and his outrageous ambitions.

The Magpies manage to win the day and later on they will train their little babies to fly, take them to the top of that tree, and when that happens I hope to have some ASA 200 in the camera and let's hope I get a clearer shot next time.

My pen in my hand and some paper in the other.

Well I am sitting here with pen in one hand and a piece of paper in the other, wondering what I am going to put into the paper from the pen – of course neither of these things exist, any more, as they have been replaced by a keyboard and a screen.

Time goes along and we are in a lock-down and not allowed to go anywhere without permission from the police.

At the bottom of the garden there are three of my neighbours and we take it in turns to dig the tunnel.

We figure if we start digging near the back fence, which joins all our gardens, we should be able to sneak through and get as far as Pinner Green by Christmas; 2021.

I have never been a fella who feels cooped up when at home as lots of times it wouldn't worry me if I never opened the door again. I have everything I want here, all the things I have purchased over the years: guitar – in fact two guitars, a banjo. six harmonicas, at least, a pair of drum sticks but no drums.

Never bothered me before; I used to be the solo drummer when I was in the army cadets between the ages of fourteen and eighteen. One of my duties was to teach the drummers joining the band how to play a military drum. In the breaks in the canteen – the NAFFI – we would sit around with our sticks and practise our paradiddles and quavers on a table. So I can do that but when I have recorded songs, here, I have used a drum machine. Although once in a while I would use my fingers on the desk, a packing case and on one song I slapped my bare knees; now that hurt.

The upshot of it is that I am not using either of my guitars, harmonicas or drum sticks; why? Because at the moment I have so much time to spare that I haven't got the time.

I am editing my little film but nine times out of ten when I sit down to do it I notice a joke on Face Book, or a comment I have to answer or a brilliant saying will come in to my head and I have to put that in my 'news feed' instead. Unfortunately, like a drunken insult, it doesn't look so brilliant in the cold light of day.

I was talking to a pal of mine the other day, shooting the shit and reminiscing, putting the world to right and the thought came to me: I was like this as a child! My folks would send me out to play and I would stand at the bottom of the garden looking at the house. My dad would come out and say 'go and play!'

It was the same when we went on holiday. I liked the caravan (sorry my American friends a caravan – a trailer??) who knows - and I liked the tent when I went away with the boy scouts – I just found a photo of me when I was 5¾ so you can see how inquisitive I was; I look quite satisfied.

That was when I had been at school for 12 months. 

I hated school and that was a school photograph. That was the one my dad carried around with him in his wallet. I remember when I first saw it as I can't remember looking at it when I looked like that I also remember school at that time and I hated it. I couldn't see the point of going there. I suppose I found out all the kids there spoke with a different accent from me and maybe that confused me. 

I walked to school with a neighbour and on the way we would walk down St Paul's Road, in Birmingham, which had a railway bridge going across. The roadway, under the bridge, was very small, maybe just about enough room to drive a car through, but my mother wanted me, when I went by myself a year or so later, to cross the road outside Doctor Cronin's surgery. 

I could never, even at that age, figure out why it would be safer to cross the road by the doctors. Maybe she thought if I got hit by a truck the doctor would come out and save me. So I would walk with the gang of kids and their mams and let them go ahead to cross the road where it narrowed and I would nip over through the morning traffic by the croakers – salvation or bandages.

I have often wondered if this place, the UK, became something like Yugoslavia, with several fighting factions, that we would be figuring out a way to get to Pinner – half a mile away. Would I go over the gardens, sneak through the trees or get into the River Pinn and swim there. The River Pinn, by the way, is hard to see, as it's in a ditch at the side of some roads. It's near our current doctors' surgery which would please my mother but the fact is I would have to walk down the river as there probably isn't enough water around there to sustain me – it gets a bit deeper by the doctors so if I get into difficulty in the water the doctor can come out and save me.

Empty London.

I have tried, over the years, not to make this blog too political. Once or twice people have wanted me to give their cause a mention, and I think I did once, but I might not agree with the cause so never again. 

Good job I'm not a newspaper taking all kinds of adds, but I prefer to waffle on in my own way.

The current shut down all over the world is being made political, not by me, but by – now let me think: ah, politicians. 

They are looking out for themselves and their jobs.

Whenever there have been other epidemics and pandemics, shall we say, in Africa and, shall we say, Ebola, the medical teams move in, people like Doctors with Borders, get the military to build fields hospitals, and take it from there.

Ebola was a killer, a real frightening one and we can only imagine how the people that died suffered in their agony and pain.

But this latest Coronavirus, Covid 19, is being handled terribly in the UK and America. Now why is that? How can anybody say their man, their politician from their political party is doing better than the man from the other party. How can people justify accusing someone of something sinister just because they ask the right questions in parliament and then call them Mister Smarty pants or Clever Clogs?

I'm not answering any questions here by the way. 

I know the reason they didn't ask me to sort the situation out is that I wouldn't be any good at it so why give it to scheming politicians?

If you think about this one it reminds me of some of the films of contagious diseases - in fact one of the movies is close to this one and has been noted by the experts (**&).

A bit like 9/11: it was used in many thrillers and people took no notice. 

Obama noted a few years ago that we weren't ready for a pandemic as we had no stuff.

The UK doesn't produce anything at the moment, doesn't make anything, apart from music, games and movies. In fact the creative industries bring more money into the country than most other industries which are service industries and includes tourism.

We don't produce anything that could help us deal with the virus not even face masks. We (I'm fed up of using we as I think we are doing a lousy job) are not even good at preparing for anything; we send soldiers across to other countries without enough armour or tanks and whatever is needed to kill as many people as the armies like to kill.

Now the governments are running scared because we might run out of money, have a recession which might give them an excuse for more austerity.

We have just spent the last few years fighting about Brexit and now we (not again – not me) don't have to pay the 13 Billion to the EU. 

If it was so important to save that amount of money, as the EU was bleeding us dry, where did all the money come from that is now being spent or promised?

Since 2010 this government has borrowed £870 Billion – nothing to worry about though as the national debt started around the time of the Napoleonic Wars and will never ever be paid off – Never!