The ongoing odyssey of incompetence and arrogance at the top of BP has become incredible to behold. And a reminder of how "big people" just don't give a brass darn about the small people of the world. It explains a lot about British establishment culture - explains how Blair can swagger about after Iraq, and why, no matter what anyone says or does, the upper elites get away with virtual murder. Tony Hayward should be the most hated man in Britain, not just America - his insouciance is appalling. But then again, this is the nation that accepts nil-nil results from its playboy players. What went wrong? Why no revolution? And now, wait for the budget on Tuesday. More small people about to bear the brunt.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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