Hard to remember before the Olympic summer of joy, but this was the early sound of summer 2012 - angry, shockingly ugly, bluntly political, and urgent - Plan B's finest moment. Plan B's movie felt over-determined to me, but the song's lyrics remain about as relevant as any British song of the century so far. This is one we'll be returning to in a decade, in a century, to recall what these austere mean days were like. "We're just bloody broke in Britain" indeed.
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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