A rebel without a clue.

The Great Baked Bean Fiasco,Or Grab you stuff we're leaving. Part 2.By Daniel J. Sherburn.20th August 2010..I believed most of whatever my father told me until I began to get the truth from my teachers, my sisters or my mum. Factually he was indeed very wrong about a lot of what he spoke. I think his education was via films and Hollywood and propaganda and post war documentaries. As I was growing up, however, he was the person I always asked for answers. Our first big argument was quite trivial: I'd stumbled over an encyclopaedia covering the history of locomotion. I suddenly realised the evolution of that industry didn't begin with the Stephenson's Rocket. Like almost anything in history there are many Proto influences on what finally becomes a symbol of revolution. A gram that throws the balance. A tipping point. The attacks on 9/11 were years in the making, not an overnight reckless act. We argued. I had seen this fact in a book, which I could never show my dad as I...

Tuesday I start again. Another future I think ( Diploma in Teaching in the Lifelong Learning Sector (DTLLS)).   Where the Buffalo Roam (1980)   watching this suggests it is probable that Johnny Depp also saw this film too... Oh, l'm eating her cookie. Cook, the bat here is Karl Lazlo. both wildly funny within the context of the film and when use as a general remark...out of context . Wednesday and suddenly all the buses in Wetherby are being run by individual colours. Somehow they're all still dull and discordant. Somehow they're all mat finish. Making it feel like the days of corporations. Inside you're battling a demon VK... There is a new film out which is described as 5 star, fantastic and amazing by the daily rags - friends with benefits - in Leeds this should be re-branded as 'friends on benefits' Ne pas? Much more realistic. The amount of mothers pushing toddlers/babies around Leeds city centre at 2pm on a Wednesday. So busy...

1. After grinding the beans for a full French roast Carte Noir, to finish off a lovely Jerk chicken and rice and gungo pea lunchtime meal (reheated from 3 days ago, but the chicken had that slightly bad taste that almost makes me want to throw it up), and feeling contented that freshly ground coffee is better tasting than all the Taylor's of Harrogate ready ground and the vacuum packed Lavazza, Illy, in my experience (I feel and the ritual of getting the Braun grinder, with a cracked spindle, and using a Pyrex glass jug (1pint) as a substitute for cafeteria and allowing the coffee to settle (saturated with water) to the bottom of the jug and adding a millimetre of full fat milk) is a very cheaply gained luxury. The assorted miscellaneous items that bring to fruition the pleasure of being caffeinated by that most majestic of beans reminds me the battered pewter coffee flasks perched on the shelf at the back of the Scooter-works Café, Lower Marsh and whiling away the months I was ...

Nothing fills a man when he's hungry for love. I still can't stand the people who run bar thr3. If it wasn't for Thatcher's Katy, platinum blonde Lucy and a short list of options in Wetherby; I'd not even have my funeral there. The way Ron dresses down staff within hearing of the clientele. The music of choice is Rod Stewart singing covers, Barry Manilow somber sad ballads and Muzak on repeat skipping and stuttering on the multichanger. Mum did damage her kneecap. Cracked, broken, busted, 6 weeks in a cast. Makes you wonder how many breaks we all have without investigating further? She's now stuck. Unable to work the garden, walk the dog, do her little jobs, etc. She has to use a kermode and crawl up and down the stairs. I'm her gopher. Saw the most one sided game Saturday. Man united out played and well beaten by skillful and creative Barcelona. Second half especially. 3 shots to 17. Nuff said. Relief. One less trophy for Alex Ferguson. Little known...

Tidy up and serve food.  Fit to burst upon a plate Messy basket and baguette And an interlude I record While consumptive old Rosie Is, wrapped by benevolent booze, Befriended once wouldn't it be Entente cordial and drink fearless Into the daring poured afternoon. Popped to the Nation of Shopkeepers for a couple of Weston's Old Rosie and a chicken burger. Ran into Rachel who used to work in the Southwark Tavern. Seen her in there before and thought I recognized her, but couldn't remember where from. Nice juicy breast, lush mayo and twice fried fries. She recalled my name, but I just couldn't get hers. It was 2009 when I left Rotherhithe for Shropshire. Batteries gone, returned to move my stuff back to 42. Feels refreshing. Emma and I loaded her car. Need to return for a couple of items on Tuesday. My self same room since 1989 is full to the brim. Lots of nights safe and sound. Nice to listen to The Fall on my Musical Fidelity pre/power amp and Mordaunt-Short s...

Fat fuckers eating mr whippy with flake, octogenarian stumbling by guided by that ankled stamp. Pop goes the bubble of over chewing gum; like Lolita but not cute. At the transit of Albion Place and Land's Lane. Some unauthorized hustlers is checked by community support officers. 'who do you think you're talking at?' speaks mother into handset. And they with paper and plastic carriers rush like unwanted flyers blown or flotsam washed high on dirty sand. Up and down while the wind gathers the clouds to pour away the nothing. The man with temporary fancy blowing bird like forever. What an absolute waste: just let me slap yours empty hands! If I could bulldoze all the shops, cafés, restaurants, office blocks, cinemas, petrol stations: what would we have left? Monuments, churches, schools, facilities and many bemused individuals.

When you get me within 2 meters of Facebook and I've had too much to drink I don't know whether I can be held entirely responsible for the series of actions I put in place. The vile and pointless things I may write on chat or on a profile which, while profound to me in the inebriated state, are absolutely disjointed and fragments of a booze troubled mind. 2 such discussions took place yesterday evening. Both pitifully rude and intrusive; plain daft. The detritus of 'Metro', 'Shortlist' and 'Stylist' that follows me on my journey. Waste paper, discarded drinks cans, cola bottles, graffiti on the windows and chairs and the dusty, muddy faded seats. The crummy x98 with it's fading purple seats and glum faced brutes. Paping thin wasting away with cracked and yellowed teeth and salt and pepper hair. I ate all the Ben and Jerry's the night before last and chucked 3 lemon puffs down my neck last night. Fighting my girth again. With boredom comes tid...