Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE 

166. N'Né Menika by Kassiry

MY MOTHER always took great delight in labelling me a pseudo intellectual. 

She was damn right, of course, as I just read a lot and conjoined what I'd read with what folk told me in the pub or club. And coz I was drunk, I'd be loud about it too. Understandably, OU study was a bit of a shaming exercise as I comprehended less and less and went quieter and quieter the more I learned. 

One of the last conversations I had with my mother ended with her announcing that the state had failed me. It was touching and explains the  massiv support and now feels poignant as what was an ordeal almost ended is possibly just beginning. I now read a lot and listen to what folk don't say, which is why my MP's office losing its tongue is concerning. Suggesting it supports moving the goalposts on people's lives. Lives that clearly meant more to labour in opposition. 

The tragedy is that in Starmer we have a leader who thinks politics is a fucking Rubik's cube and that it will fascinate the public watching him solve it. Sadly, the state fails lots of people. People who, unlike me, are often at its mercy. Next year I will try to plan for a positive outcome whilst simultaneously readying myself for more venturous change.  

As I became smarter, my mother stopped labelling me a pseudo intellectual, preferring instead the term odd bod.