The Factory Drones - Friday 09/09/11

During a lull in this period of wind and rain, we sowed some wheat. As John Seymour says "Sow wheat in mud, Barley in dust".
Later in the day I received a telephone call from the manager of the local leisure centre. We have an ongoing discussion "photographic records". They wish to photograph Frances and hold it 'on the system'. Frances was registered with them on the condition that this would not be required and the deal was done. Now they wish to change the terms.
In the evening, I went to the Lammas sub committee meeting of Tir-Y-Gafel residents. I went as it was still a Lammas meeting and I am a shareholder. As a shareholder, I wish to witness and oversee the company's progress.
AGAIN, the agenda was infiltrated by Lammas business i.e loans.
Ayres, shortly after my arrival, sought clarification that my presence was authorised and accepted by the group. This upset me only when it came to light that this loan proposal included a condition that, upon default, the company would stand to lose a portion of the woodland. That would reduce my share... I, to my mind, therefore had every right to attend. As it transpired the loan was temporarily rejected in order to seek one based on more acceptable terms. A short grumble about volunteers voting at meetings followed. Melissa verbalised her indignation that a temporary resident could have a say and influence "her life". "Her life" is rather inaccurate of her to say. The knock on could very well be that, but it is more like your employer reducing your lunch break on a vote helped by that of an intern. Sure it may affect your 'life' at work but not your private life. The company cannot and should not hold that power.
What I imagine I see is a scenario as I shall describe;

There is a factory. The factory consists of drones. One day, the drones say "we don't want to work 24/7, we want one of those 'private life' things. So at company meetings the drones discuss (at length) how they will create and action the 'separate private life'. They resolve to, and are permitted to, meet in the staff room before walking out of the door to the big wide world. This way, they can prepare themselves. They believe. But some of the drones are confused. They think the staff room is the outside world and part of this 'private' life thing. When a director walks in to watch the drones and oversee their progress, they get upset. So programmed are the drones, that for the most part, they continue discussing 'work'. Their meeting is hijacked by the news of the company's fiscal flow report. The drones' circuit boards too easily flicking out of 'private' mode, seemingly without the drones' awareness it has happened.
The director is concerned. He supported the idea in order to gain a happy, rested, contented and productive workforce, but the drones appear incapable of handling more than one role, and nearly resolve to jeopardise the assests of his and their company (let's assume the factory is a co-operative kinda thing).
The director is, to a large degree, also a drone. Yet he possesses the cognitive power to walk out of the factory door and is able to identify what issues pertain to what and which of his roles.
He is an outside drone. A hybrid. Potentially the most qualified to assist, yet deemed incredible and often shunned for not being a full, real drone. His position and potential is seldom, if not ever, recognised and his role is often mistaken.
So the director waits quietly. He continues to attend the staff room meetings in the hope the drones show signs of learning, of evolving and to assist when he is called upon to do so.

Are you a drone dreaming of 'freedom'? Are you a 'Director'?
Or are you human?

Kittens, Kingdoms n Crime - Tuesday 06/09/11

It would seem I dwell in the presence of a heroic kitten. A couple of days ago, a particularly evil wasp menaced our caravan. So demonic was its wing beat that even I was having second thoughts about ejecting Beelzebub's agent. So I called upon the services of our lodgers. It was time to earn their keep.
All three I gathered up and placed them on the windowsill to observe which, if any, would do battle with the Satanic insect. After careful assessment and obvious deliberation, the boys let the girl do the dirty work. Up she stepped to the mark.
She batted with her left, downing and disorientating the demon, this she repeated until finally she dealt the killer blow and bit it. An instant after, she soared a metre up into, and across, the room from her perch emitting a squeak of confusion and pain as she did.
She came to a halt in the kitchen shivering in shock with a large stinger embedded in her top lip. A bowl of heroes milk was brought forward, and as I held her head still, Emma extracted the offending weapon. The guts and entrails of its former owner still attached. Banished to Hell from whence it came, Lucifer's minion reports his defeat at the paws of a two month old kitten. As she supped her fill from the saucer of victory, I fended off her interloper brothers as the cowards attempted to rob her of her glory. After the kitten of Achilles retired, her mother materialised and finished her daughters prize. She, the cats mother (literally), unaccounted for when most required of course.

Inbetween my observations of the animal kingdom, I have been the vessel of many musings of late.
I have often said to those who will listen, that here at Lammas I have witnessed the birth of government. It has been this experience that has highlighted an elephant in the room.

I am a shareholder of Lammas. As one, I am entitled to, and in ownership of, a percentile share of the company 'stock'. I also have the right to vote in meetings, and elect a board of 'Directors'. All very normal in the business world... Anyone else see the parallels to our 'normal' lives yet?
As evidence of my ownership/title, upon purchase of my 'share', I was issued a certificate. From this title/certificate flow all other rights. I am also in possession of a very similar certificate. A 'birth' certificate.
Contrary to the teachings of Robert Menard and Mary Croft, I do not believe this certificate represents a 'bond' or contract or has an attached secret bank account. I believe it evidences my percentile ownership or 'interest' in the Corporation known as the United Kingdom. It is my 'share'. Shares have many roles and purposes and I would advise readers to research the history of that creation and origin.
Essentially, I believe, a shareholder expects a good return. Sadly with the amount of shareholders, and with their numbers increasing, your percentile share is decreasing each minute (the reported birth rate), therefore, it is likely to payout very little when you redeem it. Your 'pension' or dividend.
Lets move to the vote, as I understand it, despite many attempts to deny them, prisoners retain the right to vote. Of course they do. They are shareholders, albeit naughty ones.
So, at the 'AGM', or rather 'GM', when we are given the opportunity to vote, we are in fact voting to elect a glorified board of Directors. Directors without the accountability and responsibility of a conventional Director.
Here's a twist. All shares can be traded. This trade of shares spawned the 'stock' exchange. That being so, I want to cash out. I am a savvy 'investor' (vested-in) and I know that the debt the corporation I am a shareholder in is insurmountable and unrepayable. A sinking ship. Would you knowingly invest in a bankrupt company being artificially kept afloat in spite of extensive asset stripping etc?
I am sincerely considering offering for sale on a prominent auction website, my 'share' (birth) certificate, and all its ascribed 'benefits'. That could include, my passport and drivers license as well as bank accounts. After all they are assets of my 'person'. All it would require is an updated photograph of the new owner to create joinder. Do you remember when you first applied for a passport? What did your neighbour have to write on the back of the photo?
"I certify this photograph to be a true likeness of..." A legal statement that need only be repeated.

No fraud. No Forgeries. No 'crime'. Just business.
UK citizenship anyone?

Mulching The Orchard

The Wheat People Babies!

M Jones

The Lamentations Of A Corn Child - Friday 02/09/11

The Lamentations Of A Corn Child

There's a Monster in my valley,

There's much snarling and gnashing of teeth,

This Monster does not sleep.

It's eyes are brighter than fire,

Piercing clouds as they tear the night,

and shred the sky.

Slain are all who stand before Him,

He cares not what they are, not animal,

nor vegetable.

This beast stands high and mighty,

He dwarfs the tallest man,

Yet he slides upon his belly.

The perfect storm has, and must be, brewed 

to summon out this devil,

As terrible as He is,

The Earth yearns to bear a scar.

For years now has this Demon visited this our blessed land,

But it was not always so,

When we harvested by hand.

Today, I celebrate the 9,490th time I have witnessed the Sun set over this, my Earth. 9,490 times I have died as the day has died yet been resurrected as the cock has crowed.

If the Fates will weave it, I will see another 9,490 more. Tonight I die, Tomorrow I may rise.

Kitten All Dressed Up

M Jones

Prometheus' Piles - Thursday 31/08/11

Yesterday, in accordance with Kit's wishes, I processed two large trugs of junk wood from the Promethean pile.
Nick returned, very pleased indeed to be back. His trip to Belgium to watch the Grand Prix reportedly and understandably left feeling out of place and reaffirmed his choice of lifestyle.
As I emerged from my hole this morning I sauntered over to Nicks patch to have a chat. His new purchase, a Tarpon 130T Canoe, was prepped and ready for an outing. The weather was perfect, clear and warm. A great day for fishing and a trip to the beach.

Nigel and Cassie had the same idea. Frances was most upset that they couldn't fit her in their car. We tried to arrange borrowing a car, but none was available. Instead, Paul offered Frances the opportunity to join them for a swim. On the condition she was accompanied.
I had hoped to begin scything, but I was not about to pass on the chance of a good clean.

We returned around 13:30 and after a couple of sandwiches and a coffee, I began work.
The scythe just wasn't cutting it. In every manner. I think my technique remains. I sharpened the blade thoroughly. I think the grass, a stouter, shorter variety than those in the field, was not suited to the Austrian blade. I appeared to be cutting some and folding over the rest.
Time to break out Kits new lawn mower. I regretted doing so. Loud, heavy, cumbersome and horribly brutal and destructive. This machine was a Flymo, definitely not designed for my purpose. That said, I didn't like the finish it left on the short grass. I much prefer the effect of the push mower.
I moved the focus of my endeavours to the orchard. I fared better there but the result is not the manicured look required. I'm definitely not happy luggin that infernal petrol contraption up there.

At 17:00 with one row done in the orchard, I returned the scythe and sharpening stone to their respective owners.
Following my late night last night, I feel satisfactorily spent. That good days work feeling.

The Promethean Pile

M Jones

Out Of Touch and Out Of Sorts - Tuesday 30/08/11

I have been feeling 'out of sorts' recently. My walk to Crymych, all 8 miles of it, highlighted that I am also out of touch. It was a bank holiday so I was unable to engage in commerce, the purpose behind my endeavour. I was not disappointed. The walk served me well. Forays into nature often help to ground my spirit.
This morning I set off again. Business was as usual. I frequently lost myself in thought. Awakening at various points and aware of how quickly I seemed to progress whilst not conscious and present.
How dangerous and easy it would be to waste a lifetime in such a state. I dreamed various scenarios of thought, most of them regarding the purchase or procurement of various things.
I sat on a bench by the road and gazed over the buildings at a mountain.
At first the mind dismissed the elevated land but upon conscious inspection I saw this mountain was different to its brothers. It was purple. A vibrant purple too. How many of the towns inhabitants have noticed this beautifully painted heather topped giant? I'm sure they see its bulk, but do they see its temporary coating? The detail? The devil may reside in the detail, but God lives there also. Which of the two is perceived is decided by the beholder.

Kit, in my absence, spoke with Emma. He vocalised a new and recent dissatisfaction with our circumstances, specifically my input of labour. I have not shared his negative view, but I have been aware of how little activity I have been engaged in of late for the progress of the plot.
Shoveling up discarded stones in the car park and sawing up a large pile of junk wood are jobs that perhaps require completion. The former is dull and wearisome when done solitary and ranks low in my priorities. The latter is very slow going with a workbench and a bow saw, and again, does not seem to me at this time to be the most constructive application of my labour. Now is the time of year to get the winter wheat sown and harvest the bounty in the hedgerows. The hawthorn berries are ripening, the blackberries are fat and near ready for the taking.

He (Kit) and his wife Saara have left today for a week to stay with his parents. The sale of land by his parents house requires him to partially renovate and move his military land rover ambulance. With the proceeds of the sale and Kit's share of it, I hope we can finally get on to building the timber frame. I really do hope to not only have spent my time here having only done foundations and groundworks for buildings and never actually built a building.


M Jones

Realisation, Evaluation - Sunday 28/08/11

The weather has been most changeable of late. Strong sunlight interrupted by heavy ominous clouds dragging their pregnant bellies over the horizon and giving birth on our caravan.
I am excited by the prospect, and very keen to, plant some wheat. I found some ripe specimens near the building site where straw was deposited in the winter. This wheat, I believe, was grown in Pembrokeshire so I would like to cultivate it separate from the wheat I bought from the other side of England.
I have found myself pondering where I am and measuring that against where I wish to be. I know this exercise to be folly. I am where I am and it's obviously where I want to be otherwise I wouldn't be here... I attribute it to the realisation that the anniversary of my birth draws near. An obvious time for evaluation. But there is no need to evaluate. All is well.

Airing himself? Or just hanging out?

Cerberus' little sister.

M Jones

Give Me An Order, I'll Give You A Bill - Thursday 25/08/11

A few small items worthy of note have occurred of late. Firstly, Council tax. Pembrokeshire County Council sent me a letter over a week ago. To which I replied.

"

Dear BUREAUCRAT ,

Thank you for your letter “Re: BLAH" dated 9^th August 2011, received 12^th August 2011.

In your letter you state that you “require further information...regarding the Council Tax”.

Mr WARLESS WARRIOR can confirm that a 'Static' Caravan was purchased. It was sited ... on the 28^th of November 2010.

Mr WARLESS WARRIOR commenced occupation of a Static Caravan approximately 7 days after it was sited.

In your letter you request the following;

• Please advise if you are the owners of the plot itself, or whether you pay rent to the owner of the land, also confirm who the owner is.
• Please advise if Mr LANDLORD is living in a tent on the plot, and advise if he uses your caravan for washing/bathing.
• Please advise if there is a stream or spring on the plot.

With all due respect, MR WARLESS WARRIOR fails to recognise how exactly the answering the above is of any meaningful consequence nor how it pertains to, or might inhibit the calculation of, any Council Tax Liability.

Mr WARLESS WARRIOR would like it noted that, in his opinion without evidence to the contrary, the above is a gross and indecent attempt by BUREAUCRAT OF PEMBROKESHIRE COUNTY COUNCIL to unnecessarily and unjustifiably invade the privacy of a human being, namely MR LANDLORD, by gathering and collecting information for as yet unknown purposes under false pretences.

Mr WARLESS WARRIOR hereby demands that within seven days of receipt of this letter, BUREAUCRAT OF PEMBROKESHIRE COUNTY COUNCIL, provide a full explanation and justification for the three requests made, showing exactly how the requested information is crucial, and inextricably linked, to the calculation of the Council Tax Liability of Mr WARLESS WARRIOR.

BUREAUCRAT OF PEMBROKESHIRE COUNTY COUNCIL hereby agrees that, should no response satisfying the demand made in this letter by MR WARLESS WARRIOR be received within the time frame allotted, PEMBROKESHIRE COUNTY COUNCIL will forfeit all future claim and right to charge/demand/pursue any form of 'Council Tax' from MR WARLESS WARRIOR.

Without malice, mischief, ill will, vexation or frivolity, in sincerity and honour,

W Warrior

AGENT. WITHOUT RECOURSE. NON-ASSUMPSIT. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

On Behalf of

MR WARLESS WARRIOR"

They haven't responded.

Secondly, yesterday, Emma received a threatening voicemail from someone purporting to be calling from a 'Registry Office'. This female, I believe called 'Joy' (She sounded far from joyous, so an ironic name no doubt) and said she would "Requisition" Emma and seek a Court Order.

The Government want title over our child and they appear desperate. They simply cannot force us. Let's look at the language.

"Requisition - noun: An official order laying claim to the use of property or materials.

Verb: Demand the use or supply of goods esp for military or public use" - wordreference.com 

As we know, every order is ordinarily met with a bill. A request can be denied.

If they issue a Court Order, I will issue a bill. It may be that I value the property they wish to obtain at 500 million pounds sterling, or units of functional currency within the United Kingdom of Great Britain. We will see if they wish to make a purchase.

Today Emma took our baby to the local health centre for a check up. Not a problem as she has an NHS number. Bang goes another myth that not registering your child is to deny them health care. Universal free health care, as the name suggests, appears not to be exclusive or limited.

The Erection Of Jude's Sun Dial.

M Jones

Tan My Paled Flesh - Monday 22/08/11

Kit very nearly got away with no one knowing that today was his birthday. This being one of the most productive since his return appeared to be celebration enough for him. The gods smiled upon us and granted the land a day of glorious sunshine. Strong enough to tan my paled flesh almost to the point of burning.

Yesterday I butchered the Rabbit and in the evening Kit, Saara and Henri joined us for Rabbit stew with dumplings and sweet potato. The leftovers of that meal fed us twice more today.

Frances has begun talking about Halloween. Whilst I may feel it premature, there are only two months left between now and then. Images of the dark and cold from the memories of last winter spring to mind. The near ripe blackberries do not comfort me either. We are in the evening hours of the time of plenty.

Offal to the Cat.

Legs and head to the dog - Nothing wasted.

Yum Yum

M Jones

Pork Rotavators - Friday 19/08/11

An almost instant way of disposing of Rabbit entrails would appear to be feeding them to pigs. Simon and Jasmine have some 'on loan'. I felt very guilty after doing so as one of the pigs got inquisitive and made contact with the electric fence. The scream that emanated shocked me. I put down the bucket and observed them. Three great beasts, one male two females. They had churned the grass to the extent that I am certain one could sow a successful crop upon it.

Kit and I had a useful conversation that concerned the relationship of our families and the agreement that exists and allows our continued presence. Things appear to remain satisfactory for both parties.

My afternoon was occupied processing firewood and transporting three barrow loads of 'pea gravel' for use in drainage. I walked Frances to Hoppi and Pauls where she had arranged a sleep over. Before I left however, she got very emotional. Hoppi and Paul were really understanding. It was recognised by Hoppi that Frances' feelings could be attributed to the recent arrival of Erin. She related to Fran the experience of her son, Jarro, after her daughter arrived. Fran admitted to feeling pushed out somewhat and not feeling as involved as I had thought. Something we shall need to redress.

Frances did stay over, as I thought she might. She had been looking forward to it and I knew once she got playing she would most likely not want to leave.

Myself, Emma, Kit, Saara and Nick collaborated to put together a delicious evening meal. Pork casserole with wheat and veg, broad beans and fried hemp seeds, onions soaked in vinegar followed by my bread and butter pudding.

The rabbit will feed us another time.

M Jones

A Doe, A Rabbit - Thursday 18/08/11

Spent this morning aiding Kit in doing some site work laying drainage pipes for the Hub. Good experience too as I believe that will be our next task and step in Kits build.

After lunch, I took to meandering about and delivered some letters that I found in pigeon holes that looked important.
I cooked a pasta,pesto and fried seeds and vegetables dish for dinner and at 21:00 set off for a late hunt with the Webley. The light had already faded, but in what little remained I spotted the flash of a rabbits white tail. The first shot went over the top, the second fell short as I over compensated.
The webley's .22 caliber is proving to be factor in my marksmanship plus I can't be sure that it is zeroed to the optimum distance.
Upon my return, I swapped guns and fitted TX200 .177 with my new hunting lamp kit. My experiment with the red filter proved successful. The eyes of horses and rabbits shine back in its light. A shetland pony wasn't happy at my presence and attempted to charge me. I stopped him in his tracks with a low growl and a hiss. He promptly about turned.
Over in the next field, I scanned the beam along the hedgerows. In the corner of my eye, I saw a flash way out towards the middle. A rabbit. With the light off I crept as close as I dared and took a shot. Miss. Another slow creep forward in darkness. I took my time, even adjusting the magnification of the scope a few times, the rabbit was seemingly unperturbed by my presence. The next shot felled it. No kicks, no running, the rabbit just collapsed on its side. I paused with the light still on, peering through the lens to be sure that if I had only wounded my quarry and it ran, I could track it and quickly finish the job. There was no need. As I approached, the last nervous twitches were subsiding. The pellet had struck between the eye and ear, a bit higher than I would've liked, but evidently the outcome was still an instant death.
As I massaged the urine from the bladder, I felt a row of nipples on the underside. A large and healthy doe.
Upon my return I gutted my prize and hung it under the gazebo by the light of a hurricane lamp. I wish I knew where my head torch has disappeared to.
It's 00:32. Good night/morning.

Kits new toy.

M Jones

Croutons! - Wednesday 17/08/11

Frances nearly missed her horse riding engagement this morning. A consequence of living a life absent of alarm clocks and calendars. Late morning Nick and I set about processing firewood. Nick chainsawing, I loading the saw horse. This was brought to a halt after the neighbours complained of the interference they felt the noise visited upon them. The work was rescheduled and Kit and I took the dumper truck and a trailer down to the quarry to collect the recently milled timber.
Task completed, Nick and I returned to our mornings work during an allotted window dictated by time the neighbours took their lunch and would therefore be indoors. Erin slept through the chainsawing despite being only meters away behind caravan walls.

A life 'first' occurred for me at lunch when Emma warned me the bread I wished to eat with my soup had been found to be stale. So I diced a slice and chucked it in the frying pan. Croutons!

When Kit had finished doing paid site work, we unloaded the timber from the trailer. Wishing to lower the physical demands of our tasks we stuck a brand new battery in Kit's mothballed Volvo and took it for a spin around the site. Our last stop was to deliver some doors to Simon and Jasmine.
Whilst there I learnt that agents of the council had taken photographs of their house, inside and out, seemingly without their consent and were presenting them as 'evidence' against the owners. Of course even if consent had been given, tacit or otherwise, it can always be withdrawn.

Darren from peoplespublictrust.com kindly transferred some very useful information to my hard drive before he and his family departed Tir-Y-Gafel.

Sleep came swiftly...


M Jones