Song Lyric Sunday (5 April 2020) – Birthdays

Last week, Jim (NewEpicAuthor, A Unique Title For Me) set a theme of senses (my choice). This week, theme of birthdays.

I’ve got a dodgy link this week, but the song is just too good to pass up. In 1982, The Jam released their final studio album, The Gift. There’s my link.

I was just about too young to remember all the Mod and Rocker nonsense of the Seventies. I doubt very much it happened anywhere except the UK, did it? Mod music just seems very British to me. But now I am perfectly happy to listen to some of the old Mod bands. If I were ten years older, I could just picture myself riding a scooter 🙂. Even now, I have my honourary fishtail coat.

For anybody who didn’t follow that last paragraph, this is a fishtail. It gets its name from that distinctive split at the bottom. Fishtails were most always that military green colour, and people would often paint insignia on them, as you see.

Anyway, back to music. The Jam were always a cult band in the UK, where this album comfortably reached #1. They weren’t as successful internationally – the album only reached #82 in the USA. The album spawned a couple of singles, however, and one of these is my choice today. The Jam was Paul Weller, Bruce Foxton and Rick Buckler, and Town Celled Malice, like most of the music on the album, was writted by Weller and charted at #1 in the UK Singles chart in February 1982. It also charted in much of the English-speaking world, reaching #31 on Billboard.

It’s a brilliant, speedy track which epitomises The Jam era, I bet you have trouble sitting still!

Better stop dreaming of the quiet life
‘Cos it’s the one we’ll never know
And quit running for that runaway bus
‘Cos those rosey days are few
And…stop apologising for the things you’ve never done
‘Cos time is short and life is cruel
But it’s up to us to change
This town called Malice

Rows and rows of disused milk floats
Stand dying in the dairy yard
And a hundred lonely housewives
Clutch empty milk bottles to their hearts
Hanging out their old love letters on the line to dry
It’s enough to make you stop believing
When tears come fast and furious
In a town called Malice

Struggle after struggle, year after year
The atmosphere’s a fine blend of ice
I’m almost stone cold dead
In a town called Malice

A whole street’s belief in Sunday’s roast beef
Gets dashed against the co-op
To either cut down on beer or the kids’ new gear
It’s a big decision in a town called Malice

The ghost of a steam train echoes down my track
It’s at the moment bound for nowhere
Just going ’round and ’round
Playground kids and creaking swings
Lost laughter in the breeze
I could go on for hours and I probably will
But I’d sooner put some joy back
In this town called Malice

Paul Weller

The Caramel Crunch (4 April 2020)

Over at Caramel (Learner at Love), CARAMEL has started a new prompt. I’d like to see her prompt do well, and I had some time today to write a post, so here we go…

The prompts are called the Caramel Crunch and so far are centered around a moral question. For your convenience I shall repeat her question.

A blogger who has been reading your posts keeps on making rather acrid comments at the end of your posts. They seem to be increasingly critical and making fun of your character. You try to respond in good humour, but the blogger seems to continue with more sarcastic and cutting remarks. What do you do?

Does this actually happen on WordPress? I have found everybody on WordPress is immensely polite. Even where people pick up on something I wrote and disagree with it, it’s never been done done with any nastiness.

So, my first question is, Are you sure they’re being malevolent? I say this because some people have a weird sense of humour. I know if I post something jokily, before I publish I do try to remember to ask myself Could it be misinterpreted? Might they be offended? I have to say that the answer to these will depend on who I’m talking to. I’m more confident when I feel I know how somebody will react. So I might make a different comment to different people. But maybe sometimes the commenter will misjudge this?

I’m not saying that this is acceptable behaviour, but it would change my response. If I thought they were just being clumsy, I’d respond to the effect that their comment was inappropriate.

Okay, if I thought somebody was being malevolent, I’d block them, pure and simple. I’m not even sure what blocking means on WordPress, because I’ve never done it. I wouldn’t censor their comment, but I would reply to the effect that the comment was unacceptable, just so that other readers get the message.

The basic philosophy here is that blogging should be a 100% positive experience. 100% enjoyable. We don’t have to agree with each other, but we can at least disagree in a civilised manner. I don’t think blocking somebody is a particularly negative thing either, you’re simply making the point that you expect a better quality of debate. Let them go find some blogs at their own level.

The other thing here is that I think the old adage applies (I bet Fandango will quote this in his A-Z in a few days 🙂), that if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. I try to live by that; sometimes I even succeed! But if I find a post that I disagree with, I’d like to think I could just walk on by, rather than start a conflict. I hope I do succeed in that, there have been one or two posts/comments, especially on diabetes, that I have concluded are bs, but I don’t think I ever said anything to that effect.

As I’ve already said I have never experienced this on WordPress, but I did on Facebook, which I’ve used off-and-on for more than 10 years. On Facebook, I resolved long ago to block nasty people, and, really, the platform is irrelevant here. I say again, it’s not the disagreement I have a problem with, it’s the nastiness. I’m a silly old duffer who thinks that we can at least communicate civilly with each other.

Now, Caramel, you gonna block me? 🤣

Share Your World … literally!

Fandango suggested sharing photographs of where we live, so I’ll offer this one. I did post this once before, so if you feel some déjà vu… This is not my exactly house, but close enough. The view is from my nearest bus stop, looking towards the edge of the village, about a half mile away. My house is at the edge of the village.

It has been a decent, but fresh, day here but I’m afraid I took this last summer – you’ll see the freshly-mown grass. I had a blog post in mind which never materialised. But here’s the photo nevertheless.