I spent a day down in the Forest of Dean today, it was billed as a walk and talk, with lunch we learnt when we got there. Its kind of the grown up version of sitting under the tree  at school in the summer term and having a lesson on the grass in the shade. The aim I think is to look after our own mental health in these times of political and global crisis and since January my new boss, whom I know a little from before has been very keen to emphasise the “feed your head with good things” side of things, this is a welcome change, but Ive had quite a few phone calls this calendar year asking me if I’m ok, do I want to talk about anything, if I want to shout about anything, if all is well. This makes me immediately suspicious; suspicious of what I must have done wrong, if anything, which I doubt, am I in trouble is my first thought. Its odd to have someone suddenly give a shit about me, this hasn’t been the case for the last decade to any of us, such was the style of “management”, maybe it is passing, it feels ok right now. But I still don’t really like to receive phone calls from my manager, does anyone?

Anyway it was dry yet muddy underfoot as we slowly made our way through the Beechenhurst Wood Sculpture trail, the “art” alluding to  past industrial mining heritage of the Forest and the rivers Wye and Severn, in between which the Forest is set. Of around 20 sculptures or naturally occurring exhibits, massive fossils of trees which I would easily walk past without even realising, I’d say 3/4 were ok, a couple were really shit. The finest; a huge stain glass window suspended from the trees, which I’m sure would be spectacular if the light catches it just right, but we live in March England and the weather is still shit. My advice, check it out in the Autumn, when the sun is coming up, reckon it would be pretty good then.

And like an obedient soldier, I didn’t listen to any LBC and the only news were snippets inbetween tunes on 6music, where everyone seems to be gushing about the festival from last weekend. And then I walked, ate and drove home, no news apart from something about a very rich woman who gets paid to wave (its niche I know, but some people get off on that) and has tried top photoshop her mothers day shot. Thank God there’s not a couple of wars going on otherwise maybe the press should report on that.

Sat down, brew, walked the dog, and popped on the News Agents podcast and to my delight discover that the tin pot flat roof pub frequenting, Fosters piss lager swilling, loud voiced fruit machine racist has deserted the Tories and joined the racist party! What a surprise, 30p Lee renown for his true grit, a man of principle, one who vowed he would vote against his own government and then didn’t because the opposition laughed at him. A man who boasted he was offered a huge amount of money to join reform and then said there was no way he would do so. A man who spouted islamaphobic drivel forcing his suspension from the party he so dearly loved for a couple of years after defecting from Labour a few years previous. A man who was laughed at when presented to the press today. The self titled man off the people, who most people would imagine seeing barking at the public from a town centre bench in a few years time.

“Didn’t you used to be in the government mate?”

“BARK BARK WOOF”

That prick. Good Riddance you Cheap Lager Swilling Flat Roof Pub Corner Racist.

So that was all a bit of a surprise… which was nice.