Pounds, Pence, Dollars, Sense

When Portobello road decided to expel Woolworths from the block back in 2008 just for going into administration, there were questions as to which fitting high calibre, gentrified establishment would be taking over its spot.

The sprawling store, Woolies, had been there since I was a child and probably before I was born, so it was obviously a successful venture. The Daily Mail backed Adolf Hitler outlawed the outfit in Germany, but it outlasted that disturbed, one-balled,   megalomaniac. It didn’t outlast the economic crisis, and the closing down of this high street legend marked a change in the manner in which people spend.

A new modern way of consuming in the virtual world forced old establishments to restructure their business model. Computer programs can never get sick, pissed off, offended or take time off to get married. Whatever stories surround the whole withdrawal of many long-standing establishments, it all boils down to ‘Goodbye shop assistant, hello checkout button’. Understandably too, if indeed your establishment holds profits over friendly interaction, profit over service with a smile and profit over real human to human interaction.

So the hard working android, once again puts an end to another human way of meeting other humans, with a smile and discussing and assisting with their domestic needs. One might assume that the next resident establishment would be a community farmers market or an indoor mini-mall selling quirky little bits that represent the trendy desires of the locals. But no, all of a sudden the signage went up, it said ‘Poundland’.


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Electric Breakfast

Venue: Electric Diner, Portobello Road

Meal: Breakfast



It’s 11.45am on a Tuesday in March and I’ve just come back to Portobello after moving some things into a Brentford storage unit.

Heavy work, so you’d think a full English carb fest was on my mind. Not so, here’s why…

…So, we get to the door of the Electric Diner on Portobello Road, only to be greeted by our regular (Antonio Banderas looking) waiter.  I may have appeared a bit rude as I zipped past him fully aware of the clock ticking away on our 50% local discount deal as it fast approached 12.00. I rushed past into the ready and waiting waitress. “Will you still honour the discount as it’s not yet 12 O’ clock”?  I said in a half couldn’t care less way, without revealing the fact that her answer was a remote control to push an invisible button to send me away or make me stay, just like a puppet”. ” If you order before 12.00 it’ll be fine”. She said. You’ve never seen a person sit down so quickly.


It was about 11:52 when my guest: sweet Juliet ordered her poached eggs on toast with  avocado and a bit a lemon on the side, accompanied by a pot of mint tea to kill the chill. Note below, the avocado’s succulence. Continue reading

Could have, should have, didn’t. UPDATE

It’s almost a year since this touching article spewed out of me. I don’t mean to offend when I say it almost takes another artist to understand what it means to have to exorcise that thing that’s running around inside your head. It’s like an emotional release that can almost claim to be the main reason you resumed sleeping deeply again.

Still there were lingering thoughts regarding why the sad event happened. Even among the community that suffered the losses, there were questions, hunches, blame and rumours. The painful  story was expressed already and as the flowers have dried and the caskets have been filled and buried it makes no sense for me to personally revisit the event in any detail, so here’s how The Guardian puts our questions to rest.

Photograph: Reuters
Press Association Tuesday 20 October 2015 12.51 BST

Shelley Christopher denies two counts of murder and one of attempted murder by reason of insanity.

A woman killed her partner and their four-year-old daughter to prevent the world being taken over by vampires, a court has heard.

Shelley Christopher, 36, was mentally ill when she stabbed 42-year-old Richard Brown 29 times and her daughter Sophia six times before inserting wooden objects into their bodies.

Christopher also attacked another child and put a pencil in her body, but despite her injuries, the girl survived, prosecutor Crispin Aylett QC told jurors. She cannot be identified.

Christopher, of Notting Hill in west London, went to a mental health unit in north Kensington in February, two days before the killings, and told staff that someone was out to get her. She refused pleas to stay at the unit and went home.

She is on trial at the Old Bailey on two counts of murder and one of attempted murder, which she denies by reason of insanity.

Opening the trial, Aylett told jurors: “I’m afraid that this is a distressing case which you will find both terrible and tragic. Ms Christopher was later to tell a psychiatrist that, on the day of the killings, she had received a signal instructing her to kill her family in order to prevent the world from being taken over by vampires.

“The signal had come from a lightbulb in the ceiling. She had done – or tried to do – what she was told. After she had attacked each of them with a knife, the lightbulb had told her to put something wooden into each of their chests in order to stop them from becoming vampires.

“That Ms Christopher must have been mentally unwell at this time is borne out by the findings of the doctors who examined the victims. From Richard’s chest cavity, the pathologist recovered part of a child’s paint brush. The pathologist who examined Sophia’s body retrieved part of a pencil.”

A psychiatrist concluded that Christopher, who is now in a secure hospital, had been suffering from a psychotic illness, most likely paranoid schizophrenia, at the time.

Aylett told jurors that when a defendant enters a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity, it was for them, not a judge or psychiatrist, to decide the case on the evidence.

Police found the bodies of Brown and Sophia when they went to the family home on 27 February, days after the killings.

They discovered Brown in the bath and Sophia in bed with a towel over her face, the court heard. Her chest had been covered with coloured plasters and a plastic flower was placed in her right hand.

Social services alerted officers after Christopher attended St Mary’s hospital with the injured child the day before. When doctors operated, they removed a 6.5cm-long broken pencil from the child’s chest.

After her arrest, Christopher told a psychiatrist the colours red, orange and green had become significant to her, with red meaning that she or someone in her family was going to be killed.

She said she had left the mental health unit at St Charles hospital before her assessment was complete because she thought there were vampires there.

On 19 February, she said she had received an orange signal instructing her to kill in order to prevent the world being taken over by vampires. First, she attacked the surviving child, by strangling and then stabbing her with a plastic flower and a small knife.

When Brown arrived with Sophia and asked what was going on, Christopher said: “You’re one of them. You’re a vampire.” She then stabbed him repeatedly in the chest.

She told the psychiatrist that Brown’s eyes had changed colour and he had tried to bite her with his fangs. According to her account, Sophia cried out “no mummy!” and when Christopher asked her if she was “one of them”, the girl replied “yes, I am mummy,” so she stabbed her too.

Aylett told jurors that if they agreed with the assessment, Christopher would receive a hospital order and return to the secure unit where she would remain “for some considerable time to come”.

The case continues.

Article from The Guardian 20th October 2015

De Dell Seeds – A Seed of hope

Food for thought.

More than three millions tonnes of soy is imported into the UK every year, a large proportion of which is GM.   The Telegraph.  

While I have a genuine interest in my diet, I must admit sometimes it can become a little overwhelming remembering what is sustenance and what is poison. Case in point; The empty packet of Amaizin corn chips that lay on my kitchen table. Although they were organic, they had me looking at them with suspicion like a cheating spouse.


I wondered if the corn was pure. Was she true? Did she lie by omission, telling me only part of where she had been in the hope that I wouldn’t cross-examine?  Maybe I’ve lost faith, most things that tasted that good were always too good to be true. I needed to know more about corn. What I did know is that corn and soy are the easiest consumable substances…

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Angel Lewis

Buy it here


‘There was a time when earthlings were pure creators and not really concerned with external opinions to express. There was a feeling of attachment to the source and a comfort in expression. Unimpressed by visitors like me because we were closer in thought until that thing happened. Earthlings lost their minds, their confidence and self-control, it was given over to external things.

It still baffles me how this can be your norm today.

The soul reason for all of this loss was fear. Humans are still creators but all creation is born out of fear and no longer from love. How many regions are in wars from fear of being invaded or relationships for fear of being alone? The truth is invasion is very unlikely if you are communicating but you will always be alone and all you can do is embrace it for the great thing that it is. When humans can learn to think again, outside of the metaphorical box it becomes clear that being alone means being al-one….’

An alien viewpoint on the art of creating form from ‘BRUSH’ by Angel Lewis.

Whose child are you anyway?

Ethan Minnock

Take a look in this child’s face. Look deeper. What Mother would want to give him up? Not Rebecca Minnock anyway.

After the court ruled custody in favour of Ethan Minnock’s father, Rebecca Minnock did what any sane Mother with a supernal relationship with her child would do; Run.

What? Well rather than question my odd angle on this, the question should really be– what would it take to find the courage, or to some the stupidity, to take ‘your’ own child into ‘your’ own hands? That defining  moment could only have been a moment of connection, as it is hard for me to believe that somebody who didn’t feel capable of raising their child would risk everything by running away for just a short chance to be with them. Maybe the consequences weren’t weighed up, even more to the credit of a Mother’s Hyperarousal.

One thing is for sure, several decades ago this would have been a most natural response. Has society really become so caught up in modern legislation, in the guise of law, that they can no longer appreciate what it is to be a human attached to their seed? For me, the balancing outlook comes from simply observing nature. I have seen animals, less bothered with politics and court cases, murder or even throw themselves in harms way when much more preponderant animals come within a few dozen metres of their progeny. So what’s the big deal? It’s natural.

I would like to think every Woman would at least consider this just so I know that they haven’t totally lost their power to those men with hammers in witches outfits. You could maybe see Rebecca Minnock like a Rosa Parks or a Harriet Tubman. There’s something powerful about when women become restive, it feels veracious and begins just where a male’s manhood ends.

Maybe the whole event asks a question that nobody wants to ask. I say this because at the core of it there is something innate within the soul that knows its own property, whether it’s the actual body or the body it created, even though most are afraid to act on it.

But then again as always there is another side. Less than six months ago a woman on my own street murdered her husband and child in a vicious knife attack. With such a large number of people with failing mental health within domestic environments, largely spurred through undiagnosed post-natal depression that can last more than just a few years, what can you do to protect the child and who’s business is it?

Rosa Parks
Rosa Parks

In 1666, just after the great fire of London, The Ceste Que Vie Act was signed and went into action immediately. The gist of it states that, by Maritime law standards, any individual born after the said date would be considered lost at sea unless within a seven year period after berth they would come forth and state otherwise. Strange as it seems it appears to me that what is being stated here is that all men born are considered by the courts ‘dead’ unless they prove that they are not.

Well what rights can a dead man have? I’m sure all things that would be considered property would be held in trust by the state, No? If I sound crazy by translating my own thoughts on the act, which by the way, didn’t take too much thought on my part, then see what you make of it. After all it is not a belief but something enacted into your legislation.


All that aside, there are many, many, opinions on whether or not the law is the law of the land or the law of the sea based on the Union Jack being a flag of the high seas and ra ta ta….However, whatever your position, the fact remains that decisions that only Mothers can make in sound mental health regarding their sentient child, are being made in a cold, clinical, lifeless, male milieu.

This seems quite absent of the very female spark that initiated the offspring and all offspring for that matter. One shouldn’t have to take the form of a woman to know her role and connection to decisions of nurture unless, in a Shakespearean prophetic manner, one is born of a glass tube. In this case the microchimeric cell attachment they share may well be severed but anything short of this proves that the creator and the creation remain together for eternity according to recent neuroscience discoveries.

A 'Lancashire lassie' being escorted through the palace yard, Westminster Palace, London, 20th March 1907. A young woman is reluctantly escorted by two policeman who are holding her by the arms. The woman is still protesting as she is led away. The last line of the verse at the bottom says 'For Women's Rights anything we will dare; Palace Yard, take me there!' (Photo by Museum of London/Heritage Images/Getty Images)

Rebecca Minnock said ‘No’, whether it was a sane ‘No’ or a psychotic ‘No’ is the question here; but the larger question to all Mothers should be where does the state get the right and is it really a right or an antiquated legislation created, not for the health of the community but the capture of booty? This would then make it no less than a raping of the soul.

But I will leave the burden of deciding with you dear Mothers and whatever you decide I will only agree because I am just a mere man, the creation of a woman.


For Emily Davidson & Mum.


Angel Lewis

Angel Supermanathon

 If your personality is such that you can only talk ill of yourself and refrain from speaking positively through fear of appearing arrogant, isn’t that your ego? How is it that when we see extreme symmetry and perfection in other people, outside of ourselves, we give praise without the guilt? 

Very few can but one must step outside of self to see a situation as it truly is and if it is such then say it is such, whether or not they are the interested party. They often wonder why I sing my own praises.



On Christmas day after adulterating my pescetarian body with Lamb, I decided that after a six-month break the lower back pain I suffered would not notice me going out for a short run. As I wove through the streets of Notting Hill, Kensington and the on over Wandsworth Bridge I thought ‘More…’ 12 miles later, knees closer to the concrete, I felt pretty accomplished. It felt easy, especially with no training.

After a few days of pain I etched my name down for a half Marathon and started training for the body I almost had. I felt that being a Superhero must start with the idea of a superhero in the mind. Spiderman. Never was there a more perfect physique. Screw The Hulk, Superman, and all the others. The sheer fat-less frame adorned with muscle made him the ultimate powerhouse. Plus he wouldn’t seem stiff dancing at a club or odd in a suit. Yep, that’s me. The turkey waist had to go and then the rest would just fall from the body as if they were tied together, I thought. Sit-ups were really all I knew for belly jelly so I went in. 31, 32, 40…..yeah baybeee get money.

It wasn’t too long before I felt my arch enemy creeping back in. ‘Creeping Back, I thought you were dead’.  ‘Oh no, I was just waiting here by your waist for you to stretch just a little too far.’ For the next few days I took it easy on the back and started a safe abs routine so not to offer him that chance he was waiting for.

One morning as I stretched to put on my shoe, something squeezed my poor nerve and threw me flat on my stomach. It was creeping up on me again. The pain was crippling. I couldn’t move and felt thankful that I had a phone in my pocket. I called my Sister who rushed over, saw my condition and immediately called for an ambulance. After talking to one positive paramedic I was assured that I would most probably walk again. Men are such fearful creatures, hypochondriacs. This was my second visit to the hospital in two days. The first visit was for a swollen foot and that time it was the doctor that relieved my suspicions of a broken toe.

Skipping was a full workout far from back’s neighbourhood and it seemed the way to go although I could feel pain in my calf on each skip. After an hour all of a sudden my calf felt as though it had been spiked by a bulls horn. I thought ‘Okay now your fur king with me…’ Fur King Witmi was an old enemy of every about to be Super hero and even from ancient times was known to pop up at the most untimely moments. His powers allow him to change form but he only disappears if your mind is stronger than he. As a Taurean I was born the king of the Will so the stabbing pain I just wrote off as fatigue. I’m doing this Marathon. I trained again the next day and Got daymn! The whole leg swelled up. Fur king was back. He knew that it was one week before the half Marathon and if he could keep me down, stop me from training for just one more week he’d possibly break my will for good.

I suddenly realized Creeping Back and Fur king Witme were working together. Dun, dun, dunnnn. Yes, ever since I signed up for the run, for three whole months they have been after me. How did they know? Had they hacked my computer or was Creeping Back really Fur King Witme all of the time?

Okay what do we have? The Paramedic said run, the Doctor said do not aggravate the foot further, my physio said “You’ll be fine just do a short run then increase in the weeks leading up.” I hadn’t run at all, all I did was try to keep Creeping Back at bay only to be caught by Fur King. Well at least Creeping Back seems to be gone.

While resting the swollen leg, at 11:00pm I decided to call NHS direct just to rule out any possible vein coronary connection. I failed their twenty odd questions and was inconveniently advised to go to A and E. After waiting almost 3 hours with almost solely vailed women, I was finally seen. Doctor: ‘I have no idea why they sent you here as this is almost 100% not deep vein thrombosis as you’re a walking, moving athlete and haven’t been immobilised, it’s a torn ligament”.

Well that’s a four-hours-out-of-my-life kinda relief.

Walking home at 3am in the morning I suddenly became aware that without NASA, there are still those in your neighbourhood that have established their own lunar mission to search for off the shelf medication.  Astronauts, I call them. Just one small step for man and we’ll leave it at that…

I hadn’t trained for days my leg stopped swelling on the Friday and the race was on Sunday. Creeping Back was nowhere in sight but I felt that Fur King Witme was still close by and likely to spring an attack as there was still some pain and a bruise on my calf. On Saturday night I decided I’d watch the movie limitless for inspiration then get nine hours rest for Tomorrows big run but I had emails. I would address them for an hour, watch the movie and then sleep.

Fur King saw a chance to attack me by changing form and seized it. He turned into frustrating, confusing and aggravating thoughts in my brain, conversations, issues and images from the day ran around in my head causing me to panic about not getting enough sleep and how selfish and self-centred people could be and how people can appear real and be so not, my own self confidence and every negative aspect of my life, sacrifices, old meaningless relationships became more than they deserved and anything that would keep this active mind from switching off.

At 5:30, defeated, I decided all I could do was a few stretches as the only aid for my failing hope of tomorrow’s victory. Fur King left knowing she had used the most unexpected subtle form of attack to stop my progress, my confidence, my direction and ultimately break my will. 6:00am, I’m finally nodding off knowing that the alarm will sound at exactly 6:30.


I dragged my tired butt to the race at Allianz Park Stadium and remarkably, fresh out of the blues, I receive a text from my dear friend Martin ‘Hey! I watched Limitless last night, brilliant’. What freaking excellent timing and inspiration, this is the timing of God, ya hear? These are the ones who, at that moment, are on the highest, highest  vibration, the messengers for those golden moments of divine love from the universe, as I told him about the movie weeks ago and he knew nothing about the race and NEVER, EVER, EVER, contacts me on a Sunday morning before 11:00, never. Even in its holiness I see it as a moment, the moment.

There were 6,000 people around me, I needed to 16th letter of the alphabet desperately. It was 9:20, the race started at 9:30, the wee line was 10 people to a porta loo. Is that the car park? Alrighty then. I ambitiously got back in the timing pen . After giving my phone and jacket to Tony, a Superfriend and ally, we were off. I pointed at Mo Farah with confidence. He looked back puzzled like ‘Is he from my endz?’ Of course I wasn’t, why I’m from ‘Best’ London but his strong acknowledgment was the energy I needed to forget I was running on e.

Vitatlity North London Half Marathon_4905

There were at least seven unexpected inclines on the course and the return path coming out of Wembley stadium felt like climbing a mountain but I continued. With no sign of Creeping Back, Fur King tried to enter my mind again with thoughts like ‘Ha it’s all uphill son ‘ and  ‘who didn’t sleep last night, remember when you collapsed at school games for less than that, woke up in hospital didn’t you’? My gait was soft and dreamy, as much as I had nothing left in me, I did not collapse and yes I finished. No, it wasn’t my best time but it was a win for me. Tony greeted me with my coat, some water and food as I crossed the line. Myself and Magdelana, an extremely fit athlete that I met at the 11th mile, congratulated each other and bid each other farewell until the next run in a few months.

The medal was worn on the train, in my bed and around the streets that week. Did you say why? Well after defeating Creeping Back and Fur King Witme, beating those two injuries and competing with just 30 minutes sleep…Yes, I may be wrong but I think that Angel Lewis is every bit  Supermanathon.

Could have, should have, didn’t.

Sometimes it’s the things we don’t say that can cause the most damage.

I rarely write on this type of issue but I feel compelled.

It was only a week ago when I thought to myself ‘I wonder what this woman’s story is’? She seemed a little perturbed at times but would often afford me a smile and a wave if a little far, that’s if I didn’t get there first. This had become a ritual that we both kept up every morning around the never ending race called ‘The school run’. She and I never failed to say ‘Good Morning’ to each other. Sometimes I wouldn’t know whether to wait when I saw her stride suspended by her toddler walking at snail pace while putting my key in my front door. She seemed pretty patient waiting with the baby in the cumbersome buggy while she stalled outside my doorstep for the little angel to catch up.

A slightly chubby woman with soft black silky hair always pulled back in a ponytail. There was a seriousness to her that caused me to wonder what had painted that expression into her soft, smooth, brown, face.  I did remember seeing her a few times with a tall slim Jamaican guy who, as friendly as I am, I did try to avoid. My reasoning told me, children’s Daddy but they were pretty banausic and self preserving.

For me survival is a learned behaviour, after living in Brooklyn for the formative part of your adult life you get to know how to ignore people who move a little faster than natural. This slim sporty looking character was that. He knew almost everybody in the neighbourhood within just a few months. I would spot him talking with… let’s just say locals with way too much time on their hands. I waived many opportunities to become an acquaintance through those unwanted six degrees but some underlaying instinct kept me in the same street but on a different, different road. He was always coming when I was going and I was partly the orchestrator of this.

After a few times seeing them together I figured that they were certainly an item.  At this point I believe it would have been safe for me to have said maybe more than ‘good morning,’ speaking from those thoughts a few months back because I feel it may not have warranted any negativity. She could have possibly answered ‘I’m okay just cant be around that man anymore’. To that I would have replied, ‘If it’s that bad stay somewhere else, a sister, your mother anywhere is better than arguing’. Or she could have said ‘Just so tired after watching the new season of CSI’. In which case my words could have been ‘You should try to watch some more inspirational stuff like some Deepak Chopra or something, that stuff stays in your head and when you get in an unfamiliar situation, you never know what’ll pop out”.  I could have said a number of things to which she may or may not have listened but we will never know because none of this ever happened. Why? Lots of reasons: I was in  a rush, It was cold outside, I was a bit scared, she was not that familiar.


On Friday evening…well no, on Saturday morning I was given a sheet of paper by a young man after he knocked on my door.  The familiarity with his dark outfit let me know it was of a typical probing nature. He was looking for information on whether anybody had been approached about any of the goings ons within the flat at the end of my road. Immediately I thought of them.

By Friday afternoon our good mornings would be exchanged no more for the mother of two, allegedly murdered her husband and the toddler that evening and left a cold mystery for the neighbours to try and unfold, backtracking trying to figure out why. Alcohol, drugs, self defence? No, nothing makes sense. Obviously she had snapped. This cold act created a historical tragedy equal to any other Hollywood drama, that will be told to the neighbours children’s children. One day it will be told to the surviving child by her foster parents. This event will be the reason why the place will be gutted and refurbished and even years later when its departed from everybody’s consciousness, there will be someone questioning whether they truly heard the remnants of the slain souls that left so unexpectedly.Daily Thompson house

I have seen tragedy and death before but for some reason I felt attached to this situation and, for the past few days have used a practice called Zero Limits for removing negative energy and bringing clean and clear energy. Still I ask, rather than a moments silence for the all around loss of a family, this woman who’s life is well and truly over, to look deep within your neighbour’s eyes when you greet them and let it not be all formality and routine. Dare to see through them, see if they are really okay, really. Say something uplifting to them because if one word a wordy person like myself could have said at that opportune moment could have changed this, it would have been worth switching the ego off for.

Please look after your minds and definitely talk with each other.

What happens when you say ‘Good Morning’ to 150 people?

Good Morning, Good Morning

You can be skipping in Hyde Park, inspired by, and feeling like, Floyd Mayweather. But within a few short minutes, the mind can switch in a wonderful way.

Doing just this, the handle of my rope broke. I asked the lady at the nearby food stand if she had a screwdriver and she handed me a substitute knife with an apology. As I looked at the screw head and the wannabe screwdriver an older lady asked me how many I had done. I felt her warmth and willingness to engage. I answered her humbly with a number lower than I really had. Okay, I lied and I have no idea why. She then said something witty, I smiled and carried on. I fixed the rope and continued but that short experience had me thinking about the beautiful nature of people, especially early in the morning.

In my book, Read This On The Train, I encourage the reader to stay open to whoever might be sitting opposite them on public transport, to stay engaged with each other as human beings, not as separate units, competing against each other like boxers.

This lady, after the excess of the winter festivities, brought that principle back to me. I was inspired by her to nurture my true self, as I had been inspired by Mayweather to nurture my physical self.

I finished skipping and walked home via Queensway but I decided to see what would happen if I simply acknowledged my fellow human beings, each and every one, by saying ‘good morning’ all the way home, 1.1 miles.

Good Morning

At first I could see that because people didn’t expect it, they decided it had never happened and continued like I wasn’t there, although I could see their heads slightly turning with curiosity as I became history to them.

To turn around would probably present too much risk and possibility for them to deal with, in their otherwise autopilot morning rush hour routine. After about 20 people, I realised that it didn’t matter whether they were present enough to face the Good Morning Dandy and the possibility of it becoming a hostage / gunpoint situation with helicopters, swat teams and me ‘downed’. No, it wasn’t relevant at all. What mattered was that they heard me and came to grips with their own fears; l was just the messenger of a recognition of human dignity, from one soul to another.

After that realisation, I relaxed and my voice became more audible, confident yet not intrusive, for I am a man of sensitivity, and never aggressive. After 150 ‘Good Morning’s, and yes this is accurate, not like the white lie told to the kind lady in Hyde Park, I learned about the ego, stuff like: people feel more comfortable when they are not alone, so I received grateful replies from couples and, as I relaxed further, also from lone commuters, and I saw that this curious behaviour of saying ‘Good Morning’ to fellow earthlings has become alien to most people in the city. 

Those 150 people whose day might have been changed by my foreign language can thank the warm hearted lady in Hyde Park on that chilly morning, and they can thank this Floyd for bringing some May weather to the English January. 

Angel Lewis with Tom Charles



Breaking down our self-imposed barriers is the subject of my book Read This On The Train, buy it here, now. It’s not as cheap as a ‘Good Morning’, but it’s still a bargain.

‘Paris Shooting at least twelve dead’ It said.

The heading of this article is basically the same message on most of the national newspapers. But rather than reacting as a prop in another man’s property of the mind, lets just think a bit.
What happened to irony? Here we are ready to say who was wrong, who was right and judge what the world is becoming without first thinking about the interrelationship between two things. I see extremes, but I also see that we are so desperate to fit in that we are willing to compromise our own honest thoughts just to parrot the majority.
What would your headline read? Today the ego weighs in slightly heavier than the total mind. Subconsciously one would, by the media’s moral metre, think that this tragedy is part of the sick Muslim mind that is responsible for our poor world but with some old school impervious thought a different scene is drawn from the conscious mind. Yes, to take the life of a thing, be it animal, plant or other, is never just unless used for direct sustenance. By that I mean you’d better have been hungry and ate every limb.
I’m remembering the law of necessity where, in some cases, a man can be excused for even devouring another man if he is stranded, facing starvation and the man is clearly poorly to the point of deterioration. But to kill out of vengeance, greed, personal gain or to make a headline is…well I wont be ignorant enough to call it wrong but…inappropriate, destructive and mostly karmic.
In today’s world there are two types of people: the numb extremist and the sensitive pacifist (a french word). The numb extremist has an idea about a thing and is so sure that it has the same meaning and benefit for everybody that they must, by any means, force the world to recognise and agree. The sensitive pacifist may have a belief but they may feel it to be a personal one, all they know is it works for them and they will not force the issue because in the forefront of their mind is convenience for all.
With that said, let us now examine the result and cause. Apparently you may agree that there are a majority of religious people who took upon themselves a belief that the champion of their faith and prophet should not be depicted in images. They freely chose to abide by this and are happy with the reasons that they have been given.  Right, wrong? Doesn’t matter at this point. However, among these are a minority who believe that if any such beliefs that they have are mocked or contradicted they should resort to violence to protect it. 
You also have a majority of religious and non-religious people who, contrarily, do believe that people of high esteem should be honoured and displayed and they have chosen, in their personal capacity, to depict who and whatever they wish in whatever manner.  Not a problem with that. Among those are a minority of people who believe that freedom of speech is essential to the direction they see the world going and feel, regardless of what anybody else feels and who may be offended, they will not only display their channel of consecration but also add a comedic element to it. IN this  exaple know that extremism happens when people go to extended lengths to force what they feel they know to be right without a care or thought of the consequences. It’s absolute selfishness but it is not the spawn of religion alone. It’s when the power of influence can be unleashed by an organised body with an agenda that it becomes problematic.
With power, that monster comes to the surface. We may know not why people go to such extremes to get a message out whether by guns or words and we may worry about the mind of the creator of such chaos but one thing we do know is that extremes can hide in the most unsuspecting places, even more so when you have the power to tell the story. I believe that democracy, as a word from the lips, departed from the purity of the mind long ago and has now joined the ranks of other world issues and extremism. One day when people have less fear and more love of self to say what is true, regardless of steak, they will kindly ask democracy to remove his hat and not be at all surprised to see yet another religion.
So before you read the next headline as they become more extreme and targeted, know that there are people who will stop at nothing to get their point across, changing our course and nature and then there’s us, those who say ‘do as you wish just leave us out of it.’  
By Angel Lewis
RIP ALL casualties of this pointless unnecessary war of beliefs.