Q and A with: Catherine Gray, Chair of the Refurbishment Project Board and Kensal House Resident (CG) Helena Thompson, Artistic Director for SPID at Kensal House (HT)
SPID(Social Political Innovative Direct) is a youth theatre company that has been based in the Grade II* listed community rooms of Kensal House council estate on North Kensington’s Ladbroke Grove since 2005. The charity works nationally as well as locally, championing social housing with free drama that celebrates estates’ architecture and history. After years of fundraising, SPID was awarded £2.4m of public money from backers like the Mayor and Lottery – to restore their own neglected building and bring it up to modern safety standards. Some Kensal House residents opposed the refurbishment and SPID’s landlord, Kensington and Chelsea council (RBKC)appeared set to block the renovation. But at the last minute, following a campaign, they reconsidered. Just ahead of lockdown, residents, council, SPID, and the funders all came together to try and save the investment. What’s happening now?
What’s going on with SPID at Kensal House? HT: SPID is trying to refurbish the community rooms, where we’ve been based since 2005. They’re depressingly run down and we want to restore and celebrate them. We always fought for investment in social housing and it’s long been our dream to save the heritage of this beautiful 1930s building.
CG: Residents share this dream. Kensal House was designed in 1936 by architect Maxwell Fry and social reformer Elizabeth Denby and the community rooms were a big part of their vision. Over the years they’ve been flooded and run down so much that they’ve fallen into disrepair. We hope SPID can restore them to their former glory.
What about that controversial extension? HT: SPID proposed building a modest workshop space in a small corner of the garden. Landlord’s consent for this was denied by RBKC, so we’ve dropped it. We’re going to deliver the additional free activities we’d planned in some other way.
CG: Some residents objected to the extension, though others like me were in favour. What matters is the big picture and the fact that SPID has worked extraordinarily hard to find a way forward. If we can bring the space up to standard for the whole community to use then we all stand to gain.
How have the refurbishment plans changed? HT: We’ve proposed a lift and a new bin room entrance. This is in addition to the restoration works and disabled access corridor originally planned. Though the community rooms were once used primarily by residents, they now serve a wider community. We want to improve access in a way that protects residents’ privacy.
CG: These new plans are so inspiring. The sloping corridor will mean those in wheelchairs can use the same sloping corridor as everyone else. Disabled people will have access to a lift via the same entrance without having to go through the car park or round the back of Kensal House. Rerouting the bins away from SPID’s entrance and from flats will be more hygienic and will improve security by keeping their gate to the car park closed. It’s all about inclusivity, security and aesthetics.
Who’s going to pay for all this? HT: After 15 years of advocacy and fundraising, SPID has secured £2.4m from folks like the Lottery and the Mayor’s Fund. We are asking them to approve the changes to the plans and stay with us. The case we’re making is that this has always been an unprecedented project and that compromising will add value by ensuring all stakeholders benefit.
CG: Residents wholeheartedly support SPID’s efforts to keep the investment. We’re impressed by the flexibility and diligence with which they’ve reworked their vision. I never realised before just how much work goes into planning a refurbishment. It’s not just the architects and residents and the people paying for it whose views matter, it’s structural engineers and heritage specialists, and quantity surveyors too. To get everyone on board is a huge challenge and a massive achievement.
When will the refurbishment start? HT: We’ve requested extensions to finalise our plans. Since the pandemic, funders have shown more flexibility. There are strings attached to the funding in light of financial year deadlines. We will need to start come February.
CG: I’m so excited for the refurbishment. This opportunity means such a lot to Kensal. It will finally show how valuable the building is both socially and historically. Positive change like this is something we all need to see.
Anna Parfirenko is the owner of Leafwild, a fresh, healthy and aesthetically pleasing café on Ladbroke Grove. I met Anna at the peak of the Tuesday morning rush, when the café is filled with multi-lingual chatter, and over coffee she told me of how it all began and her plans for the future…
What does Leafwild do?
‘Leafwild is a concept: an organic, gluten-free, vegetarian café, all about clean eating with no refined sugar. We have a holistic approach based on mindfulness and openness: we are for healthy eating and healthy drinking. And we are for animals. I wanted it to be vegan but that proved too difficult, so we’re in-between the vegi and vegan crowds. We have had to start serving fish and chicken to keep business coming in and we also sell eggs. We care a lot about the coffee. We use a local London company, Beanberry, to supply our organic coffee.Continue reading →
It’s theage of uncertainty, overuse of the word ‘terrorism’ and common sense gone digital. If what the astronomers tell us is true, we’ve moved light years away from the cosmic location we were at just four years ago and you can kinda tell. Yet, Mario’s key cutters, Poundland and Tesco’s all seem to have remained in the same location as I look through the eyes of a child.
The said amount of time has passed since we shared, right here on Urban Dandy, how the natural falling of a tree on our block inspired the locals to spill out onto the streets and finally make themselves known.
I don’t know if it’s time, frustration or just karma for me, but it seems that the neighbourly thing is at an all time low. The same eleven-year-olds that used to humbly greet me on my way out the door are now fifteen and just about neighbourly enough to replace those kind words with a nod and an ice grill and if I’m really lucky it may also be the waft of urban incense of the green variety. I can’t tell you how many times my doorstep has been littered with rolling papers, Subway sandwich wrappers, rappers and pitiful young girls, a few months into puberty and possibly a couple of years from single motherhood. They would exchange a type of loud poetry of the sailor type among themselves and upon any young ears that are unfortunate enough to be near their fruitless performance.
I remember the gradual build up to this and the times when my suspicions of drug activity were vague and unsubstantiated, but I never expected to be welcomed home with an offer to buy drugs on my own doorstep.
Yep, it’s certainly a different time and place in space and you’d easily be forgiven if you don’t remember the tree that considerately descended on the very same block, even though, at the time, it was the most activity we had seen and the main focus of conversation for months. Now two years on, teams of mopeds turn the streets into Silverstone as they wheelie up the track block dropping off their illegal supplies under the diffident noses of the police, the housing association, the moon and even the mid-day sun, for that matter.
Rumours spread of the neighbours’ children having knife tussles in the street and of warning shots being fired in a place that celebrities could never imagine while they strut with all their pretense, trying to ignore the echoes of their own name. It’s hard to believe that one area could support such opposing lifestyles but Notting Hill is such a place.
The local news is sometimes national news, depending. It could be about the actress Eve strolling through her new manor, a sixteen-year-old laying in a pool of blood, Rita Ora doing a photo shoot, or a mob of eleven police restraining a wannabe thug child. Considering the later; this not yet man will no doubt only use this encounter as a badge to show the peer group that he has achieved a Netflix version of manhood. Meanwhile, the Beckhams will do the school drop off oblivious to this. But all of this in one stretch of concrete.
These are not incidents but everyday life. It’s like a kind of trash bag made of diamonds. It’s odd knowing that Princes William and Harry went to the school up the street and just feet away from that ambitious parent attending a school viewing, hoping to give their child the same Prince Harry experience they may experience the polar opposite. It’s also a Big Issue magnet, a haven for the more ambitious of the homeless. I know this because it took me two years and some strong language to be rid of one such aggressive Big Issue seller and to have him accept that I was a regular guy. He eventually dissolved our tacit contract and moved on to more supportive folk to maintain his structure.
Home and Away
Elsewhere in the world there are at least a few miles between these opposing classes. I find the choice to park your car in the centre of a spot, that could hold two vehicles, snooty and sub-civilised; but no less churlish than maneuvering a 60 lb leather sofa into a parking space in front of your own home, but who cares? Damn right it’s an environmental crime but not to be declared in Orwellian style with the hope of profit but just to dispense a call for the raising of one’s personal standards, empathy and maybe a little shame. Yeah, the mice come out knowing that the neighbourhood ugly gives them hope that there will be a serving for at least four when they carelessly drop pizza and other food items on their own doorstep, but who gives a..?
The bigger picture
Truth is, beneath all of this is a fight between two demogra-folks, both too smart to actually realise they’re in a war over a silly name. I’m not sure who named Ladbroke Grove Notting Hill but the two gangs have both been co-living on the same turf for some time now. As Notting Hill gets written into the history books, Ladbroke Grove makes its own history reminding us of the area’s past like an immortal storyteller. Immortal because, much to the disappointment of some locals, it just won’t go away. This neverending story is what opened the doors to make it Notting Hill (Ladbroke Grove or whatever you choose to call it), Marvin Gaye, The Sex Pistols, Malcolm X, Muhammed Ali, The Rolling Stones and all.
Rough Trade Records started out in Ladbroke Grove and without moving an inch has become Notting Hill’s musical pride and, somewhat organic, record shop. Yet who remembers when they sold NY W.B.L.S. radio mix-tapes and when people sprayed the bricks with Sham 69? How about, graffiti artist Futura 2000 knocking around with the Clash or Queen Latifa searching the crates for her little-known single?
Synonymously the neighbouring food equivalent would be The Grain Shop that still lives opposite Tavistock Square on Portobello Road, Notting Hill, or is it Portobello Road, Ladbroke Grove? Even regular healthy food got caught in this name politics and was changed to organic without its consent. Even though The Grain Shop still services the area for their food needs, the name of the food they offer, although it’s mostly organic, refuses to boast, because unlike most other things their attitudes have not changed. But you would have to remember Ladbroke Grove to know that. To know that the owners care more about the nutrition that they provide for their community than giving it a fancy name.
Then there’s The Tabernacle: it still sits in Powis Square but seems to be wanting to slide up the hill rather than down the grove. Thankfully, it is regulated by culture. Every time a hundred pound designer Champagne creeps onto the drinks menu a Jerk Chicken wrestles it down to the ground, sometimes it’s a saltfish fritter fighting with a Greek Salad or even an unexpected Chicken Saint Lucia being drowned by the soup of the day.
Yep, most of us are just casualties of a war of status and as soon as Notting Hill recognises that it’s Ladbroke Grove is the moment that Ladbroke Grove will see that it is Notting Hill. Gentrification will then become an organic process with the participation of locals. The area’s potential will then be clear and we can concentrate on bigger things like what the fuxit our exit from the EU actually means and how we need each other more than ever, NOW.
Whether it’s your micro neighbour or your macro neighbour we need constructive communication and not snobbery. Coming to accept that there is not, and has never been, a middle class may be a little hard to swallow for some but for God’s sake get over it quick because at this time if you’re not excelling to new financial altitudes whereby work is but a choice, then your choice of neighbours is not a choice at all. It’s Russian roulette, only now there are three slugs in the chamber of the proverbial gun to your head. It’s easier, far easier for somebody to complain about their co-inhabitants rather than to seek resolve with each other. Whether you dropped down from Knightsbridge with high expectations or you have never left the area and cannot quite grasp the gentrific change, it’s time to talk; otherwise, the government (or foreign corporate interests to be precise) will be only too happy to play your friendly mediator.
If you’re like me and have lived in any of the other communities that are globally accepted as parallels, you’ll know that there is not another area on earth like this one. New York, Paris, and Los Angeles all boast of multiculturalism but even as diverse as they are, the local cultures have enough distance between them to never meet.
Not so with us, just look at the size of our streets, somebody sneezes, you feel it across the road. We live in a very claustrophobic space of scraping buses and folding wing mirrors but with that comes the unique advantage of having to interact and survive within each other’s world, yet without each other in this little village. It makes sense for us to finally define it ourselves with the help of those who bring their foreign experiences if they are only willing to introduce themselves and share rather than seize real land, by any other corporate term.
I believe that on this third rock, in this western hemisphere, in this Royal Borough, while the world divides itself in the hope of the government submitting a plan for re-uniting it we have the potential to become a beacon to the world but we have to stop the selfishness and start participating, preserving, embracing and becoming curious about our homies, and each other’s welfare not farewell.
Dedicated to: *The Krew: Shaban, Drew, Kevin Wez, Nicky and Jeff (RIP). Song: The Escapades of Futura 2000 – Futura 2000 and The Clash
Due to the untimely departure of a humble legend and pioneer of the London pirate radio scene, I feel it necessary to repost this last interview with Lepke. Lepke was the inspiration behind a wider acceptance of the pirate radio scene across London and even Europe. His DBC Radio inspired many ‘legal’ radio stations today.
This may well have been his last interview, conducted in Summer 2017.
R.I.P. Dear friend
As a child growing up in the Ladbroke Grove area (Notting Hill), one of my earliest memories of the music scene, besides my father’s need to glorify the bass of the Mighty Diamonds every Sunday morning, was DBC radio.
Being influenced as a child by their presence on Portobello Road every Saturday morning, I have to attribute a large part of my ongoing love for music to those earlier experiences. It was only natural that Urban Dandy should eventually catch up with the man who pioneered such an influential station…
The architect of the revolutionary radio show, posse and collective: After sitting in The Tabernacle for a short while, Lepke arrived ready to lay down the station’s rich history. Unfortunately for me, time wasn’t on our side. Lepke told me he had about half an hour so, I got my Magnus Magnusson on. So, Lepke, you have 30 minutes on the story of DBC Radio starting …now.
UDL- What does DBC stand for?
Lepke- DBC stands for Dread Broadcasting Corporation. It’s a pun on the BBC. It was a friend of mine called William who came up with it but it was originally called Rebel Radio.
UDL- Okay, and when did DBC start, who’s idea was it?
Lepke- I started it on my own then my sister and a few of my close friends came on board. I was on my own for six or seven months then a friend called Douglas, aka DJ Chucky, came on for a few months, then a third DJ called Lloyd Rainford, or Doctor Watts, came in. He knew how to build amplifiers and he set up the system. Then we kept adding people and varying the music, it was reggae at the start then went to Soca and then Jazz, original music really and of course then Hip Hop and Funk.
You couldn’t get that music on the radio, you might hear a bit, maybe a little on Radio One but no Soca and hardly any Jazz. Hip Hop was breaking through at the time. The first Hip Hop show was with The Rapologists: Early Daze and Flakey C, then Neneh Cherry came in.
UDL- I read online that DBC was the first black pirate radio show.
Lepke- It was the first black radio station owned by black people in Europe. As far as I know, there was no other black-owned, black music radio station in Europe. There were stations playing black music but not owned by black people.
UDL- Did you guys have a presence at Carnival as well?
Lepke- Yes. I went to the first carnival as a kid. Later on, I had a spot by Ronnie Biggs (on Portobello Road) in the 70s, then later I got a spot outside Honest Johns record shop, he handed me the keys. Then we had a spot by the print shop opposite Honest Johns. As far as we know that was also the first live broadcast in the carnival. That was when Wilf Walker used to run the carnival. Any time major artists would come through like Bunny Wailer, the Mighty Diamonds, Burning Spear…he’d put us on the show so we got well promoted. The flyer would say DBC on it, through that he’d give us control of the stages.
In scrubs one time they had a super tent run by Alex Pascall, Melody Makers was there and Freddie Mcgregor and with me being me, I decided to put it on MW (medium wave), we were still on FM but I hooked it up so that the prisoners at scrubs could tune in too. They couldn’t really hear it from where they were.
I used to try to link the stages up too. There was the Meanwhile Gardens stage, the tent on Portobello Green, The Tabernacle stage and the Super-Tent at Scrubs. We were broadcasting from the Super-Tent so we had links to all of the stages. I controlled it from the print shop location on Portobello Road. I’ve still got most of the tapes from 1980 to 1984, I’ve got lots of the tapes. Some have made it onto the internet too. People recorded it so it went abroad.
UDL- There is a mention of DBC on the New York Zulu Beats Show with Afrika Islam, was there a connection there?
Lepke- I wasn’t aware but the person who was responsible for that was probably Jollie Mcfee. He used to make badges for all the punk groups and he was also on Portobello Road. I used to go see him and one time I saw all these wires under his desk and asked what it was. He told me it was a transmitter but it wasn’t working. I asked him what he wanted for it. So I bought it and he gave me the contact who could fix it. He came to my yard, fixed it and showed me how to rig it up, he used to play Rocker Billy music and he later became a Dj on the show. They used to call them anoraks because they used to always wear anoraks. They would wear anoraks while messing around rigging up in the bushes. In the fields, everyone wore them to shield them from the wind and rain so I also became the first black anorak.
UDL- How long did you guys reign and when did it end?
Lepke- It ended in ’84 but people think it ended because of a raid, There was a raid but it wasn’t because of that. We joined a group called the Free The Airways Campaign. In between that we still used to play Glastonbury. We were also the first Reggae sound to play an all-night Shabeen at Glastonbury and also to broadcast from Glastonbury. So the owner would give us the main stage so we were also the first to do the main stage. We played it with Aswad.
UDL- (I’ve started so I’ll finish). It seems like the area has so many firsts, there’s a strong original energy there.
Lepke- The ley lines.
UDL- Yeah I’ve heard that before.
Lepke- But the reason we stopped was the government told us if we came off the air by a certain date (they gave us a date) then we could apply for a license, most did and it was bullshit. They took my Sister on board. First, she did a guest appearance on radio 1 and then John Peel put in a word to his heads to do this. It turned out I was his favourite DJ. I think it was on his 50th birthday they did this surprise for him. They put the decks up, brought him in and I jumped up from behind the set and started playing some reggae roots. He was happy.
DBC came in two parts. After the station closed I started JBC. One of the last DJs I brought on, Stanley Burns, also known as The Challenger, asked me why I didn’t continue. I told him that I couldn’t do it in that same name then he told me he had premises so we hooked up and started JBC. I’ve done a lot of others too, I did Grove FM, Globe FM, it had a small transmitter but it went out local. We set up one in St.Lucia too. They named the station Enola because that’s the true name of St. Lucia, after a while, the government gave them a break and they’re still on today. It was such a good transmitter I think they’re still using the same one.
Time’s up. (Stepping out of Mastermind mode)
Well there you have it, as short as our talk was, If anyone can break down the history of DBC radio and the host of other artists that could attribute part of their success to this early music revolution, it’s Lepke.
As you can now see, whether it’s ley lines or just living in the best area on the planet, the Grove is never short of firsts to note. Nowadays we have internet radio, (Portobello Radio in particular) done with an air of safety and exposure in comparison to the days that posed the possibility of the dreaded police (Babylon) raid. We’re hopeful that at some future point we will resume this history lesson with Lepke, but in the meantime, you can catch the 80s vibe below.
Angel Lewis UDL
My condolences to the family of beloved Leroy Anderson, Rest In Peace
In the heart of the Urban Dandy is the fate and the conflict of the bohemian, to become preoccupied with the things he/she shuns – materialism and money. They must survive, after all. They mustn’t be a burden, they must contribute, they must identify and add to the chorus when injustice is uncovered.
Identifying with the downtrodden, the poor and the dandies, the human, those who won’t back down and those that capitulate under pressure. The Urban Dandy embraces the contrasts and colours that create a fully vibrant city-scape of peoples.
The eyes of the Urban Dandy look deep into the spectre of failure. The integrity of the work takes our energy, likes and hits, fame and fortune do not. It’s a slow-rise, an awakening, a connecting of voices: I hear you, you hear me…
The scope of the Urban Dandy is local and global. Big Ideas. Not anti-capitalist, or pro-socialist; not dogmatic, pro-truth. Art of word, authenticity, not glorifying poverty, glory in human beings, looking at context, our area. Not vacuous superficiality…Wholesome. You too, our ears, your thoughts. The truth you can say. Word is bond. Life in motion – Truth again.
The style of the Urban Dandy is irreverent, light, heavy…
The conversation of the Urban Dandy is theatre, art, food, spiritual practices, addiction, terrorism, refugees, interviews, spirited resistance, local businesses, local artists, local area, gentrification…
Urban Dandy is a safe refuge for words.
The Urban Dandy knows that today’s media adds as much pepper to a story as they can to gain a reaction, ultimately seeking readership. This is not us. We will go the long route and grow organically, rather than compromise our ethics. Words are important and the lips from which they departed deserve for those very words to be received exactly as they were intended.
If the Urban Dandy holds an opinion at all it will be clearly stated as our own and never merged with the words of a trusting interviewee/interlocutor. It’s possible to share an opinion but never a mouth.
The Truth of the Urban Dandy
My name is Truth
I have stood since times beginning
Outside the hearts of man
Waiting for the invitation
a few will let me in
I am searched for by the flawed, the weak, written about by the poor
For only in humility
Can I enter through your door
Yet I can free you from delusions, false hope and empty dreams
I’d like to think that our expression on UDL (I loved UDL) is often in the spirit of truth that compels the uttering of facts regardless of the consequences. As you may know, the job of a scribe is just that; Similar to a court reporter, to witness, record and express just what it ‘IS’ without alteration regardless of the influence of the surroundings. This is even at a time when most can’t and won’t see beyond their fear and contribute emotionally in the hope of thwarting the consequences of REALITY.
To do this work is a gift that the inner relief felt to be a reward worth every ounce of pain endured. At times though, I well wish I didn’t have what I call mild Tourette’s syndrome. It’s like a shield for the murderers of truth and their shortsighted ways. Some even liken the truth to a two-edged sword but often the casualties of its wrath invested in the injustice of their scheme while covering their eyes, acting as though that awful day would never arrive.
Because of its damaging effect on lies you can see why there are sayings like; ‘… you can’t handle the truth, the truth will set you free’ and ‘the truth is bitter to taste but sweet to swallow’.
The foundation of truth is firm and unbreakable, whereas lies are on shaky and temporary ground. Some scriptures use beautiful metaphors using other species, animals, and states of being even though the point is most often missed.
Take for instance the condition of a spider making a home out of its web. It is merely a matter of time until it is fractured or destroyed, having to start over, again and again. But more importantly, few consider the stresses that the spider lives to endure, not knowing if the next disrupting vibration is an attack, potential food or just simply the wind. This parallels the fear of a deceptive scheme being penetrated when living a lie.
It takes little imagination to know that a creature/spider can never really rest since, at any moment, there will be an unpredictable disturbance. It and its abode may be gone in an instant or carried to a new location just because somebody got their face in their business. The spider’s home is external and that is precisely the point; like the self-inflicted stresses that words, from outside of the true self, create on the traducer – always on edge expecting an attack at any moment. Words such as ‘rest assured’ do not exist in that un-reality. Such a weak foundation is without a centre or any true support, merely existing in a 3-dimensional delusion that holds as a temporary space-time moment, marking only a half relevant event in time similar to a tattoo.
If I were religious at all I would strongly suggest Tehuti of Kemet, more widely known as Hermes or Thoth of Egypt, to be UDL’s patron saint and every organisation for that matter. The god is known to record whether or not a feather will outweigh the heart of the object passing from life to death. This is in order for it to become a contributing part of the cosmic family from its organic state, onto the ethereal and back again.
Most living organisms adhere to such because, in innocence their language remains pure, straightforward and static. Yet humans…oh humans…some are most comfortable with performing word acrobatics, not for entertainment purposes but to twist the pure words and change the nature of actuality with verisimilitude.
If it’s not poetic it is a lie.
Yet truth is not a word for an over-active ego that would use the sanctity of the audible symbols or ‘ spell-ing’ to conquer and defend a point without care or concern for our shared cosmic justice. No, truth is for the wise and the mindful. One may see truth as more of a preservation of the soul or a stargate rather than a way to wax the ego, knowing that, beyond the exoteric eye, there is the unseen eye that becomes manifest as judge, not at the beginning of the issue but at the end or what we can call the transformation, just as it is portrayed in the Book of The Dead.
The idea of a subjective truth is more western dribble, a breeding ground for lies, transforming the heart to impedimenta sinking the Soul to a base 3-dimensional return, where the gift of words are no longer there to use, giving meaning to the statement ‘lost for words’. You can just imagine a gazelle observing two human mouths chattering away staring puzzled with a feeling of familiarity. He reminisces, having this cosmic déjá vu moment, before being gorged by a local predator that also speaks a foreign language where each sound means only one thing, death!
For the poor animal it would take multiple life cycles to understand the subtleties of our verbal communication which may well have been the preserver of its life, but we, having the privilege of this communication, this gift of sound, we choose to abuse it. Yet within all of this thankfully some do see a gift, the gift of a psychological bridge to reach all amongst the other animals. If the Jungle community could intellectualise with their peers, maybe they may see a reduced rate of mortality over time, for being able to verbalise and rationalise each creature’s basic needs, emotional direction and concerns in the most intricate detail. Yet here, this man with all of this ability and potential stands disconnected and abusive towards the beautiful gift of word communication and uses all this as a weapon for his egotistical needs.
I have to recognise that my deep love for music and poetry stems from experiencing this pure expression of truth, we are like poeticians, standing by what we have felt. In historical religious doctrine, you will find subtle allusions to the poets and artists of old. Clearly, we were despised for speaking the unadulterated language of the heavens; Metaphor. That’s the realm where there is no debate, it just is and it is known by it’s consistent, resounding results in all colours, platforms and dimensions.
Though this does contradict man’s philosophies, man’s opinions and their academic collections that are really nothing but recycled shrapnel from the purity of the dead poet’s message regurgitated. And so the poets were demonised and faced with a few choices–be silent, change the message, or die. So here we are some silent, some transformed and some dead.
Even at a time of desperation and gross, terrific, political turmoil, words of truth are still for sale. But the voice will return only when elevated thought can rise up to the top-floor beyond interruption from the selfish ego and it’s continuous pressing to join the party on the journey up, and so return to earth with unadulterated sound vibration.
Maybe there’s a Karmic link that justifies Maat’s weighing of the heart with Tehuti’s taking acount. Maybe (I say with full knowledge) the incarnate is received through the justice of its own past actions in respect of living truth. It could be that there is a pecking order based on this honesty and we lose what we have abused. Or maybe it’s all random and conflicting like earth beliefs and there is no cosmic pattern?
In respect of all that, here is an interesting and passionate challenge that happened last year. Richard Boyd Barrett a TD (Teachta Dála) for the Dún Laoghai Irish parliament has (what appears to me) an inward experience and incredibly releases about 60 years of history in just about 6 minutes of poetry, brandishing the truth and putting everything on the line.
I warn you, some may want to cover their ears and effectively continue the warping of the unrestrained heavenly chords but one way or another the impact of truth being aired, regardless of the consequences, lightens your load.
Urban Dandy would like to bring to your attention the loss of a beloved community member. Stand 52 is not really what you would have in mind when asking for a half a pound a grapes but if you are from the area you would have used stand 52 many times.
Tommy from stand 52 Portobello Market, for some is Portobello Market, having supplied us with fresh fruit and veg for years. I can say from experience that he was one of the faces that you got used to seeing every morning on the corner of Portobello Road and Blenheim Crescent, arranging that lovely coloured nutrition in delicious order offering to quench your thirst and satisfy your body’s need for vitamins and minerals.
It’s interesting that with all the supermarkets popping up here there and everywhere, the question of local loyalty is underlined. I must admit within my own experience there is some guilt as I have a very specialized diet for health reasons, but that said I do what I can where I can and would only hope that most like myself will be also sad to see the end of a Portobello market legend.
Here is a man that took only two weeks off work each year. This is a very rare form of dedication. As noble as this may be, sadly it took the dreaded cancer to force a year’s break from the market.
In a brief conversation with Maureen, Tommy’s wife, I learned that his dedication and commitment to us as customers went way beyond Portobello Market and into his own domestic environment as when the question of marriage occurred Tommy was reluctant to take time off on a Saturday, so we should all feel privileged standing in the way of their wedding vows.
Portobello Market is made up of some tremendous locals just like Tommy who really tend to smile through everything they face including the decrease in turnover based on their goliath super-chain competitors, yet they continue.
Even those who didn’t know you knew your presence, work and commitment. On behalf of the family, extended family and every other market trader we say Rest In Peace Tommy Kane.