Another fine day, what a country, what a climate, I know, I know, but we really don't have to take into consideration, March, April, May, June, July or August. After all if that babbling brook of bullshit, the mainstream media, can leave out great big junks of necessary information, why can't I?
The photo below, raised the question in my head, "why did I grow up with six of us, in a room and kitchen in Garngad, one of Glasgow's many stinking slums, with no hot water, and a shared outside toilet, while others lived in houses like the one in the photo, surrounded with trees?" Was it because my father didn't work hard enough? Well it certainly wasn't that. My father was a coal miner all his life, with all the obligatory injuries that go with the job. The only time he wasn't at work was during the miners strike after the first world war. During those lean years he would turn up at the boxing booths on Glasgow Green to go three rounds with their man, to earn bit extra cash to feed his family. He eventually retired with a strained heart and pneumoniconiosis. So what was it that made our houses so different? The answer is simple, I was born into a capitalist system of exploitation as one of the exploited and not one of the exploiters.
The life of one single family can explain itself much of the history of exploitation. My respects to your father.
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