Janine delivers some verse alongside many others in Steel City.
This is the sound recording of my talk about Autistic Workers, Trade Unions and Solidarity at the AutSpeak event on Thursday 12 January in London. The overall theme of the event was Building an Autistic Community. It was well-attended, and after the four panellists had finished speaking, a lively question-and-answer session took place.
At the National Education Centre, Doncaster.
If you are an RMT workplace representative and would like to attend this course, please contact your branch secretary.
Janine performs alongside poets Rosy Carrick and Susan Evans, raising money and spirits for Brighton and Hove Momentum.
Cafe Plenty, Circus Parade, Brighton
Free entry - bucket collection
The true story of how Leonard Cohen learned his guitar style ...
Leonard walked in Murray Hill Park
And heard a young man play
Circled by listeners and courting them
In some mysterious way
With black hair and acoustic guitar
By the tennis courts stood he
Picking out a lonely-sounding
I proper hate those Tube strikers
they've well messed up my day
I'm late for tea at City Hall
I walked most of the way
And then found out the CEO
had nicked my parking bay
On every other day I don't
give them a second thought
They work to run the railway safely?
Nothing of the sort!
I know they're lazy bastards 'cos
I saw the news report
Today, little hearts have been appearing on Facebook walls. No message, no explanation, just a heart. Apparently this will help the fight against breast cancer. Huh?
Some undoubtedly well-meaning friends messaged me (and probably all their other friends) asking me to post said heart. Instead, I posted this:
A 20-minute PowerPoint presentation discussing whether Marxism can help us to understand autistic experience in modern capitalism, and how it might inform our struggles for liberation.
In my 20s, I would have spent most of New Year's Day in bed because I didn't go to bed until the Day was well under way. A little later, a hangover might have kept me in bed all day. Then with the advent of kids, no days could be spent in bed, least of all New Year's. Now I'm 50, New Year's Day has been spent largely in bed dealing with cancer treatment side effects.
Poetry paints life, cancer takes it
Poetry means it, cancer fakes it
Cancer can not write, create,
Feel or think, illuminate,
Wipe your brow, commiserate
You're fucking rubbish, you are, cancer
Not a writer, player, dancer
Bring nothing useful to the table
Can't tell a joke 'cos you're not able