Picture of a judge's wigThe Judge RANTS!Picture of a judge's wig

Date: 03/01/11

"I Thought It Mattered..."

When, sometime in the early part of this year, the real fightback against this unelected cabal of millionaires and other financiers' catamites begins and:

then might those of us who are too old or too fragile for violent confrontation, but who know all the same that not only is another way possible, but that it is essential, come together one day, standing ten or twelve deep and with arms linked, encircle that fake Gothic sump of late-feudal corruption and arrogance called The Houses Of Parliament, and - at the stroke of noon - chant in unison:

"This band behind me'll tell you that that trophy means more to me than owt else in the whole world. But they'd be wrong! Truth is, I thought it mattered. I thought that music mattered. But does it bollocks. Not compared to how people matter. Us winning this trophy won't mean bugger all to most people. But us refusing it - like what we're going to do now - well, then it becomes news, doesn't it?

"You see what I mean? That way, I'll not just be talking to myself, will I? Because over the last ten years, this bloody government has systematically destroyed an entire industry. Our industry. And not just our industry - our communities, our homes, our lives. All in the name of 'progress'. And for a few lousy bob. I'll tell you something else you might not know, as well. A fortnight ago, this band's pit were closed - another thousand men lost their jobs. And that's not all they lost. Most of them lost the will to win a while ago. A few of them even lost the will to fight. But when it comes to losing the will to live, to breathe, the point is - if this lot were seals or whales, you'd all be up in bloody arms. But they're not, are they, no, no they're not. They're just ordinary common-or-garden honest, decent human beings. And not one of them with an ounce of bloody hope left. Oh aye, they can knock out a bloody good tune. But what the fuck does that matter?

"And now I'm going to take my boys out onto the town. Thank you."

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(From the film Brassed Off (1996). Script by Mark Herman)

Peter William Postlethwaite
b. 7 February 1946, d. 2 January 2011