davidjohntooth

World order changing, but will it work out to the advantage of the US

The world as we know it is changing mainly due to the quite extreme policies instigated by the Trump administration. He has forced various countries to reassess the way they fund security and trade. And has implemented tariffs on those who don’t reform. The blunt truth is that he is correct, as most of these countries have relied on America’s support for far too long. Venezuela has, for the time being, become one of its successes (I am quoting his administration). He has moved a large number of ships towards Iran, perhaps not as a threat of invasion but as a blockade, in an effort to strangle the supply of goods entering and leaving.

You couldn’t make it up, could you?

Strangely, he may have done the world a favour as they may all work together (well, most of them)

I am doing a Trump now and going off on a tangent because next week I am going to the film studio in Birmingham, UK, where some of the Peaky Blinders film was put together.

No. I won’t be going inside. Who would want an ugly eighty-three-year-old man, born in the Birmingham slums, with an authentic Birmingham accent and bent fingers, in a major film about Ugly men with Birmingham accents?

Wait a minute……………

Fifteen and into my second month as a Toolmaker

When you’re fifteen, you stay fifteen for what seems like forever. And most toolmakers stay in that profession for all their lives because it is all they know, and, like most professions, commitments make it difficult to leave.

It was my second month at the factory, and Bobby Moor, an apprentice two years older than me, but a lifetime ahead of me in his confidence and outlook on life, explained how to survive in this strange new world. ‘Don’t go anywhere near the women in the press shop above, go all the way round, and if they approach you, run. ‘

‘Why,’ I asked as a feeling of dread took hold of me.

He looked at me and grinned, ‘because if they can grab a new apprentice, they take his trousers down and put axle grease all over the part the trousers covered. And once they get you down, they don’t let go.’

My throat went dry. ‘Has it happened to you?’ I asked croakily.

‘Course not. I am too fast, but they have tried, and have you seen the muscles on their arms? It’s because they have to lift those heavy metal pressings.’ More like men, some of them. And I don’t think you would survive if it happened to you. Your much to skiny.

Boby Moor was one of the most intelligent people I have ever met, and very intense in the way he looked at life with eyes that almost glowed. I found out later that he was prone to having fits and, without warning, would drop to the floor and convulse. I soon learned to place a six-inch ruler between his teeth to stop him from biting his tongue. Looking back, that seems quite bizarre, and I am not sure that’s what you should do.

Fetch

He is unusual; it’s not often you see them with red hair, and he seems very loving towards you. My wife has wanted one of them for a long time, but I was always concerned about the mess they might make.

We never had a problem with that. There is a company that trains them before they go to a home. In fact, he sleeps in the bedroom at the side of our bed, and it is a great feeling to take him for a walk as we are doing today in such a beautiful part of the country. And he understands nearly everything I say to him. Watch the way he catches the ball when I throw it.

Fetch

That is amazing. He must have covered two hundred yards, then caught it before it hit the ground.

It is amazing, but as you know, I am a historian, and there are rumors that millions of years ago they were once intelligent, then around the same time we evolved as alternative intelligents, they regressed to what they are now. But I doubt that is true, given how limited human intelligence is now.

Fetch

Donald Trump the fastest gun in the west

Bear with me with this post as I move from fictional heroes to real ones that may not be heroes.

From when I was small, I was always fascinated by the lives of American cowboys, but specifically ones who were gunfighters. Alan Lad, Jean Audry, Roy Rogers, and when I played cowboys and indians from the age of eight, I became one of them, firing my cap gun at whoever got in my way. Even now, at the age of eighty-three, I still have that same interest as I watch YouTube clips of films such as the Fastest Gun Alive, The Bullet With No Name On It, the latter starring Audie Murphy, a real-life hero who was at that time the most decorated American soldier.

I think that this history of becoming a hero and being the best at whatever you attempt in life has made America what it is today, where many of its people try to achieve their dreams, and many succeed.

I think emotionally DJT sees himself as the fastest gun in the west and feels that everyone else is afraid of him, but eventially, someone will come along who is even faster and even if that dosent happen the one great leveler in life is that we all get old, the gun gets heavier, the distance between the hand and the holster seems further away.

So will he attempt to take over Greenland, and will he force the UK to back down in the deal with the Chacos Archipelagos, where there are both UK and US bases? Depends, which side of the bed he gets out of.

So to reality. As I have mentioned earlier, DJT is trying to juggle an awful lot of balls, and it’s inevitable that eventually, he will lose concentration and some will fall to the floor. And at his age, the floor is a long way away. But perhaps he is doing Europe a favour. By bringing them all together. Throw the dice.

The Ballad Of DJT

I am DJT, the fastest gun in the west, simply the best. Better than all the rest. Better than anyone. Anyone I’ve ever met. So many notches on my gun, would have been more, but most of them run. People treat me like I am a king, the biggest bell, a dingaling ding. I have met many great people, but none can compare to my elegant prose and piercing stare. I must be the greatest gunfighter who ever lived, a legend in my own lifetime, the first name in a quiz. Hands so fast, the gun is a blur, most give up and say it just ain’t fair. So next time you see me at a bar getting a drink, and the don’t disturb sign is held by one of my many friends. Count the notches on my gun and don’t speak to me unless I nod in your direction, unless of course you believe in resurrection.

What it was really like to work in a factory in the fifties as a toolmaker.

I had never seen the inside of a factory apart from when I stood outside the one where Dad worked, while Mom went inside to collect his wages for the few days that he had managed to work the week before. I was about six years old and immediately took a dislike to factories.

Dad worked intermittently; years of standing in front of a grinding machine to remove the rough edges from sand castings had permanently damaged his lungs. The doors of the factory were wide open, but I struggled to see inside as it was pitch black apart from rows and rows of what I thought were Catherine wheels that briefly lit up the darkness. As my eyes became accustomed to the gloom, I realized behind each wheel was a face. Dad told me later that these were grinding wheels, and the lights were sparks as they spun around, removing the excess metal from the castings.

It was 1957, I was fifteen years old and just finished my education at Hunters Hill Open Air School. My sister got me a job in a local factory as a toolmaker. I wasn’t very happy about it, but Dad said a Toolmaker was almost like a God. They were people who created things. So he was right, they were the same as God, I thought, because he had created the Earth in seven days. Back then, I wasn’t that ambitious.

The reality was a shock. On my first day, I was taken into a workshop full of strange-looking machines. Some of the older ones were driven by wide leather belts that spun around a long metal shaft, the same type that drove the spinning machines in the cotton mills centuries before. There were no guards on any of them. Every so often, there were clicks as the brass couplings holding the two halves of the belt together passed over the drive roller. Alf the forman, who was showing me around, said in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘Don’t go anywhere near them, because if they break, they will cut your bloody head off’. While I am not very keen on my head now, I quite liked it back then.

The second week I was there, Alf asked me to take some drawings up to the offices two floors up and explained how to get there. I went through two sets of doors and entered a long, dark passage. It was very narrow, and when I was halfway, a dim figure emerged from the gloom. It was a young girl, she stopped walking and put her back to the wall and said, ‘queeze past,’ but there was not enough room. I put my back to the wall and pressed as hard as I could, then shuffled sideways. It was only when I got level with her that I realized it was inevitable that my chest would touch hers.

She put her right arm out and placed it against the wall opposite, stopping me from going any further, then she did the same with her left arm. I was trapped. She smiled and said confidently, ‘You must be new here. tell me all about yourself.’ Her chest was right in front of me and seemed to have expanded substantially in size, pushing my back even further into the brick wall. I realized I wasn’t God after all, just an apprentice toolmaker.

The American President and the domino effect

It is usually called cause and effect, but has DJT opened Pandora’s box by removing the leader of Venezuela from his own country and taking him to the United States? And why did he do this? Well, it depends on which version of events you believe. Maduro has always denied that he was involved in drug smuggling and that the previous government election was rigged in his favour. DJT has quite the opposite view. But I wonder if Donald Trump has considered what might happen next. The new leader of Venezuela, Dolcey Rodriguez, appears to have the same ideology as Maduro, so will America make a second strike, because this time it might be more difficult? Of course, the real reason DJT has taken this course of action is because of the amount of oil reserves in Venezuela and because it is thick oil.

Secondly, several countries, such as Russia, Iran, and Cuba, use this oil, which is delivered by so-called ghost ships, to keep their economy running. Russia, to a lesser degree, as India tops up their reserves.

Now we move on to Greenland, the next country the President is looking to add to America for security reasons. It’s just a coincidence that it is rich in rare minerals. Let me think; wasn’t it a similar deal he did with Ukraine, a country that didn’t have all the cards?

So, to the domino effect, how could DJT complain if China invaded Taiwan for security reasons, and computer chips? And Putin moved into Poland and Denmark.

The one thing that lets me still sleep soundly at night is knowing that the UK has very few natural resources, mainly because the ex-prince Andrew Mountbatton has used them all.

New range of inovative fasteners and nuts.

Why choose fasteners as a business

It should be love, but the reality is that it’s nuts and bolts that hold the world together, and without them, the world would fall apart.

Simple ones can be made cheaply, and most are made in countries with lower labour costs, then brought into richer countries and sold at higher prices.

Start-ups are relatively easy in the fastening trade; initially, all you need is a small storage facility and a good website. The drawback is that there are a large number of companies selling the same products, producing a very competitive market.

But designing new innovative products means that prices can be set higher. It is possible to ask for immediate payment. and not be competing with other companies.

Using this philosophy, I have designed three new types of high-security nuts and fasteners.

The Smart-Thread

High security Smart-Thread

Try-Ring

Try-Fast, an existing system, I have re-designed

High-security fasteners and nuts are used to prevent valuable items from being stolen; however, I have also endeavored to make my products aesthetically pleasing in both design and appearance.

The Bug-Eyed fastener in the picture is an initial prototype of a high-security fastener.

If you live in the UK, you may remember successive governments stating that they will drive forward innovative products. Don’t believe them. Engineering has shrunk year on year to the point that it barely exists. If you’re out of work, you will know how few jobs are available.

I have attempted to have samples made for my products over the past fifteen months using the Business Innovation scheme and am still waiting. If I took my products abroad, they would be in production now, although I doubt I would ever get any money for them.

Design rights and patents, DJT Precision.

The christmas present you want to send back

Thanks, Putin, but we really don’t want the nuclear missiles you have promised to send to us, even if it’s Christmas wrapped. So we are returning it first-class delivery with DHS and are including our latest invention, The Jitter Bug.

Regards Ukraine, Europe, and the UK.

I am distraught with the quality of the latest photos I have received from the Epstein files. I am far better looking than they make me look. My teddy bears are incandescent and refuse to let me hang them on the wall directly above them.

Regards, The Duke of York. Bugger, I’ve lost that title.

Regards, The Prince of Whales, something fishy about that title. Bugger, I’ve lost that as well.

Regards, The Field Marshal, Bugger Momy never gave me that title. Where’s that bloody servant, Manwell?

Andrew, can I still use that name, bugger

Everyone knows that I am the greatest President that America has ever had, better than anyone, Better than anyone I’ve ever met. They are stuck in my heart, hang on every word I say.

In fact, I am simply the best

Only days until I get the World Peace Prize, but I might send it back and accept the Universe Peace Prize instead.

Regards

DJT

Donald J Trump

Mixed on the turntable

The pedestrian crossing on Abbey Road still looked the same. Marrie held my hand and smiled as she said, ‘It’s such a shame I should have stayed with you for more than just a day, but the music was good, wouldn’t you say. I nodded my head. She was still so pretty, and I was paralysed, almost fell into those big green eyes. The girl of my best friend walked past, and my heart skipped a beat. I wondered if I should tell her how I feel, but if she told him so, I could never face either one again, so I looked away, telling her, would be for another day. It was never about fame, because I realised fame comes and goes, and I know I should say sorry because sometimes the beat is inconsistent, which doesn’t help the dancers be more consistent. Apologies only happen at a later date, most times, much too late. There was a busker on the street corner playing ‘Something’, George was so in love when he wrote the music, thought it would last forever, but time changes everything, and before long, they drifted apart, leaving just the song as a memory before it all went wrong. The busker smiled as he strummed the guitar, then a look of sadness spread over his face as the song took him to another place. I was there when his girl left him for someone new and heard him say to himself as she left, ‘If I had stayed true, I know she wouldn’t be with you .’ An old black man sat on a wooden stool his hands were bent and gnarled but but they moved like magic over the strings of the guitar, dancing in front of him was a girl with a dimple on her chin; she was his babe, and he had his eye on you, the words don’t rhyme, but the music stays true almost as good as Mary loo. The beat was hypnotic; you could play it loud, listen to it alone, or in a crowd.

I don’t mind if you forget I am there, or if most times you share, and please forgive me if I make you cry as you think of a friend that’s long past bye, a girl you once knew, and wonder where it could have gone if you had told her she was the special one. I can take you back in time, be the calendar that used to hang on the wall, the mark your mom put on the wall as you started to grow tall. The tears you cried the day your dog died. He was old, but you hoped Kizzie would live longer than you; but think how he would miss you not knowing where you had gone, he would think you had left him not past on. Please don’t sigh, don’t waste a day. I will always be there if you need me, I will lift you up if you’re down, and fill the room with an incredible sound. Because I am ……………….

I am Music.

The letter you hope you never have to read if your a child: but perhaps we should all write one.

A small section taken from ‘Don’t Ever Forget Me’ It’s a story I wrote about an eleven-year-old girl, who’s grandad dies, but leaves her a cardboard box inside a metal safe. The contents make her cry.

A large cardboard box nestled inside the safe. It was quite heavy, and it took all my strength to lift it onto the worktop directly under the window. I moved my stool closer and raised the lid, not quite knowing what to expect. There was nothing nasty in there, but I still cried. It was full of all the things that I had ever drawn and made. Right from when I was a tiny baby. He had saved even the smallest piece of paper from the first time that I had scribbled with a crayon and the first time that I attempted to spell the word grandad.

As I worked my way to the bottom, my hand touched a large brown envelope. I pulled it out, and there on the front in small, neat letters were five words.

They read. ‘To Rebecca, love from Grandad,’ and I knew what was inside.

Mom found me a long time later, sitting there with the envelope in my hand, still unopened. She took it from me, read the words on the front, and burst into tears, and we put our arms around each other. He was very thoughtful and knew that this day would come. It was his way of saying goodbye.

I opened it much later that night when I was on my own.

Inside was a single piece of A4 paper.

The writing was very neat, so I knew that he must have spent a lot of time and patience writing it. Years spent working in a factory had taken their toll, and despite my poor attempts to convince him otherwise, his hands were in a bad shape.

The few years of retirement had allowed the scars to soften, but they would never heal, and he so resented being clumsy.

The letter read.

‘My dearest Rebecca, I am so sorry that you are reading this letter. I know that I am unable to be with you in person, and I am so sorry for the hurt that you are feeling. But I don’t want you to feel like that.

We have had so many good times. Try to remember them as you grow older, but please don’t grieve for me. Grief will not help you or me, and more than anything, I want you to be happy. I want you to enjoy your life.

Just remember this. I have loved you so much and have seen you grow from a tiny baby into a beautiful young girl. Maybe someday, when you’re older, you will understand the pleasure that I have got from being your grandad. Rebecca, although I can’t be with you anymore, I will always be part of you, and If nothing else, remember one thing.

It has been a privilege to have you as my granddaughter.

I have loved you and will love you forever.

Grandad,’ xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s twelve months since grandad died, and it still hurts.