<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" version="2.0" xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" xmlns:googleplay="http://www.google.com/schemas/play-podcasts/1.0"><channel><title><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></title><description><![CDATA[Essayist. Writer. Politics. Economics. Philosophy.
]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk</link><image><url>https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!RQ09!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F4cf49e0d-b943-4e38-b598-ebf5cdb3ff62_921x921.png</url><title>Just One Man</title><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk</link></image><generator>Substack</generator><lastBuildDate>Sun, 03 May 2026 09:48:27 GMT</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://www.justoneman.co.uk/feed" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><copyright><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></copyright><language><![CDATA[en]]></language><webMaster><![CDATA[justoneman@substack.com]]></webMaster><itunes:owner><itunes:email><![CDATA[justoneman@substack.com]]></itunes:email><itunes:name><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></itunes:name></itunes:owner><itunes:author><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></itunes:author><googleplay:owner><![CDATA[justoneman@substack.com]]></googleplay:owner><googleplay:email><![CDATA[justoneman@substack.com]]></googleplay:email><googleplay:author><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></googleplay:author><itunes:block><![CDATA[Yes]]></itunes:block><item><title><![CDATA[The Rise of Self]]></title><description><![CDATA[And Why it Damages the Person and Society]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/the-rise-of-self</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/the-rise-of-self</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 13 Mar 2026 14:13:11 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!RQ09!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F4cf49e0d-b943-4e38-b598-ebf5cdb3ff62_921x921.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>No one is better nor worse than anyone else. Yet, we are different and unique. Genetically and consciously. However, we do not exist in isolation - nor in a vacuum. We certainly may wish we did - at times at least. Perhaps the classic &#8220;hermit&#8221; withdrawal from society, or the more subtly anonymisation offered by cityscapes, or a virtual presentation online.</p><p>But all of us operate within a rich level of dependency and reliance. Not only on other humans, but clearly on nature too.</p><p>But we are seeing a phenomenon where the individual is being placed higher than everything else. The rise of self. Team players more concerned about their own success rather than the team that pays them. Political leaders forgetting they are public servants. The &#8220;brandification&#8221; confusion that exists in the follower -v- anonymisation conflict.</p><ul><li><p>The radio newsreader with an effected way of pronouncing their name</p></li><li><p>The TV weather presenter with a repeated and characteristic &#8220;goodbye&#8221;</p></li><li><p>Footballers with image rights and compensation clauses when not playing</p></li><li><p>Political leaders with an overuse of &#8220;I&#8221; in public speaking</p></li><li><p>&#8220;Quitting&#8221; and victimisation during a disagreement</p></li></ul><p>Why? Perhaps continual competition is a forcing factor that increases this brand-competition. But brand of and for what? Clearly social media as a concept in general amplifies &#8220;followers not friends&#8221; as a metric. Media presenters - and that ranges from pundits to more mundane news and weather presenters - can make a direct association between being &#8220;known&#8221; to pay, contracts and in turn job security. The assumption being that followers make a brand, a brand can influence, and in turn other brands, powers and voices want to influence the &#8220;influencer&#8221;.</p><p>But has this in turn spread like an epidemic to the guy on the street? Everyone wants attention. Yet simultaneously privacy and anonymity. Everyone gets offended. Unique protection of &#8220;being&#8221; is essentially the anti-pattern of losing &#8220;ego&#8221; in the Buddhist sense. </p><p>Be tough on &#8220;the problem, not the person&#8221; is often forgotten, with disagreement and analysis rapidly running down to personality and insult.</p><p>This in turn is bad for the individual as an evolutionary twist. If we simulate this through, you would surely end up with hyper-competition for everything, in every interaction and position in a societal structure. Any commonality factors would dissolve, with groupings of any sort diminishing - be they political, military, cultural or artistic. An almost nano-civil war.</p><p>An ironic twist of fate, would be that if everyone is different, perhaps no one is different?</p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Why The Greens and Reform Are Cousins]]></title><description><![CDATA[The Green Party and Reform are cousins.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/why-the-greens-and-reform-are-cousins</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/why-the-greens-and-reform-are-cousins</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 27 Feb 2026 11:35:12 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/8fa90ded-7647-4975-a0ab-43327211d9d7_781x635.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>The Green Party and Reform are cousins. Perhaps even closer. Different sides on the same coin. </p><p>The &#8220;rise of self&#8221; amplified within the political spotlight.</p><p>There is a core structural parallel between the two: both are &#8220;disruptor&#8221; brands that rely on a personality-led &#8220;I&#8221; narrative to mask the lack of a traditional, robust party machine.</p><p>Listen to both Zack Polanksi and Nigel Farage speak. They overly rely on the use of an &#8220;I narrative&#8221;. &#8220;I think, believe, know&#8221; - as a personal translation much removed from the underling party mechanics they represent.</p><p>This creates a specific &#8220;authenticity gap&#8221; between speaker and party and often between speaker and audience.</p><div><hr></div><p><strong>1. The &#8220;I&#8221; as a Strategic Shortcut</strong></p><p>In both the Green Party under Polanski and Reform UK under Farage, the leader becomes the singular <strong>avatar</strong> for their respective movement.</p><ul><li><p><strong>The Narrative:</strong> &#8220;I am the one telling you the truth that the &#8216;establishment&#8217; won&#8217;t.&#8221;</p></li><li><p><strong>The Consequence:</strong> This creates a competence bottleneck. Because the strategy is so leader-centric, the party&#8217;s success depends on the leader&#8217;s &#8220;performance&#8221; rather than the depth of their cabinet or the feasibility of their governance model.</p></li></ul><div><hr></div><p><strong>2. Anti-Establishment vs. Alternative Structure</strong></p><p>Both parties are highly effective at critique but are vague on the alternative political structure.</p><ul><li><p><strong>The Green Strategy:</strong> Focuses on &#8220;System Change,&#8221; but often struggles to explain how a de-centralised, committee-led party (their official structure) functions when led by a highly centralised, &#8220;manic&#8221; communicator using NLP techniques. He&#8217;s a former hypnotherapist apparently with a BA degree in drama. Useful I imagine.</p></li><li><p><strong>The Reform Strategy:</strong> Focuses on &#8220;Breaking the Model,&#8221; yet remains a &#8220;limited company&#8221; structure rather than a traditional democratic party.</p></li><li><p><strong>The Result:</strong> A lack of trust. Voters sense that the &#8220;alternative&#8221; is just a different flavour of top-down control, re-branded as &#8220;insurgency.&#8221;</p></li></ul><div><hr></div><p><strong>3. The Discrepancy in Authenticity</strong></p><p>This leads to the authenticity paradox:</p><ul><li><p><strong>Zack Polanski:</strong> Uses professional drama and hypnotherapy training to <em>simulate</em> a connection with the &#8220;common man.&#8221; Watch him with the volume turned off.</p></li><li><p><strong>Nigel Farage:</strong> Uses a carefully curated &#8220;pint-and-fag&#8221; persona to <em>simulate</em> a connection with the working class. (By the way, who today as the working class?)</p></li><li><p><strong>The Friction:</strong> When a voter sees the &#8220;mask&#8221; slip&#8212;whether it&#8217;s Polanski&#8217;s &#8220;manic&#8221; intensity or Farage&#8217;s elite background&#8212;it reinforces the idea that the party is self-serving and more interested in the theatre of power than the un-glamorous work of constituent service.</p></li></ul><div><hr></div><p><strong>4. Tactical Convergence</strong></p><p>The 2026 Gorton and Denton by-election proved they are two sides of the same coin. Both used &#8220;negative partisanship&#8221;&#8212;campaigning more on why Labour (and lesser extent the Tories) are &#8220;broken&#8221; than on how they would actually manage a treasury or a local council. This populist framework allows them to bypass the &#8220;academic reasoning&#8221; in favour of high-energy, emotive storytelling. </p><p>Ultimately, both parties operate as marketing engines for a specific worldview, led by individuals whose primary qualification is communication management rather than systemic design.</p><p>Two sides of the complaining-coin, offering nothing remotely close to establishing a political strategy alternative to what is currently not working.</p><div><hr></div><p></p><p></p>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Search Lights]]></title><description><![CDATA[A tractor in the sky, headlights on full beam. Looking lost, looking for the lost. A wandering child. An escaped bandit. A Schrodinger's gossip of options. The clattering engines shatter the dawn peace. Then away into the gloom. The puzzle unsolved until the morning light. Light that will clear the fear, sadness and tiredness blur.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/search-lights</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/search-lights</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 13 Aug 2025 09:08:32 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/7c6fabab-4226-471b-b0e1-d9b654ec1862_698x679.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>A tractor in the sky, headlights on full beam.
Looking lost, looking for the lost.
A wandering child.
An escaped bandit.
A Schrodinger's gossip of options.
The clattering engines shatter the dawn peace.
Then away into the gloom.
The puzzle unsolved until the morning light.
Light that will clear the fear, sadness and tiredness blur.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[A Pair of Cats]]></title><description><![CDATA[A pair of cats getting fat, but they still bring home the mice. A bed in every room, but still we have to make room. They don't fetch, or come when asked, need walkies or us in fact. Maybe they keep us? Living in their house, sharing their food, giving them tales to tell. Letting us watch their ears twitch, and tickle their tums when they itch - throwing us a mouse to fill ours. A pair of cats getting fat, as we pay the vet to tell us that.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/a-pair-of-cats</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/a-pair-of-cats</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Sun, 03 Aug 2025 13:20:10 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/b02bd6e3-1c68-4397-9d92-3d09aabc3078_1177x772.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>A pair of cats getting fat, 
but they still bring home the mice.

A bed in every room, 
but still we have to make room.

They don't fetch, or come when asked, 
need walkies or us in fact.

Maybe they keep us?
Living in their house, sharing their food, giving them tales to tell.

Letting us watch their ears twitch, 
and tickle their tums when they itch - throwing us a mouse to fill ours.

A pair of cats getting fat, 
as we pay the vet to tell us that.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Too Early]]></title><description><![CDATA[Don't be early, don't be late, not for your funeral or for a date. Not for yesterday or tomorrow, with your joy or your sorrow. Or hesitate and before the bang, with races like love and music to dance. Don't be early, don't be late, not for your funeral if you believe in fate.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/too-early</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/too-early</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 31 Jul 2025 10:21:40 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/c3682559-858f-4d2f-ad4e-078ea10dccf2_743x319.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Don't be early, don't be late,
  not for your funeral or for a date.
Not for yesterday or tomorrow, 
  with your joy or your sorrow.
Or hesitate and before the bang,
  with races like love and music to dance.
Don't be early, don't be late, 
  not for your funeral if you believe in fate.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Dreaming]]></title><description><![CDATA[Why do we sleep if we can't dream? A hop, skip and jump into the unreal. Fairies, monsters, the stories unfold. But as we awake, they're never retold.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/dreaming</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/dreaming</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 29 Jul 2025 08:15:18 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/f6e568f8-fdb6-4282-959a-20c65d08b0c1_743x319.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Why do we sleep if we can't dream?
A hop, skip and jump into the unreal.
Fairies, monsters, the stories unfold.
But as we awake, they're never retold.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[A City Alive: 24 Hour Rock n Roll Party]]></title><description><![CDATA[A selection of Haiku-esque poems following Oasis at Heaton Park July 12 2025]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/a-city-alive-24-hour-rock-n-roll</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/a-city-alive-24-hour-rock-n-roll</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Wed, 16 Jul 2025 11:48:21 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/33813f0c-8dee-4cfb-bd12-6bc21c1258d5_420x432.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><strong>Breakfast
</strong><em>Wetherspoons breakfast
Nerves. Excitement. Beans, toast, tea
Blue sky warming.

</em><strong>Train
</strong><em>11am
Busier than it should be
Buzz of bucket hats.

</em><strong>Departing Stockport</strong><em>
Departing Stockport
Saturday: full of promise
A viaduct away.

</em><strong>To NQ</strong><em>
Shades, hat, but hot wins
Right, left, then right - the back way
Carnival celebrations.

</em><strong>Early Lunch
</strong><em>Lime, soda, gratis
Pizza slice, B-sides singalong.
Demob happy: Common.

</em><strong>Early Bus</strong><em>
Snaking barricades
Empty. Stevenson Square, Full.
Bus 2, Karaoke.

</em><strong>Exhibition</strong><em>
Shaded hideaway
Guitars, lyrics, memories
Dreams that never fade.

</em><strong>The Waiting</strong><em>
Four, 5pm, more
Shade hunting, stranger chat
Water fountain, found.

</em><strong>CAST</strong><em>
Action breaks the heat
College singalong for some
Enthusiasm!

</em><strong>Dicky A
</strong><em>Queuing, serious
Attention, anthems, all aboard
Ends: stay or refuel?

</em><strong>T-10
</strong><em>In position, maybe, move
Nerves, heat, apologetic bumps
THIS IS NOT A DRILL

</em><strong>This is Happening
</strong><em>Bounding, brotherly love
Contagious jubilation
A football congregation.

</em><strong>The Summit</strong><em>
A wave, upon wave
Of familiarity
Breathtaking, crackling.

</em><strong>The Release</strong><em>
Against the pull
A slow retreat, slightly soon
Fireworks behind, the bus ahead.

</em><strong>Journey Home</strong><em>
Almost silent, absorbing
Flashing, blurring, pulsating
A longing for cool silence.

</em><strong>Midnight Tea</strong><em><strong>
</strong>Tea to bookend the day
Tomorrow a different path awaits
Memories now in stone.<strong>

</strong>



<strong>

</strong>
</em><strong>

</strong><em>




</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Goalies and Drummers]]></title><description><![CDATA[Goalies and drummers: the short supply, Rolls Royce of teenage social circles. Goalies and drummers: the custard, friendship busting, chains of teams. Goalies and drummers: the unsung heroes, are never short of mates.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/goalies-and-drummers</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/goalies-and-drummers</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 15 Jul 2025 09:16:33 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/8b310381-ded6-4344-9b0f-40b5471b2919_695x218.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Goalies and drummers: the short supply, Rolls Royce of teenage social circles.

Goalies and drummers: the custard, friendship busting, chains of teams.

Goalies and drummers: the unsung heroes, are never short of mates.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Grow Your Own]]></title><description><![CDATA[Grow, grow, grow your own. Dig some soil, throw some seeds. Veg, fruit, try the lot. The more you sow, the less you shop. I don't want chemicals on my carrots. I'd rather have pests than pesticides. I don't want spray on my spuds. I'd rather see muck than reflections. Grow, grow, grow your own. Dig some soil, throw some seeds. Veg, fruit, try the lot. The more you sow, the less you shop. I don't want cancer from my courgettes. I'd rather have bruises than symmetry. I don't want size over taste. I'd rather have wonk than wilt-free Grow, grow, grow your own. Dig some soil, throw some seeds. Veg, fruit, try the lot. The more you sow, the less you shop. I don't want fruit from faraway. I'd rather have seasonal fair. I don't want fancy over filling. I'd rather have peas from the pod. Grow, grow, grow your own. Dig some soil, throw some seeds. Veg, fruit, try the lot. The more you sow, the less you shop.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/grow-your-own</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/grow-your-own</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 11 Jul 2025 10:15:22 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/b9894563-c2fa-4b3f-8063-901e562411de_645x256.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Grow, grow, grow your own.
Dig some soil, throw some seeds.
Veg, fruit, try the lot.
The more you sow, the less you shop.

I don't want chemicals on my carrots.
I'd rather have pests than pesticides.
I don't want spray on my spuds.
I'd rather see muck than reflections.

Grow, grow, grow your own.
Dig some soil, throw some seeds.
Veg, fruit, try the lot.
The more you sow, the less you shop.

I don't want cancer from my courgettes.
I'd rather have bruises than symmetry.
I don't want size over taste.
I'd rather have wonk than wilt-free

Grow, grow, grow your own.
Dig some soil, throw some seeds.
Veg, fruit, try the lot.
The more you sow, the less you shop.

I don't want fruit from faraway.
I'd rather have seasonal fair.
I don't want fancy over filling.
I'd rather have peas from the pod.

Grow, grow, grow your own.
Dig some soil, throw some seeds.
Veg, fruit, try the lot.
The more you sow, the less you shop.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[An Ant Named Colin]]></title><description><![CDATA[I spot an ant upon my patio. Scrambling over stones: two, three, four more. Like raisins taking a hike, across monstrous mountains. Consistent. Persistent. No sounds of complaint. All the same to us. Nameless.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/an-ant-named-colin</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/an-ant-named-colin</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 10 Jul 2025 08:57:44 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/0c053051-99a1-4b70-90a3-2f8514a887e4_751x352.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>I spot an ant upon my patio.
Scrambling over stones: two, three, four more.
Like raisins taking a hike, across monstrous mountains.

Consistent.
Persistent.
No sounds of complaint.

All the same to us.
Nameless. Faceless.
But they'd die for each other.
Yet I've never seen a dead ant.
Other than at the hands of a human.

We're an atom bomb to an ant.
Uncontrolled power.
Detached.
Unaccountable.

I spot an ant upon my patio, five, six, eight more.
Sleep tight, eat well, go and make some more.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Merf Up / Comms Down]]></title><description><![CDATA[merf, womp, plung merf, womp, plung What the fuck have I done? Breed some new age futuristic, sarcastic, linguistics. I'm not talking text speak, street speak.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/merf-up-comms-down</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/merf-up-comms-down</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 08 Jul 2025 10:37:01 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/0ea23130-df24-489d-971d-55c75740e302_505x238.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;What the fuck have I done?

&#9;Breed some new age futuristic, sarcastic, linguistics.
&#9;I'm not talking text speak, street speak. This is an all together wondrous peek,
&#9;into a brave new world I need to be taught about.
&#9;Interpreted, translated, integrated.
&#9;
&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;What the fuck have I done?

&#9;I've tried to be cool, brought new words to the room.
&#9;Slay and drip, to replace cool and hip.
&#9;I'm looked at: then subtly and expertly ejected and rejected.
&#9;
&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;What the fuck have I done?

&#9;Entered a world with Spike Milligan.
&#9;"Don't know what that is".
&#9;He's a person, not a thing, he's slay, drip, my sort of thing.
&#9;Okay. 
&#9;Okay? Is that all you can say?
&#9;He's the dogs. He's the man. A cabbage patch blanket man.
&#9;You're talking rubbish, jibberish, sounding old, that is a cinch.
&#9;
&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;merf, womp, plung
&#9;What the fuck have I done?
&#9;
&#9;Maybe we can just agree, these words we have are setting us free.
&#9;With a merf, and a womp and a dogs old lumps,
&#9;a cinch, and a nish and feeling drip.
&#9;
&#9;What the fuck have I done?
&#9;Become a metaphor for the dumb.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Maccie Dee's Drive Thru]]></title><description><![CDATA[Quiet please, concentrating. Radio off. Specs on. Memorise defaults: chicken burger, banana milkshake, medium. Two lanes. Counting cars. Lane 2. Can't see the billboard. Quiet please, concentrating. Snailing forward. See the billboard. Offers. Thinking: chicken and steroids, or beef and BSE? Beef.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/maccie-dees-drive-thru</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/maccie-dees-drive-thru</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 03 Jul 2025 11:13:14 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/e47162be-1ec5-40c3-b3f2-761f526d3cfe_489x308.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>&#9;Quiet please, concentrating.
&#9;Radio off.
&#9;Specs on.
&#9;Memorise defaults: chicken burger, banana milkshake, medium.
&#9;Two lanes.
&#9;Counting cars.
&#9;Lane 2.
&#9;Can't see the billboard.
&#9;
&#9;Quiet please, concentrating.
&#9;Snailing forward.
&#9;See the billboard.
&#9;Offers.
&#9;Thinking: chicken and steroids, or beef and BSE?
&#9;Beef. They sorted BSE.
&#9;Or did they?
&#9;Chicken: steroids and anti-biotics.
&#9;Chicken.
&#9;
&#9;Quiet please, concentrating.
&#9;Scanning the specials.
&#9;Jerk, Mexican, Korean.
&#9;Hot chicken. That will kill the bugs.
&#9;Chicken Mc-hot-wotsit please.
&#9;Medium or Large? Yes. Which? Medium. No large. 
        Is the burger bigger? No just the fries and drink.
&#9;Drink? Shit.
&#9;Milkshake: protein and dairy.
&#9;Or fizzy pop: fucks your teeth. And everything else.
&#9;Milkshake, banana. shaken not stirred please.
&#9;Move to pit stop 2.
&#9;
&#9;Quiet please, concentrating.
&#9;Two lanes.
&#9;Merging.
&#9;Shit. How do you they know it's me?
&#9;I'll pay for a Big Mac, they'll pay for my hot-sit.
&#9;Chicken Mc-hot-wotsit? Yes.
&#9;Paid. Phew.
&#9;Move to pit stop 3.
&#9;
&#9;Quiet please, concentrating.
&#9;The goods are there.
&#9;Suspiciously bagged.
&#9;Straw. Paper. Waste of space. Like sucking stickers.
&#9;Salt and pepper?
&#9;No, pre-salted, 4 days worth.
&#9;Park up.
&#9;Eat, drink, relax.
&#9;Quiet please, concentrating.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Uninvited Guests]]></title><description><![CDATA[The cack cack cack and the craw craw craw of the monochrome magpie and the rainbow jackdaw. With an act of ungentlemanly birdfare, they awaken the wood pigeon to a torrid nightmare. But are they really such deadly sinners? As we scare them from the feeder, they just want their dinners. The cack cack cack and the craw craw craw of the monochrome magpie and the rainbow jackdaw. On closer discovery, their blacks become purples, their beaks so durable, unmistakable almost likeable. But they're not from the Kestrel nest, so simply become uninvited guests. The cack cack cack and the craw craw craw of the monochrome magpie and the rainbow jackdaw.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/uninvited-guests</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/uninvited-guests</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Tue, 01 Jul 2025 08:25:59 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/cd24ba32-9fe7-4221-8914-a5e56ec76d5c_725x272.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>The cack cack cack and the craw craw craw of the monochrome magpie and the rainbow jackdaw.

With an act of ungentlemanly birdfare, they awaken the wood pigeon to a torrid nightmare.

But are they really such deadly sinners?
As we scare them from the feeder, they just want their dinners.

The cack cack cack and the craw craw craw of the monochrome magpie and the rainbow jackdaw.

On closer discovery, their blacks become purples, their beaks so durable, unmistakable almost likeable.

But they're not from the Kestrel nest, so simply become uninvited guests.

The cack cack cack and the craw craw craw of the monochrome magpie and the rainbow jackdaw.
</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[The Bath]]></title><description><![CDATA[Why is the bath so much shorter than my bed? Twisting my knees up near my head. Boiling, freezing, sometimes just right, but never the top half that shivers in sight. Down the plughole it sounds like a fart, gurgle gurgle as it departs. North or Irish, Atlantic or Channel, Where-ever it ends up, it's been on my flannel. Whilst the steam from a shower, clears head, why is the bath so much shorter than my bed?]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/the-bath</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/the-bath</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Sat, 28 Jun 2025 11:57:20 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/90873fef-2e92-47b9-a2a7-fec4d03f5540_726x680.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Why is the bath so much shorter than my bed?
Twisting my knees up near my head.

Boiling, freezing, sometimes just right,
but never the top half that shivers in sight.

Down the plughole it sounds like a fart,
gurgle gurgle as it departs.

North or Irish, Atlantic or Channel,
Where-ever it ends up, it's been on my flannel.

Whilst the steam from a shower, clears head,
why is the bath so much shorter than my bed?</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Dog Snog]]></title><description><![CDATA[Cute floppy ears and a soft warm tum. But a dog snog comes after it's licked its bum. The grumpy cat, with a bog brush tail. Tongues its arse, a hygiene fail. Dumb little fish, safely in the tank. They swim in poo and I guess it stank. The birds have it right: they just fly away. But they'll shit on shirt if you head their way. So what are we left with? Mates and a moan. Nice clean humans, who should shit on their own.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/dog-snog</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/dog-snog</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 26 Jun 2025 14:52:26 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/dcdc161f-9e62-4d81-825d-631dc07c9496_785x764.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Cute floppy ears and a soft warm tum.
But a dog snog comes after it's licked its bum.

The grumpy cat, with a bog brush tail.
Tongues its arse, a hygiene fail.

Dumb little fish, safely in the tank.
They swim in poo and I guess it stank.

The birds have it right: they just fly away.
But they'll shit on shirt if you head their way.

So what are we left with?
Mates and a moan.

Nice clean humans, who should shit on their own.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Not From Round 'ere]]></title><description><![CDATA[Not quite wildling North, but norther than here. Where accents fight like cats in an alley way; squealing to be heard, a herd. Darlo, Geordie, Bora, Mackam, versus Durham, Gateshead and "the north". A lifetime, a planet, a public bus apart. An adventure to get there, desperate to depart. Fifty miles south: heady Yorkshire. We're all just exhibition Geordies.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/not-from-round-ere</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/not-from-round-ere</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 26 Jun 2025 09:27:24 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/fb91337b-f280-4e77-b879-ab0834ddda68_903x586.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Not quite wildling North, but norther than here.

Where accents fight like cats in an alley way; squealing to be heard, a herd.
Darlo, Geordie, Bora, Mackam, versus Durham, Gateshead and "the north".

A lifetime, a planet, a public bus apart.
An adventure to get there, desperate to depart.

Fifty miles south: heady Yorkshire.
We're all just exhibition Geordies. Asked to repeat "moor" and "door".

Seventy miles west: Londoners comment "I knew you were a Manc from your accent...".
You don't dissent.

Americans, Israelis, Indians: Their eyes see you're related to the King.
Quickly delaying the pause in the talk, subtly playing the English card.
History, politics, culture: the soft power, power play, from a slow telephone voice.

Potatoe, Pot-ar-toe. Personae.
The delivery never changed.
The receivers deceived.
By themselves, telling you everything you needed to know.

That you're not from round 'ere.</em></pre></div><p></p>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[WWIII]]></title><description><![CDATA[Today, I'm angry as fuck. At everything.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/wwiii</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/wwiii</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 23 Jun 2025 18:24:28 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/0454401b-282f-453e-8dc8-7927f3862e52_890x733.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>Today, I'm angry as fuck.
At everything. 
At nothing.
In the car. 
In the kitchen.
At the clever, at the thick.
Those who put you down and don't listen.
Those who take it all and seem smitten.
Those who have it all and still complain.
Those who have nowt and are full of shame.

I'm angry as fuck.

At sentences that are never finished.
Like, "Free Palestine"; but also "stop Hamas".
"I'm anti antisemitism"; but "abhor war crimes".

I'm angry as fuck.
World War III has already begun; like a penny down the blind-dogs-helter-skelter.
You want your penny back to spend on nothing.
Why can't we see, it's World War III?
Shifting deck chairs as the Titantic sinks, I'm angry as fuck.

Like lightning without thunder.
Fireworks without the rumble.
Gin without tonic.
I'm shouting like an alcoholic.

I'm angry as fuck.
Why can't they see it's World War III?
Earth like a cake: sliced into three by 2033.
The EU meeting chaired in Moscow.
US borders include Greenland and Mexico.
The Chinese? Well they have the best of the rest.
The UK, now just crumbs, what a mess.

I'm angry as fuck.
But what can I do? Just One Man.
Nuclear holocaust will give me a tan.
No need for holidays, radiation at my doorstep.
Three foot carrots and glowing water; can't bear to look at my daughter.
Whose eyes say it all: "Why didn't you stop all the dickheads with talk?"

Negotiation, humiliation, stimulation.
Ego's to be massaged.
Bombs to be garaged.
Why can't we see it's World War III?

I'm angry as fuck.
 </em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Wood Pigeon]]></title><description><![CDATA[A wood pigeon, not a cuckoo. Bleating like a lost lamb. Stuck in a tree.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/wood-pigeon</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/wood-pigeon</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Mon, 23 Jun 2025 11:45:11 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/3527d90a-c3c4-428c-96b9-3656157a0f21_937x357.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>A wood pigeon,
not a cuckoo.
Bleating like a lost lamb.
Stuck in a tree.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Cutting the Hedge]]></title><description><![CDATA[It's dry.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/cutting-the-hedge</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/cutting-the-hedge</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Fri, 20 Jun 2025 13:25:25 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/5e31706e-c9f9-4b07-897f-625ddf180e02_1066x868.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>It's dry. It's hot.
The excuses dried up: it's time to cut the hedge.

Clippers, two pairs, dragged from their slumbers. Cobwebs coming for free.
One pair, man down: the swordfish slack: un-fixable by the amateur, too good to give away, back to bed it goes.

Number 2 is a go, WD40 to loosen, to slacken - the illusion of professionalism (not delayism).

1130am: too late for lie ins and complaining neighbours, too early for lunch.
Passers by, onlookers, pram pushers, catching their eye to liquidate a break.

Time measured in feet, inches and trips to the bin.
A count of eight, signifies dins.

When nearing the finish, the chore is less of a bore, something to show passing walkers galore.

But nobody comes. The sparrows laugh.
Totalling the bin trips requires extra math.
But the view from the landing window: <strong>priceless.</strong>

Another three months before the hedgerow haircut rises back to the top of the to do's.
and by then, the glow of straight-lines will be not new.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item><item><title><![CDATA[Going to the Tip]]></title><description><![CDATA[I'm going to the tip. But not right now, it's something I need to work up to. Garages, sheds, cupboards too, spring clean medicine for the middle of June. Special piles by the side door: definite, for charity and the note quite sure. Slack-arsed boxes: a Russian Roulette to get to the boot. Posh plastic bags, the ones that get specially folded. Strong handles, show off brands: Waitrose, Boots and Debenhams. Overflowing, crammed in, the need to make the most of the free public service. A queue of course.]]></description><link>https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/going-to-the-tip</link><guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.justoneman.co.uk/p/going-to-the-tip</guid><dc:creator><![CDATA[Just One Man]]></dc:creator><pubDate>Thu, 19 Jun 2025 11:44:26 GMT</pubDate><enclosure url="https://substack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com/public/images/752b7f80-dced-4ea6-8fba-34ed62765d62_1030x870.png" length="0" type="image/jpeg"/><content:encoded><![CDATA[<div class="preformatted-block" data-component-name="PreformattedTextBlockToDOM"><label class="hide-text" contenteditable="false">Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published</label><pre class="text"><em>I'm going to the tip.

But not right now, it's something I need to work up to.
Garages, sheds, cupboards too, spring clean medicine for the middle of June.
Special piles by the side door: definite, for charity and the note quite sure.

Slack-arsed boxes: a Russian Roulette to get to the boot.
Posh plastic bags, the ones that get specially folded.
Strong handles, show off brands: Waitrose, Boots and Debenhams.

Overflowing, crammed in, the need to make the most of the free public service.
A queue of course. A herd of blokes in overheating cars.
Parked up: miles from the recyclables.

I go with the bags first. Then the arse-less boxes. 
Hands underneath.
Solid start.
A lift, a jerk, the Atlas stones of junk deposited.

Distracted by the skips. 
Other people's rubbish so much better than your own.
&#163;100 fine for extraction - they should pay me!

Back home. Lighter. Satisfied.
Eyes tuned for more food for the ever hungry tip monster.</em></pre></div>]]></content:encoded></item></channel></rss>