Café Crem

Art, Music and Words around The Coffee Table

Can somebody tell me what a youth referral order is?

I'm hoping most of these toe-rags have been caught - if not, and you recognize them, please help get them locked up.

I have a sneaking suspicion it is actually nothing at all. Some pre-pubescent little twat of a girl from Nottingham aged 11, decided to take a trip from her Foster home to hurl bricks at Mc Donald’s in Nottingham city centre. Apparently she smirked in court and refused to apologize for what she’d done. Her “Father” (I’m unclear as to whether this means her real Dad or the poor sod who has the misfortune to foster her) said she wanted to say sorry. But clearly, the vicious little brat wants nothing of the sort. The judge has given her A YOUTH REFERRAL ORDER, so she can “reflect on the seriousness of what she has done.” Is he having a laugh????   This waste of humanity doesn’t give a flying one about what’s she’s done, what’s she’s going to do, or anyone else.

What lesson is this namby-pamby kid-gloves mentality society teaching her? I’ll tell you what. It’s telling her “You can pretty much get away with anything.” – just as the torturers and murderers of young Jamie Bulger learned that their actions won them a one to one first class education and a new life under new identities.

Please, Mr. Cameron, stay true to your words, “If you’re old enough to commit the crime, you’re old enough to be punished.” Call me old-fashioned, but somebody needs to take this little shit by the scruff of the neck and scare the living daylights out of her.  Or maybe we should just give her a council house and benefits, eh?

(The photo was published in the Daily Mail, but I’m hoping they won’t mind me showing the faces of this scum to a few more people.)

Kev Moore

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August 14, 2011 Posted by | Parents and Children, politics, writing | , , , , , | Leave a comment

A trip back home

On Wednesday night last week, I flew back to the UK to catch up with old friends, musical colleagues and family, and do a show in Great Yarmouth with BC SWEET, as part of a 70’s festival. Even though I’d allowed myself a couple of extra days, it was still a very hectic time!  It was great to see my son again – he’s now settled in at University in Huddersfield, Yorkshire, where he’s studying music production, and his band Jilambis have their new EP out, which is on sale HERE.

 

It was also nice to see Graham Oliver of Saxon, a long-time friend, with whom I’ve worked on several music projects, and who played me tracks from their forthcoming album, which sounds very tasty! Graham lives very near the old Yorkshire town of Conisboro’ which has given the world not only Saxon, but also singer Tony Christie and the larger-than-life Shakespearean actor, Brian Blessed, with whom both Graham and I have also appeared.  Conisboro’ Castle is a key location in the Walter Scott classic, “Ivanhoe”, and I managed to get a shot of it as I drove past. A real building, blurring the lines, as the novel does, between fact and fiction.

You can almost hear the clash of swords.....

I also caught up with my friend and musical colleague Stef, who played drums on several tracks on my BLUE ODYSSEY CD, and met up with Nick, brother of the great British vocalist Jess Roden, for the first time after a lengthy correspondence.

You can see some shots from the show by visiting moore:music HERE

Great Yarmouth, sits on the East coast of England at the mouth of the River Yare (as one might expect!) in the county of Norfolk, and the terrain is very reminiscent of Holland, being extremely flat. But that isn’t the only similarity it shares with our Dutch neighbours, as you can see from the photo:

.....and not a sign of Don Quixote.....

I spent the last few hours with my Dad in Derby before flying home. The sunshine giving me a chance to mess about with the camera in the garden, trying to photograph cobwebs and spiders, with varying degrees of success!

Although the sun did its best to keep shining, it was cold, and I was glad to return to sunnier climes on the Sunday, albeit with a bad dose of influenza!

Kev Moore

October 21, 2010 Posted by | Ca' Puccini, Entertainment, family, friends, fun, Kev Moore's Music, Music, Parents and Children, photography, writing | , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Here comes the Son

Sunday arrived and with it, my son Corey, over to visit us for a few days. As always, it’s great to see him and hang out, talking music and stuff. This time around, I even roped him in to play on the title track of my Blue Odyssey CD, and even as I’m writing this he’s hard at work putting a drum track down. He starts his Music degree in September, and of course took to my studio like a duck to water!

"You hum it son, I'll play it...."

His own band, Jilambis, release their own debut album in a couple of weeks, and we’ll be putting links up for where you can buy it at a special price.

-But it’s also been nice to wander the Playa with him , chilling out, and for Miki, Corey and I to all go out for a Mexican last night. I’ll miss him when he goes, but it’s great to spend quality time together!

Me, Miki and Corey at La Cantina, Mojacar Playa

Kev Moore

August 11, 2010 Posted by | Ca' Puccini, Kev Moore's Music, life, Music, Parents and Children, personal, Sound recording, writing | , | 12 Comments

Observations on a Cultural Distinction, or, get off my bloody car!

Okay, that's a start....now tar and feather the little git.......

I have been known to moan occasionally, as I’m sure Miki will testify. If pushed, she would even go so far as to say that it is catching, and that she herself has inadvertently slipped into moaning mode once or twice since we met. We both make herculean efforts to rein in this unfortunate behaviour, with varying degrees of success.

I try not to moan too much about the Spanish. After all, we are guests in their country. I fail miserably, and quite often, it must be said.  I know it’s payback for the way the tourist hordes treated them over the last forty years, and I know we have cultural differences. But I believe that there should be a basic kindness at the core of human nature that transcends culture, Spitting Image’s parody “I’ve never met a nice South African” notwithstanding.

Many years ago, when holidaying here in Mojacar on a regular basis, I would often observe Spanish children blatantly stealing my kids toys from around the swimming pool and brazenly playing with them. Not a word from the parents. Totally not bothered, their little Franco’s were free to requisition whatever was at hand to fulfil their hearts desire, at no risk of reprimand from their doting parents.

Needless to say, yours truly would demonstrably stride over to the little gits, rip it out of their hands , accompanied by an Anglo-Saxon word or two, loud enough to try and drum into their paremts thick heads that they were doing their children no favours at all. But am I wrong?  Were they simply teaching the little Francos to be top dog in the me, me, me society of the 21st.century?  Without a doubt, I see examples of those children become adult fulfilling those criteria today.

It hasn’t stopped either. This morning, I was lying in bed and heard Miki calling out from the balcony in Spanish to a guy. I got up to see what was going on. Unsupervised, his son (around 5 years old) had gone across the road and began pulling at the door handles of our Roadster. He couldn’t open them , so tried to pry open the fuel cap.  It was only Miki’s intervention that caused the ‘parent’ -I use the word loosely- to even acknowledge the action. His answer was simply, “Oh we saw the Smart, it’s beautiful”. Listen Jose, or whatever your name is, you’re MISSING THE POINT! Teach your child to RESPECT.OTHER.PEOPLE’S PROPERTY.   They just don’t get it. the more PC-Wooly-thinking amongst you may hide behind the facade of cultural differences. But I for one, am not taken in by ‘the Emperor’s new clothes”. It is a lack of respect, a lack of manners, pure and simple.

It is the reason why, when we were involved in a dispute at our local Vodaphone shop, having to queue for hours because of the sweeping restrictions on our civil liberties, we were treated with utter cvontempt and disdain. You see, when a culture like this prevails, it is the ones who stand up and say ‘Enough’ that are branded the wrongdoers.

When exactly was it that I turned around and missed the world going ass-backwards?

Kev Moore

May 22, 2010 Posted by | Art, children, culture, education, humor, life, Parents and Children, writing | , , | 7 Comments

Hand-Painted Easter Eggs

My own hand-painted Easter Eggs in a handmade macramé basket

We don’t have egg-coloring kitswhere I live, and all the eggs here have brown shells, meaning a dye wouldn’t work on them.  Our solution is to hand paint eggs every year.  I got this handmade basket five years ago in an artisanal cooperative shop while on a vacation.  The small chocolate eggs in colored foil were purchased at a chocolate shop.

Here are some close-ups of our hand-painted eggs.

My Hand-Painted Easter Eggs

My Hand-Painted Easter Eggs

I painted them in stages, using poster paints.

–Madame Monet

April 4, 2010 Posted by | Art, culture, Easter, family, Festivals of the World, food, friends, fun, nature, painting, Parents and Children | , , , , , | 3 Comments

Haiti – biting the hand that feeds – a Kev rant, no apologies

Right, I’ve had enough. Every man and his dog now standing on their head, painting themselves green re-recording “We are the World” (did we really need another version of that??) – all in aid of raising money and awareness for the plight of the people of Haiti.

And what do their government do???  Look, I am no fan of God-botherers or misguided do-gooders, but surely, it is clear that these people currently incarcerated by the morally bankrupt ingrates masquerading as the Haitian government on kidnapping charges are guilty of nothing more than religious fervour-driven foolishness. Remember, all the REAL CRIMINALS in Haiti got out of jail free when the EARTHQUAKE HIT, AND ARE CURRENTLY RAPING, LOOTING, AND YES , CHILD TRAFFICKING with impunity.

It is obscene to rob these Americans of their liberty while the true criminals run free, and millions of dollars in aid pour in from the country of their birth. 

The final, terrible irony of course, is that they did all this in God’s name. Your God sure has a sick sense of humour. Disagree? Bring it on.

Kev Moore

February 5, 2010 Posted by | culture, events, Parents and Children, politics, religion, writing | , , , , , | 3 Comments

Streets of Derby

I feel like I’ve not been in the Cafe too much recently, except to post the serialisation of my novel, Atlantic Bridge, and indeed, I occasionally hear the tumbleweed blowing between the chairs and tables, and the creaking of the Cafe Crem sign as it forlornly dances in the wind outside….

Perhaps I should wander over to the jukebox in the corner and slip a quarter in, make a selection….clunk…there you go.  There just so happens to be my version of the old Ralph McTell song, Streets of London on there, only this one’s called Streets of Derby.  I couldn’t seem to stop working once I’d put the Derby album to bed, and Dave Mortimer, who has helped out with contacts in the town regarding the CD project is set to do a 10k run in aid of The Teenage Cancer trust, a charity under THE WHO’s patronage, and he asked me to put his re-worked lyrics to the song. Here’s the result. I hope it can do some good for this worthy cause.

Streets of Derby

Have you seen the young kids, bravely smiling through their illness?

So full of life, though some may not have long.

They need help fighting cancer – we can improve their chances

Let’s all get moving, to try and make them strong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chorus 1:

So how can you turn your face away, forget their pain – ignore the call?

I’m going to put my trainers on and run around the streets of Derby

I must do something to try and help them all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For some, their home’s a hospice but their lives are still for living

All their hopes and dreams must surely match our own

We can use our energy to give those children liberty

From fear and isolation – they can’t fight it all alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chorus 2:

So how can you say you’re lonely

And that for them the sun won’t shine?

If you can’t run, then sponsor me as I run through the streets of Derby

Your contribution means just as much as mine.

Lyrics by Dave Mortimer

April 10, 2009 Posted by | Ca' Puccini, children, education, events, family, Kev Moore's Music, life, Music, Parents and Children, Sound recording | , , , | 1 Comment

Bomb scare?

By Le Piou de Pomme

By Le Piou de Pomme

Saturday, time to make a stop by The Minibar again, and to enjoy some art by our youngest artist here in Cafe Crem: Le Piou de Pomme

Now, I am not a person who normally tries to analyse paintings when I see one, not at all. But when I see some childrens art, something in me automatically tries “to understand”- With children’s art I always have the feeling that there is a well defined message within the painting, that the little artists are ALWAYS trying to tell us something very concrete, or to express some very precise feeling. When I compare them with myself, who always has a totally empty brain when I start a painting, it seems to be a huge difference.

Am I right, what do you think? I would really love to know your opinion.

Anyway, my first reaction when I saw this one was to ask:

“Oh God, what does that mean???”

I really had not a clue, where I normally have a spontaneous interpretation (not pretending here that I am right with it!)

My second reaction was to think that I was in front of three terrorists here, the two in the background carrying a bomb, and all three wanted to attack the train on the top. I suppose this is a strong emotional reaction from me to the red & black colours, and above all to the black thing the people in the background are carrying. But why I saw a bomb there, I don’t know. It might be because I saw another drawing from Piou the other day, where he had drawn a love bomb for his mother… now, a love bomb, this really looks like our so tender and lovely Piou! But real terrorists?

Now I tend to think that these three people are going on holiday to some exotic land where the people wear such funny hats on their heads and that the black thing is a suitcase. But this interpretation might well be inspired by some insider info I have got… 🙂

Pomme, if you, know, please tell me what the drawing means. I’m really dying to know!

And 1000 thanks again to you, Piou, and 1000 kisses too,  for sharing with us your wonderful drawings!

By Miki

March 7, 2009 Posted by | Art, Le Piou de Pomme, painting, Parents and Children, personal, psychology, The MiniBar | , , , , | 10 Comments

Bubble Boy – 15 –

Bubble Boy - 15 - , by Miki

Bubble Boy - 15 - , by Miki

(Original German Version)

(Bubble Boy – 1 –)     (Bubble Boy – 14 –)

Barbra then watched with horror how the second giant hand uncorked the bottle and poured away some of the liquid inside. She noticed also how the hand which was holding her came closer and closer to the bottle, and suddenly, exactly in the moment when she was directly upon the bottle neck, Barbra felt the pressure against her body vanish: she soon started to go down in free fall! And before she really realised what was going on and she could have the time and the presence of mind to grasp the bottleneck to prevent herself falling further down, plop! She has slipped all the way down to the bottom of the bottle!
You should have seen her face!

She was sitting now with the green liquid all around. She realised that she had been very lucky at least that the poison only reached up to her throat…  imagine what would have happened if the poison was covering her head! She would be dead by now… supposing of course that the mixture was working!
Anyway she was thinking deeply now, how to get out of there. Of course! Wasn’t she a “witch” after all? This was the occasion to show what she could do. She started screaming all the weirdest witches magic curses she knew, you know, things like
“Abracadabra” and “Watapalava” and “Avabanana”
waiting for extraordinary things to happen. And indeed something incredible did happen: the cork was back in the bottleneck!”
Not that this happened by magic: Bub couldn’t bear her screaming and thought that this was the best way to make Barbra shut up!

Tiwoo, of course,  had followed the whole thing from close by, and with increasing curiosity. She was generally much more rational than Barbra, and anyway, not being directly involved in the drama, it was of course easier to judge the situation and to plan the right solution.  She knew that the little Witch had no chance to get free on her own, no way! She had envisaged to help her, flying straight into the face of the boy as he was opening the bottle and to scratch his eyes with her claws, so that Barbra could flee.
But somehow, she could not do such an awful thing. Without knowing exactly why, she found the boy quite sympathetic, in fact much more sympathetic than Barbra herself! To be honest, Tiwoo felt quite ashamed about it, having the feeling to betray Barbra, but well, in the end nobody knew what was going on inside of her and she shouldn’t be bothered too much. Anyway, she was a wise owl and knew that in a difficult situation it is much better not to act too spontaneously
” turn your head seven times around your neck before acting!”
said her mother owl always. She thought it better to wait and see if a less brutal solution came to her mind. But also, to tell the whole truth, she thought that Barbra had deserved a lesson eventually, and it could not really damage her to stay for a while in her crystal jail. Surely the right place to think, to learn patience and reason, she thought, because without thoughts, patience and reason, Barbra had surely no chance to become a big Witch. All this Tiwoo knew it from all of those stories in  those magic books which Barbra always read in a loud voice…

But for now Barbra sat in a poison bottle and again the bottle was in Bub’s hand. Bub had no idea what to do with it, so he simply put his hand holding the bottle inside his pocket, and as he didn’t know what to do with the other hand, he put it in his other pocket.

What now?

(next instalment on Thursday 26th February 2009)

By Miki

February 23, 2009 Posted by | animals, Art, books, Cafe L'Arte, Cafe Literati, children, Miki's Paintings, Miki's Tale Bubble Boy, Parents and Children, personal, women, writing | 1 Comment

To My Everlasting Shame

I did not stay at my father’s bedside, to be with  him until he passed. There he was, right upstairs in the bedroom, while I hid like a coward downstairs and out of sight. We knew it would be that night. The doctors had called the family in and said so. 

All his brothers and sisters, the aunts and uncles I grew up with,  had been pretty much staying at my parents’ house for those last weeks.  The pasta pots were always boiling. They brought Italian bread and provolone cheese and sweet salami with big green olives. Most importantly,  they brought the black humor which is our family trademark , especially during our darkest hours.  It sustained us and carried us.

And yet, there was an age regression that took place for me. At age 32, they were still the grown ups and I was like a child again. That’s just how the dynamics morphed. When it was soon to be time, my favorite aunt had a talk with me and asked me if I really wanted to watch my father die. She explained to me, 32 going on 8, that dying was not like in the movies. It was quite a frightening thing to see.  She encouraged me to have my quiet time alone with him, now in a coma, and say my good-bye. I did so. Then I walked out of the room and all his siblings and my mother went in and the door was firmly closed.

And so he died with his wife, brothers and sisters all around and me nowhere in sight. They later said it was an awful thing. Blood and God knows what everywhere. Even his brothers were shaken by it. It was not something I should have had to see, they told me. As if they had protected me from something.

But not long after, I realized it was my own father’s awful thing. I should have been there. I allowed myself to be shielded by my beloved and well meaning aunt with childlike trust.  I should have been there. I was not a child. I was not, in truth, protected or shielded. I was written out of the last line of the last page of his life.  No, we wrote me out. 

And I am so ashamed, sorry, and regretful… What if my father knew or sensed I wasn’t there, right through the invisible walls of his coma? My shame is this: that I, his oldest and most responsible child, should have  accompanied him on the final stage of his journey. I should have been there. 

No tidy ending to this post. I should have been there.  

(This post was inspired by a poem by Cordie entitled:  If I had it to do all again)

February 6, 2009 Posted by | death, family, Parents and Children, personal, Psychscribe's Essays | , , , , , | 8 Comments