Freewheel

@freewheel.bsky.social

Where does the West end and the East begin?

It's too blasted hot to do what I need to do right now so I'm going to relax a minute and word sketch what happened a few months ago when people thought I was going a little crazy. *laughing* It has to do with listening to your inner voice:)

I feel like an issue that would connect well with voters would be doing anything at all to slow the current progression toward "absolutely everything now is a scam"

the bluesky wokescolds are at it again. you won't believe what they're furious about this time, it's just my new essay "i enjoyed my time working with fascists and appreciate all they've done to grease the wheels of my career"

I’ll be on the coach longer than I was on the plane because the train would have cost more than the plane, and taken even longer. Joke country, just embarrassing tbh.

they called Obama a communist in 2008 and here we are, 18 years later having learned nothing, still shitting our pants over being called communists stop giving a shit what the right wing freaks are going to say about you and gain some principles to stand by

What’s left of the postwar consensus - the social safety net, the NHS - are well on their way to being bulldozed into the sea. Not by common democratic consent but by decades of extremely aggressive deception and gerrymandering by a comparatively small number of people, people whose names you know.

I recently watched Iron Man (2008) for the first time in over a decade, and it's a real lightbulb moment to realize that every executive, business bro and tech guy currently obsessed with using ChatGPT or Claude or whatever thinks they're like Tony Stark talking to Jarvis

God I love a cosy little roof terrace, like when you get the train into London and you can see all the private little outdoor spaces that people have made their own.

A roof terrace, obviously. The post is about a roof terrace so the picture isn’t going to be a box of frogs is it.

When people ask me if I have any good stories from when I used to interview rock stars for a living my mind often goes a bit blank, and to be honest a lot of it was quite ordinary and unremarkable, but on the other hand there is this.

24 years ago I was sent to a London pub by a newspaper to interview and drink whisky (no “e” over here) with Lemmy, who was in the band Motorhead and, before that, slightly less famously, Hawkwind and, before that, much less famously, Sam Gopal. We had a good chat: about being from the part of the Midlands north of the River Trent, about books, and about roadying for Hendrix in the mid-60s (him, not me; I was minus nine at the time). When the record company PR sidled over to tell me my time was up, Lemmy waved him away. “No, no, I’m enjoying this,” he said, commandingly. I realised at this point that I had another question I’d been meaning to ask but hadn’t. “Are you scared of anything?” I said to Lemmy. “Nothing,” he replied. Then he paused and frowned for a moment, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to him. “Oh, maybe snakes,” he said. “It’s because they’ve got no shoulders.”