FACTORY BRITAIN

Brian Haw at Parliament Square. The only protester allowed within a certain radius of Parliament


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"I don't think the government fit the position of middle-management in this analogy, they would be the CEOs", rebuked a friend as we playfully embellished on the analogy of 'Factory Britain'. "But regardless, CEOs are answerable to the share holders, thus systemically inferior" I responded in part confusion. "So where are you in this factory?", enquired my friend as we reached for our mugs of tea, sitting around the dinner table midmorning, midweek. "I'm in the cafeteria and I haven't clocked-out", I responded in jest, neither pleased nor displeased at this realisation.

Maybe for the first time I'm a customer of Factory Britain – being here for a set period and certainly spending more than I am earning. And thus Factory Britain looks strange as I stand this side of the counter, I am simply visiting, chancing encounters with former colleagues if schedules permit. The surface details in the various departments now stop my passing eye, with subtle rearrangement of equipment suggesting a time of absence. During this visit I took the opportunity to stop by the London department, making an effort to see the displays that so many customers queued to enjoy. Yet the London department is no longer someplace next-door and much care was taken not to miss a detail I might regret after leaving. Just to make sure, and for the first time in my life, I photographed every possibly important feature joining the many other customers that pass by. Now I can see all the things staff members are blind to and now all my newly found colleagues will have to sit through the slideshow.

You'll sit in a coffee shop, then go for a beer, followed by a night club and then you'll realise it's all the same old shit

"David?". Silence has found me since my arrival, yet this is maybe due to having my perception heightened. "David?". A friend joked with me before my arrival, "You'll sit in a coffee shop, then go for a beer, followed by a night club and then you'll realise it's all the same old shit. Disappointment will follow!". There has been much I was looking forward to, some mentioned, but there are better differences, like not having to hide. "David, are you listening to me?", they scream, waking me up somewhere between two lands, neither of which feeling like a place I might call 'work'.

"David, why are you going back?", they ask, confused as to why one might choose a lesser equipped factory with a less than transparent boss, not to mention the less than reassuring work ethic. I can site many reasons, yet either way it's a cafeteria I sit in. At either table it's tea that we drink, yet maybe my answer would be that it's stories that are more interesting.