#john chancer

[rovermcfly]

so you're telling me that this voice is not john chancer 🤨

[redwiccanrobin]

I think the directors of the English dub just let John Chancer do whatever he wanted sometimes.

[brummiereader]

No Son Of Mine (One Shot)

Summary: Justice had finally been served in the wake of John's death. But with all acts of violence comes consequences, one Tommy must face when his trusted friend Johnny dogs stumbles upon the now orphaned baby of the traitor and his wife he and Arthur had both murdered in cold blood all in the name or revenge. With no child of their own and Graces refusal to send him to the orphanage, Tommy begrudgingly takes the child into his care. Will Tommy ever show young Oliver the love of a father he deserves? Or will he continue to see him as nothing but a burden the heavens had cruelly punished him with?

Warnings: Language, mentions of murder, mentions of blood, angst, fluff

Authors note: A lovely reader of mine popped into my messages and kindly asked me if I could write this story for them. I'm sorry for the long delay hun, I can only blame my procrastinating brain for my tardiness. Anyway, I hope i did your prompt justice. Enjoy!

"Right, we done?" Tommy said raising a brow as he wiped the blood that had splattered onto to his crisp white evening shirt looking to his brother Arthur nodding his head in response, his chest heaving up and down as he brushed his bloody hands through his hair, both having been sidetracked from the nights festivities.

" Fucking scum" Arthur sniffed wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he gave one last kick to the lifeless body at his feet. A cascade of events since John's death had led up to this very day, and Tommy and Arthur both simultaneously agreed without the need of words that justice had finally been served. Luca Changretta had been dead for almost a fortnight, the vendetta was over for all but the two surviving older brothers. That was until tonight when both Arthur and Tommy were unexpectedly called away to the news that Johnny dogs had found exactly who they'd been looking for. The traitor, the informer, the bastard that had given John's address to the Italians. A Peaky Blinder, one of their very own men.

" What about her?" Arthur spat a splutter of saliva laced with blood to the ground, the result of one lucky punch from the chancer that had tried his luck with the towering gangster. He'd put up a decent fight, one Arthur enjoyed watching before his patience grew thin and he pummeled his fist into him, each snap and break of his bloody face crumbling into something unrecognizable before being shot point-blank in the head. No one wanting or willing to hold him back. Not even Tommy. No forgiveness was given that dark night, only the sweet mercy met at the end of the barrel of a gun.

" Collateral" Tommy replied as he rubbed a cigarette across his lips not giving the nights events one ounce of remorse. This was for John after all.

" Collateral?" Arthur sniffed feeling a pang of guilt hit his stomach. Women and children were not to be harmed, an unspoken agreement before time in all dealings in war between men.

" Yes Arthur, fucking collateral alright?" Tommy snapped as he marched over to his brother whose eyes hadn't left those of the lifeless woman laid on the muddied ground below him " She ran into the line of fire brother. She all but killed herself" Tommy finished growing impatient with Arthur's weighing guilt. The last thing he needed was his number one soldier to be hit with a moral compass.

" Lads, we've got ourselves a wee problem" Johnny rushed over breathless as he loosened the neckerchief from the vein pumping angrily on the side of his neck. Fuck sake, Tommy thought to himself as he threw his cigarette to the ground. Things could never go smoothly, as smoothly as murder could go that was.

" What kinda problem?" Tommy replied as he and Arthur followed him into the small bedsit from the courtyard that two dead bodies had yet to be disposed of. The commotion resulting in the curiosity and twitching of the neighbours curtains, not one of them daring to or even contemplating in the slightest to inform any person of authority. Who would they go to? The police? The mere thought was laughable.

"Just a small one" Johnny replied taking two steps at a time up the rickety wooden stairs elaborating no further on what exactly had thrown a spanner into the works.

"A small problem Johnny eh? That's a big fucking problem!" Tommy ranted shaking his head as the three men entered the flat met with the sound of a newborn baby wailing in his woven bassinet, his bottom lip wobbling with each cry that furiously left his little lungs.

"Well he's small ain't he?" Johnny replied as he tilted his head looking down at the baby boy bundled in a white knitted blanket. You'd think with the the small army of children Johnny had fathered he'd be in his element. But that couldn't be further from the truth. Johnny was a natural with children, but a natural with children that had been weened, potty trained, and able enough to drive a four wheeled vehicle and shoe a horse. In basic terms, teenagers. But nonetheless wee babbies in his eyes. Newborns were all but a loud messy mystery to him.

" Jesus fucking Christ..." Tommy huffed pinching his brow as his mind frantically tried to come up with a solution as to what in the hell he was going to do now.

" Bloody hell, bloody fucking hell!" Arthur bellowed as he kicked the chair beside him, the gravity of what they had just gone hitting him far more than any sin from the long list he had committed in the past. They had made a child an orphan, and Arthur's regret and new-found faith in the almighty was about to turn into a furious rage of self-inflicted guilt.

" Hey, hey!" Tommy said cupping Arthur's head in his hands in a vice grip, trying to snap him from the pit he was intent on falling in. " Johnny take the child and go start the car" Tommy said loosening his hands as Arthur's head cast down with shame at his sudden outburst. No reading of scriptures would ever be able to tame the raging fury from igniting within him at any given moment, no matter how hard he tried. " And Johnny, light a fire. Just as we did for John" Tommy finished reminding Arthur who this was for, who they were avenging.

" He won't quit!" Arthur panicked as he held the baby in the back seat of the car, fumbling with the hand stitched blanket as Tommy drove full speed down the country lane back to Arrow house were the night of meeting with dignitaries was surely over.

" He ain't a bloody chicken is he?" Johnny said as he reached over from the passengers seat taking the bundled up child into his arms. " Like this, look" Johnny added resting the baby's head on his shoulder as he silently prayed to every ancestor to take pity on him, promising them that the next child to be birthed with his last name he'd be the epitome of a modern father to.

" Shut him up Johnny!" Tommy shouted, his jaw clenched at the increased wailing in his ear, his nerves on edge by the constant reminder of the nights events he now had to deal with as he slammed his foot down on the pedal with Arrow house in sight.

"Grace!" Tommy's voice bellowed through the walls of the their house. Every guest had already left, the grand entrance cleared of tables of the most prestigious of all champagnes imported from France mere hours ago. A night of free food, free booze and music in return for them delving into their pockets. But with the host having been otherwise occupied for most of the evening it was a night wasted, one he would begrudgingly have to endure for a second time.

" Tommy..." Grace said as she hurried down the stairs pulling her ivory night gown around her as she watched Tommy pace back and forth with a cigarette hanging from his lips in the grand hallway.

" Here. You wanted a baby, now you have one" Tommy said as he took the child from Johnny's arms placing him into hers before storming off to his office and slamming the door shut, leaving his wife wide-eyed in confusion as Johnny and Arthur stood there sheepishly without a word.

" Frances, some warm cows milk and another blanket please. That will have to do until the morning" she said softly not wanting to startle the child anymore as she gently hushed his sobs away into small whimpers and sniffles. " One of you going to tell me what happened?"

It had been an hour, three whiskys, a packet of cigarettes and the rubbing of one's brow back and forth as a pounding headache settled onto his forehead since Tommy had shut himself away in his office, shutting himself away from the consequences of the night.

" Tommy?" Graces voice quietly announced as she entered the room with the newborn bundled in her arms soundly asleep as a flash of love at seeing his wife in her element softened her husband's face. Her motherly instincts that had been waiting to be freed finally being put to use after the longing for her own child.

" I've rung the orphanage" Tommy bluntly replied, the sweet moment that had captured him bitterly snatched away by no one else but himself as he stubbed out his cigarette. " They're coming first thing tomorrow to..."

" The orphanage. Tommy..." Grace interrupted him, her angered voice raising just above a whisper in response before being cut off herself.

" I won't hear anymore on it Grace. He can't stay here, that's the end of it" Tommy stood up throwing his lighter on a stack of paperwork as he rested his hands on the mahogany desk in front of him, looming over the list of numbers he had been calling as he huffed out a cloud of smoke.

" The end of it is it Thomas?" Grace scoffed as she walked forward, her eyes narrowing in on her husband with every step she took. " You made this child an orphan, he is your responsibility now. That's the end of it" she said coming to a stop in front of his desk as her husbands jaw tightened at her words.

" What about John's kids eh? They've been made orphans, hm? Grace? " He said as his wife turned her back on him as she headed for the door, Tommy's raised voice enough to startle a small whimper of cries from the baby boy now waking up from a deep slumber.

" When will it end Tommy?" Grace said as she came to a stop at the door. Tommy's relentless need for revenge against anyone who had dared to cross him leaving a string of orphans, elderly burying their own children and children burying their own parents. " A son Tommy, isn't that what you've wanted? What we've wanted?" she sighed, a deep wave of sorrow filling her heart as she looked down at the sweet child in her arms, a child she had yearned for during the unforgiving nights she had held onto her husband as tears streamed her face. Loss after loss breaking her already shattered heart.

" He'll be no son of mine"

Six years later...

" Elbows off Oliver" Grace reprimanded with a small smile of affection at the breakfast table to the child who had grown into a dimpled cheeked young boy as she rubbed her swollen stomach.

" Yes mummy" he replied kicking his legs back and forth as he wiped his cheeks from the egg soldiers he had just enjoyed as Tommy eyed him over the newspaper in his hand, reaching to caress his wife's stomach.

" He'll be here soon" Grace smiled to her husband lacing her fingers between his as she glanced over at her son that had no knowledge of who his birth parents were or the night that had brought him into their life, never wanting to or willing to send him into turmoil with the truth at such a young age "A baby brother for you Oliver " she winked to him as he grinned from ear to ear at the idea of having a sibling all whilst trying to stack the remaining pieces of toast into a strong hold that would keep the soldiers from the fiery dragon his imagination had conjured up. His attempts rendered futile when his tower of toast came crashing down onto the recently polished floors.

" Grace..." Tommy huffed folding his newspaper in half throwing it on the table in front of him, his patience easily tested with anything the small boy did that caused the slightest of inconvenience.

" Don't play with your food darling" she corrected him as Oliver's eyes darted to his father and the irritation clearly expressed in the creases of his furrowed brow. "Go clean up those buttery cheeks before I leave ok?" She smiled as the boy nodded in response while sliding off his seat only to stand on the scattered toast below him, causing a mountain of crumbs and further mess.

" You heard your mother" Tommy huffed lighting a cigarette as he looked down at the waste of food and the disorder that came with the child that had created it. " Oliver" Tommy pinched his brow as the little boy stood there doe eyed looking up at him nervously through his lashes.

" Go on" Grace smiled reassuring him as he ran to the door. " You're to harsh with him, he's scared of you" Grace said snapping her head to Tommy as he left the room.

" He doesn't listen" Tommy stated as he stood up taking a drag of his cigarette as he watched the boy through the crack of the door running up the stairs. " Stands there looking gormless whenever I tell him to do something, just like his traitor father"

" Tommy!" Grace said as she put the breakfast dishware down, crashing them onto the table in one loud clatter of knives, forks and spoons as she hurried to shut the door. " Don't ever let him hear you talk like that!"

" Well maybe he should know, eh Grace ?" Tommy said coldly stubbing his cigarette out, the pain from his brothers death never fully grieved, only ever making itself clear through the unfair coldness he showed to the child his wife had lovingly taken in all those years ago, raising him solely on her own over the watchful eye of him always standing from afar.

" You'd like that wouldn't you Tommy? Wouldn't have to keep up your facade anymore" Grace replied as she walked around the table. " Your his father, he knows no different. Just like this one" she said resting her hand on her stomach. " You're breaking his heart Tommy" she said taking his hand trying to reason with his stubbornness and the relentless friction he had undoubtedly created in the house the three of them shared. "I'm going to miss my train" she sighed as she closed her hand around his placing a tender kiss to his lips before turning to leave as Tommy followed behind her, watching from the door as she knelt down to Oliver in the entryway.

" Can't i come?" the young boy sobbed as she brushed his tears from his rosy cheeks. " Please?" he sniffed turning to see Tommy leaning against the door frame watching from afar, always from afar.

" I'm sorry darling, not this time" she replied a look of concern in her eyes about leaving him alone with Tommy, silently wishing this one time he would push his unenthusiastic demeanor aside and at least try if not for her then the little boy who thought the world of him. The same little boy with a determination that matched the very man who would brush off any attempts he made to impress him. Tommy's hate for the man that had fathered him clouding every parental instinct in his body. " I'll bring you something back" she winked giving him a hug before she fixed her hat and hesitantly turned to the door, leaving the young boy standing in the hallway sobbing as Tommy cruelly turned his back on his tears and shut the dinning room door behind him.

" Dad, Johnny, watch me!" Oliver shouted as he precariously placed one foot in front of the other climbing the large oak tree shading the evening sun on the grounds of Arrow house as Tommy and Johnny dogs watched on from the patio door. The young boy hell-bent on getting to the very top after seeing his uncle Arthur climb the very same tree two weeks earlier as he watched on in awe.

"That 'a boy!" Johnny shouted back pulling his cigarette from his mouth as he waved back. " Found 'em Tom" he turned to Tommy in a hushed voice as he leaned in. "They live up north in Yorkshire, factory workers in the local pressing center. Dirt poor, drunk ol' man that beats his wife within an inch of her life and too many mouths to feed" Johnny added as he watched Tommy's eyes following Oliver's every move.

" He's gonna fucking fall" Tommy huffed under his breath as he stood up straight, already on guard for the inevitable. He never fucking listens, why would he never listen to him?

" Tom, you listening ?" Johnny said as he pulled the address of Oliver's uncle from his pocket. " Grace will never forgive you Tom, he's her whole world" Johnny added as Tommy took the piece of crumpled paper from him, the decision to send Oliver to his family having been made after the unexpected news of Grace's pregnancy, a decision made solely by him without her knowledge. It's better she didn't know, better for him that was. And when the day did come, he'd tell her his family claimed him back. What grounds would she have to fight them? She'd be distracted with the birth of their son, she'd forget...wouldn't she?

"Dad look!" Oliver shouted trying to get his attention, determined to show him how far he could climb, how he was as fearless as any other Shelby before he misplaced his foot and came tumbling down to the ground.

"Oliver!" Tommy shouted throwing his cigarette into the grass as he and Johnny ran over in a panic. " What did I tell you eh?! What did I fucking tell you?!" Tommy shouted, all words of expected comfort and love absent from his voice as anger and frustration took over.

"I'm sorry..." he sobbed looking up to his dad as Tommy removed his cap from his head, running his hands through his hair as he looked down at the bloody cut on his hand, every ounce of his being telling him to cradle the boy in his arms that knew nothing but him as his father.

" Ay, up you get" Johnny said helping him as he gave him a pat to his back. " Just a scratch Oliver ay? No broken bones. Nout to worry on. Ain't that right Tommy?" Johnny said in attempts to reassure the sobbing boy and Tommy who was about ready to snap again, his jaw tightened at the sight of Oliver's cheeks streamed with tears, muddy and red from the blow of the fall.

"Get inside" Tommy said placing his cap back on as he started marching back to the house, ignoring the pit of fear in his stomach at how things could have taken a turn for the worse under his watch of the boy Grace had entrusted him with. " Boys don't cry Oliver. Soldier up and wipe those tears" Tommy harshly stated as he left him and Johnny by themselves as he made his way to his office, shutting himself once again away from any more responsibility, anymore damage his presence caused.

" Come on lad" Johnny said putting his arm around him as Oliver sniffed back his tears feeling foolish that he had not only fallen but cried In front of his father, the man that never cried.

Sitting back in his leather chair Tommy rubbed the weight of the guilt that had settled on his forehead with the tips of his fingers as the night drew in, the soft hue from the crackling fire the only source of light in the blackened room he had locked himself in for the remainder of the evening. The impending birth of his child had unexpectedly thrown Tommy's thoughts into an uncomfortable disarray. Out of sight out of mind had been Tommy's only solution to the feelings that had started to arise in him that fatherhood had threatened, that fatherhood had been threatening him with for six years. Oliver was more like him than Tommy dared to admit. The child's strong will and refusal to listen one of his own cruel making. Why couldn't he love him like he already loved his unborn child? How long could he keep this up? Would he be that man, unashamedly favoring one child in front of the other? With too many questions dominating his thoughts and his wife's gentle voice absent to soothe the demons he had created for himself, Tommy did what he only knew how to do. Drink himself to the bottom of a whisky bottle. Heading up to the second floor of Arrow house with the finest bottle of Irish whisky in his hand he stopped at the top of the stairs, small whimpers and cries coming from the room at the end of the hallway capturing his attention. Oliver's room.

" Frances!" Tommy called out as he waited for the the housekeeper to deal with what he knew he couldn't. "Fuck sake" he huffed under his breath after waiting in place for someone to come before he found himself walking down the hallway to Oliver's room. There, with his knees curled up to his chest Tommy watched though the crack of the door as Oliver rubbed his hand back and forth over the bandage wrapped tightly around his injured wrist, his small frame illuminated by the cast of the gentle moonlight shining through his bedroom window. Running his hand down his face Tommy opened the door as Oliver quickly turned around pulling the blankets up to his chin.

"Oliver?" Tommy questioned placing the bottle of whisky on the side cabinet as he walked over. " Why aren't you asleep?" Tommy said more bluntly than he intended to as he stood by the bed, feeling a wave of unease wash over him as he noted the small blanket Oliver was clutching onto. The very same blanket he was wrapped in the night they had found him. Grace had kept it, something he would have known if he had ever sat and read him a bedtime story, if he had ever woke in the night to hush the nightmares away from his worried mind, if he had ever even entered his room in all of the six years he had lived under his roof." Let me see" Tommy said in a gentler tone as he sat beside him on the bed. " Oliver let me see" he said when no response came from the whimpers the small child was trying to stifle. Boys don't cry. " Please?" Tommy sighed resting his hand on the child's back as his head fell into his other, the guilt of six year of taking the life of his parents settling on his shoulders pushing him further into his elbow digging into his leg as his head grew heavy with regret. Sniffling, Oliver turned around with his hand out as Tommy cradled it gently in his own, the difference in size causing Tommy's throat to go dry. The hate for his father's betrayal that of a grown mans doing, not this young boys that Tommy had cruelly burdened him with for six years " First of many battle wounds eh?" Tommy smiled to the young boy as Oliver's face stayed unchanged, unresponsive to Tommy trying to ease his worry. Had he done this? Made the child is his care so frightened of him he couldn't even a coax a smile from him?

" Soldiers don't cry" Oliver said pulling his hand away, his bottom lip turning down at the thought he wasn't as strong as his father, a soldier like him.

" They do Oliver" Tommy said as his brows knitted together at the thought that young Oliver had taken his words to heart. What else had Tommy said in the past six years, what else had he unknowingly taught him?

" You said boys..."

" And I shouldn't have " Tommy answered before he could finish as the boy wiped his tears from his youthful cheeks whilst a small silence filled the room, the strain from their relationship left empty with nothing further to say as Tommy desperately tried to search for the comforting words he knew Oliver needed to hear. " You want your mum don't you?" Tommy said swallowing harshly as he turned his head to the rays of moonlight cast on the wooden floor " I'm sorry Oliver, I'm..." Tommy huffed pinching his brow as he clasped his hand around the child's shoulder. "... I'm not very good at this. You gotta help me out here. Will you help me?" he said as he gently squeezed his shoulder, rubbing his thumb back and forth as the barriers Tommy had kept up started to fall around him as he desperately scrambled to gain back the wasted years he had been adored, loved unconditionally, a love he had never once reciprocated . " Get some rest" Tommy sighed patting Oliver's shoulder, his plea for help left unanswered as he stood up when a small hand grabbed hold of him.

" Tell me a story, please?" Oliver asked as he sat up in his bed looking up to the man he had always looked up to, always waiting for an ounce of affection.

" That what your mum does eh?" Tommy replied as he sat back down, adjusting the covers lovingly around the boy, if not a little overly enthusiastically as Oliver was now in a tight cocoon of covers and blankets with his arms securely fastened by his sides. " A story..." Tommy mused aloud, his eyes looking up at the ceiling as his brain mulled over all the potential tales that could see him sleeping in the guest room for an undefined amount of time if Grace ever found out, when the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile you would think had never seen the light of day let alone witnessed by anyone but himself. Arthur had made him swear in blood to never mention the day his gangly legs had gotten in his way causing him to fall from would could have been the very same tree Oliver had fell from earlier that day in attempts impress a girl three decades ago. " Arthur made me swear never to tell anyone, but you won't tell him I told you, right? Tommy said as the boy nodded his head, understanding the severity of pinky swears and the fate of death if you ever spilled.

" Cross my heart" he nodded with all the seriousness he could muster as his little face twisted into a stern expression, a worthy match to Tommy's own infamous pout. He was a Shelby after all, Tommy thought to himself as his heart suddenly filled with pride.

" That's my boy" Tommy said as he turned to sit beside him, wrapping his arm around his shoulder as Oliver nestled into his side " My son eh? Tommy nudged him into his body as the boys eyes beamed up at his father's loving gaze. "My son..."

[nintendonut1]

Out of curiosity, how does Geno's voice sound to you? Any voice headcanons?

I have a few options for headcanon voices! Usually a range of low alto to tenor in tone.

John Chancer (Snufkin from the 90s Moomin)

Elijah Wood (if I had to pick a Hollywood actor)

Zeno Robinson (his performance during that charity stream was amazing)

[bibelots]

evening all please accept my proposal that the only voice Harvey can have is that of John Chancer's English dub of Snufkin in the 1990s moomins

[fortheusers17]

Currently playing the new snukin melody of moominvalley game whilst listening to an audiobook on adhd narrated by john chancer who voiced snufkin in the 90s moomin anime if this doesn't cure me nothing me

[freddiemercurylegendabovelegends]

🔸December 21, 1974 – Melody Maker

Freddie Mercury: Queen Bee

by Caroline Coon

THERE’S nothing like a dearth of hero-stars to make a media industry writhe with despondency. Film moguls, unable to find successors to Monroe and Gable, are making a cult of anti-stars. But the pop industry needs the potent elixir, the excitement of using honest superlatives to sear through the blood, lifting the spirits. And pop scribes, like damp, weary pilgrims waiting for the dawn, have been aching to crown a new hero.

Then, just when the prognosis looked direst, with a dazzling whoooosh, darlings, up popped Freddie Mercury.

Suddenly we’ve discovered in our midst an exotic prancer, a quixotic chancer, an electronic Elgar who has penned some of the gaudiest, soaring rock and roll anthems to be heard in a decade.

Freddie, known for his meticulous attention to detail, couldn’t have planned his heir apparency better. He’s paid his dues. With Queen (Brian May — guitar, John Deacon — bass, Roger Taylor — drums) he’s had four years to survey the scene and build up the frenzied grass-roots following which left him impervious to the lack of affection in other quarters. However, with the delivery of Sheer Heart Attack, all the vehement dampeners with which critics received Queen’s two previous offerings have turned to outpourings of unrestrained enthusiasm.

Freddie’s wearing tight oyster grey satin pants, an antique market cream satin blouse and a scarlet velvet Victorian bed jacket. His hair is cormorant black, he flashes ebony eyes and his smile reveals a row of pearly white teeth which look ready to plunge into a meal of little girl burgers. He’s tapping the carpet with one white boot, the tabletop with a pen and for a moment I wonder anxiously whether I’m facing an irked prima donna. But “no, Mercury isn’t my real name, dear. I changed it from Pluto,” Freddie jibes. His gentle, deadpan camperie breaks the ice.

When you first formed Queen, did you aim pretty high, I asked. “That’s it. The whole group aimed for the top slot. We’re not going to be content with anything less. That’s what we’re striving for. It’s got to be there. I definitely know we’ve got it in the music, we’re original enough… and, now we’re proving it,” said Freddie, being uncharacteristically forceful.

You must have had a lot of self confidence? “You have to have confidence in this business. It’s USELESS saying you don’t need it. If you start saying to yourself ‘maybe I’m not good enough, maybe I’d better settle for second place,’ it’s no good. If you like the icing on the top, you’ve got to have confidence. I was a precocious child. My parents thought boarding school would do me good so they sent me to one when I was seven, dear. I look back on it and I think it was marvellous. You learn to look after yourself and it taught me to have responsibility.”

Your background is quite affluent then? “No it wasn’t as affluent as people think. It was middle-class. But I suppose I gave the appearance of being affluent. I love that. I still do. It’s all part of how you feel and how you project yourself.”

Freddie left boarding school when he was 16. He studied classical piano, to Grade 4, but being an arty lad, his parents encouraged him to develop this creative talent. “I went to Ealing Art School a year after Peter Townshend left. Music was a sideline to everything we did. The school was a breeding ground for musicians. I listened to Hendrix, really. I got my diploma and then I thought I’d chance it as a freelance artist. I tried. I did it for a couple of months, but I’d done it for so long I thought ‘my God, I’ve done enough.’ The interest wasn’t there. And the music thing just grew and grew. Finally I said ‘right, I’m taking the plunge, it’s music.’ I’m one of those people believes in doing those things which interest you. Music is so interesting, dear.”

Were you always a bit of a performer? “Well, on stage I just click. To be honest, performing comes quite easily realty. It doesn’t take me that much. I mean, I know it sounds conceited and there are a lot of setbacks and a lot of strains and nerves, but not nearly as much as there used to be. Now we are a headline band we know people have come to see us. Being support is one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.”

Yes, it seems as it the strain took its toll. Brian dropped out of the first American tour with hepatitis and Freddie was plagued with boils. “I tell you, I feel the after-effects of touring. We finished the British tour last night and I feel as if I’ve done a marathon every night. I’ve got bruises everywhere. Because it’s the music that matters, you’ve got to make sure there are key people around you, taking care of you.”

And now, what about the spectre of your success? Does it loom before you and keep you awake at night? “Quite often I have quite vicious nightmares — like the other night just before the Rainbow concert. We were sleeping in the Holiday Inn and I dreamed I went out on to the hotel balcony and the whole thing fell and I was a heap on the pavement. Really I was petrified when I woke up in the morning. And Roger has this nightmare where he’s drinking a bottle of Coke and the bottle smashes and he has broken glass all the way down his system. Ridiculous sort of things like that are caused by the tension which builds up.”

With all the energy you’re going to be putting into touring in Europe and America in the next few months, are you going to find the time to write? “Well, I don’t ever really sit down at the piano and say ‘right, I’ve got to write a song now.’ I feel a few things and I have ideas. It’s very hard to explain but there are always various ideas going through my head. ‘Killer Queen’ was one song which was really out of the format that I usually write in. Usually the music comes first, but the words came to me, and the sophisticated style that I wanted to put across in the song, came first. No, I’d never really met a woman like that. A lot of my songs are fantasy. I can dream up all kinds of things. That’s the kind of world I live in. It’s very sort of flamboyant, and that’s the kind of way I write. I love it.

“You don’t need money to give an air of being… ” he pauses, as if he’s afraid of revealing too much about himself. “I don’t know — sort of extreme. The showbiz thing of walking into a room and making sure that people know you’re there. I love being able to let myself go at times. The ideal thing for a group that is successful is to churn out more of the formula that worked. But we want to progress in our own terms.”

Will you have to take time off to write new songs? “It depends. Nobody knew we were going to be told we had two weeks to write Sheer Heart Attack. And we had too — it was only thing we could do. Brian was in hospital.”

What do you feel like under that kind of pressure? “Well, ‘Killer Queen’ I wrote in one night. I’m not being conceited or anything, but it just fell into place. Certain songs do. Now, ‘March Of The Black Queen’, that took ages. I had to give it everything, to be self indulgent or whatever. But with ‘Killer Queen’, I scribbled down the words in the dark one Saturday night and the next morning I got them all together and I worked all day Sunday and that was it. I’d got it. It gelled. It was great. Certain things Just come together, but other things you have to work for. The whole band is very particular. We don’t go in for half measures and I’m very hard with myself. There’re no compromises. If I thought a song wasn’t quite right, I’d discard it. I’m very intricate and delicate. You can see that in my paintings. I love painters like Richard Dadd, Mucha and Dali, and I love Arthur Rackham.”

You’re on the way to being a huge androgynous sex symbol. What does it feel like to know that there are thousand’s of lads and lassies out there who want a piece of you for themselves? “It’s a great feeling. I play on the bisexual thing because it’s something else, it’s fun. But I don’t put on the show because I feel I have to and the last thing I want to do is give people an idea of exactly who I am. I want people to work out their own interpretation of me and my image. I don’t want to build a frame around myself and say ‘this is what I am’ or ‘this is all I am.’

“To be honest. I’d like people to think there, is no falsity in me, because what I do is really my character. But I think mystique, not knowing the truth about someone, is very appealing. I’d be doing myself an injustice if I didn’t wear make-up because some people think it’s wrong. Even to talk about being gay used to be obnoxious and unheard of. But gone are those days. There’s a lot of freedom today and you can put yourself across anyway you want to. But I haven’t CHOSEN this image. I’m myself and in fact half the time I let the wind take me.

“I don’t go out to have very gay company but, I tell you, in this business it’s very hard to find friends — to have loyal friends and to keep them. Among my friends are a lot of gay people and a lot of girls and a lot of OLD men. The man I have as a chauffeur — we’ve, built up such a bond, it’s a kind of love, and I don’t care what people think about it. Putting people in different categories is unfair. You have to judge people on what they are.”

What kind of person are you? “How do you expect me to answer a question like that, dear! There are various aspects of me. The thing I treasure most, above music, is meeting people. I like being sociable, going out to functions and things and, generally, I’m likeable I think. But I can change and be very moody and obnoxious. I’m a sort of chameleon. Success is teaching me a lot of things and I’m adapting. You’ve got to learn to come up with decisions very quickly. There’s no beating about the bush in this business.”

Do you think you’re in control of the success trip? “We’re going to try to control it as much as we can. You’ve got to make sure that you don’t ever admit to yourself that this is your peak. If you admit to yourself that this your peak, then you’re on the way down. I really feel that we have so much more to offer. There’s masses waiting in store that we can give.”

How do you feel about the superstar label? “Honestly, labels like that are touch and go with us. We’ve been labelled so many different things and labels are as bad as they are good. If you took labels seriously, you’d be very silly. We were labelled ‘hype’ in the early days. We took offence, but we didn’t take it seriously because we knew what we were about.”

You told me earlier that you love affluence. Now that you’re on the way to becoming a very rich man, what are you going to do with your money?

“Spend it, my dear. I’m the one member of the band for whom money isn’t very endearing. I’m the one who spends it straight off. It just goes. On clothes and I like nice things around me.”

Pic: 1974 - Freddie Mercury posing

[greenandhazy]

Call out post for John Paul Jones

is a pirate

no loyalty does he possess

cut a man down in his prime

raised the flag of the Yanks

sailed at the head of the French

actively kicking up storms in the Black Sea

is a chancer at best

[georgefairbrother]

This is the second in our occasional series featuring luminaries of stage and screen with a strong personal or professional connection with Northeast England, inspired by @robbielewis. This time, Edward Wilson (1947-2008).

Edward Wilson was born into a South Shields mining family in 1947. He performed with the National Youth Theatre and aged 19, formed his own company, the South Shields Youth Theatre, staging their plays at the local Pier Pavilion.

According to his obituary in The Guardian;

"…The local press raved, while stern-faced local Labour mandarins wondered if the radical ideas on their stage were too dangerous. "Kitchen sink drama" had arrived, and so had Ed Wilson…"

He attended Manchester University, and continued acting and directing at the NYT, for which he was artistic director from 1987 to 2003 (or 2004, depending on the source). He also demonstrated a talent for business and administration, successfully negotiating major corporate sponsorships and Lottery funding to ensure the NYT’s ongoing viability.

On television, he had a major role in 35 episodes of the 1970s working-class family saga, When the Boat Comes In, as Billy Seaton, a radically minded, newly qualified doctor working in impoverished pre-NHS Tyneside communities. Billy Seaton's complicated and often combative relationship with Seaton family friend, capitalist chancer Jack Ford (James Bolam), was an ongoing theme that brought out some intense and compelling performances from both actors.

Edward Wilson was one of the few original cast members to return for the final, fourth series in 1981, where the action largely shifted away from Tyneside, and explored left-wing politics surrounding the Spanish Civil War.

Other television appearances included the historical dramatised documentary series, Fall of Eagles, as Russian revolutionary Julius Martov (with Patrick Stewart as Lenin and Michael Kitchen as Trotsky), and a regular role in the 1980s police drama, Rockliffe’s Babies.

In 2004, he went to work in the US as the director of the Los Angeles Young Actors Company, was diagnosed with cancer in 2007, and passed away in 2008, aged 60.

By all accounts he was extremely well loved and respected by the actors he had discovered, mentored and directed during his time at the NYT, including Daniel Craig, who provided ongoing financial and practical assistance during his final illness.

The Independent:

"…Ed Wilson did not merely select the members of the NYT during his time there – he championed each and every one, and retained an interest in them long after they had left the company. A noted wit, he was as clever as he was stylish, and he had an undoubted genius for friendship. When tragedy or bereavement struck, he was magnificent, and he would move mountains to help a friend in need..."

See also, John Nightingale, fellow alumni of the National Youth Theatre;

Sources: the Independent, The Guardian, IMDb

[scotianostra]

On July 5th 1560 The Treaty of Edinburgh is agreed between England and France bringing to an end the siege by English troops of French forces occupying Leith. (some places say July 6th I will come to that later)

During the 1550’s, France controlled Scotland. The infant Queen Mary was in France preparing to marry Francis, the French prince. Her French mother, Mary of Guise, ran Scotland in her absence.

The small but powerful band of Protestant Scottish noblemen, called the Lords of the Congregation, resented France’s power over Scotland. With the support of England, they rebelled. In February, the Treaty of Berwick was signed, which led to English troops entering Scotland. And in June, the Catholic Mary of Guise, mother of Mary, Queen of Scots, and co-Regent of Scotland, died.

It is said that Elizabeth I didn’t like the idea of helping subjects revolt against their ruler, but neither did she like the influence that France had in Scotland. So in 1560, she decided to send English troops to Scotland to fight the French. The treaty has been claimed as a turning-point in Anglo-Scottish relations.

And so it was with the Regent, Marie de Guise dead the the French had lost their figurehead, so with the assent of the Scottish Lords of the Congregation, the Commissioners of Queen Elizabeth I and French representatives in Scotland agreed to formally conclude the Siege of Leith, abolish the ‘Auld Alliance’ between France and Scotland, establish a new Anglo Scottish accord, and maintain the peace between England and France that had been agreed by the Treaty of Cateau-Cambresis. Also included in the Treaty was the agreement for Mary, Queen of Scots, and her husband, the French King François II, to give up Mary’s claim to the English crown and to recognise Elizabeth I as rightful Queen of England. Although Mary never agreed to this herself.

The reason for the confusion on the date is the terms of the treaty were drawn up on the 5th of July by representatives of the three countries, It was concluded on the following day, the 6th of July, 1560. Nobody asked Mary, Queen of Scots, if that would be okay, this was the beginning of the end for the Scottish Queen as the Protestant Lords began to assert their authority on Scotland. While some of them were confirmed Protestants that couldn’t see past their religious fervour, others were just chancers who saw an opportunity to claim power for themselves.

After the Treaty was signed, the French and English armies left Scotland and left the Scottish Protestant nobles in charge – properly delighted with themselves. Later, in August, the ‘Reformation Parliament’ of 1560 met and ratified the acts that would establish the Protestant Kirk in Scotland. It prohibited the practise of the Latin Mass in Scotland and denied the authority of the Pope, in effect implementing the Reformation across Scotland. The zealot John Knox was one of the leading figures during the rebellion against Mary of Guise and French Catholic control of Scotland. The signing of the Treaty and the removal of the French enabled him to return from Europe to lead the fight to make Scotland Protestant. Ultimately, he and his Calvinist successors succeeded.

On the 5th of December, 1560, the eighteen years old Mary, Queen of Scots, was widowed and, as Charles IX had no real incentive to support her, she was increasingly isolated in France. The French also had more to do with their own affairs after the outbreak of the Wars of Religion. And so, on the 19th of August, 1561, Mary had little choice but to accept an invitation to return to Protestant Scotland as Queen.

Now, don’t forget, the Treaty of Edinburgh had not been ratified by Mary, Queen of Scots. She was the reigning monarch and it needed her ratification, but as somebody might have said, “Ach weel, it was lackin’ only a signature and hersel’ still a wee bit lassie, just.” Mary was put under considerable pressure to ratify the Treaty, but she had no intention of so doing. She viewed the Lords of the Congregation as rebels and traitors against herself and her mother, Mary of Guise. Another reason for not ratifying the treaty was because it officially declared Elizabeth I Queen of England, effectively ending Mary’s claim to that throne. When all was said and done, Mary had to accept the terms of the Treaty, but she never signed.

The pic shows the Siege of Leith map, 1560. The colour original is in the archive of Petworth House, Sussex. Copies are displayed in South Leith Parish Church and Huntly House Museum, Edinburgh.

[wetwaluigi]

I wonder now, what are your Zeti OCs + Idris's voice headcanon, WetWaluigi? What would they be and Where Did they come from?

OOOOH FUN QUESTION good question i wrote these down somewhere (grim helped me with some of the hard ones)

currently i have- zolus- roger clark as arthur morgan zovvie- richard horvitz as crimson zroxxy- elizabeth maxwell as hollyberry cookie zoray- chuck huber as android 17 zio- john chancer as snufkin zinerva- eartha kitt as yzma aaand my bunny whisker- david tennant as scrooge mcduck

notes: i dont think ill ever find a perfect voice for zovvie, crim is the closest so far but i wish i could something that sounds slightly russian and also a bit shrill then ones like zoray and zio both sound much older than the closest voice counterparts i could find also this could become harshly outdated its just what i have rn anyway ty for the question, i usually take forever for questions because i usually draw something but i dont NEED to draw something here so HA edit: forgot to add i dont have a voice for zixzo yet!! i will update if i find something squeaky and energetic and crackly

[emerson-grimes-apologist]

Some voice claims!

I once read a YouTube comment that said that John Chancer sounds like an extrovert voicing an introvert, and I think that fits Thade's character well. Like, he's shy, but acts like an extrovert around his friends (or at least that's how I imagine him). But I chose this on a whim, to be honest, so I might change it if I find anything better.

I don't know that many French characters or people off the top of my head, so I had to look up lists of French actors on Wikipedia. I've actually never heard of this movie before. But I'm proud of myself for finding it because this voice fits him really well! Almost perfectly!

I chose this voice because I wanted him to sound posh and kind of annoying. My only problem with it is... ugh... it's annoying. But I don't know, I think it has charm at the same time.

[amidst-wonderland]

[chancer]

pairing: nora + michael warnings: strong language, violence, alfie being alfie summary: thomas wants words about nora's time in london.

     “rounding up the wops then are we, thomas?”

     the shelby boys look up from the documents laid out on the desk to the londoner who stared back at them blankly.

     "that is the plan alfie, yes."

     alfie grumbles peering round the room to see if any of the other boys had come to the conclusion already. "right well, word of advice thomas, yeah? you might want to start with that one banging about in your own kitchen."

     thomas lets out a heavy sigh, waving the rest of the boys off. knowing they wouldn't be getting back to business before alfie'd aired his profound train of thought before he got to his fucking point.

     "it's only family in my kitchen alfie. wives, kids, aunts - kin."

     "then either you've begun cradle snatching in your old widowing days - which isn't entirely out of the realm of possibilities mind you. or one of your esteemed kin has been sticking it in a sabini girl directly under your fucking nose mate."

     the drawing room falls cold as alfie commands their attention over the sentiment of a traitor among them. though, thomas already has a decent picture on who he is alluding to.

     "how'd you work that out then?"

     "kids init." alfie inhaled, scanning the room once again for the culprit. his money was on the one to his right. the kid in the corner was too young and arthur had his bible-thumping ball'n'chain. "me and sabini. before you and your..." alfie gestures, not wanting an earful from thomas. "caravan collective came down to london, we used to be mates. vistin' 'is clubs, betting on 'is horses-"

     "is there a fucking point to this alfie?"

     "well yeah. you come, you go and you start recognising mugs-"

     "-michael." thomas exhaled. cutting alfie off who's eyes had now widened, mildly taken aback at the abruptness. "go find your wife, bring 'er in and we'll see if there's any validity to mr. solomons tale."

     michael raised a brow at the accusation, "nora was an actress tommy, not a dancer."

     "arthur." thomas called, "linda ever been to london?"

     "eh, no tom."

     "john?"

     "not more than a few days."

     thomas turned to his cousin. "process of elimination michael."

     "no tom. not our nora. she's a good girl, a taylor." johnny perks up, stopping michael in his tracks by the door. "they don't mind with people like us."

     "if she was that good johnny, you wouldn't've had an aisle to walk down in place of her father."

     "nonie's no traitor tommy."

     thomas rises from his desk, stalking up to his younger cousin and getting in his face. "she went back to london, didn't she? when campbell sent you to the clink. nora's got a mouth that likes to run, let's see where it went."

     michael huffs, leaving the room.

     "so, alfie. how'd you know our nora?"

     making way towards the kitchen michael left with his own wandering assumptions. nora, a traitor? spiteful? absolutely but nora's qualms with his arrest aside she had no ill intent towards his family back then, including thomas.

     nora didn't delve much into her london past. after he permanent move to birmingham, she'd told him about a play, "the naughty princess" then to make some extra cash she became a seamstress working out of her own flat when the work dried up. hardly a line of work a gangster like sabini would dabble in.

     he'd only met one of her friends from then. she was sweet, seemed to care for nora deeply, even travelling up for her aunties funeral. "she's a wild, one oor wee nora. 'er da tried tae gie her away a haunful o'times but 'er aunties would just dump 'er back on 'es doorstep the followin' mornin'."

     turning into the kitchen he was met with giggling ada and esme who'd been making their own fun with a couple of bottles of rum, courtesy of their guest and a catch-up.

     "nora's just popped to the loo down hall michael if you're looking for her." ada announces, sympathetically. "don't think she's keeping to well at the minute."

     he nods before there's there's a light tugging at his jacket.

     "up, up." george demands holding out his arms from his perched mantle spot.

     michael smiles, lifting his son and resting him on his waist. "will we go find mum? keep her company?"

     "-and give her a vision of the future?" esme snorted into her wine glass.

     "nora's not pregnant esme."

     "not like her to get sick, you know that."

     "doesn't mean she can't."

     "don't believe me? ask pol."

     "esme." ada drunkenly warned, though it came out more as a laugh as she playfully slapped esme's knee. "stop winding the poor kid up, he's hardly john."

     michael rolls his eyes before hearing light footsteps echo behind him on the tile flooring.

     "that us headin' hame?" nora questions, looking around for the rest of her in-laws as it seemed awfully quiet for them to be finished.

     taking nora's hand, michael leads her particually back the way she came. cognisant of esme and ada's prying.

     "tommy wants words."

     "then go back to the meeting. quicker you're oot ae there, quicker ah can get ma bed, 'cause ah'm a bit peely-wally."

     she did look a little paler than usual but michael put that down to george's crying through the night.

     "he wants words, with you."

     "whit aboot?"

     "london." he sighs, readjusting george trying not to look at his wife. "alfie says he saw you in a sabini club. told him it was horseshit but he wants to here it from you."

     "how me?"

     "he's not too fond of the italians right now."

     "an' he 'hinks i've got something tae dae wae it..."

     "i don't know nonie, you tell me."

     "michael." nora snipped, glaring back at her husband.

     "listen, alfie solomons' is in there, alright? don't need you getting your words mangled with this. he's fucking dangerous."

     "aw'right you don't need to shite yersel gray. ah'm a big lassie can work ma ain mouth an everythin'."

     "nora, this isn't a joke. it's your word against his."

     nora nods, thinking back to her time working with eilidh in the eden club. she didn't remember solomon's being on good terms with sabini, let alone a frequent attendee.

     "fine. i'll go in." she huffs, cupping her son's chubby cheeks. "jist take the wee-yin back through."

     michael nods, "wait for me. i'm not having you facing that alone.”

     "fuckin' hell kid you took your bloody time."

     michael ignores alfie's jab, more focused on his wife's grip in his hand as nora trailed in behind him making sure to stay slightly beyond his shoulder.

     "right love," thomas looks to her. "mr solomons here has been quoted as saying he saw you, working at a sabini club and negating your lack of compromise to the cause when we were dealing with 'im, which will not be held against you, by any means is the implication in fact true that you were a dancer-"

     "-now hold on thomas, i didn't say nothing about dancer. girl looks like she's got two left feet."

     "no, you didn't alfie. apologies."

     "all it was yeah? was i saw the kid leaving the eden," he motions to nora. "and outta nowhere some boy tries to jump the poor thing 'causing such a fucking riot. then i look over, and notice it's nico sabini."

     michael looks back at his wife, who's surprisingly stoic towards the description of alfie's account.

     "got anything to say for yourself nora? like what you were doing with sabini's nephew."

     'i see the way she looks at you.' she remembers him threateningly pushing her back against the damp brick was behind the eden club as it scratched against her shoulder blades, 'you think i don't notice, but i do. we all notice.'

     'we all notice.'

     nora wasn't sure if alfie had heard that, but for the sake of the room she prayed he didn't.

     "nico was ma flatmates ex-man at the time. he found oot she wis aff sleepin' elsewhere an wanted to know where tae find her. that's aw it wis."

     "right scottish, just when i though i couldn't understand you... pikey lot."

     "then what happened?"

     "he battered him wae a pipe, never heard 'fae 'im again."

     thomas crossed his arms and looked to alfie, "what'd you do to nico sabini?"

     alfie scowled, "look, i ain't the one on trial here mate."

     "i didn't work for sabini, worked with his girls-"

     "-same difference nora." arthur cut in, earning himself a glare from both johnny and michael.

     "i wis jist dropping aff a few altered dresses," she confessed. "any other time ah wis on the premises ah wis simply a patron, aw’right?  can ah go now?"

     thomas nods, sufficed with her explanation. "you can. take michael with you."

     "you didn't tell me about that nora." michael says, leaving the drawing room with her and pulling her off to the side.

     "hardly thought it was relevant, it wis a few months before ah even met ye."

"still-"

"-michael. it's fine. really." she reassures him, rubbing his arm. "'mon let's just get up the road before esme's convinced the wean he wants a wee sister."

"you know she thinks your up it?"

"yeah so does your mum, telt 'er tae shove it."

"what'd she say then?"

"that ‘ve tae empty my diary next spring, apparently."

i'm not overly proud of this purely because i always feel like i lack the nora and michael of it all but honestly i just wanted to write nora and alfie in a scene together (which i know i didn't execute great but it is two in the mornin' and not beta read because 'um no a fanny')

[inhalerupdates]

Ryan’s playlist via IG story!

Misfit Love - Queens of the Stone Age

American Guilt - Unknown Mortal Orchestra

East Coast Bed - Grian Chatten

guts - SOAK

Nothing Matters - The Last Dinner Party

23 - Blonde Redhead

Kissing My Love - Bill Withers

Touching Yourself - The Japanese House

Strange Currencies - R.E.M.

Sore - Just Mustard

Pull Together - Shack

A Thousand Lives - The Murder Capital

Bury My Heart - Supergrass

Violent - benches

The Hardest Button to Button - The White Stripes

Rider On The Wheel - Nick Drake

I Ain’t Quite Where I Think I Am - Arctic Monkeys

Midnight Chancers - bog band

You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere - Bob Dylan

Loving Cup - The Rolling Stones

Aberdeen - Cage The Elephant

Last of the English Roses - Peter Doherty

Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels) - Arcade Fire

I Am Controlled By Your Love - Helene Smith

Fashion - David Bowie

Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away) - Deftones

Everybody Here Wants You - Jeff Buckley

End of Beginning - Djo

Leader of the Pack - Wunderhorse

The Narcissist - Blur

Become - Beach House

Instant Karma! (We All Shine On) - John Lennon, Yoko Ono

Mama You’ve Been on My Mind - George Harrison

[strawberrybabydog]

hi, i saw you mention something about internal and external [auditory] hallucinations in a previous answer to an ask; can you expand more on this if it's alright to ask? i've never heard of internal auditory hallucinations before, i've heard people say that all hallucinations sound as if they're present in your external environment so i'm just a bit confused.

internal auditory hallucinations are "the voices (in your head.)" it is literally like... your own inner monologue, but its not you, its other "people." i imagine system plurality's inner communication to be somewhat similar!

voices in my experience dont really have voices, like in the sense of specific accents or ways of speaking - just like how your own inner monologue doesnt really have a voice or accent, its just sort of... a feeling of Words happening. incase anyone is curious, Ryder's voics feels deep and cartoonishly horse-like, sugarloaf has a calming voice, and Slush's voice can only be described as being similar to The Joxter's voice (john chancer) at times

theyre actually just called auditory hallucinations, i only say internal/external to differentiate between the two so its easier to communicate about them :0)

[anyoneknowwhatbrexitmeans]

“There have been two recurring themes in recent political history. Johnson crystallised a sense of rich and powerful people acting with assumed impunity; Sunak, the weak prefect, seems so accustomed to such behaviour that he can’t figure out how to stop it. But this story blurs into something even bigger: a chain of people safely bound into absurd networks of privilege have taken endlessly stupid decisions, knowing that their wealth and connections mean they will never have to worry about the consequences. This is the essential story of how we were led out of the European Union by such privately educated chancers as Johnson, Rees-Mogg, Nigel Farage, Dominic Cummings and the former Tory MEP Daniel Hannan. It also applies to the years of austerity instigated by Cameron, George Osborne and Nick Clegg.”