I WRITE and perform poems and songs about what’s happening in the world and there is no other place I can start this week than the nightmare unfolding in the Middle East.

Libya is descending into bloody chaos, Syria and Iraq are already there.  Bliar and Bush, who started the whole nightmare by destabilising the region with their illegal invasions and bloody bombing campaigns, should be on trial as war criminals — no satirist could invent the situation where Blair now finds himself a Middle East peace envoy.

And the hypocrisy of the British government around the whole issue of Israel’s brutalisation of the Palestinian people makes me sick.  It’s a running sore which infects every other area of political debate in the region.

Thirty years ago the rightful anger many British people of Muslim background feel at current events would have expressed itself in secular and progressive movements like the old Fatah. 

Now, with the collapse of the Soviet Union and the global weakness of the left, far too many are drawn into the cul de sac of Islamist extremism.

For me there is not one shred of progressive politics or thought to be found there. I hope I never have to make the choice but if forced to do so I would far rather live in McDonalds, drinking Coca Cola, reading The Sun and listening to a permanent loop tape of Phil Collins while watching endless slow motion videos of Crystal Palace reserve games and old X Factor series than in the Islamic caliphate of Isis.   

The task of the left is to provide an alternative vision both to rampant capitalism and religious extremism and, as in so many areas at the moment, we are failing badly, sad to say. 

On to happier things. Had a lovely time last weekend with my band Barnstormer at the Vale Earth Fair held around an old coastal castle in Guernsey, where the sturdy walls meant that four stages could be built very close to each other without any sound problems whatsoever.  

We played on the amusingly named Stage Against the Machine situated outside the castle wall next to the sea which looks out on the islands of Herm, Sark and Brecqhou. 

The last of these, and part of Sark, is owned by the odious Barclay Brothers. They also own the Telegraph Group and the Ritz Hotel where Thatcher spent her last days. 

The brothers Grimm, as I call them, are not at all popular in those parts, believing as they do that money conquers all and people should bow to their every whim. 

Islanders living on Sark have recently stated that they live in a culture of fear and intimidation.  

I gave the Barclays a lot of stick, which the crowd enjoyed a great deal but sadly the brothers were far too far away to hear me. 

Finally, a tribute to one of the soundtracks of my life, James Alexander Gordon.  

As happens to all fans there have been occasions when I haven’t been able to get to watch my team play and have relied on BBC radio to give me the score.  

Half-way through the result, I knew. We all did. 

The football results will never be the same: “So farewell, James Alexander –/You gave football fans decades of fun./We recall with affection that vocal inflection/Which told us we’d lost, drawn or won.”

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