ANOTHER ROCKING PIECE FROM OUR RESIDENT SURREALIST WRITER, ERIC LASTICK

 Sidney and company…Big Pink in full wardrobe…Brits warmth and ”Meddle”. Fur-top coat, Water’s Floyd’s and Barrett’s —along with Mason’s ”stick man’s truths…and honors. Gilmore not quite there yet. Cause and effect: Wild–zip, crazy eyes of lot’s of ‘Diamonds!”  And at center court, controller of the serving risers…and Saucer fulls abound! Rick Wright has a magic to his keys. A wealth of bringing it…seeing through the ever forces of ”Pink Floyd” Soar and flares, as if on a whole wave of psychedelia…light show’s of the abandoned of letting it all hang-out. Brash and old of it’s spectaculars… view as if heaven’s gates. Waste heads and jugs, arrive at ”The Ball Room” San Francisco style…as all of the Floyd’s appear. House goes crazy with it’s dazzling light effects…& grandiose colors. Riveting  playing…as next, we know of a phone call. A cancellation probably of an absentee of work—straight out too the ‘nut’ block…crazy halls of straight-jacked extremes, to the Acid wealthy, yet now much too clumsy; and extremely out-measured…outlawed. The Pink and Floyd’s of the matter equate to judge not this day in a ‘Acid Vat’…and fool on the outskirts of sanity. Sid spin the tables…revelry terror tremor blues. Sit and rest a spell young lunatic—out too the lunches in which bind and hold. A one hospital bed…lights off of the Pink’s…and of the shows! A real replacement is inevitable…as Gilmore fine tunes his guitars…jams and ancient sights of ruins.Sid’s front and center, falls as if a ‘back flip’ in the forever’s. Dark ages…but a new Floyd dawn. Dainty women see it as nurses and cooking the hot meals towards a new day…although, for Sid, one can never place him of proper sanity ever again…as a wage of good humor and good cause; and ”Emily Play” Too the cruelest of ”The Arnold Lanes!”  Now gone…and out of fast fashion. Good Orbs…and bright spirited days. Sings of the darker sides of the moon…Cracking and gone is the lunatic on the grass. Welcome to the machine is now a better, bitter, memory of past events. Talents…and how they end up. ”Sleep well dear Sid…and rest in peace…The Pink Centers, a Floyd build and retreat. A band to never forget.

              LED ZEPP AND BRIXIT AUSTERITY BASKETS IN IT’S PROCLIVITY …TAKE OF A VAGABOND POET…AND BACK ALLEY LIFTS…AND LITTLE ‘GEMS’

On Page, Led Zeppelin owes to the poet. Plant whisks like an alley cat on rolls…charmed of a lyrical street sloth styled crew. Fedora drawn down…flip flop house nights and writes of fine paragraphs. Holy be of a shoelace fall…knotted go the day…falls of streams of puddles through & through the alleyways …as Led Zeppelin crash and fire; it’s very ‘saws’ to the seeing eyes of the Vagabond poet. Plant finds himself a warm spot by the London Truffles and Bakery rines left behinds…though a gem of an old soul who is rested on the step ways past the unfriendly of ”The Bowery Boy…Teddy Boy oft-tracks…and harms of minds and dirty breaks and bridges” The poet bum reads all…these escapes; but lie in the miseries of the London back corner rows. Hand me frowns…but boy oh boy’ can he write! Plant reads and he sings a whole album long. This poet’s gift to him. The pages turn like a guitar riff on a hot tin plate, now Plant’s own…and as if a brand new era in the 21st century…& a near throw of a quarter through…John Paul Jones— who can be heard from a third floor piano store showroom, just above. Old Jimmy cannot wither away, but make the next wave of music to the poet’s musings…studies off charts…yet quite uniquely sewn. Book of Castles…Ghost-like fears of the polter say.You can often hear them…and how Plant,Page…and Jones, now arrive a the same spot…and same time of day. The poet sits and passes the paper of medieval fare. So dark and so excellent in the presumes and combines of now…and of it’s ancients…Seamless uncertain of the early Gnostic knotted stays…liters of the reads and broken shields, swords…and hides in the alley dump spots…Next ed a tally of money thieves on a mountain top…riches in the Surrey sides of havens. This Castle brow rises as he fights of Kings and court dancers center a fleeced gown…gone down junk en!  The hair jack battles…and the bold and old world bring as one. Polar poke never lies, never stops. John Bonham drum kit and double bass, playin the mid confessions of night. Now, the band is complete…the poet owns….so on——-with the band!

LED ZEPP BUYS OF THE FLOYDS

Darker sides of the moon. A Roger Waters theme and a Robert PLANT’S dream. Amount the hunger, the food lines…autographed signed. Heavens bend to the stairs. Earth off of it’s glad heart-ed spin, yet befall, the MOON’S MOODS; as we, and they, twist and fail. Now have hold, these darker sides of our moon. ”And what of it’s inhabitants?” Breathe through this space-bodies’ lung receptors, as of dreams. Localities? Right here, Plant as Robert…Thos— sends of joy. In song and self containing, but for all to know of this music’s derives…and the sleepy Floyds…it’s jazzin’ blues…folks in thru the avenue—bring upon much of the spacing and arrange of knowledge; in this timeless & hopelessness of an attempt to draw a good patterned life. Full, but one’ will need of investigations. Investments in new discoveries about oneself…and all others. Arena Rock in the grasps and holds—– that this Plant takes to the dizzying moment of peace and structures…the righted rounds. The olde city Londoner meal ticket of destined home…as Waters write of passages…universal to the lettering of ”OZ” So may we all spare that lunatic on the grass…and of his slips and slides. The acid run and bail—way to short of a time and place. Led Zepp, mister to be Paged! Keepith of ”The Swans’ All the unsettles of the triangle…darker sides to settle and balance—which he knew, and know to enjoy. John PAUL’S SYNTHESIZER with the key chords of the late Richard Wright…both of fluency and decor— & too the likes and measures of Gilmore’s ‘wonder bares techniques on a spark…and of a dream. Yet unknowns of the spectator of the importance of the mystery too the other ends of song…& of the moon! Moon holds of ”Chicken meats on a bone. The cook of the potato…and orange peel. Good label brandy…and dress fit the salad; and the icing on the cake—— make way home. Rogers masterwork, revered and celebrated. Annualized in all of it’s early adulthood precocious  wisdom’s; as that very Waters theme…of Plant’s dream—-on the dark side of the moon.

Bob Dylan has set more dates on what is rapidly becoming his never-ending Rough and Rowdy Ways tour.

A few weeks ago, Bob announced 17 dates and promised more would be on the tracks. There are whistle-stops in Springfield, Massachusetts, Port Chester, New York and Waterbury, Connecticut beginning October 1 in Kansas City, Missouri.

The Rough and Rowdy Ways tour hit the road in 2021, mainly showcasing  songs from the 2020 album and the tour will keep on rolling until 2024.

Bob recently had this to say about his incredible tour schedules:”It’s not an easy path to take, not fun and games, it’s no Disney World. It’s an open space, with concrete pillars and an iron floor, with obligations and sacrifices. It’s a path, and destiny put some of us on that path, in that position. It’s not for everybody.”

Rough and Rowdy Ways is as enigmatic as any part of his amazing career … the general impression is that it addresses life and death through the voice of a man who no longer fears either.

Last year I got to see him in Hull, here’s my thoughts on that concert,,,

https://open.substack.com/pub/leighgbanks/p/back-in-the-rain-bob-opens-the-gates?r=drr6n&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

https://open.substack.com/pub/leighgbanks/p/dylan-at-82-the-rebel-without-a-pause?r=drr6n&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web

An open letter to the victims and perpetrators of abuse of parents and children

Briefly, let me try to explain to the victims of parental alienation why they feel neglected by the traditional media.

And there are three…

The first, in the UK, are restrictions on reporting cases… rules so draconian that journalists and editors face massive fines and ultimately jail.

Family courts are held in private, ostensibly to protect children.

This is the madness of the rules:

“Under rule 27.10, hearings relating to family matters are generally held in private, meaning members of the public cannot be present.

While accredited media representatives may attend hearings under rule 27.11(2), subject to exceptions, there are strict limits on what they can report.

“Under section 12 of the Administration of Justice Act 1960 it may, for example, be a contempt of court to publish information about proceedings relating to children if a court sits in private. Additionally, under section 97(2) of the Children Act 1989, it’s an offence to publish information which could identify a child involved in certain proceedings.”

But things are changing, although slowly and inadequately …

And the main reason for the crack in the darkness of the hallowed courtrooms, is endless campaigning by journalists.

And in January of this year courts in Cardiff, Leeds and Carlisle opened their doors to us.

Accredited journalists and legal bloggers began to be allowed to “report on what they see and hear in court” under ‘the transparency principle’. Only so-called ‘pilot reporters’ were however able to attend and report on proceedings heard in pilot courts.

The President of the Family Division, Sir Andrew McFarlane, who introduced the measures in 2019 said this: “Witnesses to the review panel had referred to the “chilling effect” (PDF) of section 12 of the 1960 Act (contempt of court). The fear of breaching it and the costs involved in litigation have acted as a major disincentive to journalists and others reporting on Family cases.”  

Then there is the war against journalists on social media.

Social media was mis-sold to the world as the true freedom of speech. And every man woman and child fell for the lies about twitter, Facebook and all the others that have grown from these seeds of dissent, lies, chicanery and crime.

What people generally didn’t know – and nobody told them, deliberately – was that exactly the same rules and laws applied to social media, not to the ether, but to the people who made posts.

But it was an impossible task to police the internet and people got away with saying exactly what they felt like – often libellous, vicious, unfounded attacks.

In the case of Parental Alienation they were victims who had lost contact with their children. They just didn’t know the legal dangers they might face … they named their partners (which identified their children) on websites, deliberately caused name-and-shame wars  (which identified their children) and made unfounded claims in the name of truth (which identified their children).

The internet became a bear-garden of abuse, misleading information, attacks, lies and insults. Keyboard warriors using blunt axes to try and destroy their exes.

And they got away with it because the internet simply could not be policed.

Meanwhile, people like me, got more and more hamstrung by laws and courts and misrepresentations of our motives by people who felt let down by us.

Our motivation is to break down barriers and to get as close to the truth as we can … and that’s what we are still doing.

For instance, my own coverage of parental alienation over the last decade has helped get a new Bill for new laws before parliament. It failed after being filibustered by MPs.

We reported on that – we told the truth. We investigated the motivation of the politicians who destroyed it.

Then we managed to kick a crack into the doors of the family courts. But, still, everything we write needs to be legalled.

But it is a breakthrough.

The third reason is – the way victims are perceived.

Once people got the dubious right to a complete misrepresentation of freedom of speech, they didn’t realise that once you go public you need to clean up your act… spelling is important, text-speak is for texting, not telling your life story.

But it was the personal attacks … on absent parents and on parents with care.

It just seemed the thing to do, make false allegations! Call your ex a pervert, a paedophile, a dole cheat, a thief, violent, a liar … the list of accusations are still endless.

I have published hundreds of stories on PA over the years – but I received hundreds more, bitter, angry and heartbreaking tales.

It was impossible to use them … first we had to unravel the truth, examine every word and every accusation made to see where the truth lay. Then we had to track down and interview the ‘mark’ and often that would be impossible, particularly because too often the person who sent the story in didn’t want us to speak to their ex … all sorts of reasons, fears of retribution in some cases and in others the simple fact they’d lied to us.

We’d turn down the stories for legal reasons but would be roundly attacked on the internet. We became the new perverts, paedophiles, thieves and liars.

Absolute madness!

It was almost narcissistic – people made demands on us that we couldn’t meet, lied to us and mislead us, then, when they were caught, attacked and vilified us, the only people who wanted to change laws and get things done.

I am a victim of parental alienation, I’ve been through the hell of being lied about, of having my children turned against me, I have been almost bankrupted by maintenance payments, I have been conned and insulted and heartbroken.

But do you know what? I’m still out there fighting…

And with your help we can get the laws changed, we can expose the system for its cruelty, we can tell the world about the collusion, the lack of comprehension and the financial bonuses, the targets of social workers, courts and lawyers.

Simple rules to get there – understand the current laws and don’t tell lies.

Narcassists and liars ultimately lose.

#narcassists #liars #familycourts #socialworkers #parentalalienation

Anne Hartley-Bull was my favourite cousin. People used to say we were very much alike, a bit wild and a bit drunk.

And they were right, we were 80s party animals … both of us could cause a party in an empty house and people like George Best would come knocking on the door. So would Brendan Mullen, the English godfather of punk who died in New York. Very often we’d take the party to Blighty’s or George’s doomed Slack Alice’s, two of Manchester’s trendiest clubs.

Anne was small and fragile and a bit scared about things. But she dressed to kill and was noisier than a rock band in a garage.

She went round the world and finally landed in Australia. Me? I went round the bend and landed in the middle of nowhere.

Things got better for me then …

But I’d lost touch with my favourite cousin. Forty years had gone by without a word.

Funnily enough one thing I’ve kept throughout all these years is a vinyl long player, Close to the Edge by Yes, it’s battered and unplayable now but it’s always had a massive place in my heart because Anne had turned up out-of-the-blue one rainy night at my awful bedsit in Manchester to present it to me with love.

Anne died, more than a decade ago and as far as I know continued partying with style and panache almost to the end.

“Close to the edge now that it’s all over and done …” – Jon Anderson

All the best to Ryan her son and to Jean her sister.

Well, it happened. A few years ago His Royal Bobness supplied an 11 line poem to be read publicly at at the Isle of Wight’s major convention to mark his appearance there fifty years ago.

And this is despite the fact the Isle of Wight wasn’t one of Bob’s most memorable hours – and some would say it was a part of his career many would like to forget.

Not only was it his first real live performance since 1966, it was supposed to be an inspirational family holiday to the heart of Tennyson country, a midnight outing for his new crooning country voice and a public revaluing of his once incendiary, but now fizzling, career.

Sadly, very little went right … his son, Jesse, was taken ill on the cruise from the US and Dylan and his wife, Sara, were advised to get him to hospital, as soon as possible.

At the same time America was spooked because their wayward son had dumped them for a field in a farm in a place called Wootton. Bob had basically crapped on his own doorstep in Woodstock…

But Dylan appears to have good memories of it… However, none of them came out in the poem, apparently.

It was in fact called Echo of the North Country and talked about Dylan’s teenage sweetheart Echo Helstrom.

Echo Helstrom Casey, from Dylan’s hometown of Hibbing, is said to have been Bob’s first real girlfriend viewed as the inspiration for his 1963 song Girl From the North Country. She died in California aged 75 in 2018.

Maybe he had chosen the Isle of Wight-remembered Million Dollar Bash event to eulogise her.

But like anything to do with the grand master of pop, folk, blues, rock and country convolutions, Dylan’s gift has sparked a strange reaction. This one bordering on paranoia as organisers – who say they had the right to read the poem at the event – now claim to be worried about copyright and fear they might get in trouble if they make it public.

The Society was expecting to get an exclusive preview of the words but it was cancelled as these doubts set in.

All that has been released are these partial lines, “hard ‘n tuff old land…like folks who live there” and one describing Echo as “sweet as celandine flower” – in other words, like a buttercup.

Now we have been sent this hand-written transcript of the poem by a reader.

#bobpoem #girlfromthenorth #isleofwight #tennyson #haunting

THE LATEST LOOK AT AMERICANA WITH THE AMAZING … ERIC LASTICK

The nineteen hundred & seventy three’s music scene where ”Glam Rock” engages with “Grunge Rock” at The Roxy Theater…as each costume and blue jean—–front line through the looking glass—-all along the stretches of West Hollywood lanes, in great anticipation of the show. Neil Young and Elton John share the front billing at the Roxy edges of dreams. Grunge and Plunge the hard rock drive. The zany and apportioned stand in long line. View the big clock on the concession wall. 8 o’clock bringers of a real  ”Happening!” The event and rave of 1973.

Elton, say what you will…honor of the glamorous furs, tall coats and feathering of that day and time. Pieced as early birds—-who sit  in the dressings…and weird… before the show. The hanger-on’s, loose as a goose…and tag-along chicks in the miniskirts…flashes of high heeled ornamental-likened lifts…and bust-line stuffs. Roadies and groupies, iron-lay hairdos of ”the-should-straight lengths” A whole entire banded welcoming committee for Marc Bolin as T Rex…and the subdued settin eyes of such a man as Neil. Hair cover over both of them—while catching a glimpse of a tye-stick sky…and the 4 way clears of the Penny Lanes. The open-ended avenue for glitters of Garry’s painted silver star. Elton warn and the wares of olde English lack luster’s. The drunk wished to drye.

 ROXY a demolition of Largent Mad-glasses, bigger gleams. Prizes! Cotton mouth and hungers at Colonel Sanders display of rotisserie fried…and all the feeds of those imports of mescaline Cosmonauts. Rock ‘n’ roll Space Cowboys—- clear the carpets & roller-blade the outskirts of the floor-plan seating arrangements The seemly senses of this Colonel’s very own acid trip, or so it seemed. Then all his speaks,his cures; of so finger lickin’ good!

(Father pained…father grunge, in Neil suspenders—bounces and balancing in an era where Glam tends to it’s rule— yet Crazy Horse has another dance at the center stage, willingly! And classically, a grunge bounced gaff rises to the price of admission. An eclectic challenge. Strange brew has the new look. Neil quite the adapter, 1973 style. The suited tie of Glitz and Glam—-fill too seat capacity. Neil strap on his capo…strums his trade mark minor key of strings and sings, ”TONIGHT, TONIGHT” A kindly soothsayer’s ode to guitarist and friend, Danny Whiten. Played and performed right here, 2 years before it’s actual record vinyl release. HEARST VEHICLE…Neil’s outside with the equipment management. Raggedy instruments glare back in a half closed coffin carrier!

(OLD ENGLISH COLOGNE …BOOZE FESTS AND RUMMY STINTED LEANS)

                ( NEIL TAKETH TO THE FRONT STAGE)

Neil Young’s eyes follow the stage lights and shadowy exit-way…as the beat and minor scale roll with the guides of eyes—-straight towards the open areas of his distraction…as so goes the loose fittings of a halter top & finds it’s very own groove stuck just barley in a Heat duct…as Neil circles in chorus to ”Cinnamon girl” And next,abruptly notices that this sexy yet off-put article of clothing is his very own Girl’s outer-ware! There is a silence as the audience turns towards her in spectacle…and next a sudden standing room applause! The absolute craziness and banter somehow relive the pain, in Neil’s own brand of silences and quiet cool.  Young’s song “HELPLESS, HELPLESS.” LOUDEST OF ADORATION!

(ELTON RUBS SHOULDERS WITH THE GRUNGES…AND HE, TAKETH TO THE STAGE)

Piano camel color magic in the air, as some–strange…and impaired from the grandstands calls for ”Funeral for a friend” Elton waves to Dorothy along the path of (”GOODBYE YELLOW BRICK ROAD”) Elton’s lyricist Bernie Taupin sweetly whistles with an English suds and wife beside him. His pen always greater than the music industry swords…The Crocodile rock…zones in the lens of a whole new Mona Lisa and Mad hatters, spending their last dime. Mona with a tear…Madmen seem of a plan, yet more a suicidal mission of their own. ”ALL THE YOUNG DUDES” Journey spent and pass the baton back to Ziggy—who sings to T Rex! Ian Hunter golden aged and yellow curly haired, sings to an old (RCA) Radio. Radio London’s on and off switch’s too the Golden Age Of Rock ‘n ‘ Roll…long may you run. Grunge on their heels. Stubs of toes to just catch up! Yet Neil still strong. But still, the pizazz of the crowd has grooved and made their call to the banging of the gong! David Essex may have moved to soon just after ”The Wolf-man” who pauses for a puff of smokes—-the midnight holidays of snort-sniffs and snuff a 4  way clearing house; as now Elton, takes to an encore with Duck-bill, setting show and charisma—too a whole Wild Child generation. Can Ol’ Neil compete with that—as Crazy Horse sit Indian style nearing the stroke of midnight! Watches and Wheels in anguish. Momma needs you home, as Elton sings, ”Ticken, Ticken” The dressing room Television’ of the cannot miss, Carol Bernette hour… Johnny Carson’s night’s barely to sleep. The late late show ends at the Roxy… in style of a new vibe. Godfather Grunge, Neil, packs a bag…& off to his Ranch home. Elton’s travels to (”The Rock Of The Westies”) Mr Marley so righted heart-ed with  light fills of compliments—right too the sea-thru islands. ”Love thos Island girl’s” So say guitar man Davey John-stone!  And to all the raves and rolls, the island girls wave from the balcony ends of their seats, never knowing the show is over…as all participants exit the stage… and leaving. Tomorrow’s just the early edges of a dream. Hullabaloo of the less groovin’ as ”the straights and stiff shirted” dissipate in slow simmer. The Roxy lights phase out onto the next of days. Although, a new show setting is born. Ya, she’s about a mover!

Russian defector sells helicopter and lands a new life for family

Maksim Kuzminov, aged 28, is a Russian Mi-8 helicopter pilot.

He could also be the first propaganda hero of this awful Ukraine war.

But to Putin and his twisted cohorts Kuzminov is a coward, a thief, a deserter – and a target.

He surrendered to Ukraine by landing in a Ukrainian airfield and then called on other Russian pilots to follow him.

Kuzminov’s desertion is part of a propaganda war by the Ukraines and remained secret for months. It had tragic consequences too which stayed hidden for a while.

The married pilot’s surrender was the result of more than six months of pressure by Ukrainian military intelligence.  They were determined to bring the Mi-8 helicopter and its pilot to their side.

The pilot’s family had already been spirited away from Russia and they are now with Kuzminov.

Two crew members on board the helicopter were killed.

Maksim Kuzminov featured in “Downed Russian Pilots” aired on Ukrainian television. The film revealed how the landing was planned and carried out and Kuzminov called on other Russian pilots to follow his lead.

“If you do what I did, this kind of thing, you will not regret it at all. You will be provided for the rest of your life with absolutely everything,” Kuzminov said. “You will be offered work everywhere, whatever you want to do. You will just discover for yourself the world of colours.”

The documentary emphasized that Ukraine will provide Russian pilots who decide to defect all the security guarantees provided by law, as well as cash for the transferred military aircraft.

“What is happening now is simply the genocide of the Ukrainian people. Both Ukrainian and Russian. The basis of my action is not to contribute to these crimes. Ukraine will definitely win this war simply because the people have rallied very much… No one wants this war. When Ukraine wins is only a matter of time.”

#ukraine #russiandefector #russianhelicopter

The final resting place for Mohamed Al Fayed is a burial chamber next to that of his son in a mausoleum metaphorically guarded by statues of lions and sphinxes. It stands close to his home on his 226-acre Surrey estate.

The mausoleum is a simple wooden pergola with 12 wooden supporting pillars and a stone floor. It stands across a stream a few minutes’ walk from the 17th Century family home.

Four continuous candles surround the grave of Dodi, who was killed alongside Princess Diana in a Paris car crash 26 years ago. Al Fayed, who never managed to capture the hearts of the UK’s ruling classes was 94 when he died and was buried two days later.  

The former owner of Harrods passed away on the eve of the anniversary of Dodi and Princess Diana’s death.

There was not a single dignitary at his funeral, not even the Egyptian ambassador.

#diana #princessdiana #ladydiana #dodi #paris #alfayed #harrods

5am and the radio told me Diana was dead… – The Leigh G Banks Preservation Society

Dylan’s stately Highlands home is caught in Britain’s financial crisis, putting his £3m asking price in jeopardy.

The historic estate with landscaped grounds has been his and his brother’s for more than a decade and was described as a bolt hole. 

It isn’t, it is a beautiful part of Highlands history set against forest, mountains and lakes. Aultmore House is an Edwardian Country manor in the village of Nethy Bridge in the Cairngorm National Park.

Bob bought it in 2006 with his younger brother, David, for £2.2 million ($2.8 million).

Sadly, the pandemic kept them both away from the magnificent mansion for a long time.

Tom Stewart-Moore of Knight Frank, which is handling the sale, said: “Up until about pre-Covid times, Bob and his brother would normally go there for a few weeks a year.They bought it because it’s stunningly beautiful and most importantly, very, very private.” 

You get to the house by a tree-lined driveway and it has16 bedrooms with garden views,11 bathrooms, four reception rooms, music room. 

The Zimmerman brothers did the place up too, rewiring, putting in new heating and water systems – but they kept loads of period details, including an entry hall with a limestone staircase with a wrought iron and wooden balustrade. 

Surrounding the home are 25 acres of gardens dotted with statues, fountains, and stone gazebos. And there are three cottages. 

Magnificent house like Bob’s usually survive in a housing crisis, but the knock-on  of  money becoming more expensive, local taxes rise and just the general running day-to-day slow things down.

UK house prices have fallen 5.3 per cent in the last year, according to Nationwide’s August house price index – the biggest drop reported since 2009.