Well, Aleppo has experienced its heaviest bombing for a long time. The Russians are coming. Some aid is getting through, while other such convoys are being shelled and all hell is breaking loose. Fortunately, the BBC is too preoccupied with losing Bake-Off to worry about all that. Meanwhile, here at home, despite the results being known some months ago – such is their electoral integrity- the Labour Party will tomorrow announce their elected leader… again. Will it be a throwback to failed far-left socialism, the magic money tree and squeezing the rich… or will it be the other one?
Multi-tasking? Some days it is all I can do to watch the telly AND listen to it; I tend to drift off. As the old saw goes “Sometime, oi sits an’ oi thinks. Sometimes, oi jes’ sits…” And when it comes to driving, it’s a hard enough thing to do properly anyway, without added distractions such as scenery, passengers, other cars and the radio. The radio, you say, surely that’s not much of a distraction but, trust me, it’s tricky. I have often had to forego the details of a piece of radio drama, or a searing political analysis in order to concentrate on negotiating the new road layout around roadworks, or even to just creep forward, three yards at a time, in the regular snarl-ups that constitute motorway travel in Britain today.
There has been the usual chatter this week about education, grammar schools and school uniforms. Are we to take it that the diminutive oxygen thieves are back in their holding pens, giving much needed respite for their forlorn progenitors? The apparent progressive decline of British education seems to be beyond the powers of government to halt, which is at best disappointing. Human evolution happens over millennia so the kids of today should be no less capable of benefitting from a proper education than those of half a century ago.
They won’t let it lie. Tomorrow is the Twat Parade; the Malcontents’ March for Europe. Arch idiot and old woman impersonator, Eddie Izzard, along with a company of hand-wringing useful idiots will attempt, by the power of looking childish, chanting and making whiny speeches, to turn the clock back. These Little Europeans want to return to the bad old days of Communist Russia, an imagined former golden time and are not afraid to resort to narrow-minded bigotry to get their way. They will call old, white, British people Nazis and wish them harm, in order to prove just how enlightened, caring, inclusive and non-racist they are.
Nigel Farage stood on a stage with Donald Trump and the lefty world exploded into a frothing maelstrom of outrage. This is fascism, wrote Tom Peck in a fine example of the type of journalism that has Owen Jones fans salivating and self-flagellating as they express their love of all humanity via the medium of unbridled hatred. Quite a few of the usual suspects joined in to form their own little Nuremburg Rally of irony as they sought to rouse their army of compliant drones to retweet their righteous fury. It was hilarious
I sometimes think that Polly Toynbee exists purely to give taxpayers somebody to belly laugh about. The other day she went into a full on, straitjacket-required, anti-Tory rant about obesity. It seems that fat is a socialist issue. Odd, though, that in her diatribe she recommends that we should “offer a diet of self-esteem, good jobs and social status, and the pounds will fall away”, because this has been the Tory solution since forever, whereas the ragged-trousered remnants of the Labour Party would legislate people thin by passing laws which always end up punishing ‘the most vulnerable in society’.
Source: You’d better believe it
Since my first tick-a-tick-a-Timex, of which I have written before, I have always worn a wristwatch. I can’t recall a time when I didn’t and for men of my generation, the type of watch you wore said much about you. Which is why I now go for an affordable Seiko in a classic, plain style. Dull, unpretentious, reliable; after all, it has a job to do. Not for me the trendy gigantic face, nor the chronometer with too many buttons, none of which serve any useful purpose. Breitling, Rolex, Cartier et al will never adorn my wrist unless I simultaneously win the lottery and lose my marbles. Like your choice of car, your choice of watch often says less flattering things about you than you’d like and for the cost of a Navitimer I could buy a half-decent set of nondescript wheels.
With only some ninety days to go the US presidential race is hotting-up as the rival camps do their level best to trash talk the opposition. There are anecdotal reports on social media of opinion poll rigging and lies about both candidates proliferate. So wild are some of these that you would not be at all surprised to see claims that Hillary Clinton has a secret army of ninja assassins to take out dissenting commentators and that Donald Trump plans to hide the national debt under his, er, ‘remarkable’ hair.
During the build up to the referendum, Michael Gove warned of the prognostications of experts. He was pilloried for it because, after all, don’t we rely on the experts to inform us, advise us and generally teach us how we should behave? Should I take an umbrella? Is it the right time to buy, or should I keep renting? Should I invest in solar panels, or electric cars, or nuclear power? Is the planet warming or cooling, or both at the same time? Given that whenever the experts all agree it has proven wise to adopt a healthily sceptic stance, Gove’s much denigrated remarks were bang on the money.
The BBC simply will not take the Brexit vote lying down. Yesterday they reported Lloyds Bank’s announcement of local branch closures as being a result of the referendum result when in fact they are simply a symptom of the globalised world. Branches have been closing for years as people shop online, bank online and even socialise online. Nobody ever enjoyed the queues anyway as banks still ridiculously send all their staff to lunch at the same time as everybody else; machines do it so much better. Lloyds actually had to put out a tweet to explain these plans had been in place long before any hint of a leave vote was in the air.