It's all the 'Memsahib's fault: Yesterday was my wedding anniversary - yes, 51 years before the mast - God, I deserve a medal! - and so I took the 'Memsahib' over to the Poole Lighthouse Theatre to see a performance of an early Alan Ayckbourn play. His earlier plays tend to be very similar, being witty but ruthless dissections of middle-class marriage - so right for a wedding anniversary! I am a huge fan of Ayckbourn but, alas, we left at the interval of this disastrous production. I won't bore you with the details but this is the second theatrical production we have failed to sit through in its entirety - regulars may remember the callous 'murder' of Stoppard's masterpiece, "Arcadia" about which I spat blood and nails all over these distinguished columns. So two theatrical disasters in a row indicates to me that 'someone is to blame'! Obviously it can't be me so that leaves the 'Memsahib'. In a couple of weeks we are off to see Rattigan's "Flare Path", an absolute diamond of a play which I once had the great privilege of directing. If this forthcoming production turns out to be a stinker, too, then I will know who to blame and henceforth the 'Memsahib' will be left at home!
The 'splitters' will just have to, er, split: The 'Hefferlump' in today's Telegraph points out that even a total roasting of Labour at next year's Scottish and local elections may not be sufficient to unseat 'Jezza'. Under the dim, dumb and daft rules introduced by that intellectual genius, Ed 'Milipede', the 'Dave Spart Tendency' who now form the majority of the Labour party membership will support him to the death - and they have the numbers! Slowly, it will dawn on the, er, normal members of the Labour party, particularly the MPs, that their only option is to split away and form a new party, either on their own or in cahoots with the Lib-Dems or even the Left-wing of the Tory party.
Thank God I have my own Professor to teach me: You may have noticed a distinct lack of posts around here on the Middle East imbroglio in general, and the Russian intervention in particular. The explanation is simple - I haven't a clue! And where-of I know nothing I try, not always successfully, to say nothing. At those moments I reach for my very own Streetwise Professor who has a proper brain and explains everything with absolute clarity:
1: Russia is intervening to save Assad from imminent defeat, and to protect its ports in Syria.
2: Isis is not the most immediate threat to either Assad or the Russian facilities.
3: Therefore, Russia will focus on non-Isis targets, while claiming to be fighting Isis.
There you are, The Streetwise Professor, everybody should have one! If you're not convinced, read this masterly summary:
There are no good guys in Syria. Stop pretending there are: there is considerable reason to doubt there ever were. And any differences between Isis and the non-Isis Islamists the Russians are bombing are trivial. They do all pretty much look (and act) alike. And what’s more, pretty much everyone in the West looks the same to them: they all think your head would look just splendid mounted on a spike in the front yard.
Ben - who for President? When Gov. Scott Walker fell victim to DES (Duff Endorsement Syndrome) in which any candidate enthusiastically endorsed by yours truly almost always comes a cropper, I decided to treat the forthcoming Presidential election with its 178 (at the last count) candidates the same way I treat the Middle East - ignore it on the basis of my ignorance! But today I notice a report in the IJ Review claiming that far from 'The Donald' romping away with the GOP nomination, it is actually Dr. Ben Carson who is leading the race - and by a fairly decent margin, too! Also, it is claimed that based on actual results in elections since 2004, this particular polling organisation, IBD/TIPP, consistently came out on top for the accuracy of its predictions. Better start checking out this man who has one considerable advantage - he has never been a member of Congress which means that he can come into your house without being having to remove his shoes!
At last the dirty secret is oozing out: For some time now I have insisted on my belief that rugby is a dirty, drug-ridden game. There is no way, in my opinion, that some of those huge, bulging hulks could have reached the size they have without a little help from a laboratory or two! Today, on the radio, I understand there was an investigative programme on the subject. Truth will out!
No more rumbles today