DUFF & NONSENSE!

Your Monday Funnies: 22.7.19

A bit pushed for time today as I am off 'up country' to meet an old - and, oh dear, I do mean old! - pal for lunch.  Happily, and courtesy of my Chief Archivist ('JK', of course, who else?) who found this in a post of mine from 7 years ago, I can open with a letter written by Spike Milligan in reply to someone called Stephen who complained about his war memoirs:

Dear Stephen,

Questions, questions, questions. If you are disappointed in my book 'MONTY', so am I. I must be more disappointed than you because I spent a year collecting material for it, and it was a choice of having it made into a suit or a book.

There are lots of one liners in the book, but then when the German Army are throwing bloody great lumps of hot iron at you, one only has time for one liners. In fact, the book should really consist of the following:

"Oh fuck"

"Look out"

"Christ here's another"

"Where did that fall?"

"My lorry's on fire"

"Oh Christ, the cook is dead"

You realise a book just consisting of those would just be the end, so my one liners are extensions of these brevities.

Then you are worried because as yet I have not mentioned my meeting with Secombe and later Sellers. Well by the end of the Monty book I had as yet not met either Secombe or Sellers. I met Secombe in Italy, which will be in vol 4, and I am arranging to meet Peter Sellers on page 78 of vol 5 in London. I'm sorry I can't put back the clock to meet Secombe in 1941, to alleviate your disappointment — hope springs anew with the information I have given you.

Another thing that bothers you is "cowardice in the face of the enemy". Well, the point is I suffered from cowardice in the face of the enemy throughout the war — in the face of the enemy, also in the legs, the elbows, and the wrists; in fact, after two years in the front line a mortar bomb exploded by my head (or was it my head exploded by a mortar bomb), and it so frightened me, I put on a tremendous act of stammering, stuttering, and shivering. This mixed with cries of "mother" and a free flow of dysentery enabled me to be taken out of the line and down-graded to B2. But for that brilliant performance, this letter would be coming to you from a grave in Italy.

Any more questions from you and our friendship is at an end.

Sincerely,

Spike Milligan

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THE FIRST BLONDE MALE JOKE.

The Sheriff in a small town walks out in the street and sees a blonde cowboy coming down the walk with nothing on but his cowboy hat, gun and his boots, so he arrests him for indecent exposure.

As he is locking him up, he asks "Why in the world are you dressed like this?"

The Cowboy says "Well it's like this Sheriff ... I was in the bar down the road and this pretty little red head asks me to go out to her motor home with her ... so I did.

We go inside and she pulls off her top and asks me to pull off my shirt ... so I did.

Then she pulls off her skirt and asks me to pull off my pants ... so I did

Then she pulls off her panties and asks me to pull off my shorts ... so I did.

Then she gets on the bed, looks at me kind of sexy, and says, "Now, go to town, cowboy ... "

"So here I am."

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Apparently, they have dimwits in Australia, too - HOONOO?

I live in a semi rural area.
We recently had a new neighbour call the local council office to request the removal of the WOMBAT CROSSING sign on our road.
The reason: 'Too many wombats are being hit by cars out here! I don't think this is a good place for them to be crossing anymore.'

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An Arkansus couple had just been married and went to an expensive hotel in Hot Springs for their honeymoon.

The new groom went to the front desk and asked for a room. He said, "This is a very special 'casion... our weddin’ night... and we need your BEST room - with a strong bed!"

The clerk winked and asked, "Do you want the Bridal?"

The redneck fellow thought about it for awhile and then replied, "No,
I guess not ... I'll just hold on to her ears 'til' she gets used to it!"

 

Right, I'm off - should be back in time for tea!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 21.7.19

Well, it is Sunday today!   So that makes it right, fitting and proper for me to introduce a bit of Christian news.  Regular readers will have noticed that religion, by which I mean a belief in God - any God! - does not figure heavily in these unholy columns for the simple reason that I do not believe in a God.  Even so, I have some sympathy towards Christianity if only because I think Jesus Christ, if he ever existed, had some sensible suggestions on how to conduct one's life.  Thus, it has been painful over recent years, particularly those years in which that total prat, Justin Welby, has been running the Church of England, to see it decline and fall into a slough of useless inanity.  Obviously, I am not qualified to offer knowledgeable insight into its failings but I 'know' a man who does.  He is Mr. Dennis Lennox over at The Coffee House who spells out the miserable details.

 

Now the 'peacenik' doves are coming home to roost:   The Iranians have ripped the gossamer cloaks of duplicity off the shivering weakling that is the British armed forces.  Decade after decade, irrespective of which government was in power, all three services have been put on 'starvation rations' as their ranking in the political list of priorities has fallen steadily lower and lower.  Of course, none of that has stopped our politicians 'strutting their stuff' on the world stage as though we were still in possession of an empire.  Today, the Iranians have well and truly humiliated us.  It can only be a matter of time before the Argentinians do the same!

 

Dammit!  Peter Hitchens had already pulled the trigger:   And, of course, his aim was infinitely better than mine!  No sooner had I scribbled the 'rumble' above than I clicked on to his article in today's Mail on Sunday:

Having wrecked the schools, the police, the courts and the Civil Service, destroyed the married family and debauched the economy, the slow-motion British Revolution now plans to ruin the Armed Forces, the last truly conservative institutions left standing after 60 years of upheaval.
At the end of this process, the Army, Navy and Air Force will still exist in outward form, but they will be useless for the purpose for which we have them – fighting the enemy.
Instead, they will produce plenty of annual reports showing how sexually equal and inclusive they are.

Yes, that about sums it up!

 

Yes, it stuck in my craw, too:   In the past week I have waxed lyrical on the subject of the 'American' effort to put a man on the moon.  It was an epic effort but whilst watching the old newsreels showing the Apollo teams pursuing their mission, there was one constant irritation - the fat, smug face of Wernher von Braun who, by rights, should have been strung up as a war criminal, as should most of the other despicable Nazi engineers who were smuggled out of Germany to help the Americans in their determination to design and build rockets to reach space.  As usual, the indefatigable Tom Bower tells the whole sordid story in The Mail on Sunday. 

 

Not all bad, that Phillip Hammond:   Of course, he deserves an eternity in Hell or Liverpool, whichever is worst, for his pro-EU views but he has earned a 'merit badge' for doing what few Chancellors ever do, that is, reducing both debt and the deficit and thus making the Brit economy fitter for the purpose of getting out of Europe.  Not that he intended it for that purpose, of course!

 

This is disgraceful, where are the diversity police?   Below, courtesy of The American Thinker site, I give you a photo of the American team at the International Mathematical Olympiad which shared top place with China:

Yes, indeed, five of them are of Asian stock and so it's obvious that the white guy is a 'stat whitey' only inserted to provide a veneer of racial fairness!  This racial inequality must be corrected and more 'Whiteys' plus, of course, the odd 'stat black', along with a Native American, must be included in the next team of mathematical wizards.  Of course, that might result in America finishing equal 75th in the competition alongside Somalia but - dammit! - we must have racial equality!  To be serious you can read more about this competition if you click on this link.  I didn't dare ask where Britain came!

 

No more rumbles today

 

 

The height of the Summer social season

Yes, you can forget all about Royal Ascot, 'Buck' House garden parties and all that sort of thing.  Today was St. John's Church fête which, handily, is just across the railings in front of my house.  I graciously agreed to attend and, as per usual, I made a bee-line for the home-made cake stand!  There I came across a 'yuuuuuuuuge' sponge cake with icing on top and scrummy jam in the middle.  Next was the second-hand book stand where, dammit, my browsing was interrupted by various people chatting to me.  As you will have gathered over the years, I am not a 'chatty' sort of person - especially when I'm browsing for books!  Anyway, I came across a John le Carré which I don't think I have read before, so after that I made a dash shuffle for home and a cup of tea and an enormous dollop of home-made sponge cake.  I have set enquiries in hand to find the name of the lady who made it because I want her to have my babies!

 

 

 

HATE: Another of those tricky four-letter words!

I hate all this 'hate speech', don't you?  The phrase is bandied about by all and sundry but nobody ever attempts to define it.  It appears to be that anyone who objects to anyone else's political or social views and does so in written or spoken words is instantly - and I do mean 'instantly' - condemned for the use of 'hate speech'.  But then again, the preachers and praters who take instant offence almost always use 'hate speech' in return.  The practice has become so widespread that it is now totally boring!

And anyway, why is so-called 'hate speech' so dreadful?  People have always and forever hated certain other people.  Even I, the very epitome of a quiet, tolerant, easy-going Englishman - and I heard that! - sometimes express intense dislike - oh all right then, hate - of certain other people.  When I do so, I do not (usually) urge other people to do anything violent about it.  In the unlikely event that they ever would, it would surely be an indication of their mental vacuity not my powers of persuasion!

Just recently, the 'Big Donald' suggested to one of his more dim-witted and ludicrous political opponents that she might care to return to the green and pleasant land the sick, filthy, murderous hell-hole of her birth (Somalia, actually) since she appeared to find her adoptive country so awful.  This sensible suggestion was instantly classified as "hate speech" despite its accuracy and appropriateness.  This lady, apparently finds the USA to be abhorrent, especially so with the 'Big Donald' in charge.  Where is the "hate" in suggesting that she return to her birth country and do her best to help it out of its dire condition.  Of course, she might fall victim to rape and torture and eventual execution but surely that will be easier for her than living in 'Trumpland' which is full of, er, 'hate speech'!

 

 

 

Planned Parenthood suffers its own termination

Alas, not the entire organisation, just the 'Cutter-in-Chief', a certain Dr. (yes, a 'doctor' whose professional purpose should be to preserve life!) Leana Wen who, a mere eight months ago, was appointed head of Murder Inc, oops, sorry, I mean Planned Parenthood (PP).  To her slight, very slight, credit, according to Rich Lowry at the National Review, she indicated that she intended to shift the organisation more towards general health care rather than concentrating on killing babies.  Her termination was swift!

'PP' tries to sell the idea that killing babies is only a tiny part of its operations even if they amount to some 330,000 per year!  Happily, and 'The Donald' deserves some praise for it, their income from the government's 'Title X' financial support has been heavily restricted as far as abortions are concerned.  Whatever else 'The Donald' may or may not do during his 'reign' he deserves an enormous cheer for that!

 

 

The Whitehall farce, or scandal, plays on and "there will be blood"

I gather that 'Boing-Boing's hero is Winston Churchill and so, given the farcical events in Parliament, I hope that he will follow the great man's advice - "Just KBO!", or, to give you the full translation, "Just keep buggering on!"  This parliament, or at least, a large section of it, has shown itself to be utterly useless and dishonourable.  How they can continue to address each other as "Honourable" men and women is quite beyond me.  Four years ago they voted by an enormous majority (544 to 53) to give the people of Britain a referendum on Brexit.  To their astonishment, the people voted by a solid majority that they did, indeed, want to leave the EU.  Since then, a large section of our elected politicians have tried every trick in the book to subvert the people's will.  The long-term effects of this subversion will be enormous.  Their behaviour since the referendum has been disgusting and undemocratic.

It seems to me that the only solution is to hold another election.  Let the 'despised people' have their say on each and every Member of Parliament and judge their behaviour over the past three years.  This will lance the festering boil once and for all.  Given the parlous state of the Labour party there is, I think, little chance of them forming a new government.  Happily, the Conservatives will be tested even more significantly from the Right rather than the Left.  Farage and his Brexit party will put enormous pressure on Conservative 'Remainer' MPs who will have the political soles of their feet held to the fire.  My guess - and it is a guess - is that either an official or an unofficial deal will be struck between Tory MPs who hang on and the new influx of Brexit party MPs who are likely to arrive.

Then, and only then, will we finally rid ourselves of that European behemoth.

 

Hey, 'goils', don't mess with 'The Don', he makes you look even more 'stoopid'!

There is an old saying, the exact words of which have disappeared down my memory hole - which is getting wider and deeper by the day! - to the effect that if you do something that does not work, then don't keep on doing it!  Someone should try telling that to the screeching quartet of black/brown, female, political dimwits who are leading the anti-Trump chorus of disapproval 'over there'.  Yes, he is crass but not as crass as those ultra-Leftist dimwits who keep falling for his trickery in which he rolls sundry political hand-grenades towards them which, instead of ignoring or dodging them, they then pick up and flourish to the crowd whilst screeching even louder.  Meanwhile, the GAP (the Great American Public) slowly begins to note their hysteria and increasingly Left-wing extremism.  Meanwhile, 'The Donald' sits back in his Presidential chair, smiles and strokes the big, fluffy, white cat on his lap!  (And that was "cat", not 'pussy'!)

If this continues and the 'ultras' on the extreme Left wing of the Democrat party allow themselves to be suckered into yet more and more hysteria then I think we can rest assured that 'The Donald', barring any truly serious allegations, will be a shoo-in for another Presidential term.  I am somewhat guided in these thoughts by my 'ex-Best Friend, Phil Carpenter, who in a fit of pique threw me off his blog site.  He is a dedicated Democrat supporter, in fact, back in the day, he was part of their election team.  By American standards he is a 'moderate' Leftie which is why I continue to follow him in order to gain an insight into that aspect of American politics.  Even so, even he throws moderation to the dogs when Trump upsets him, which is fairly often, but perhaps this is due in part to his increasing ill-health - which I hope he eventually overcomes.  In a post titled "How Not to Beat Trump", he takes the 'Shriek Quartet' to task for their inherent stupidity:

The Dems will never persuade Trump's base that he's a ghastly blight on America and the world. But swinging too far left in reaction is a superb way to also lose conservative and moderate Democratic voters, as well as independents. And that, gentle reader, is just plain dumb.

I agree but should make clear that I do not want Trump to be defeated because virtually all the Democrat 'wannabes' are even worse!

 

 

Ed Dwight Jnr. - 'hoonoo'?

There is an excellent history of the American space programme being broadcast over several evenings on BBC4.  Last night I watched two of the episodes and I was totally 'gob-smacked' to learn of the existence of Ed Dwight Jnr. of whom I had never heard before!  A commissioned officer and a trained test pilot, he was one amongst the very large intake of Air Force pilots chosen to compete for inclusion into the final astronaut training programme. 

He was not chosen!

No official reason appears to have been given but perhaps, I repeat, perhaps this photo provides a clue:

Yes, he was black and given the times it would be very easy to start screeching the never-ending lament of the extreme Left - raaaaaaacism!  Well, I will not do that until I find out more of the back ground.  According to Wiki, Capt. Dwight thought his exclusion was down to "colour politics" and shortly there-after he resigned.  He then went on a completely different path as a sculptor where he appeared to garner much success.  I am delighted to say that he is still alive at the ripe old age of 85.

Now, why can't Hollywood make a sensible and sensitive film about this man's life?

 

 

Do NOT view this photo without a sickbag nearby!

Today, there are so many images available depicting Man's inhumanity to Men - and women and children - that getting upset by yet another image of stupid, cowardly, egotistical people preening and posing by the carcass of a beautiful animal that they have just slaughtered for no other reason that to feed their insatiable egos, that I wonder why I bother to become so enraged.  But I do!

Darren and Carolyn Carter, from Edmonton in Alberta, Canada, posed for a kissing photo next to a lion they had just shot dead in South Africa

So, a brief message to dear Darren and Carolyn Carter of Edmonton in Canada. Darlings, I do really hope and pray that at some time in your miserable lives, as you walk home, perhaps from a party where you had proudly showed your 'trophy' photographs to your admiring (or sickened) friends, that a stray, starving grizzly bear catches the pair of you in the open!

 

 

 

Whither India?

You will be much relieved to learn that this post of mine will be brief and to the point.  The reason is simple - I know next to nothing about India!  For me, if dear old 'Winnie' will forgive me, it remains "a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma".  Not, I hasten to add, because it represents the sort of ominous, evil menace that was Soviet Russia and to which 'Winnie' was referring.  In fact, India is as open to inspection as any country on earth.  It is truly 'yuuuuuuuuge' and constantly bubbling with activities although I am not sure exactly what they are and where they are going.  What is important to me is India's sheer size not least because, situated as it is fairly close to China, I can't help feeling that "there may be troubles ahead"!

Of course, it lacks the disciplined power of the Chinese state but history indicates that the Indian people, 'zillions of them', are exceedingly proud and more than willing to fight for what they see as their rights.  An over-bearing China puffed with ambition might find India hard to swallow.  We, by which I mean 'the West', should do all we can to bolster India's strength.  I do hope 'The Donald' will recognise that and take a "softly, softly, catchee monkey" approach even though the Indian political caste are fairly reprehensible!  Dammit, they're no worse than the crooks in Chicago!

 

 

Just a taster of what I hope will be a corker

I was given a paper-back book the other day about which I knew nothing and because I am currently mired in the history of Europe I haven't been able to read it.  However, just to get the flavour I decided to read the first couple of pages.  Now, of course, I just wish bloody Europe would get a move on so I can properly start reading "A Gentleman in Moscow" by Amor Towles.  To give you all a taste of it, here are those opening pages which are set in Moscow in 1918:

APPEARANCE OF COUNT ALEXANDER ILYICH ROSTOV BEFORE THE EMERGENCY COMMITTEE OF THE PEOPLE'S COMMISSARIAT FOR INTERNAL AFFAIRS

Presiding: Comrades A. N. Ignatov, M. S. Zakovsky, A. Y. Kosarev

Prosecuting: A. Y. Vyshinsky

......................................................................................................

 

Prosecutor Vyshinsky:  State you name.

Rostov:  Count Alexander Ilych Rostov, recipient of the Order of Saint Andrew, member of the Jockey Club, Master of the Hunt.

Vyshinsky:  You may have your titles; they are of no use to anyone else.  But for the record, are you not Alexander Rostov, born in St. Petersburg, 24 October, 1889?

Rostov:  I am he.

Vyshinsky:  Before we begin, I must say, I do not think that I have ever seen a jacket festooned with so many buttons.

Rostov:  Thank you.

Vyshinsky:  It was not meant as a compliment.

Rostov:  In that case, I demand satisfaction on the field of honour.

(Laughter)

Secretary Ignatov:  Silence in the gallery.

Vyshinsky:  What is your current address?

Rostov:  Suite 317 at the Hotel Metropol, Moscow.

Vyshinsky: How long have you lived there?

Rostov:  I have been in residence since the fifth of September 1918.  Just under four years.

Vyshinsky:  And your occupation?

Rostov:  It is not the business of a gentleman to have occupations.

Vyshinski:  Very well then, how do you spend your time?

Rostov:  Dining, discussing.  Reading, reflecting.  The usual rigmarole.

Vyshinsky:  And you write poetry?

Rostov:  I have been known to fence with a quill,

Vyshinsky:  (Holding up a pamphlet)  Are you the author of this long poem  of 1913: Where Is It Now?

Rostov:  It has been attributed to me.

Vyshinsky:  Why did you write the poem?

Rostov:  It demanded to be written.  I simply happened to be sitting at the particular desk on the particular morning when it chose to make its demands.

Vyshinsky:  And where was that exactly?

Rostov:  In the south parlor at Idlehour.

Vyshinsky:  Idlehour?

Rostov:  The Rostov estate in Nizhny Novgorod.

Vyshinsky:  Ah, yes, of course.  How apt.  But let us return our attention to your poem.  Coming as it did in the more subdued years after the failed revolt of 1905 - many considered it a call to action.  Would you agree with that assessment?

Rostov:  All poetry is a call to action.

Vyshinsky:  (Checking notes) And it was in the spring of the following year that you left Russia for Paris  . . .

Rostov:  I seem to remember blossoms on the apple trees .  So, yes, in all likelihood it was spring.

Vyshinski:  May 1916 to be precise.  Now we understand the reasons for your self-imposed exile; and we even have some sympathy with the actions the actions that provoked your flight.  What concerns us here is your return in 1918.  One wonders if you came back with the intention of taking up arms and, if so, whether for or against the Revolution.

Rostov:  By that point , I'm afraid that my days of taking up arms were behind me.

Vyshinski:  Why then did you come back?

Rostov:  I missed the climate.

(Laughter)

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Well, I don't know about you but I am utterly captivated by the cool, witty Count Alexander Ilych Rostov and I can't wait to see how events turn out for him.

 

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 15.7.19

As we celebrate the anniversary of really seeing 'the man on the moon', here's a space joke:

When NASA first started sending up astronauts, they quickly discovered that ballpoint pens would not work in zero gravity. To combat the problem, NASA scientists spent a decade and $12 billion to develop a pen that writes in zero gravity, upside down, underwater, on almost any surface including glass and at temperatures ranging from below freezing to 300 C.

The Russians used a pencil.

Mind you, I understand that at a fairly critical stage in Apollo 11, a switch failed and the astronauts used a Biro to get the thing working again!  Right, back to the usual filth!

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MODERN VERSION OF WHERE BABIES COME FROM:

SON: "Dad, where did I come from?"

DAD: "Okay son ... I guess we had to have this conversation one day."

"Your mum and I met in a chat room on the net. I set up a meeting with her and we landed in the bathroom at the Cyber Cafe. Then your mum did some downloads from dads memory stick, and when dad was ready to upload, we discovered that there was no firewall. Seeing that it was a bit too late to cancel, I just carried on doing the upload."

"Nine months later, the damn virus appeared."

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Oh boy, do I like this one!

At the end of the tax year, the Tax Office sent an inspector to audit the books of a synagogue. While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said, "I notice you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?"

"Good question," noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles."

"Oh," replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer.

But on he went, in his obnoxious way. "What about all these biscuit purchases. What do you do with the crumbs?"

"Ah, yes," replied the Rabbi, realizing that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. "We collect them and send them back to the manufacturers, and every now and then they send a free box of holy biscuits."

"I see," replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the know-it-all Rabbi.

"Well, Rabbi," he went on, "what do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?"

"Here, too, we do not waste," answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save up all the foreskins and send them to the Tax Office, and about once a year they send us a complete dick."

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What’s in a name ?

A psychiatrist was conducting a Group Therapy Session with five young mothers and their small children. "You all have obsessions," he stated. "I am concerned that these individual obsessions are going to impact your children."

To the first mother, he said: "Mary, you are obsessed with eating. You've even named your daughter Candy."

He turned to the second Mum: "Ann, your obsession is with money. It manifests itself in your children's names of Penny, Goldie and Frank.

He turned to the third Mum, "Joyce: Your obsession is alcohol. This too shows itself in your children's names: of Brandy and Sherry. You have even called your cat: Whisky."

He then turned to the fourth Mum: "June: Your obsession is with flowers. Your girls are called Rose, Daphne, and Poppy."

At this point, the fifth mother, Kathy, quietly got up from her seat, took her little boy by the hand and whispered: "Come on Dick, this guy has no idea what he's talking about, grab Fanny and Willy, we're leaving..."

 

That's it, y'all have a good day now!

 

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 14.7.19

Y'all need a really cold shower:   And, I must admit, that includes me!  Needless to say on a Sunday morning, nobody wields the hose-pipe with more deadly accuracy than Peter Hitchens in The Mail.  Today, dammit, his 'water' is freezing and his aim is spot on and reaches those parts that other commenters rarely hit!

 

Perhaps "Boing-Boing" has been allotted to the wrong politician:   I awarded it to Boris because of the opportunity to enjoy the alliteration and also because it indicates the impossibility of forecasting exactly how and in which direction he will bounce in any set of circumstances.  However, today we have a lady politician who, so to speak, 'bounces her own balls' in any direction she sees fit depending, I suspect, on how she assesses her own advancement up the greasy, Westminster pole.  I refer, of course, to Ms. Amber Rudd MP who has been pro-Boris, anti-Boris and is now pro-Boris again.  Mr. Dan Hodges, a keen observer, spells it out in his Sunday Mail column.  I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her and these days, alas, I don't think I could even lift her!

 

Sorry to bore on but . . .   My visitor stats have gone haywire - again!  Yesterday, they shot up to nearly a thousand and most of them seem to be hitting at random on posts from years ago.  Very peculiar!

 

By Jove, what a race!   And, of course, (Sir) Lewis romped home - again, his 80th Grand Prix win!

Of course, his, er, 'fashion' taste is ghastly but who cares - except when he goes before Her Maj to collect his 'K'!  To add to my pleasure, that damned Hun bashed into someone and was penalised.  More important than all of that, of course, was that the new Silverstone circuit offered up the chance for some real racing unlike the 'boring-snoring', follow-my-leader processions we have seen so far!

 

Iran - to war or not to war, that is the question!   I have been - sort of - following the American/Iranian contretemps but, alas, not closely enough to offer an informed opinion.  Of course, it is 'bleedin' obvious' that the Islamic loonies who run Iran are, and will forever be, a world menace.  The previous occupant of the White House decided to go 'softly-softly' in reaching his, er, 'deal'.  The fact that he was congenitally stupid and weak did not give one confidence in the end result.  The current occupant is a 'huffer 'n' puffer' with a tendency, as my dear old Mum used to put it, "to open his mouth and let his belly rumble!"  No one, and least of all him, knows what that will lead to.  The chances of an outright war between America and Iran are high and, following the Iraq war - another Republican idea! - that will go down like a plate of sick with the American public in the run up to a Presidential election.  Have a care, Mr. President!

 

I am exhausted!   Well, so would you be if you had spent all afternoon racing round Silverstone circuit, then watching the longest game of 'Plink-Plonk' ever in which that damned Serbian had the impertinence to beat our darling Roger who is, of course, an honorary Brit, and then, with one last effort, helping our brave Brit lads beat those damned Kiwis at cricket.  Pheeeew, how I keep up with it all is amazing but now I intend to take to my bed!

 

 

No more rumbles today

 

 

Brexit, like a hanging in the morning, should concentrate minds

Of course, my title above raises two instant comments.  First, I use the word "should" but, as the history of Brexit thus far proves, it is not a given!  Secondly, I used the word "minds" but so far there has been little or no indication from HMG that there are any minds available!  If 'Boing-Boing' has his way, and if the EU lives down to its petulant depths, then on 1st November we shall find ourselves all alone in the big, bad world.  Yes, I know we have been there before, many a time and oft, but even so, some deep thinking is urgently required.

For a start, we will need a friend and where better to look for one than 'over there'.  However, that will entail us doing a deal with 'The Donald' - yeeeeeeeeeees, quite!  Well, it could be worse, just imagine trying to cosy up to a deal with 'Xing Ping-a-ling' of China whose sole aim would be to swallow us whole!  Quite apart from the undoubted fact that the Chinese are determined to rule the world, they also have a long list of festering resentments arising from our earlier and disgusting imperial history with them.  Of course, there is always Australia and New Zealand but they are about as far away as it is possible to be from us.  So, it looks like without 'The Donald' we risk becoming an international 'Billy No-Mates'!

All that said, it does not mean that we have no cards to play with Washington.  We are up in the top 5 or 6 biggest economies in the world and we remain a nuclear power with the means to deliver them from basking submarines.  Also, we have a seat and a vote on the UN Security Council which, given that the USA is considered to be an international 'enemy of the people' by a 'yuuuuuuuuge' number of nations around the world, adds 'some lustre to our cluster'! So, methinks that 'The Donald', whilst he will wish to drive an exceedingly hard bargain with us, will nevertheless be careful not to drive us away.

A top priority for 'Boing-Boing' is to fill the now vacant Washington embassy with a political appointee, not one of those utterly useless, pontificating FO types who appear to be all suffering, not with serious 'group-think' tendencies but with 'group-grunt' fixations because, of course, in their eyes Trump would never have been let into Eton in a thousand years - lucky fella'!  Anyway, the 'never-quite-that special' relationship between us and US needs to be reset and recalibrated as a matter of considerable urgency.  Oddly enough, I suspect that 'Boing-Boing', with his own, er, eccentricities might be just the man to do it with 'The Donald'.

 

 

I left at the interval spitting blood and nails!

Last night I took a chance and went to see an open air production of "The Tempest" - not so much a big mistake as a 'yuuuuuuuuuuge' mistake!  It is, of course, Shakespeare's last play.  At its best it is a 'fanciful' play, that is, a play full of magical fancies.  I do not know it well, by which I mean that I have never acted in it or directed it, but I am utterly fascinated and moved by the final speech in which Prospero Shakespeare makes his farewell.  Of course, many Shakespearean experts will deny that Prospero's final words are anything other than the character's words and that nothing further should be read into them.  This indicates to me that the 'experts' understand little of human psychology or Shakespeare's subtlety!  Just read the words - carefully - and bear in mind that they are, bar a few scribbles offered to other playwrights to assist their scripts, the last words written by Master Shakespeare in a full play:

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint: now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardon'd the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell;
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands:
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardon'd be,
Let your indulgence set me free.

Delivered well those words can bring me near to tears.

Alas, last night I left in 'Grump Factor Mode 10' at the interval.  It was without doubt the very worst production of absolutely anything I have ever seen before and, believe me, I have seen, and indeed actually been part of, some absolute stinkers in my time!  So I came home early, snarled at the 'Memsahib' and came up here to my eyrie and read those words to myself.  They are the carefully crafted words of an exceedingly sensitive and subtle man who 'senses' that his genius is nearing its end.

Personally, I would ship last night's entire company off to the remotest island in the world and leave them there forever!

 

 

 

'Bejasus', I'm not believin' my own eyes!

In a fundamentally loony world that is full of craziness this story left me with my chin hitting my chest!  According to The Telegraph, some utterly useless, pen-pushing civil servant working(!) in the Northern Island office in Ulster complained that his job entailed walking past portraits of the Queen and Prince Philip which caused him great upset.  I will restrain myself from guessing what  that old matelot, Prince Phil, would have said in response because it might reduce me to SoD's  level of language!  Instead of telling this 'Oirish' chancer to go jump in the 'Oirish' sea, the Northern Island Office paid him £10,000 in compensation!!!!!!!

Beyond belief and can you imagine the Queen's sense of nausea when she had to meet and greet that evil, murderous butcher, Martin McGuinness?

 

 

 

Signs of improvement - if you look very hard!

Oh yes, with Stakhanovite determination I have hurled myself into my new mission to turn my study from its resemblance to the local tip into a neat and tidy space fit for a gentleman of my intellectual standing - sorry, did you say something? - to cogitate on the problems besetting the world and in this calm and peaceful atmosphere produce for you an endless stream of good karma!  After 24 hours of unremitting hard labour I can proudly boast that the improvement has reached 0.27% of the target - yeeeeeeeeeees, quite!  At this rate, my study should reach 'ship-shape and Bristol fashion' by Xmas, er, that's Xmas 2030 - 'I should live so long my life already'!

The problem, of course, is nothing to do with my inherent idleness, it's all the fault of those bloody-bloody books!  Everywhere I look there are shelves filled with books and any attempt on my part to tidy them up leads to me suddenly remembering some interesting passage which I read 25 years ago and which tempts me into re-reading it.  I tell you, crack cocaine addiction is nothing compared to book addiction!

Actually, the only thing in my life which acts as a brake to this reading habit is my desire to 'Bore for Britain' on this blog!  Yes, I know, sad, isn't it?  Anyway, I can't hang around here, I've things to do and rumour has it that the 'Memsahib' might be conducting an inspection shortly.

 

 

The shambles that is D&N HQ

Let me apologise in advance for my non-appearance today.  The painters have done their worst (well, actually, their very best) but even so the house looks as though it has been blitzed and my eyrie up here under the roof looks as though someone tossed a hand-grenade in through the door.  Not the least of my problems is that moving sundry bits of furniture has exposed my sins of omission and commission in the form of thick dust, scraps of paper and general littler.  The 'Memsahib' is not amused! Consequently, I am now on strict janitorial duties and it's going to take me ages to clear up this clutter so barring WWIII, which would at least solve my problems instantly, I am unlikely to have the time or the energy to post anything interesting for a while - and I heard that!

So, in the meantime, talk amongst yourselves.  No doubt 'SoD' could start the conversation with a short long fable on the make-believe history of England!

 

They don't make 'em like that anymore!

I have just enjoyed half of a superb treat!  The weather is so damned hot 'down 'ere in (truly) 'zunny Zummerzet' that I took shady-shelter indoors as the painters worked in and out and around me.  I grabbed the 'do-flicker-thingie' and whilst clicking around I came across one of the truly great films - "Heaven Knows, Mr Allison" starring Robert Mitchum and Deborah Kerr.  I have never forgotten that film which I must have seen about 60 years ago.  The two actors were superb but just as brilliant was the script which, happily, eschewed all the sex that would probably feature in a modern version.

In effect, during WWII a very tough, hard-bitten US Marine finds himself hiding on a Japanese occupied island in the Pacific in the company of a nun - yeeeeeeeeees, quite!  He might be rough and tough but at heart he is a true gentleman, and she, despite whatever feelings she might have felt, remains true to the vows she has taken.  Dammit, why can't they make films like that anymore?

 

 

 

Sir Edward who?

You regular commenters here at D&N can be exceedingly irritating to me especially when you have the effrontery to disagree with my wise words which you do on a regular basis!  However, sometimes, I want to cover y'all in kisses because regularly you come up with some views and opinions and facts, not always your own but who cares, which blow open the ever-closing walls of my own mind.  Such is the case with an article forwarded to me by my excellent e-pal, 'AussieD'.  It is an article published on the Quadrant Online site on the subject of Sir Edward Coke - and no, I had never heard of him either!

As you all know, because I keep repeating myself, I believe that the greatest event in English history was when the nobles forced King John to sign Magna Carta in 1215.  It was the start of something truly great although none of the participants had the remotest idea of where it would all eventually lead.  Even so, for a king to have his powers clipped was a sign of things to come.  Like all cataclysmic events, nobody could foresee the eventual outcome which was definitely NOT pre-ordained.

Happily, during the reigns of Elizabeth I and then James I, our 'hero', Sir Edward Coke (or Cooke) had achieved high legal office and he was a brave and unabashed supporter of Common Law against Royal edict law.

English common law is a bottom-up system of jurisprudence “discovered” by judges who establish legal precedents based upon the individual cases they preside over. It is an expression of the people and their culture in judicial form; and a mode of dispensing justice that is fundamentally influenced by tradition and custom. Common law embodies the conservative ethos and is an organic expression of the conservative mindset, inherently opposed to the top-down statutes of “big government”, utopians and societal planners.

Now what, in this day and age, exemplifies "top-down statutes of “big government”, utopians and societal planners".  Well, you need look no further than Brussels for the latest example of this odious and un-English method of government by diktat carefully disguised with a flimsy veil of, er, 'democracy' which seeks to disguise 'Big Brother' and turn him into your beloved 'little sister'!  I do urge you to read the Quadrant article, it is fascinating.

And now I must go forth and find, if possible, a biography of my new hero, Sir Edward Coke.

 

 

 

Donald, darling, calm down, he's only a diplomat!

Mr. President, allow me to refer you to the wise words of the late, although not very great, Sir Henry Wottan, 1568-1639 who said "An ambassador is an honest gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his country."  Of course, it is not usual, but not unheard of, for an ambassador to go abroad and then lie to his own country!  In the case of Sir Kim (dim) Darroch I think we can all agree that he was not lying in the views he expressed back to London.  I am certain that he believed every word he wrote but that doesn't make them true or accurate.  As I am sure you, yourself, have discovered since entering the White House, all these, er, great offices of state have a kind of group think mentality which tends towards the lowest denominator in which it is difficult for any one man or woman to break ranks with the majority.

The fact is, Mr. President, you do possess a simply 'yuuuuuuuuuuuuge' ego which can lead you into saying things which other people find, at best, somewhat eccentric.  Alas, you cannot expect these other people to ignore the verbiage and concentrate on what you actually do!  Such close observation and reasoning is usually beyond them.  Also, of course, there is the constant pressure on a diplomat abroad to re-enforce the prevailing 'group think' back home.  To do otherwise would be to see your future prospects dim considerably, and intellectual courage is not something you would normally expect from Her Majesty's Office for Foreign Affairs which is why our nation's affairs go so badly wrong!

Anyway, Don, me old mate, just man up and realise that merely being 'Mr. President' does not make you a compilation of virtues.  If you doubt me, take a good, hard look at some of your predecessors! 

 

 

An explanation - of sorts!

For the last four weeks we have had painters carrying out the regular repaint of our external woodwork.  That was a total pain in the arse, as I may have mentioned before, not least because it entailed scaffolding to cover the three floors of our house.  That was like being in prison.  Anyway, last week they finished and the scaffolding came down leaving me to entertain my neighbours with my version of "Free again, happy, happy me again" which, although no-one said anything, I am sure they all enjoyed!

At last, I thought, back to normal but then 'The Memsahib' decided that the inside of the windows required a repaint, too!  So they are back, the house is a shambles, it is almost impossible for me to get at my computer - who cheered? - and I am rapidly approaching Grump Factor 10!  Then today, the painters took down some frightfully posh vertical blinds that covered the bay window to our sitting-room which, to be fair, had broken down a bit over the years and so "She Who Must Be Obeyed" decided we needed new blinds.

And so it goes on and on and on . . .

 

 

 

Houston, we have (yet another) problem!

I have painters in the house so tricky to reach my computer.  Should be back later.

Your Monday Funnies: 8.7.19

The first is mainly for my American friends to take them, kicking and screaming, back down memory lane to the Clinton era:

MEMORIES OF PRESIDENT CLINTON.

President Clinton wakes up to a beautiful winter morning. The sun is shining, the air is crisp, and there is a light blanket of snow on the ground .

He stretches and goes to look out the window at the snow-covered White House lawn and sees the words "President Clinton sucks" written in urine in the snow. Clinton gets all upset and calls White House Security. He tells them he doesn't care what it takes but he wants to know who did this.

The Chief of Security returns in a couple of days to the President and tells him that he has good news, bad news, and real bad news.

"Okay," says Clinton, "give me the good news first, then the bad news, and then the real bad news."

The Chief says: "The good news is after taking analysis of the pee, we know who the culprit is."

Clinton nods and the Chief continues: "The bad news is the culprit is Vice President Gore."

This really upsets the President, but he controls his anger and asks the Chief to tell him the real bad news.

The Chief of Security swallows and says, "It's in Hilary's hand writing".

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

Wanda's dishwasher quit working so she called in a repairman.
Since she had to go to work the next day, she told the repairman,

"I'll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I'll mail you a cheque. Oh, by the way don't worry about my dog Spike. He won't bother you."

"But, whatever you do, do NOT, under ANY circumstances, talk to my parrot!  I MUST STRESS TO YOU: DO NOT TALK TO MY PARROT!!!"

When the repairman arrived at Wanda 's apartment the following day, he discovered the biggest, meanest looking dog he has ever seen.  But, just as she had said, the dog just lay there on the carpet watching the repairman go about his work.

The parrot, however, drove him nuts the whole time with his incessant yelling, cursing and name calling.

Finally the repairman couldn't contain himself any longer and yelled,
"Shut up, you stupid, ugly bird!"

To which the parrot replied, "Get him Spike!"

See - Men just don't listen!

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This one is for my e-pal, 'Whiters', but I urge him not to try it on:

"How have you managed to buy such a luxurious villa while your income is so low?" asked the IRS auditor.

"Well," the taxpayer answered, "while fishing last summer I have caught a large golden fish. When I took it off the hook, the fish opened his mouth and said, 'I am a magical fish. Throw me back to the sea and I'll give you the most luxurious villa you have ever seen'. I threw the fish back to the sea, and got the villa."

"How can you prove such an unbelievable story?"

"Well, you can see the villa, can't you?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

A tourist is in Spain, and goes to a fancy restaurant for dinner.  As he looks around, he notices a diner being served a beautifully garnished dish with two gigantic meatballs in the middle.

When the waiter asks him for his order, the man asks him about the meatball dish.  The waiter explains that the meatballs are bull's testicles, and when the bull loses the bullfight, the bull is brought to the restaurant, and this beautiful dish is made.

The diner tells the waiter that he wants the bulls testicles for dinner, but the waiter tells him that only one bull a day is brought to the restaurant, but he can have it tommorrow.

The diner agrees.

The next day the diner goes to the restaurant, and orders the testicle dish.
When his food is brought out, he notices that the meatballs are extremely small.

He mentions this to the waiter, and the waiter replies: "Well sir you have to understand, sometimes the bull wins".

 

That's it - get back to work but not too noisily, it might disturb us old retirees!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 7.7.19

Not frightfully diplomatic, Mr. Ambassador!   Apparently, Her Majesty's Ambassador to 'the court of King Donald' has opened his mouth and let his belly rumble although, to be fair, he was doing so confidentially to his 'boss' in London, Sir Mark Sedwill.  Personally, I wouldn't send my laundry list to that Europhile rat because it is surprising to see how often confidential docs leak to the press via his department.  As to what Mr. Ambassador said concerning 'King Donald', well, it's hardly news, is it?  Everyone knows that he is an exceedingly eccentric character whose mood depends on which side of the bed he errupts from each morning.  Even so, this constant leaking from Whitehall needs to be stopped and firing Sedwill would be a good start.  I hope you are reading this, 'Boing-Boing'!

 

'Go git 'em, boys'!   The "'em" I refer to are the exceedingly nasty Seamus Milne and Karie Murphy, bag and dagger carriers for the utterly despicable Jeremy Corbyn.  Happily, the knives are now out for them as increasing numbers of senior Labour party figures are determined to prise them out of 'Jezza's private office where they control his every move.  I don't know much about Ms. Murphy but Seamus Milne is, without doubt, the most despicable man in the corridors of power!  He is so far to the Left that that he makes Trotsky look like a decent chap!  Read Dan Hodges' column in The Mail for 'further and better particulars'.

 

Now, about this fox-hunting lark:  Poor old Jeremy Hunt put his riding boot in it last week when he suggested that he would like to make fox-hunting legal again.  Instantly, a flock of animal protection fascists supporters came out screaming their opposition and their determination to help the poor, little 'foxie-woxies'!  As for me, well, I am as torn up as the average fox is once the hounds catch them!  I hate killing animals for 'fun' but on the other hand there is nothing like seeing a pack of hounds trotting down the road - as they often did in the next village to mine - with what looked like a hundred tails a-wagging.  Equally, there was a time when on Boxing Day, I used to go over to another nearby village to see the local hunt go off and it was a magnificent sight.  Even so, the ending is usually exceedingly messy for the fox but, on the other hand, so is the ending of all the chickens and lambs that they kill and eat!  I remain pathetically neutral.

 

Are the Dems going bonkers?   I ask, hesitantly, because from 'over here' their list of candidates to run for the Presidency looks as though it could fill the Rose Bowl Stadium in California!  Who are all these people?  I follow American politics fairly closely for a foreigner but I have never head of 80% of them and those that I do know of include an old ege pensioner, a proven serial liar, a hopeless old Trot who makes 'Jezza' look like a Tory and sundry dim-witted adolescents who appear incapable of even telling us the time!  'The Don' might not be the brightest light on the Xmas tree but even he could see off that collection of 'no-hopers'! 

 

In case you are interested:   Which I very much doubt that you are but the other day I mentioned that my daily visitor stats, for no particular reason that I could fathom, suddenly doubled for two days.  Needless to say, that didn't last and I am back to the usual desultory 400 again.  Actually, that makes me feel more comfortable!

 

Thank God all that female football is over!   I should be honest and tell you that I lost most of my interest in male football some time ago so the chances of me becoming hooked on a ladies' version are minimal.  I cannot offer a proper criticism for the simple reason that I have never watched a match.  Somehow, I lacked the energy to press the required buttons on my 'do-flicker-thingie'! 

 

Two superb TV programmes on last night:   The first told the story of the Apollo 11 mission to the moon.  Truly that was the greatest human achievement of all time!  Not just the courage of the astronauts but also the unbelievably immense concentration of brain-power that provided the ways and means.  I salute all those involved.  The second programme was a history of the British aviation industry from the end of WWII to the 1970s.  I felt part of all that, not because I took part because I was only an Air Cadet in the mid '50s but because I loved those "magnificent flying machines" and hero-worshipped all those test pilots who flew, and sometimes perished, in them. I was desperate to become an RAF pilot when I grew up but some bloody-bloody medic checked my eyes at school and told me I was red/green colour blind.  So instead of flying them, I ended up being thrown out of the back of them with a parachute.  "Life's a bitch - and then it rains!"

 

No more rumbles 

 

 

 

 

Dare I disagree with 'MDJ'?

Of course, as y'all do know, 'MDJ' is 'My Darling Jane' (Daley) who injects the pages of The Daily Telegraph with much good sense.  Even so, sometimes in a spirit of independence, I dare to - slightly, er, actually very slightly -  beg to differ with her.  Today she insists that there will not, definitely and absolutely, be a 'no deal' Brexit!  She supports her argument on the seemingly sensible grounds that such a disagreeable outcome would not be in the interests of either party and therefor there will be, at the very last moment, some sort of deal.

What can I say other than 'maybe, baby'!  There are, it seems to me, far too many "unknown unknowns".  Until that wretched drip of a woman decided to vacate No.10 my bet was not just 'no deal' but also 'no Brexit' at all because she and the other wets in the Cabinet would chicken out .  However, we now have the presence of 'Boing-Boing' Boris leading the final charge, so anything is possible - and I do mean 'anything'!  Hunt is as drippingly wet as the 'Maybot' and thus we could only expect more of the same old, same old from him.  With 'Boing-Boing' there is absolutely no way of knowing.

Also, as I have made consistently clear over that last two years, the 'Euros' will give us nothing not least because they detest and despise us.  They, too, believe that a no deal exit will be exceedingly painful for Britain - as it may well be - and so I am sure that many of them would like to see us suffer the eternal fires of damnation.  But of course, they will not be "eternal", they will be exceedingly troublesome but we have been through such periods before, many a time and oft', and eventually come out the other side in pretty good order.  Personally, I would prefer a 'no deal' Brexit because any deal offered by them to us will be packed with booby-traps!

 

 

 

Vive la France, because their leaders give us all a laugh!

That little Hungarian dwarf who used to run France is still providing us all with laughs.  'Sarko', as he is usually known in France, has just published his autobiography which, I suspect, may be longer than "War and Peace"!  Anyway, to help push sales he has issued a publicity photo with his wife:

Nicholas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni on the cover of Paris Match

What a man, I hear you all cry out at that image of him towering over his delicious wife, Carla Bruni, er, except that, "as any fule do no", 'Sarko' is a 5'-5" dwarf and his lovely wife is an elegant 5'-9" tall!

Nobody does cruelty better than the French and this 'cartoon' says it all - hilariously:

 

A tweet mocking the pose adopted by Nicholas Sarkozy and Carla Bruni on the cover of Paris Match

Bad luck, 'Sarky' mon ami, but you really mustn't try and get above yourself!

 

 

 

Sometimes it pays to remain 'schtum'!

Astute readers of this blog - er, there are some, surely! - will have noticed that I have remained rather quiet on the subject of the riots in Hong Kong.  Slightly surprising in a full on, honker 'n' hooter like me but, dammit, whilst I detest the ghastly, Orwellian regime in China, nor do I much approve of ferocious, young dimwits rioting on the streets and smashing everything they can to bits.  I don't like it here and I don't like it 'way round there'!

Also, as in so many other 'difficulties around the world, it is not easy to get to the heart of what is going on and why.  Partly this is the fault of the 'meeja' who mostly concentrate on the 'shlock-horror' part of the story which provides excellent film footage and photos to keep the punters happy back home.  However, eventually the better sort of publication will attempt to dig a little deeper and provide some background for us to judge matters.  Needless to say, the world's best political weekly, The Spectator, does just that in an article by Dominic Green.

He starts with a quick kick in the shins to remind us all of our own weakness:

Western liberals assume that disorder is revolutionary and democratic, and that it tends towards liberal and egalitarian outcomes. These touching assumptions reflect the fading memory of twentieth-century American and British politics, and not the plentiful evidence that democratic revolutions usually tend towards tyranny — which is what happened in Russia in 1917, in Germany shortly afterwards, in Egypt more recently, and, pertinently, in China after 1949.

Exactly so! In a world conveniently, but not usefully, divided into 'heroes' and 'villains', we all tend to take sides instantly without the necessity thinking too deeply.  I am guilty of this, many a time and oft', but so are you!

The British didn’t bother to democratize Hong Kong when China was weak, and they didn’t dare democratize Hong Kong as China grew stronger. As 1997 approached, the British didn’t even offer passports to their Chinese subjects, the people whose hard work and ingenuity have made Hong Kong what it is.

Instead, the British left a late colonial-style Legislative Council, with the rule of law, but not the rule of the people: an unrepresentative assembly with a free judiciary. The die was cast. Who believed that Hong Kong, whose own system had not been fully liberalized before 1997, would liberalize the People’s Republic after 1997? Only Western liberals, who were reaching peak triumphalism at the end of the Nineties.

Mr. Green reminds us - or rather, teaches us! - that Hong Kong isn't quite the thriving dynamo it once was.  Apparently Shanghai has already outgrown it as a financial centre.  Also, from what I hear, Singapore is roaring away - but quietly.  Don't misunderstand me, I would not wish to live under the rule of Beijing for a milisecond but the young hotheads in Hong Kong need to remember that old Empire saying, "Softly, softly catchee monkey"!  Or, as the witty Mr. Green puts it:

In their present frustration and their anxiety about the future, the Hong Kong protesters have much in common with the gilets jaunes in France and the Five Star Movement in Italy, but instead of demanding economic illiberalism in the name of democracy, they’re demanding democracy as the symbol of economic liberalism. So East is East, the Western media are the Western media, and never the twain shall meet, except at the G20.

Dammit, why can't I write like that?

 

 

 

Andrew Neil puts 'his heed in wi' his bonnet on'!

I have, er, 'nae doot' that our friend here, 'Jimmy Glesga', can provide a better explanation for 'putting the head in with your bonnet on', or even, if asked nicely after a few wee drams of Scotland's finest, a demonstration of this old Scottish tradition!  Suffice for me to say that it is an ultra quick way to severely damage an opponent and thus there is no surprise to see that 'son of the glens', Andrew Neil, sock it to that collection of deadbeats, failures, incompetents and crooks who have been greased into all the top jobs in the European 'apparat'.

"... a failed German defence minister, a failed Belgian prime minister, a former finance minister found guilty of negligence in a multi-million pound Euro scandal, and a Spanish politicians who’s been a cheerleader for repression in Catalonia."

If you click on this link it will take you to a 'you tube'-type video of 'ur wee Andy' slashing away with his claymore - not a pretty sight but this collection of utterly useless crooks, deadbeats and European arse-lickers deserves no better.  Nobody dishes it out more ruthlessly than the Jocks - bless their tartan jock-straps!

 

 

 

I cringe in embarrassment

How could I do it? Or rather, how could I not do it? I refer, of course, to the embarrassing fact, pointed out with some vigour by 'JK', that I failed to wish America a 'Happy Birthday' yesterday.  The reason, of course, is simple - yesterday I lunched not wisely but too well!  I did so at my absolutely favourite restaurant, Little Barwick House which some of you may remember I once described, in a fit of poetic adoration, as "the dog's bollocks painted gold!"  It is a charming, old building set in a delightful garden which is, happily, not too well disciplined!  I don't know about you but I am not too keen on gardens that look as they have been tended by an ex-RSM of the Guards!  They remind me, guiltily, of my own 0.004 acres which are best described as 'au natural'!

Anyway, the main thing is the 'grub' which is impeccable, imaginative and utterly delicious.  The front of house service is overseen by the lady of the house, Mrs. Emma Ford, who is delightful - and efficient!  Her husband, Tim, slaves away in the kitchen where he produces superb dishes which are both elegant and tasty.  Anyway, a few hours later I tottered out leaning on the 'Memsahib' and our friends drove us home.  The rest of the day, as they say, was a bit of a blur!  So, sorry America, but let me send you my belated birthday good wishes. 

Also, let me send my congratulations to 'Barney Magroo', Purveyor of Fine Wines and Spirits to the good folk of Arkansas from his eyrie 'up in them thar hills'!  A few days ago it was reported that the Jim Beam distillery had suffered a major fire so good ol' Barney has valiantly increased production to cater for the expected shortages - so no need to panic, 'JK'!

 

 

Mine's bigger than yours!

No hiding, no cover-up, no shyness, I am going to expose myself to you all and, of course, being, er, an 'alpha male' (whatever that is!) nothing will be hidden!  It can be summed up thus: my stats are bigger than yours!  Regular readers will have noted over the years that I never mention my 'stats', that is, the number of 'hits' this, er, distinguished blog receives on a daily basis.  To say that they are pitifully tiny is sad but, given the garbage I churn out, understandable.  Very occasionally, on the chart kindly supplied by 'Typepad', they suddenly leap up the scale due to a glitch but they are quickly corrected and then the daily hit slumps down to the usual 400-450 hits per day.  

However, today, I am informed that by midnight yesterday close to 800 visitors clocked on to D&N and already this morning at 9.30am I have had 631 visitors!  Is this another glitch by the Typepad 'brainiacs' and their counting system?  Or is it that finally the world, or a few hundred anyway, have discovered the wit and wisdom of David Duff?  And before any of you put the boot in, yes, I do know that the Milborne Port Parish Magazine has a bigger circulation than D&N!

 

 

 

So farewell then, Christopher Booker!

Christopher Booker, a genuine British eccentric, or nutter, if you prefer but, dammit, he could write a corking article on almost anything!  I enjoyed his writings in The Telegraph but I will always be grateful to him for being a founder of Private Eye which, back in the day, regularly reduced us all to giggles as it deconstructed the 'Great and the Good' before our very eyes!

You can read his obit at The Telegraph.

Plucky little Hong Kong and, er, plucky little Switzerland

There is some sardonic humour to be had from the sight and sound of a 'yuuuuuuuge' bully-boy nation attempting to browbeat a tiny, little enclave into surrendering its fragile independence as China is doing to Hong Kong - boo, hiss, sneer!    Typical, we say, what else do you expect from a corrupt, maniacal, one party dictatorship suffering with delusions of grandeur?  But hang on, that alleged beacon of freedom and democracy, a.k.a. the European Union, is doing more or less the same thing to Switzerland which brings to mind that old saying, "ein Volk, ein Reich, ein Führer" which is  deliciously appropriate given that we have just learned that the next 'Führer' is to be the former German defence minister!  What's the German for 'You couldn't make it up!'

Don't hang about, 'Boing-Boing', just do whatever it takes to get us out - pronto!

 

 

 

In which I am well and truly flummoxed

I had better start by confessing that I am more than somewhat under the influence of Peter Hitchens who is, of course, an exceedingly passionate and persuasive fellow.  For years now - well, it feels like years! - he has been banging on about the danger, or more like, the menace of drugs, especially the so-called 'soft' drug marijuana.  He maintains that far from being 'soft', it is an absolute danger both to people who use it and to those who do not because they are often the innocent victims of the users.  Common-sense tells me that he is absolutely right but then the question arises as to what can be done to stop it?

If you are one of those people who believes the government when it tells you that it is enforcing tough anti-drug laws then I can only assume you are on drugs!  The fact is that marijuana is cheap and readily available all over this 'septic isle'.  The police make virtually no effort to enforce the law, they simply pick up the pieces when some mentally disturbed druggie kills people when driving a car under the influence or simply butchers them with a knife when the mood takes him.  Moves by totally stupid MPs like Crispin Blunt to lift all restrictions on drug dealing are a waste of time because the drugs are readily available at affordable prices now in virtually every town and village in the land.

So the question arises - what can be done to stop both the trade and the use of drugs?  Ah, at that point what passes for my brain is totally flummoxed - I need a fix!

 

 

In which I wax lyrical

God knows there are always enough shit days in a year such that one seizes any good days and hug them to your bosom in gratitude.  Well, for me this has been not just 'a good day' but an absolutely brilliant one!  For a start, I received a letter from a lawyer - yeeeeeeeees, quite! - but this one contained the news that I had been bequeathed a sum of money from an elderly lady friend of mine from my theatre days.  Not zillions or anywhere near it but a tidy little sum which, being totally unexpected makes it all the more delightful.  Thank you, Jane, and I trust you are bossy them all around up in your Jewish heaven as you did my actors when you were the prompter for my shows!

Then, in a remarkable theatrical coincidence, 'SoD', of all people, solved a problem that has been worrying me for some time.  As I may have mentioned before, my favourite modern playwright by a long, long way is Sir Tom Stoppard.  I have never quite recovered from the shock of seeing a production of "Every Good Boy Deserves Favour" at the old Mermaid Theatre in London.  Who but Stoppard would write a play requiring the presence on stage of the best part of a symphony orchestra?!  I still remember wandering down a London street in a state of emotional turbulence and wonder that this was what theatre could be.  Later, of course, I was lucky enough to direct the play myself and also one of his other 'greats', the deeply moving, complex and also very funny, "Arcadia".

Anyway, Sir Tom has been 'on the missing list' for some time.  Long enough for me to worry but to assume that, like all of us, old age has its effects!  Then, 'SoD' suddenly pops up having spotted that a new Stoppard play, "Leopoldstadt", is opening in the West End next year and - bingo! - he has booked the tickets!  What a cracking good lad he is, er, despite it all!  Stoppard, of course, is Jewish, born in Moravia and his family fled during the war and sought refuge in Singapore - not a good choice, as it turned out!  Again, they had to flee, ending up in Australia although his father, being a doctor remained behind to assist the British soldiers and he died later.  Eventually, his mother married a British officer and the Stoppard family began life in Britain.

His new play, 'Leopoldstadt', is set in what was, in Vienna 'back in the day', an almost entirely Jewish enclave.  I suspect this will be an exceedingly emotional journey but knowing Stoppard, as I do on a very second-hand basis, it will also be witty and intriguing.  Can't wait!

 

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 1.7.19

A fine selection today but personally speaking, the first is a little too close to home!

GREAT TRUTHS ABOUT GROWING OLD:

THE FOUR STAGES OF LIFE:
1)You believe in Santa Claus.
2) You don't believe in Santa Claus.
3) You are Santa Claus..
4) You look like Santa Claus.

SUCCESS: How true this one is.
At age 4 success is . . . ... Not piddling in your pants.
At age 12 success is.... . . Having friends.
At age 17 success is ..... . Having a driver's license.
At age 35 success is . ... . Having money.
At age 50 success is. .. .. Having money.
At age 70 success is . ... . Having a drivers license.
At age 75 success is ... ... Having friends.
At age 80 success is . .... Not piddling in your pants.

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Perks of reaching 60 or being over 70 and heading towards 80!

1.Kidnappers are not very interested in you.
2. In a hostage situation you are likely to be released first.
3. No one expects you to run—anywhere.
4. People call at 8 PM and ask, "Did I wake you?”
5. People no longer view you as a hypochondriac.
6. There is nothing left to learn the hard way.
7. Things you buy now won't wear out.
8. You can eat supper at 5 PM .
9. You can live without sex but not your glasses.
10. Your supply of brain cells is down to manageable size.

And remember, never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a
laxative on the same night!

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Back on January 9th, a group of HELLS ANGELS, South Carolina bikers
were riding east on 378 when they saw a girl about to jump off the Pee
Dee River Bridge. So they stopped. George, their leader, a big burly
man of 53, gets off his Harley, walks through a group of gawkers, past
the State Trooper who was trying to talk her down off the railing, and
says,

"Hey Baby . . . whatcha doin' up there on that railin'?"

She says tearfully, "I'm going to commit suicide!!"

While he didn't want to appear "sensitive," George also didn't want to
miss this "be-a-legend" opportunity either so he asked . . . "Well,
before you jump, Honey-Babe . . . why don't you give ol' George here
your best last kiss?"

So, with no hesitation at all, she leaned back over the railing and
did just that . . and it was a long, deep, lingering kiss followed
immediately by another even better one.

After they breathlessly finished, George gets a big thumbs-up approval
from his biker-buddies, the onlookers, and even the State Trooper, and
then says, "Wow! That was the best kiss I have ever had! That's a real
talent you're wasting there, Sugar Shorts. You could be famous if you
rode with me. Why are you committing suicide?"

"My parents don't like me dressing up like a girl."

It's still unclear whether she jumped or was pushed.

 

That last one is a corker!  Have a good week in the salt mines!

 

 

 

And, verily, thou shalt know a man from the books he reads!

So my last two purchases have well and truly blown my pretension to any sort of intellectual standing - and yes, I do realise that I didn't have much of a one in the first place!  Anyway, as I bored told you the other day, SoD gave me a birthday present of a book written by the brother of one of his old university mates - The Europe Illusion by Stuart Sweeney.  I had only devoured the first chapter and a bit when I lost the bloody thing - my bad!  Anyway, I decided to buy a Kindle version but, dammit, Amazon, knowing my gruntish ways advised me that the latest Tom Wood thriller featuring 'Victor the Assassin' was on offer - natch! - I had to buy that, too.  A private, mental wrestling match then ensued in which I had to decide which of the two books I would start first.  Needless to say, 'Victor the Assassin' won over Victor Emmanuel!

I really don't think my brow can get much lower but, dammit, 'Victor' is such terrific fun, er, if assassination is your thing!

 

 

Just do it, Boris, as soon as possible!

In a few brief paragraphs, The Telegraph answers a fairly obvious question: "Do Remainers even understand how the EU works?"  The short answer is 'Yes', er, and 'No'!  Yes, some of the top echelon Remainers understand exactly how the EU works and they 'luuuuurve' it and can't wait to climb the ladder to the 'land of milk and honey', or to be precise, the land of power and endless expenses and a trough which is never empty!  Mind you, some of them do not know and instead live in an idealistic vacuum of European 'peace 'n' love' forever!

At the moment, the EU 'commissariat' is haggling over who should take over from 'Junck the drunk'.  Everyone assumed that it would be a German called Weber because his party won more votes than any other in the recent EU election which at least would have given him a veneer of democratic probity but - and why am I not surprised? - mini-Macron objected so Weber is dead meat!  Some nonentity who receives the nod from M. le Presidente will be chosen and will forever owe a debt of gratitude to France.  Notice, of course, that the actual people of Europe who amongst other things pay for this non-stop bean fest have absolutely no say in the matter.

As The Telegraph puts it:

If it all sounds less than democratic then that’s because it’s supposed to be. The European model is essentially Platonic: a veneer of democracy kept in check by divided powers and a self-selecting political class. It’s a constitutional framework drafted by politicians who didn’t trust their own populations. It is a million miles from the British system, where the government is formed from MPs elected directly by the people, and in which Parliament is sovereign and the voters understand who is in charge and the limits of their power.

Please, Boris, pretty please, don't screw it up, just win and win big and then do whatever it takes to get us out!

ADDITIONAL:  Oh dear, I have just read Dan Hodges' article in The Mail today in which he warns that the Boris campaign is split down the middle between the hardened pros organised by Lynton Crosby and the goofy amateurs run by his current 'squeeze', Carrie Symonds, who is, apparently, determined to steer Boris in what she thinks - or intuits, perhaps - is the right direction.  For God's sake, Boris, boot her out!

 

 

 

A short - no, really! - explanation

As I indicated yesterday, the last few days have been, by my usually indolent standard, exceedingly busy.  I live in a small, private development of linked, three story houses.  Our, er, 'estate' includes a fairly large, commonly-owned garden and lawn and during the Summer we have a roster for watering the flowerbeds which, if done properly can take some time.  However, in addition, I have taken it upon myself to ensure that the lawn, too, is properly watered if and when we actually hit a hot spell - which indeed, this week we did!  Quite why I do it is unclear, not least, because from where I live I can't even see the bloody lawn!  However, when I walk past it I hate to see brown, sun-scorched patches.  In addition, I remember, fondly, a previous, elderly house-owner who nurtured the lawn as though it was his own.  I should add quickly that our lawn is not exactly of the sort of high quality on which you might be tempted to play bowls!  In fact, mostly it is crap grass but, and this is important, it is green crap grass!  And it just riles me when it falls prey to sun-scorching because once those brown patches appear you can never get the green back until the next year.

The other major interruption to my usually placid - oh alright then! - idle life-style is the fact that all the houses are undergoing their usual, 4-year repaint of the exterior woodwork.  Being three storeys high, this entails the erection of scaffolding which is messy and ruins my view.  Needless to say, this being 'Zummerzet', the rains delayed everything so the scaffolding has been up for what seems like forever!  Internally, of course, furniture has to be shifted to gain access to the windows in order for them to be opened for the painters and left on half-latch so they can dry without sticking.

On top of all that . . . no, I will not bore you with yet more tales of woe because I just know that already you are weeping in pity at my dire straights!  The good news is that barring accidents the painters should be finished on Monday and rumour has it that the scaffolders are due on Tuesday to remove all their 'iron-work'!  I have it on good authority - the lady next door is a 'Vicarette' - that God will arrange a wet week - well, it is the start of Wimbledon! - so the bloody lawn can look after itself!

I shall return shortly, after my morning coffee break, to provide you with some of my political views - hey, wait a minute, where are you going . . . ?

 

Rumours of my death are greatly exaggerated!

And, no, I am not suffering with terminal idleness, either!  Fact is, the last couple of days have been exceedingly busy with, of course, 'this', 'that' and the 'other'.  I will not bore you with a list and none of it was of major importance, except taking an elderly (by which I mean even older than me!) relative to hospital to have her pace-maker checked during the course of which I managed to lose a terrific book - The Europe Illusion by Stuart Sweeney.  Endless 'phone calls to every location I had visited failed to find it but I have calmed down since and realised that it gives me a chance to by a Kindle version which is a lot easier to carry!  Mind you, there was double irritation for me - but perhaps good fortune for you - because there was one particular passage concerning 18th century Britain and Europe that was spot on for today and which I intended to use as the basis for a post here at D&N.

Anyway, it's lunchtime here and the 'Memsahib' insists that I take her shopping but when I return there will be further deposits on this blog!

 

 

 

The anti-Semitic gangrene oozes from Labour's pores

The nasty, and hitherto internal, wound to the body-politic of the Labour party has flared up to such an extent in recent months that it is impossible to hide the open wound that indicates Jeremy Corbyn and his disgusting acolytes to be not much different to Oswald Mosley and his collection of National Socialist thugs in the 1930s.  A lifetime member of the Labour party, Alistair Campbell, was instantly dismissed from the party for publicly voting for the LibDems in the EU election because his own party were insufficiently pro-European.  No appeal has been granted.

By contrast, Chris Williamson MP was temporarily suspended for stating that accusations of anti-Semitism in the Labour party were exaggerated but within a matter of weeks has been fully re-instated by a sub-committee that was quickly formed to take over the appeal from the first committee which might not have followed 'the party line'!  To their credit, over a hundred Labour MPs and Peers have signed a motion calling for Williamson to be re-suspended.  How Jeremy Corbyn responds to this will tell you all you need to know about the rottenness at the heart of Labour.

 

 

 

'Mad' Max gets a Black eye!

As always, the world's greatest weekly magazine, The Spectator, scores again with a coruscating attack on Max Hastings by the 'Speccies' previous owner, Conrad Black.  As y'all no doubt noticed a few days ago, Max Hastings, a previous editor of The Telegraph (under Black!), launched a ferocious attack on 'Boing-Boing' Johnson, and I would urge everyone to read both sides of the argument.  It is not often that the ultra discreet curtains are ripped off the salons of the ruling class and the bloody sight and sound of it all is delicious!

For me, my rough and ready opinion of 'Boing-Boing' has not been altered because Hastings' vitriol exposes nothing that I either did not know or could not guess!  However, hitherto, I have admired Hastings as a writer but knew little of him beyond the occasional military history book but Conrad Black's massive assault has knocked chunks off his edifice:

I stood by Mr Hastings, despite differences, despite problems he needlessly created (such as antagonising the family of the then prime minister Margaret Thatcher), and through great misfortune. I raised his income for compassionate as well as meritorious reasons, took him into my confidence and even asked him to help organise my small wedding to Barbara Amiel in 1992.

When Mr Murdoch launched the cover price war in 1993, Max, the liberator of Port Stanley, made a few purposeful noises and then scurried out the back door into the tall grass, self-demoting to the Evening Standard, a dwarfish title compared to the one from which he defected. [...]

When my legal difficulties arose, he publicly threw in his lot with my chief defamer and, I am told, predicted that Barbara would quickly decamp for greener pastures. The spurious case against me failed and has been withdrawn and expunged, and no one has ever had a more loyal and indomitably supportive wife than Barbara.

So, who is right and who is wrong?  Well, 'yer pays yer money and yer takes yer choice'!

 

 

 

I'm 'a little Englander' and proud of it!

According to reports, Jeremy Hunt (a.k.a. Mrs May in trousers), has suggested that those of us who voted to leave are simply 'little Englanders'.  I would suggest to him that these days we are all 'little Englanders' for the simple reason that compared to years gone by, England, or to be precise Britain, is indeed 'little'.  We learned that self-evident truth back in WWII when we found ourselves alone and survived only with the help of America and the Commonwealth.  Today, as we crouch between the truly great powers of America and China our real, as opposed to our supposed, strength on the global scene is even more transparent.

Even so, whilst we should be realistic, it is not necessary to denigrate ourselves.  We remain a leading nation amongst what might be called the second division of states.  Even more important, if we could just rid ourselves of the cloying grip of the German-run European Union we would be free to flex our muscles - not militarily but in the international market place where once we thrived.  The fact that today Germany appears to be suffering with industrial decay is an even greater imperative for us to get out.  It will be difficult and troublesome but in the end there is nothing quite like freedom and independence to raise our spirits and our morale.

The great question is, will Boris do it?  Nobody knows but, dammit, we can hope, can we not?

 

 

Should I? Could I?

I have a deep philosophical problem to solve!  This will require a great deal of time, effort and resolve and I'm not sure at my grand old age whether I have it in sufficient quantities.  The question, like most philosophical questions, is deceptively simple: Should I buy A. C. Grayling's book "The History of Philosophy"?  I think I may have mentioned before that way back in my middle age I took an interest in economics which led me, inexorably, on to philosophy.  To my regular readers it will be unnecessary to confess that whilst I might have scratched the surface of these two abstruse subjects you would be hard pressed to find the scratches today!  

Even so, I remain - sort of - fascinated by philosophy and whilst a book telling the history of it from 600BC onwards is obviously going to be something of a slog, I seem to remember that I have another philosophical tome by Grayling and that it was very well written.  To be honest, if it was necessary to buy the hard-back version I would hesitate, not least on the grounds that I might not be able to lift the bloody thing!  However, today we can all enjoy the benefits of Kindle which allows you to carry virtually an entire library around with you in a slim plastic box which fits inside an overcoat pocket.  

Done deal, then, I'll buy it!

 

 

'Boing-Boing' bounces - so no surprise there then!

The metro-elites are tut-tutting over 'Boing-Boing's eccentricities and with perfumed lace-hankies held to their precious noses they rush hither and thither, but mostly to The Guardian, to express their disgust and outrage.  So where are the bodies, I ask?  And why are they all so 'shocked, I tell you, shocked'?  We all knew that 'Boing-Boing's private life was a shambles but some of us recall that we have just suffered a totally shambolic premiership by a lady who is immaculately prim and proper - but 'as thick as six short Ghurkhas'!  To confirm her utter stupidity, she is now attempting to slip several last-minute measures through Parliament which will, she thinks, 'add lustre to her cluster' but will also cost us, the long-suffering tax-payers 'zillions' of quid!

I don't care if 'Boing-Boing' could shag for Britain at the Olympics, all I want from him is a fast exit from the insatiable, monstrous and exceedingly dangerous omnivore that is the 'Germanic European Union'.  Yes, it will be messy, expensive and problematic but, hey, we've been there many a time and oft' in our history so let's not be "frit"!   Ah yes, "frit", now who first used that word in public discourse?

 

 

Justice Nathalie Lieven should be stripped of her legal authority

Dammit!  I had to read the American media to find this British story which is ugly, dangerous and immoral.  Apparently, Mrs. Justice Nathalie Lieven ruled, in what is laughingly called 'the Court of Protection in England' which is supposed to protect the legal and personal affairs of people judged to have diminished mental capacity, that a woman in her 20s but with a mental age of a child should be forced to undergo an abortion despite the fact that both she and her mother objected.  The mother offered to bring up the child.

The Catholic Herald sums it up this way:

Lieven ruled that a forced abortion was “in the best interests” of the pregnant woman, over the objections of the woman herself, her mother, and her social worker. The woman, who has not been identified, is reportedly in her 20s and is of Nigerian descent. Both she and her mother are Catholic, and the court heard that they objected strongly to the abortion on religious grounds.

According to The National Review:

Lieven argued that the mentally disabled woman, who is reportedly Catholic, would suffer mental distress from delivering the baby even if it were subsequently given up for adoption because “it would at that stage be a real baby.” At this stage of gestation, Lieven argued, the woman does not understand the implications of her pregnancy. “I think she would like to have a baby in the same way she would like to have a nice doll,” the judge said.

Notice that nowhere does the dreadful Mrs. Justice Lieven have a word to say about the baby and its right to life!  Happily, Lord Justice McCombe, Lady Justice King, and Lord Justice Peter Jackson in the English Court of Appeal over-turned Lieven's diabolical ruling and it is worth noting that reports indicate that Justice Lieven has been a longterm advocate in favour of abortion.  In my opinion she should be removed as a judge with immediate effect!

 

 

Problems in Prague

Which pains me because I have a great fondness for a city which I found to be one of the most attractive I have ever visited.  It is easy on the eye and unlike most other European cities does not resemble a F1 racing circuit but makes it easy for visitors to wander about and soak up the friendly atmosphere.  Also, to be honest, although it was a year before I was born, I still have a residue of shame for the way Neville Chamberlain tossed the Czechs into Hitler's grasp.

Anyway, today I read in The Mail that they seem to have 'a financially dodgy geezer' for a Prime Minister and some 250,000 Czech citizens gathered to demonstrate their irritation and their desire for him to move on.

This was, apparently, the biggest demo since 1989 which brought down the communist government.  As the semi-Czech playwright, Tom Stoppard, illuminated in one of his plays, the Czechs have a tradition of striving for proper and democratic government.  I wish them well in getting rid of this current rascal.

 

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 24.6.19

I do realise how important it is these days to be politically correct at all times in your place of work so these new definitions will assist you even if nobody understands what you are saying!

Dirty Old Man: Sexually focused chronologically gifted individual.

Perverted: Sexually dysfunctional.

Panhandler: Unaffiliated applicant for private-sector funding.

Serial-Killer: Person with difficult-to-meet needs.

Lazy: Motivationally deficient.

Fat: Horizontally challenged.

Fail: Achieve a deficiency.

Dishonest: Ethically disoriented.

Clumsy: Uniquely coordinated.

Body Odour: Nondiscretionary fragrance.

Worst: Least best.

Wrong: Differently logical.

Ugly: Cosmetically different.

Unemployed: Involuntarily leisured.

Short: Vertically challanged.

Dead: Living impaired.

Vagrant: Non-specifically destinationed individual.

Spendthrift: Negative saver.

Stoned: Chemically inconvenienced.

Pregnant: Parasitically oppressed.

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As a singer I sing at many funerals & I was recently asked by a funeral director to play & sing at a graveside service for a homeless man. He had no family or friends, so the service was to be at a pauper's cemetery out in the country. As I was not familiar with the area, I got lost. I finally arrived an hour late and saw that the funeral guy had evidently gone and the hearse was nowhere in sight. There were only the diggers and crew left and they were eating lunch. I felt badly and apologized to the men for being late. I went to the side of the grave and looked down and the vault lid was already in place. I didn’t know what else to do, so I started to play. The workers put down their lunches and began to gather around. I played out my heart and soul for this man with no family and friends. I sang like I’ve never played before for this homeless man.

As I sang & played “Amazing Grace”, the workers began to weep. They wept, I wept, we all wept together. When I finished, I packed up my keyboard and started for my car. Though my head hung low, my heart was full.

As I opened the door to my car, I heard one of the workers say, “I’ve never seen nothin’ like that before and I’ve been putting in septic tanks for twenty years.”

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A doctor and his wife were having a big argument over breakfast one morning.

As things got heated, the doctor shouted at his wife, “You aren’t so good in bed either!” and then he stormed out of the room and went to work.

A couple of hours later he was feeling guilty about what he’d said so he decided to call his wife to apologize.

There was a long delay before she finally answered. “What took you so long to answer?” asked the doctor.

“I was in bed,” replied his wife.

“What were you doing in bed at this time?” he asked.

“Getting a second opinion.”

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What’s 6 inches long, 2 inches wide, and drives women wild?

A $100 bill.

 

That's it, so get back to work!

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 23.6.19

Apologies and all that:   Yes, sorry about my going a.w.o.l. on Friday and most of Saturday.  No alarums or excursions, just a host of this, that and the other with an added dash of idleness - so no change there then!

 

When reality exceeds parody:   I refer to the less than delightful couple who live next door to 'Boing-Boing' Boris and who carefully recorded his domestic row before calling the police - and then reporting the whole thing to 'The Guardian'.  It turns out that they are both 'theatre people, darling', although neither of them seem to have, er, 'created' even a ripple of interest in that precious niche.  Needless to say, they are both 'Jezza'-worshipping Lefties which explains why their first port of call was to 'The Graun'.

I only republish their photograph just in case they ever become your neighbours - in which case I would urge you to sell up and move.  Mind you, as per usual, 'Boing-Boing' deserves the 'brown stuff' coming at him from all directions for being such a twerp - again!  For God's sake, man, eat your humble pie and go back to the 'missus' and try to concentrate on running the country!

 

The 'Quacks' are usually right:   Nobody is more sceptical of the 'Divine Right of Quacks' than me because, of course, they are merely human beings with all that that implies.  Even so, I always follow their instructions for the bleedingly obvious reason that they have the expertise that I totally lack.  Yes, of course, sometimes they get it wrong but on the whole, by and large, they get it more or less right.  If you doubt that proposition then let me ask you if, in the event of a faulty water-pipe in your bathroom flooding your house, would you call a carpenter or a plumber?  I raise the subject because of a story in The Telegraph today concerning the death by cancer of a 38-year old mother who resolutely refused the normal treatment and instead relied on:

"a vegan diet of mainly raw fruit and vegetables, supplemented with turmeric, seaweed and spells in a hyperbaric oxygen chamber. She sought help at a clinic in Mexico, where therapies included placing her feet in a basin of water that supposedly drew toxins from her body."

You couldn't make it up but those scoundrels who propagate 'alternative' treatments do it all the time.  

 

I am in 'luuurve' with Condoleezza Rice:   Yes, to the best of my somewhat 'iffy' memory, she was a pretty sharp Sec. of State and was always an exceedingly attractive lady, so I enjoyed a good chuckle at her response to a black professor of English:

Condoleezza Rice was approached by a professor of English and asked to recommend a book by a black woman, to round out the racially and sexually sensitive curriculum. Rice said, “How about my The Soviet Union and the Czechoslovak Army, 1948–1983?” 

Nice one, 'Condo', baby!

 

The same old, same old:   I know this will test the patience of my intelligent readers but, please, try and read this through to the end and then my summary:

The Arctic Ocean is warming up, icebergs are growing scarcer and in some places the seals are finding the water too hot.

Reports from fishermen, seal hunters and explorers all point to a radical change in climate conditions and hitherto unheard of temperatures in the Arctic Zone. Exploration expeditions report that scarcely any ice has been met as far north as 81 degrees 29 minutes.

Soundings to a depth of 3,100 meters showed that the Gulf Stream was very warm. Great masses of ice have been replaced by moraines of earth and stones while at many points well known glaciers have entirely disappeared.

Very few seals and no white fish are found in the Eastern Arctic, while vast shoals of herring have never ventured so far north in the old seal hunting ground. Within a few years it is predicted that due to the ice melt the sea will rise and make most coastal cities uninhabitable.

You must take this seriously because it was published in The Washington Post, no less, and several other distinguished newspapers.  The only teensy-weensy problem is that the publication took place in, er, 1922, actually! My thanks to Jack Helner at The American Thinker.

 

'Boring-snoring' but he won - again:   Yes, (Sir) Lewis Hamilton cruised to victory at the French Grand Prix most of which I napped through!  Still, what an incredible driver he is!

 

Trump's somersaults:   It is not necessarily 'a bad thing' for a POTUS to change his mind but when it is on a matter of war or peace then changing the Presidential mind 10 minutes before the first shot indicates a troubling lack of fore-thought and planning.  Thus it has been with the American/Iranian stand off and whilst I suspect that the decision of the President to holster his six-gun was right it was, in the words of a truly great General, "A fine run thing"! 

 

 

No more rumbles 

 

 

 

Will Boris rat on us?

Nobody knows!  Even Boris doesn't know!  Thus, as the exceedingly shrewd, Ms. Sherelle Jacobs, opines in The Telegraph, it will require extreme vigilance on the part of the ERG hardliners in Parliament to ensure Boris stays on track.  She points out that merely pledging total support for Boris when the going gets tough may not be enough.  There might come a time, as the Brexit negotiations reach their climax, for the 'ERG-ers' to reach for the 'nuclear button'.  Mr. Farage and his true believers in the Brexit party have kept fairly quiet but I doubt if their popularity has waned.  Thus, a threat from the 'ERG-ers' to move over, lock, stock and  barrel, to the Brexit party would concentrate Boris's mind wonderfully!