The Sunday Rumble 29:4:12

Jock prelate spouts BLX:  I'm feeling a tad grumpy this morning.  First of all my swimming pool is closed for the day so I missed my morning swim, and second, I awoke to the keening whine of some Jock prelate spouting 'A1 blx' as he accused Cameron of "immorality" because he wasn't stealing enough from the rich to give to the 'poor'.  Have matters deteriorated to such an extent that even Cardinals nowadays sound like spotty 'stoodents' in a demo?  Why do we not hear them thundering from their pulpits on the subject of real immorality of the simple, straightforward type that Jesus Christ would have understood?  Truly, the Pharisees have taken over the temples of the Lord!

Gutless Cameron missed his chance:  You may enjoy all sort of vices as a political leader but the one you must avoid at all costs is cowardice.  Cameron lost his nerve before the election and failed to go for a strong, unambivalent Right-wing set of policies which, in my opinion, would have given the Tory party an over-all majority.  Instead he has the dreadful 'il-Lib-non-Dems' hung round his neck like a dead albatross.  I suspect that to begin with he was fairly happy because it shielded him from, using what I suspect to be his words, ' those dreadful Right-wing oiks' in his own party.  At the end of last year Europe was a total shambles and there were more than enough disagreements of real substance between 'us and them', and between Tories and Lib-Dems, for him to have backed Clegg into a corner forcing him to break the coalition and thus engender an election earlier this year.  Now his chance has gone and all the sins of omission and commission have caught up with him and his useless gaggle of ministers.  For the past week the MSM, of all colours, have been writing his political obituary.  The quicker he goes the better but God only knows who will take his place. 

"Oh what a tangled web we weave ...":  When first we practice picking and choosing which nice, cuddly, furry or feathered things to preserve!  Thus, the State of Oregon is in a bugger's muddle because some-one talked the Government into protecting sea lions who promptly grunted something in 'Sea-Lionese' to the effect of, "Thanks, buddy, now where're all those salmon?" before they lumbered off to kill and eat zillions of them.  This forced the authorities to rescind the Federal protection law and the sea lions learned the hard way never to trust what governments say because thousands of them were shot!  Now it is the turn of the double-breasted cormorants.  They, apparently, have grown so fat on baby salmon trying desperately to reach the ocean that they can barely fly!  Hitherto a protected species they are now set for one last dive!  My thanks to Drudge.

Total incompetence knows no barriers:  It is a sort of relief to know that the Chinese, who we all credit with being "damned clever little devils, don'cha know" are, in reality, as clod-hoppingly useless as us!  Apparently, a blind - repeat blind - political dissident who was under house arrest and 24-hour surveillance which included dozens of not-so-secret policemen and the use of searchlights on his house at night, managed to escape with his immediate family and reach sanctuary at the American consulate.  This raises a fascinating question - do Chinese blush?  Aha, I bet you never thought of that one before!

Now I know the real reason:  The old friend and fellow thesp who pleaded an absolute and unbreakable prior appointment which prevented him from playing Abhorson the executioner on Monday night, and which resulted in me being dragged reluctantly, darlings, back onto the stage for (yet another) final farewell performance, has been found out!  On Monday night United are playing City to decide who wins the Premier League.  I have just spoken to him and hoped that his conscience pricks him as he sits in his armchair watching the match whilst  I suffer for his art!  He denies it all, of course.

"Oh, the horror, the horror!":  I just went downstairs to make a cup of tea and as ususal Sky News was running on the 'telly'.  It was a newspaper round-up programme and I took one look, and then another to be certain, and seeing that I was right - the panelists were the "fat, black clown" and Max 'spank me quick' Mosley - I fled upstairs unable to face it.  Where do they find these people?  And even more pertinent, why don't they ever ask me?

Are Europeans imitating Lear?  According to Roger Kimball at PJMedia they are beginning to sound like him:

“No, no, no, no!”  Thus quoth Lear to Cordelia near the end of the grimmest play Shakespeare wrote.

As my friend John Allison observes,  Europe is acting a lot like Lear on his way to prison.

“No” said the Italians on November 12, 2011. They sent away Silvio Berlusconi who served on and off for a cumulative 10 years from 1994 through 2011 and was Italy’s longest-serving Prime Minister ever.

“No” said the Spanish on November 20, 2011 to the Spanish Socialist Worker’s Party of Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, two-term Prime Minister from 2004-2011, replacing him with the conservative People’s Party led by Mariano Rajoy.

“No” said Geert Wilders, Party for Freedom leader on April 21, 2012 to his coalition partner, Prime Minister Mark Rutte of the Liberal Party, sending Holland to a likely caretaker government and election on September 12.

Ditto the French and the Greeks. And this procession of negatives means —what? [My emphasis]

Our rulers would answer with another Shakespearean quote: "A question not to be asked"!

Must I go to night school to order a coffee?  This is a late addition but I need to go and make a coffee and it reminded me of my increasing irritation - oh, alright then, grumpiness - over the problem of ordering a coffee these days.  "Black coffee, please", I say to the Polish/Latvian/Czech/Estonian girl behind the counter.  She then reels off a list of names - in perfect English, I should make clear - none of which mean a thing to me.  My polite good humour vanishes and I lean across the counter placing my nose a few inches from hers (poor thing) and snarl, "Just give me a strong, black coffee!"  Well-trained and inherently courteous she smiles and asks, "Large, medium or small?" Cue: snapping, snarling, grumpy, old sod jumping up and down with mouth opening and closing, fists clenching and unclenching and  . . . a highly intellectual and philosophical discussion on the essential Platonic meaning of 'large' and 'small' does not ensue!

 

Comments

[Whyaxye]

"First of all my swimming pool is closed for the day so I missed my morning swim"

Good God, man, surely that's your own fault? The pool does indeed need to be out of bounds while the butler gives it a scrape and a hose down, but couldn't you have remembered to ask him to do it when you were away? Failing that, you could bite the bullet and call in at one of those public pools that some councils still run.

[David Duff]

It's so difficult to get the staff these days, 'W'!

[dearieme]

If he's a Cardinal you can be pretty confident that he's really a Mick, not a Jock.

[dearieme]

I asked for a "black coffee" at a coffee stall recently and was instructed that I had to be more specific. So I asked for a Blue Mountain. Turned out that that wasn't what they meant.

[David Duff]

Sorry, DM, I'm not up on the finer points of the Roman hierarchy - bit like you and coffee, I suppose.

[Whyaxye]

Nice one about ordering coffee.

A couple of years ago I was on a train to work which broke down. General consternation as stressed commuters phoned the office, and then settled down to watch the rain pissing down outside. Much later, we were kicked off at some tiny station without any shelter, and there was bad-tempered mayhem as we queued in the rain to get off the wind-swept platform. Some set off looking for taxis, the rest of us crammed into a tiny "refreshment room". Shoulder to shoulder, dripping wet and cold, we were desperate for some caffeine. There was one old dear taking our orders at the till, very slowly, and making sure (as she had doubtless been taught to do) that all the coffee options were spelled out to each desperate customer.

The man in front of me was a city-gent type with a suit that was soaked through and a disintegrating Financial Times. When at last he arrived at the counter he said in a loud voice

"Coffee. Large. If you please!".

Then, before the old duck could reply, he continued, but with more menace,

"And no, I don't want chocolate fucking sprinkles!"

[David Duff]

'The commuters are revolting!'

[Jimmy]

Not a Jock but certainly a joke.

[Pat]

How could anyone snarl at a Czech waitress? Or indeed Latvian, Estonian Lithuanian or Polish.

[David Duff]

Quite right, Pat, and it was just an exam[ple of my 'bluff and bluster' style. I could never really snarl at those delightful east European girls who are all drop dead gorgeous as well as being very efficient and friendly.