DUFF & NONSENSE!

Come on, 'Jezza', give us a clue!

Now be honest, did you really listen to Jezza's speech yesterday or like me did you just catch bits of the excerpts on the news and then panic when you couldn't lay hands on the do-flicker-thingie to switch the sound off?   From the bits and pieces I did hear it sounded like an endless list of promises of milk and honey and gold sovereigns for your purse but somehow I kept missing the 'HOW' bit!  Reading the commentariat this morning, I gather that was because there was no 'HOW' bit, just the promises.  This, apparently, is the "new", "honest", Corbyn politics of the future.  To me it sounded just like the old politics I have lived through for most of my life.  Just tell the suckers the voters what they want to hear but for God's sake don't go into details - you'll only frighten the horses!  Fortunately there is an acid test for those of us with "l.m.f." (lack of moral fibre) and thus unfit to sit and listen to a politician for more than 1.6 minutes and that is the reported re-action of all those brain-dead zombies whose social life is so minimalist that they spend their time at Party conferences.  Apparently, 'Jezza' was cheered and cheered until the walls trembled.  That is all you need to know about the intellectual content of what he had to say yesterday.  Yeeeeeeeees, quite!

 

In which I stand rebuked

Well, not really, in fact just the opposite because my e-pal, 'Whitewall', very kindly asked if all was well with me because of my slightly extended absence from these, er, distinguished columns.  Normally, of course, I try to insert a warning notice if domestic affairs are likely to interrupt the flow of bilge commentary that you normally expect but such was my lethargy that I failed even in that minimalist act of good manners.  I apologise, to 'Whiters' and to all you faithful regulars.

As I explained to 'Whiters' in a comment thread down there somewhere, I am suffering with 'borer's block'.  Proper writers, of course, suffer with 'writer's block' but us old bores who drone on -and on - and on - through 'blogdom' end up, I realise, by boring ourselves!  As you will have judged over the years, I am not an original thinker, by which I mean that I need something 'out there' to spark me off.  Perhaps it's just 'summertime blues' but, honestly, the news for the last few weeks has become increasingly tedious.  At this stage in the ludicrous proceedings of the American election, can anyone get excited by any of it?  And 'over here', the Labour party led by 'Milipede' having begun to dig an electoral hole for themselves have now chosen a new, old leader who could 'Bore for Britain' at the Olympics and, having recruited several Upper Fifth classrooms as supporters, have now recommenced digging in earnest.  By the time of the next election they may well have disappeared entirely from sight!

That last stronghold of boredom, sport, has been taken over by possibly the ugliest, senseless, most drug-ridden, so-called sport of them all - rugby!  I have been forced to watch some of it because the 'Memsahib', for reasons unknown to me but, I suspect, not a million miles from male, steroid-induced physiques which were once confined as curiosities in circus side-shows, is absolutely hooked on the damned game!

I will add one further note in a pathetic attempt to illicit some sympathy from you.  It is actually quite hard work knocking out a post or three a day, seven days a week.  Alright, I admit it, it's not that hard for an opinionated, old prat like me who would argue with a gate-post, but even so, there are times when the energy flags.  Of course, those are the periods when, despite that old Chinese warning, you really do need "interesting times" even if common-sense tells you that on the whole 'boring times' are best.

Anyway, as per the admonishment that appeared so regularly in my old school reports - "Must do better!"

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 28.9.15

The sun is shining from a cloudless sky so you wage-slaves don't really deserve any 'funnies' this Monday morning but I just know you'll all go on strike if you don't get any, so here you are:

 

While reading an article last night about fathers and sons, memories
came flooding back to the time I took me son out for his first pint.

Off we went to our local pub only two blocks from the cottage.

I got him a Guinness.  He didn't like it, so I drank it.

Then I got him a Kilkenny's, he didn't like that either, so I drank it.

Finally, I thought he might like some Harp Lager?   He didn't.   I drank it.

I thought maybe he'd like whiskey better than beer so we tried a Jameson's -
nope!

In desperation, I had him try that rare Redbreast, Ireland's finest.   He wouldn't even smell it.  What could I do but drink it!

By the time I realized he just didn't like to drink, I was so fookin' drunk, I
could hardly push his pram back home.

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

 

A professor at Wayne State University in Detroit was giving a lecture on Paranormal Studies.  To get a feel for his audience, the lecturer asks,  "How many people here believe in ghosts?"

About 90 students raise their hands.

"Well, that's a good start.  Out of those who believe in ghosts, do any of you think you have seen a ghost?"

About 40 students raise their hands.

"That's really good. I'm really glad you take this seriously.  Has anyone here ever talked to a ghost?"

About 15 students raise their hand.

"Has anyone here ever touched a ghost?"

Three students raise their hands.

"That's fantastic. Now let me ask you one question further... Have any of you ever made love to a ghost?"

Way in the back, Ahmed raises his hand.

The professor takes off his glasses and says, "Son, all the years I've been giving this lecture, no one has ever claimed to have made love to a ghost. You've got to come up here and tell us about your experience."

The Middle Eastern Muslim student replied with a nod and a grin, and began to make his way up to the podium. When he reached the front of the room, the professor asks, "So, Ahmed, tell us what it's like to have sex with a ghost?"

Ahmed replied, "Shit, sitting from way back there I thought you said Goats."

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

 

More Irish ones, sorry Paddy!

 

Paddy was driving down the street in a sweat because he had an important meeting and couldn't find a parking place.   Looking up to heaven he said, "Lord take pity on me.   If you find me a parking place I will go to Mass every Sunday for the rest of me life and give up me Irish Whisky!"  

Miraculously, a parking place appeared. 

Paddy looked up again and said, "Never mind, I found one."

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

 

Paddy was in New York. 

 

He was patiently waiting and watching the traffic cop on a busy street crossing.   The cop stopped the flow of traffic and shouted, "Okay, pedestrians."   Then he'd allow the traffic to pass. 

 

He'd done this several times, and Paddy still stood on the sidewalk.

 

 After the cop had shouted, "Pedestrians!" for the tenth time, Paddy went over to him and said, "Is it not about time ye let the Catholics across?"

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

 

An Irish priest is driving down to  New York and gets stopped for speeding in Connecticut.   The state trooper smells alcohol on the priest's breath and then sees an empty wine bottle on the floor of the car.  

 

He says, "Sir, have you been drinking?" 

 

"Just water," says the priest. 

 

The trooper says, "Then why do I smell wine?" 

The priest looks at the bottle and says, "Good Lord! He's done it again!"

 

Right, back to work.

 

The Sunday Rumble: 27.9.15

And now you know why:   Some time ago I made the exceedingly generous offer to Ms. Janet Daley of The Telegraph for her to have my babies.  To date I have not yet received a response but that is entirely understandable given the amount of time she obviously expends in composing and writing her superb columns.  Her latest is simply excellent and I urge you all, especially if you are a Brit and therefore likely to vote in the forthcoming referendum on Europe, to click on the link and read it.  You will go a long day's march before you come across a better example of cool, clear intelligence:

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/11893594/If-the-era-of-democracy-is-over-in-Europe-its-time-for-Britain-to-get-out.html

 

Vasili - who?   A fascinating item over at Zero Hedge and for once it's good news, albeit, good historical news.  It concerns the late Adm. Vasili Archipov of the Russian navy.  He it was, apparently, who stopped what would have been the first - and probably last! - nuclear exchange between America and the USSR during the Cuban crisis.  Worth a read - followed by a large scotch given what a damned close run thing it all was!

 

Oh dear, now 'MDA' bites the dust, too:   The other day I intimated that perhaps Ms. Carly Fiorina might have gained the much sought after appendage of 'My Darling Carla', or 'MDC', and thus enter that rare world of other brilliant and successful ladies who have gained my admiration but, alas, the current membership is diminishing fast!  One of the earliest recipients of an 'MD' was 'MDA', My Darling Ann (Coulter).  Today I read that she has been attacked - and I use the word advisedly - by no less an adversary than P. J. O'Rourke, a man I have admired for decades.  Now, I had noticed a few weeks ago that 'MDA' had thrown her support behind 'The Donald' and that gave me pause before I announced to an expectant world that I think he is a daft and dangerous dipstick!  Well, I mean, if MDA approves who am I to disapprove?  But lost to me amongst the deafening din of perhaps the silliest American election in decades was a twattish pair of twitters by Ms. Coulter:

Cruz, Huckabee Rubio all mentioned ISRAEL in their response to: “What will AMERICA look like after you are president.”

How many f—ing Jews do these people think there are in the United States?

Oh dear, it's like slowly and breathlessly undressing a woman you have desired for years until, filled with expectation, just as you remove her lacy underwear - her left tit falls off!  There are not many people capable of taking on Ms. Coulter, she is constructed of unbreakable ice but filled with fire.  Perhaps the only man alive today capable of smashing this ice maiden is P. J. O'Rourke and he does it with relish, with wit, with style and with a consuming fury.

http://www.weeklystandard.com/articles/she-said-what_1035823.html?page=1

 

No more rumbles

 

 

There is a God and, lo, He hath just blattered Blatter

Be honest, there's nothing quite like a nice cup of schadenfreude to start your day, particularly when the recipient of the equivalent of a bucket of cold sick over the head is the repellent Herr Sepp Blatter, the man who has reduced the reputation of FIFA to only a fraction above that of the mafia - well, so far at least, because they don't appear to have fed anyone to the fishes - yet!

Here is the ghastly little scrote clasping hands with Michel Platini, the boss of European football and a man who now has a few questions to answer himself concerning the bung payment of £1.3 million for, er, services not yet explained!  I bet they both counted their fingers carefully after that handshake!  Now, if God is reading this - and why wouldn't He? - then He has only one more task to complete in order to ensure my conversion and thus my regular attendance at St. John's church just across the way.  That task is to disqualify both the Qatari and Russian bids for the next two world cups.  At that point my cup will overfloweth with happiness!

 

 

I confess, Father, I have been a very naughty boy!

Sorry, but all this Popery has put me into confessional mode.  As the grim-faced 'Memsahib' acknowledged, I cannot be trusted out on my own.  However, today I had to go to Yeovil (such fun!) to get the car cleaned - well, you don't expect me to dirty my hands, do you?  Fortunately, and entirely co-incidentally, just down the road is an excellent 'greasy spoon' café which serves a superb English breakfast - even at 1.00pm! 

Suitably fortified, well, the thought of all that work on my car made me feel quite tired, I then marched into Cineworld, our local cinema complex.  A young lady with a permanently open mouth blinked at me slowly when I demanded re-imbursement for my computer and my window.  At that her mouth actually opened even further but, alas, she was unable to conjure up any words.  So I explained that last night I wasted several hours of the fast-vanishing number of hours left to me on this earth trying to book two tickets for the 'simulcast' of Henry V from Stratford.  It was impossible and in my rage I hurled my computer through the window - so where's my money, I asked?  Slowly, very slowly, a slight smile softened the 'O' of her mouth as she realised - or hoped - that I was being ironic.  She even nodded in agreement when I suggested that all the Cineworld sites, and there are at least half a dozen of them, are utterly useless and were obviously designed by the 14-year old son of the Chief Executive!  Anyway, bless her cotton socks she sold me two tickets over the counter - no probs!  By the way, on the 21st October, if there is a cinema near you, or even far away from you, then book some tickets and get your idle arses over there because these 'simulcasts', in which cameras move into the auditorium and film a live performance as it happens, are terrific - and they are broadcast simultaneously all round the world.  This Henry V has only just opened at Stratford but has received some rave reviews. 

Next, and ever so casually I wandered up the main street of 'downtown' Yeovil - yeeeeeees, quite - and, heavens to Betsy, what did I find but a Waterstones bookshop.  Now I am forbidden to enter any bookshop unaccompanied by the 'Memsahib'.  But, hell, I thought, I'm a grown man now and I am more than capable of resisting my book-buying compulsive disorder (BBCD, the psycho-babblers call it).  So in I went just to test my steely resolve and guess what?  Inside five minutes it melted!

The first thing I spotted was Volume One of a new history of WWII written by James Holland.  Now, I need another history of WWII like a hole in the head not least because I have been reading the damn things since the early 1950s. But then, opening it at random, I read this:

Intellectually, the British Army was also stymied by a somewhat insouciant and deeply entrenched regimental system, which laid great emphasis on both loyalty to the cap badge and tradition, and which encouraged a culture that frowned upon too much talking shop.  In the Mess, one discussed cricket, polo or pig-sticking, not how to effectively co-ordinate tanks and infantry. (*)

Right, I thought, that's good enough for me, obviously this man knows where-of he writes and I have got to have that book and I shall just have to take my punishment like a man when I get home!   But then, just as I was going to the counter to pay for it, I spotted a very slim, slender volume with a most attractive hard cover.  I don't know what the bookbinders technical name is for this size but it measures about 7" x 4".  The title is Seven Brief Lessons On Physics written by a terrific Italian science swot called Carlo Rovelli - and no, me neither!  Now I have been buying these sorts of books for years and each time I read them I smite my forehead, shout, "EUREKA! I've got it, I've really, really got it!"  Unfortunately, the next morning I can't quite get my head round it again and I'm back to square one.  Still, this little volume only has 80 pages so it's the sort of thing I can slip into my jacket pocket and dip into on those tedious days when I sit in various chairs in various ladies' shoe shops as the 'Memsahib' tries on every bloody shoe in the place!

OK, I'll be on short rations for a week or two but at least I have plenty to read!

 

(*) The War in the West: Germany Ascendant 1939 - 1941 by James Holland

'How many divisions does the Pope have?'

Thus, asked that arch-realist, the late and deeply un-lamented, Joseph Stalin.  Today, one might ask how many brain cells his (not very) Holiness possesses?  Judged by his waffling drivel to the Congress of the United States yesterday, his brain cell count is roughly equal to his concern for the souls of men and women, that is, minimal.  And so a steady stream of drivel flowed on the non-subject of non-global warming but not a word about the relationship between individual people and their Christian God.  "Render unto Caesar what is Caesar's" is the only political imperative offered by Jesus to his followers.  In other words, leave politics to the politicians and instead concentrate on leading your own, private and personal lives as close to the word of God as you can strive to achieve.  As far as I know, God and Jesus had nothing to say on the subject of global warming and the Holy Spirit is staying schtum, too!

 

A bit of bardolatry: #1

I thought that from time to time I would drop a few examples of Master Shakespeare's words in here to raise the general level of literacy on this blog (not too difficult!) and to explain why they fascinate and/or delight me.  The first was pointed up by perhaps the very greatest living Shakespearean scholar, John Barton, an original founder of the Royal Shakespeare Company.  He once let drop on a TV programme that this passage was his favourite from the entire Shakespearean oeuvre.  Am I going to give him an argument?  Not likely!

This interchange takes place in Troilus and Cressida (T&C) outside the walls of Troy which is being besieged by the Greeks.  If you have plenty of spare years ahead of you they could be usefully filled with an investigation into which of the several sites hitherto discovered is the actual Troy made famous by Homer - and even more famous by Master Shakespeare.  On the other hand, perhaps you would better spend your time doing the garden!

The passage that so took John Barton's imagination is concerned with "that old common arbitrator, Time".  I remember Barton pointing out that the mysterious concept of 'Time' constantly arises in Shakespeare's works.  He was obviously fascinated with it and you can understand why if you just give it a few moments thought.  In a way Time doesn't exist in the sense that you can't see it or feel it or weigh it or, and, this is crucial, nor can you change it!  It just goes on and on and on, unrelenting, unremitting.  Anyway, in this scene in 'no-man's-land' outside the city walls, two old opponents talk together.  Troy stands behind them in all its might and beauty with great turreted walls and tall, elegant, domed palaces and towers.  One of the men is Prince Hector of Troy, a great warrior; the other is Ulysses, a Greek, too old now for combat but a very seasoned and shrewd politician.  Also, incidentally, a Tory to his finger-tips!  He is given much to say by 'our Will' which may be a clue as to his own political sympathies - maybe! 

ULYSSES 

I wonder now how yonder city stands
When we have here her base and pillar by us. 

HECTOR 

I know your favour, Lord Ulysses, well.
Ah, sir, there's many a Greek and Trojan dead,
Since first I saw yourself and Diomed
In Ilion, on your Greekish embassy. 

ULYSSES 

Sir, I foretold you then what would ensue:
My prophecy is but half his journey yet;
For yonder walls, that pertly front your town,
Yond towers, whose wanton tops do buss the clouds,
Must kiss their own feet. 

HECTOR 

I must not believe you:
There they stand yet, and modestly I think,
The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost
A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all,
And that old common arbitrator, Time,
Will one day end it. 

ULYSSES 

So to him we leave it.

Every time I see another of those great and ancient palaces in the Middle East being blown up by those Muslim loons, I think of Troy and its seemingly inevitable fate; a fate, by the way, which in the course of relentless Time, will destruct all our great cities.

"But I am bound upon a wheel of fire, / That mine own tears do scald like molten lead"

 

 

'Achtung', Uncle Sam!

Gradually, the potential of the VW cheating disaster is becoming clear and it is potentially of tsunami proportions!  VW is far and away the biggest car manufacturer in Germany and is the second largest in the world.  In fact, its proposed take-over of Toyota would have sent it to the top.  Car manufacturing is hugely important to the German economy and if VW is crippled by the heavy-weight fist of the US government 'there will be blood'.

Obviously and quite rightly, private owners will be looking for recompense and given the innate lunacy of the American legal system that is going to be a huge bill to settle.  But then, behind them, stands mighty Uncle Sam, not dressed in his usual stars and stripes uniform but in the bright green of the loony eco-warriors who man the Environmental Protection Racket Agency.  If they are given the green light - no pun intended - by the White House it is not inconceivable that VW could be forced into bankruptcy.  The 'Kaiserin' would not be amused!  More to the point, nor would the entire German political class and their electorate.

'So what?', 'Ol' Big Ears' might shrug, 'Great opportunity for GM and Ford and all those other American manufacturers who have been stuffing the Democrat party with dollars for decades - it's payback time!'  But nothing is ever as simple as the dimwits in the White House think it is.  'Vlad the Impaler' will stand ready to offer the 'Kaiserin' a bunch of flowers in commiseration whilst reminding her that 'perfidious America' can never be relied on.  He might think a sudden freeze in German- American relations is just the time to move westwards either into the Ukraine or the Baltic.  Not much could counter his move so long as Germany remains hostile to the USA.  It's also worth reminding 'Uncle Sam' that Germany runs Europe and the smaller nations of the EU are likely to follow the line from Berlin.

Yes, of course, VW deserves a spanking but beating it to financial death is too far and the mad 'Greenies' in the EPA need to be restrained.

 

Damn that Dan Hodges!

He always beats me in saying what I was sort of thinking of saying and then says it all so much better than me anyway!  Yesterday, like me, he was mulling over the reported disagreements between Dave and his Chief of the General Staff contained in Lord Ashcroft's tell-tale book about 'The Life of Dave!':

"General Sir David Richards, says he had to tell Mr Cameron that ‘being in the Combined Cadet Force at Eton’ did not qualify him to decide the tactics of complex military operations. At times, the PM was at war with the chief of the defence staff, who disagreed with him strongly on strategy."

Possibly, General, but being a democratically-elected Prime Minister 'qualifies' Dave to decide anything he damned well likes and if you don't like it then what you do is resign, not make smart-arse jibes and then leak them to the likes of Lord Ashcroft.  But of course, resigning in the face of political and military stupidity is not your thing, is it, General?  That is why you accepted the job of commanding the fiasco that was the Afghanistan campaign.  It led to the utterly pointless deaths and mutilations of even more British soldiers but, hey, that dangling Baronetcy was moving closer and closer so resigning in disgust was not an option.  Obviously you didn't go to Eton!

Then there is the case of the un-named General 'Dumb-Blimp', a currently serving officer, who was reported in The Times as suggesting that if 'Peacenik Jezza' is elected Prime Minister he and some of his colleagues would undertake a military coup.  Mr. Hodge's re-action is spot on - with my emphasis:

Yesterday I saw on Twitter someone arguing that an investigation should be launched, and that the officer in question should be identified, and sacked. That’s wrong. He shouldn’t be sacked, he should be arrested, court-martialed and jailed.

The Iraq and Afghanistan campaigns have proved to me beyond any reasonable doubt that our senior military are gutless buffoons.  If you want a rough rule of thumb by which to judge senior officers then here it is: if the man takes early retirement in or around the middling rank of Brigadier, he was probably highly intelligent and could see that he had no future amongst the arse-lickers and Baronetcy-hunters above him.  As always, the British army's greatest enemy is its General Staff!

 

 

Whatever car you're driving, watch the cash not the road!

A fascinating, if depressing, story over at Zero Hedge which convinces me that there is no more justice today in America than there is in Russia.  It begins by telling us that last week General Motors (GM) was fined $900 million for knowingly fitting faulty ignition switches which resulted in 124 deaths and hundreds of injuries.  By contrast, any minute now, Volkswagen (VW) will be fined somewhere in the region of $18 billion for killing absolutely nobody even if they did indulge in cheating business practices.  What you may ask, not unreasonably, is the difference between VW and GM apart, of course, that one is American and the other is German?

Well, several difference can be found in the amount of dosh each company hands over to the politicians:

 

 

Then there is VW's paltry efforts at bribery and corruption:

 

There is something severely rotten in the state of America and, whilst I am loath to say it, it seems to be getting worse.

 

 

'Ullo, Fritz! Wanna a noo motor?'

Interesting to note that any differences between your average down at heel, scrofulous, second-hand car dealer with his scruffy trainer shoes and fake suede jacket, and your top-ranking, beautifully suited-and-booted, car manufacturing executive is somewhere between nil and zilch when it comes down to straightforward honesty.  I speak, of course, as a proud former member of the second-hand car trade and I would point out in defence, or at least in mitigation, that no-one in their right mind would ever believe anything we ever said.  But when the bosses of the mighty Volkswagen behemoth own up to cheating on the claimed pollution level of their diesel cars then the world, or at least the American EPA (a totally Scheiße organisation itself) can claim to be 'shocked, I tell you, shocked!'

Now the American (non) justice system will swing into action and rip the arms and legs off VW in much the same way as they did off BP for that oil spill.  I'm not suggesting that VW (and BP) doesn't deserve some financial punishment, only that it is nowhere near the amount all those crazed 'Greenies' in the EPA, with the encouragement of 'Ol' Big Ears', will exact.  Anyway, when did anyone outside of California ever buy a car because of its low exhaust emissions?

What will be interesting is to see how the other manufacturers come out of the retesting that is now going on.  Watch this space!

 

 

But does she deserve to become an 'MDC'?

Like most men I have a soft spot - alas, all my 'spots' are soft these days! -  for tough, dominating and successful women.  Regular readers will remember MDS (My Darling Sarah - Palin), MDA (My Darling Ann - Coulter) and so on.  So today, bereft of my erstwhile American hero, Gov. Scott Walker, who has decided to 'walk the walk' right out of the Presidential election, I am scurrying to cast my eye over the rest of the field.  Naturally, they have paused on the slim, elegant but occasionally fiery figure of Ms. Carly Fiorina.  Needless to say, as always I am reduced to grovelling obsequiousness when faced with a beautiful and powerful woman and a possible 'MDC' but ... but ... I hesitate, Ma'am, I hesitate!

The fact is that I know very little about her politics.  I read something somewhere that intimated that behind the fireworks she was actually a rather 'soppy-softy' sort of conservative.  Still, she managed to give Donald's jock-strap a jolly good twang which is more than the other candidates have managed.  But still the question hovers - what is Ms. Fiorina for?

Interestingly - well, interesting if like me you are an amateur swot on contemporary American politics - there are two answers over at The American Spectator.  The first by Debra J. Sanders is in favour but the second by Esther Goldberg is definitely against.  Both ladies, you will note!  I still can't make up my mind but - heh! - I'm just a man so what's new!

 

In which this blog proves once again to be utterly useless at predictions

Never mind, the odd failure here or there, or even there, there and also just over there, does not mean that this distinguished blog will not continue making totally useless, reckless and ill-judged forecasts again.  I mean, it's what we do!  Back in the early Spring I gave Gov. Scott Walker the kiss of death a very handsome endorsement as the winner not only of the Republican nomination but also the Presidency itself.  Oh dear, "what a falling off was there"!

I can hardly bring myself to administer the Last Rights so I will leave it to the clinical but capable hands of Mr. Ed Straker at The American Thinker:

The new CNN poll has Scott Walker polling at less than one half of one percent, or effectively zero. Statistically speaking, no one supports Scott Walker, not his campaign staff, not his family, not even himself. He is the epitome of zero, zilch, nada. 

It is expected that he will soon discover a burning need to spend more time on governing Wisconsin, or to be with his family, or perhaps spend quality time with his motorcycle. But before he goes, what are some lessons from his fall?

Lordy, Lordy, whodathunkit?!  The way he battled against the massed ranks of the public sector unions and powerful Democrat party machine in Wisconsin winning, not once, not twice but thrice.  How could he have failed so miserably since then?  Mr. Straker offers some views:

1) Busting public unions is good, but it doesn't make you into a conservative superhero.[...]

2) It's ok to flip-flop, but not as frequently as Flipper. [...]

3) He refused to answer serious policy questions on the grounds that he wasn't yet president. [...]

4) He relied too much on Scott, the ordinary guy on the motorcycle image. That's nice, but doesn't substitute for someone who can get into the issues.

5) He wasn't aggressive enough in debates. True, he wasn't called on as much, but he didn't even try like the others did to speak out of turn. Mostly, he was a potted plant.

Oh dear, that means I have got to choose one of the others.  I would love to implant the kiss of death on Trump's hair-piece but knowing my luck he would be the first winner I have ever chosen!

My Arkansas correspondent, 'JK', advises me that there are moves afoot to draft Sen. Tom Cotton but he's an ex-Para and, as I have learned the hard way being an ex-Para myself, landing on your head too many times does funny things to your brain!

 

 

Dave and Miss Piggie?!

According to the scuttlebutt printed with relish in The Mail today, 'Dim Dave' in his drunken undergraduate days inserted his 'you-know-what' into the mouth of a dead pig.  This was all part of a sort of 'graduation' ceremony which allowed one entry to a small club of tremendously rich retards Oxford students.  You see, we do things differently 'over here'.  In Germany they fight duels with sabres hoping to receive a nice clean slash across the face that will stay with you proudly through life.  I'm not sure what French students get up to - as high as they can up as many skirts as they can, I assume.  As for the Americans, recent stories of doubtful validity indicate that their students prefer their sex en masse.  Meanwhile, back over here, well, it's a dead pig's head or nothing, I assume.  Yeeeeeeeees, quite!

The purveyor of this and other tales of 'Dim Dave' when he was young and really, really dim is the slightly creepy Lord Ashcroft.  He is a member of a truly exclusive club made up of the roughest and toughest in our society - self-made multi-billionaires.  You require potentially deadly deposits of ambition, a capacity for ferocious hard work and a mean streak of ruthlessness to start life with nothing and end up owning several companies, including banks, and being worth billions.  Happily, most of them eschew public life, preferring to spend their days counting their dosh down to the last penny lest anyone is cheating them but m'Lud Ashcroft was fatally struck with that deadly disease - politics!

Having made his money and having been captivated by 'that woman' he determined that following her political demise he would move into the Tory party machinery and get it fired up again.  This he did and this is where he met and became friends with 'Dim Dave', a young greaser easing his way up to the top of the pole.  At least, I suspect that m'Lud Ashcroft thought they were friends but you see, even exceedingly shrewd business operators forget that in politics there is simply no such thing as friendship.  In business 'a man's word is as good as his bond' - or else! - but politicians can't even spell the word 'bond'!  Thus, when 'Dave' reached the not quite pearly gates of Downing Street, m'Lud assumed that in light of all the dosh he had contributed plus his time and energy on behalf of the Tory party, plus a direct promise, he would be rewarded with a suitably hefty government post.  Sucker!

So Dave ratted him out and now m'Lud has scraped together every bit of dirt he could find down various drains and published them in a book.  Alas, for silly, naïve Lord Ashcroft, unless he can actually find that missing photo of Dave and 'Miss Piggy it will all come to nothing and be forgotten inside a week - rather like 'Jezza' and his favourite 'Miss Piggy'!

Your Monday Funnies: 21.9.15

Monday morning at the coal face again but these should cheer you up.  The second one is especially for all you computer geeks - yes, 'SoD' that means you!

 

A man kills a deer and takes it home to cook for dinner.  Both he and his wife decide that they won't tell the kids what kind of meat it is, but will give them a clue and let them guess.

The kids were eager to know what the meat was on their plates, so they begged their dad for the clue.

Well, he said, ‘It’s what mummy calls me sometimes'. 

The little girl screams to her brother 'Don't eat it, it's an arsehole!'

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HOW THE INTERNET STARTED, ACCORDING TO THE BIBLE; PLEASE DO NOT "GOOGLE" THIS ONE OR CHECK WITH "SNOPES". THEY WILL LIE TO YOU. TRUST ME!

 

In ancient Israel , it came to pass that a trader by the name of Abraham Com did take unto himself a healthy young wife by the name of Dorothy (Dot for short). Dot Com was a comely woman, large of breast, broad of shoulder and long of leg. Indeed, she was often called Amazon Dot Com. 

And she said unto Abraham, her husband, "Why dost thou travel so far from town to town with thy goods when thou canst trade without ever leaving thy tent?" 

And Abraham did look at her as though she were several saddle bags short of a camel load, but simply said, "How, dear?" 

And Dot replied, "I will place drums in all the towns and drums in between to send messages saying what you have for sale, and they will reply telling you who hath the best price. The sale can be made on the drums and delivery made by Uriah's Pony Stable (UPS)." 

Abraham thought long and decided he would let Dot have her way with the drums. And the drums rang out and were an immediate success. Abraham sold all the goods he had at the top price, without ever having to move from his tent. 

To prevent neighboring countries from overhearing what the drums were saying, Dot devised a system that only she and the drummers knew. It was known as Must Send Drum Over Sound (MSDOS), and she also developed a language to transmit ideas and pictures - Hebrew to The People (HTTP). 

And the young men did take to Dot Com's trading as doth the greedy horsefly take to camel dung. They were called Nomadic Ecclesiastical Rich Dominican Sybarites, or NERDS. And lo, the land was so feverish with joy at the new riches and the deafening sound of drums that no one noticed that the real riches were going to that enterprising drum dealer, Brother William of Gates, who bought off every drum maker in the land. Indeed he did insist on drums to be made that would work only with Brother Gates' drumheads and drumsticks. 

And Dot did say, "Oh, Abraham, what we have started is being taken over by others." And Abraham looked out over the Bay of Ezekiel , or eBay as it came to be known. He said, "We need a name that reflects what we are.." 

And Dot replied, "Young Ambitious Hebrew Owner Operators." 

"YAHOO," said Abraham. And because it was Dot's idea, they named it YAHOO Dot Com. 

Abraham's cousin, Joshua, being the young Gregarious Energetic Educated Kid (GEEK) that he was, soon started using Dot's drums to locate things around the countryside. 

It soon became known as God's Own Official Guide to Locating Everything (GOOGLE). 

That is how it all began. And that's the truth. I would not make up this stuff.

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And to finish, a few 'quickies' with an 'Oirish' flavour:

 

1. A Muslim has been shot in the head with a starting pistol. Police say it's definitely race related.  

2. Due to a water shortage in Ireland, Dublin swimming baths have announced they are closing lanes 7 and 8.

3. I got a letter from Screw Fix Direct thanking me for my interest, but explaining they were not a dating agency.

4. Paddy thought his new girlfriend might be 'the one', but after looking through her knicker drawer and finding a nurse's outfit, a French maids outfit, and a police woman's uniform, he finally decided if she can't hold down a job, she's not for him. 

5. Paddy is doing some roofing work for Murphy. He nears the top of the ladder and starts shaking and going dizzy. He calls down to Murphy and says "I tink I will ave to go home, I've come all over giddy and feel sick."

Murphy asks "Ave yer got vertigo?"

Paddy replies "No, I just live around the corner I tell ya." 

6. After 100 years lying on the sea bed, Irish divers were amazed to find that the Titanic's swimming pool was still full.

 

 Right, that's your dose of cheerfulness for the week!

 

The Sunday Rumble: 20.9.15

So 'Jezza's just like the rest of them after all:   We all sneer and jibe at politicians whose stance on any given subject is utterly dependent on the prevailing political wind but there were those - suckers! - who thought that 'Jezza' and his best two-faced mate, John McDonnell, would usher in a new, principled politics in which stout-hearted Members of Parliament would mean what they say and stand by it.  So, far the pair of them have been attempting to ride a 'bicycle built for two' backwards, as they try desperately to unsay what they said before but with a nod and wink to their comrades to let them know they don't really mean it.  Sooner or later this despicable pair will pedal off a cliff backwards - someone on the radio this morning gives 'Jezza' three years max!

 

So farewell then, you cantankerous old queen:   Yes, today we bid farewell to Brian Sewell, a man who could have played a panto Duchess without any rehearsals!  However, beneath all that 'queenery' there was a tremendously academic brain on all matters pertaining to classical art.  He really did know where-of he wrote and when he wrote about modern 'conceptual' (so-called) 'art' he was as deadly as he was accurate.  Here are just a few of them from The Mail: 

ON TRACEY EMIN ‘Art’s Jade Goody – a cunning exploitation of ignorance, irascible emotion and raw sex to draw attention to herself.’ 

ON GRAYSON PERRY ‘His pottery is ‘vulgar… most of his pottery could be intriguingly subversive if converted into table lamps.’ 

ON DAMIEN HIRST ‘To own a Hirst is to tell the world that your bathroom taps are gilded and your Rolls-Royce is pink.’ 

ON ANISH KAPOOR ‘When he puts some wonky Meccano structure up at the expense of £16 million for the Olympics, that’s a joke, that isn’t art.’ 

ON ALL FOUR ‘Tracey Emin and Grayson Perry and Damien Hirst and Anish Kapoor and whoever else really deserve every cruelty because it’s the only way. They are so accustomed to being told how wonderful they are and somehow it’s impossible to get through the complacency that is engendered by that.’ 

ON CHRIS OFILI ‘Spurious rubbish, most of it.’ 

ON BANKSY ‘He is a complete clown and what he does has absolutely nothing to do with art.’ 

ON WOMEN ‘There has never been a first-rank woman artist.’

Spot on, 'Dame' Brian, I shall miss you.

 

A quotation: discuss amongst yourselves:   The following quote from somebody called 'the Inkslinger' was sent to me.  I am in the middle of preparing around thirty little 'nibblies' for a neighbour who has invited us and others round for lunch.  I'm a crap cook but my 'nibblies' are to die for - and I do the jokes round here, Andra!  Anyway, I am just removing the pin before lobbing this into the blog: 

"Families need feminism like a head needs a bullet hole." 

 

Oooh, what a spanker!    Well, I suppose that if you are a preacher then you must have a way with words but if you are a preacher who looks like this:

but you can still convince seven women to strip off and be spanked over your knee, as Howard Curtis, 72, a former senior minister of the Coulsdon Christian Fellowship, managed to do, then you are an orator of hellfire proportions.  Of course, Mr.Curtis vigorously denies the charges but were it me I would be rather proud of my achievement - er, not that I'm into spanking, you understand, too much like hard work!

 

The Holy Month of Ruggerdan:   Yes indeed, everything will come to a halt over the next month as the High Priests of Ruggerdan, or, 'Rugger Buggers' as they are usually known, take over the news and the TV schedules as they conduct their peculiar rights using men who look like escapees from The Munsters.  Their worshippers, of course, are total loonies like this man here:

A fanatical 'Rugger Bugger' who actually cycled - repeat cycled! - all the way from 'Seth Efrica', a journey of nearly 28,000 miles, in order to watch his team - lose to Japan!  I trust that none of the well-bred, polite patrons of this distinguished blog actually giggled.  Me?  I fell off my chair howling with laughter!

  

    No more rumbles today

 

Not so much Dame Sligo as Dame Sly-go!

Sorry to return to the subject of the fat, old, incompetent nitwit who pretends to be the Chief Scientist, no less, of that impeccably scientific institution, the Met Office, an organisation that couldn't forecast the weather accurately three days ahead yet seeks to insist that it knows what climate conditions will be decades to come.  Yes, I give you, in all her glory, Dame Julia Sligo:

Those scrofulous hacks from The Daily Mail have been digging around the mighty bureaucratic empire presided over by 'Dame Sly-go' and discovered that her daughter who had just graduated from, er, Bournemouth 'University' (don't they mean Polytechnic?) was given a job which was never advertised making videos for the Met Office.  The 'job' itself had never existed before!  Subsequently, the daughter was confirmed in a new position which was advertised but she was the only applicant who actually worked in the dump so she got it!  It pays £28k a year - of your and my money!

It also transpires that the Met Office was so busy saving the world and all those 'cuddly-wuddly' polar bears that somehow they forgot to tell us suckers taxpayers that:

Dame Julia took her job at the Met Office even though she was living 150 miles away from Met Office HQ in Exeter. For the first two years and five months, she worked part-time. This was never announced. Instead, the details were retrospectively written in a footnote of Met Office accounts when she finally started working full-time.

Last year, Dame Julia earned between £230,000 and £235,000, made up of a salary of £140-145,000, allowances of up to £5,000, a bonus of between £20-25,000 and £63,000 in pension benefits.

Should we hang the old bitch or just dump her in the arctic as an ice-measuring device?

 

Thank God the mind can boggle

We have all experienced it from time to time, a thought enters your head and instantly, in fact faster than instantly, quicker than the speed of light, your mind slams shut!  There are just some thoughts, some images, which are simply beyond even the wildest realms of contemplation.  It may well be that such thoughts vary enormously between individuals, so I am going to conduct an experiment on you all.  Here we have the deeply unlovely image of the Honourable Diane Abbot MP and the Honourable Jeremy Corbyn MP.

At this point - brace yourselves!  According to the prints today, they were once lovers.  Now, I find it hard to imagine those two even kissing each other, already my mind is moving towards 'boggle-mode'.  However, when my imagination moves further to wonder incredulously at the prospect of those two actually coupling then suddenly - SLAM! - my mind instantly crashes.  In a previous post I once described her as "Diane, the unthinking man's Goddess" so I suppose 'Jezza' is her ideal mate.  Even so, I just can't bring myself to imagine the, er, mating!

 

Salisbury Cathedral: old but uninspiring!

I really am a disgrace.  Living only an hour's drive away, I am a fairly frequent visitor to Salisbury but, mea culpa, I have never bothered to visit the Cathedral until today.  To be fair, I am a non-practising Christian, or to be exact, I am a 'fundamentalist agnostic', and thus there is no religious imperative for me to go.  Nor has there been a 'tourist' imperative either because I have never heard of Salisbury Cathedral being described as an architectural beauty in the way that, say, York Minster is described.

As a pathetic excuse I must tell you that it was pissing down with 'global warming' today so I had no inclination to go round from the side entrance we had to use in order to inspect the front elevation which, from a quick glance looked rather impressive:

Alas, the side elevations were very plain.  Still, it is important to bear in mind that this particular Cathedral was built very early and very quickly!  In Early English Gothic they obviously built fast and did not waste too much time on inconsequential decoration.  So, as the 'Memsahib' and my friends went off to inspect the flower show - yawn-yawn - I adopted my usual technique for inspecting ancient buildings by simply strolling around with my eyes flickering hither and thither and waiting for a 'fuck me!' moment.  But it never happened!  The interior detailing was as plain and boring as the exterior (front elevation excepted).  Absolutely nothing leapt out at me.  Most of their original coloured glass windows have gone although I can understand that replacing them is hideously expensive.  Even so they managed to put a piece of contemporary glass-work in the main Chancel window which is so dark and gloomy you can't make out what it's supposed to be!

My growing grumpiness was not improved by several huge banners fixed to the main pillars featuring various soppy Left-wing nostrums which, were I still a smoker, I might have felt tempted to set fire to with my trust 'Zippo'!  Then my grumpiness reached danger level when I realised that they had removed all the seating to make for this daft flower show.  Hence, I was forced to sit on the very cold, very hard, flagstone which formed part of the base for one of the pillars whilst I waited for the others to finish oohing and aahing over flower arrangements!

Fortunately, praise the Lord, lunch was excellent and thus was my day saved.

 

Official Business Notification!

There, that title sounds pompous enough to catch your attention although it is only to tell you that I'm off to a flower show today - yeeeees, quite!  Normally, flowers are not my thing but this one is being held inside Salisbury cathedral so hopefully I will be able to bag a pew, sit quietly and just admire the majestic architecture.

There is one other and slightly more important thing I need to tell you.  For some reason most of my e-mails, including the ones from Typepad advising me that you have left a comment, are ending up in my Junk Mail box.  It's irritating rather than important but if any of you find it difficult to leave a comment please let me know.

 

 

News from 'down under there'

Regular readers will be familiar with the global coverage offered by this distinguished site, so if you were as startled as I was by the Aussies suddenly switching Prime Ministers overnight then one of my regular Australian correspondents can fill you in:

Two years ago we gave a noxious Australian Labor Party government the flick.  Please note the useless bastards cannot even spell.  Under their reign we had a revolving door of sub-human people calling themselves Prime Minister, open borders soaking up  country shoppers on boats, and a string of absolutely disastrous projects setting us in the red in billions of dollars.  Not a bad effort when you start your term with a budget surplus.  The failure to control the country shoppers resulted in somewhere between 1500 and 2000 of them drowning in the Arafura Sea. 

In our wisdom we elected a conservative government led by a bloke who is a devout Christian [strike one], a volunteer surf lifesaver [strike two] and a volunteer fireman [strike three].  The left wing media [which is nearly all  of it] hated him as he was not one of them.  Our equivalent of the BBC were worse than Goebbels in their hysterical animosity.  Did I mention he was also a happily married man?  No - silly me!  To make it worse he stopped the country shoppers, eliminated the carbon tax, calling "gerbil worrnimg" a crock of shit and ended the mining taxes.  As well as that he put in place a Royal Commission into that criminal organisation known as the Trade Union Movement.  A process which has now seen several union officials having the privilege of explaining their behaviour in the criminal justice system. 

Admittedly Tony Abbott made a few back flips and had a few moments when he could have shown a bit more mongrel but all in all he was way ahead of the rabble he replaced. 

Enter: a private-school-educated lawyer and merchant banker who believes himself to be the smartest person who ever lived and entitled to be regarded as the Messiah.  A systematic programme of leaks from Cabinet by this prat [he denies it of course] and a few bad polls and it didn't take long for the jelly backs in government to believe that they would get the flick from their seats and their publicly funded comfortable life styles. 

End result is that Tony Abbott PM is now Tony Abbott backbencher.  Apart from the few who supported PM Abbott the rest are typical politicians - vain, egocentric, duplicitous, untrustworthy scumbags none of whom you would want holding your back in a fight. 

We have a new Prime Minister - given his attitudes to many things he is in the wrong party. 

Poor fellow my country.

Any questions?

 

 

Dave, don't beat up 'Jezza'!

No, no, Dave, you mustn't beat up 'Jezza' because he's the wrong man!  Apart from the politics, he's everyone's idea of their favourite dotty old granddad and you and the Bullingdon bully boys would earn yourselves a backlash from the 'soppies'.  So, the man to go for is his favourite 'consiglieri', John McDonnell, now the shadow Chancellor of the Exchequer. 

This man is as vile an example of a malignant Marxist as you could wish never to tread in!  So, Dave, set your Bullingdon 'bovver boys' on him - constantly, ferociously, viciously.  This will force the Labour party to defend him, and by implication, defend their nutjob leader, thus keeping them both in power for years.  No Labourite MP will dare to be seen kowtowing to Tory attacks and thus they will be forced, through gritted teeth, to keep the most malignant Muppets ever seen in British politics  at the head of their party for years to come.  Result?  Tory win, win, win!

Simply too, too, delicious!

 

Is the 'Kaiserin' as bonkers as the old Kaiser was?

I wonder because the last few days have seen 'Frau Podge' attempt one of those acrobatic dance movements you see on "Strictly Come Dancing" in which the lady leaps into the air and executes a perfect pirouette before landing.  At the beginning of last week the 'Kaiserin' was perfecting her Mother Theresa act as she threw open the doors to the Fatherland to anyone who fancied moving in, particularly if the media could find a few mothers and kiddie-winkies amongst the huge number of tough, single men who constituted the overwhelming majority.  My, my, how the people, or at least the few crackpots who turned up at the frontier to welcome the invaders, cried out their praise for her great generosity.

Unfortunately, but totally foreseeably, the 'Kaiserin's' pretty pirouette left her sitting on her Arsch!  Within days Munich and then the other cities screamed that they could not take any more and so, down came the, er, 'iron curtain'.  At which point just about every other EU country closed their borders ,too.  That arch euro-creep, 'Junck the Drunk', who was beating up any country which dared to break the beloved (not) Schengen deal on open frontiers, has executed a neat turn himself and now assures the 'Kaiserin' that, of course, she is absolutely right!

All of which makes Dave's policy look restrained and sensible by comparison.  20,000 refugees taken directly from the camps in Lebanon over five years is - just about - do-able.  It satisfies the 'soppies' and does not infuriate the 'grumpies'!  Plus, he gets some nice free publicity by visiting the camps in Lebanon where he will be filmed with the kiddie-winkies - aaaaaaaaaah!  Also, it provides the opportunity for our people to pick and choose who they take - family units rather than single men!

Well done, Dave, on this occasion, perhaps, not so dim as usual.  Certainly better than 'Frau Podge' who is obviously as thick as a bratwurst sausage!

 

Well, at least we now know one definitive thing about 'Jezza'

So, this funny, bumbling, old man from north London - no, no, not 'norf Lunnon'; Jeremy, was educated privately and comes from a rather wealthy, smart family and so he wouldn't be seen dead in some scrofulous part of our great capital city.  Anyway, most of us outside the Westminster bubble know virtually nothing about the new leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition - who giggled?!  Hitherto, most of us viewed him as just another of those old, eccentric cranks who are often to be seen on the 'telly' - er, in the background, of course, no reporter would actually bother interviewing them solo - shuffling through the Members' Lobby at parliament.  So our knowledge of 'Jezza' is exceedingly limited.

However, this blog-site with its eagle-eyed boss watching every political move everywhere 24/7 (or should that be 7/24?), has instantly grasped one thing about 'Jezza' - he absolutely and totally hates, detests and despises the free media of Britain.  He let the cat out during his unscripted acceptance ramble speech when the result came in.  Today we have some extra-ordinary footage via Sky News showing 'Jezza' walking down a London street with several reporters following and the Sky reporter repeating endlessly the same question about why he had failed to appoint any 'wimmin' to a top job in his shadow cabinet.  'Jezza' remained resolutely silent, merely complaining at the end that he was being bothered!

Well, Comrade 'Jezza', let me tell you that when you accept one of the highest political positions in the land, we the people (dread word!) want to know what you think about all sorts of things and those dandruffed hacks of Fleet Street with their appalling manners and shocking ignorance concerning lèse-majesté are the means by which we find out.  We all now realise that you hate them and I sincerely hope that your hatred continues to fester, hopefully, to the point where you will propose changes to media laws which will stamp them down and out.  'Then shall we know what our seemers be!'

 

Your Monday Funnies: 14.9.15

A particularly fine selection this morning, all displaying the very worst possible taste and crudity, so just right for you lot, then!

United Nations statistics. Statistics recently released from The United Nations reveal that: Australian, Canadian, NZ, UK and US men between 50 and 75 years of age, will, on average, have sex two to three times per week, whereas Japanese men, in the same age group, will have sex only once or twice per year.

This is very upsetting news to most of my friends and me, as we had no idea we were Japanese!

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WISE ITALIAN GRANDFATHER

             
An old Italian man in Brooklyn is dying. He calls his           
grandson to his bedside, "Guido, I wan' you lissina me. I wan' you to              
take-a my chrome plated .38 revolver so you will always remember me."
             
"But grandpa, I really don't like guns.. How about you             
leave me your Rolex watch instead?"
             
"You lissina me, boy! Somma day you gonna be runna da             
business, you  gonna have a beautiful wife, lotsa money, a big-a home              
and maybe a couple of bambinos. "
             
"Somma day you gonna come-a home and maybe finda you              
wife inna bed with another man. "Whatta you gonna do then? Pointa to             
you watch and say, 'Times up!' “?

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A man went to church one day and afterward he stopped to shake the preacher's hand.

He said, 'Vicar, I'll tell you, that was a damned fine sermon. Damned good!'

The Vicar said, 'Thank you sir, but I'd rather you didn't use profanity.'

The man said, 'I was so damned impressed with that sermon I put five
thousand dollars in the offering plate!'

The Vicar said, 'No shit?'

 

Right, that's your lot, get back to work!

 

The Sunday Rumble: 13.9.15

The 'Corbyn Lobotomites' are on the march:  Yesterday, hundreds of people joined a march in support of 'refugees' (NB. the inverted commas!) led by Jeremy 'Dipstick' Corbyn and I have been trying to think of any other group from the British population with an equally low intelligence quotient as this lot. 

Photo from The Guardian - natch!

I suppose you might begin with any first year class at a primary school, or perhaps the editorial board of The Guardian, but honestly, given the utter fatuousness of that slogan in the picture above and you can instantly realise that these 'demo-istas' are as thick as several planks nailed together and it is thus entirely fitting and proper that they should be led by a man who ceased to think somewhere around his 14th birthday.

 

So what's not to like about 'Jezza'?   Apparently he's going to bring inequality to an end, he is going to banish poverty and life will no longer be unfair, so that's nice!  But you see, in reality he is no better than the other lying liars who promise us all the earth except, I suppose, that where-as they are hypocrites who know their promises are crap, 'Jezza' actually believes his own BS!  And that is despite the evidence of several millennia in which such a society has never even got close to existence.

 

The German 'racket' motors on:   Don't be fooled by German propaganda aimed at convincing us that really, underneath the long leather greatcoats and the jackboots, there beats a Teutonic heart of gold that gladly welcomes refugees.  As both Jeremy Warner in The Telegraph and The Streetwise Professor on his site remind us, one of the greatest economic threats to German well-being is the fact that they simply don't breed enough!  Hence, an increasingly large population is getting ever older and older but the number of younger Germans able to support this burden is shrinking.  Hence, the importation of thousands of fit young men to fill their factories and (hopefully!) pay their taxes is no bad thing for the Fatherland.  But the 'Jerries' are never as clever as they think they are and the incoming age of robotics could leave their increasingly unemployed population with not much to do, and we all know that the Devil finds work for idle hands - particularly, idle Muslim hands!

 

I wish he lived on my street:  I refer, of course, to The Streetwise Professor to whom I referred in the previous 'rumble'.  He has another post, this time on the subject of 'Vlad the Impaler's' re-enforcement of the Russian military presence in Syria in order to support Assad's tottering regime. His conclusions are exceedingly shrewd which is why I wish he lived on my street, or at least, within shouting distance of Whitehall:

Indeed, since Russian involvement is unlikely to have any effect on the magnitude of the Syrian catastrophe, but will be a drain on already strained Russian resources, it could well be a plus for the US. Why should we care if Putin perpetuates his Syrian ulcer? Indeed, a cynical realpolitik type would probably conclude that we should stand aside and let an already struggling Putin throw his scarce resources into a battle where stalemate is the best that can be achieved. As Napoleon said: “Don’t interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake.” A Putin stuck in a Syrian quagmire is less able to make mischief elsewhere.

 

"Beck" is blx!   Honestly, you can't rely on anyone these days!  I hardly watch any TV but all through the summer I wait patiently for BBC4 to start its autumn schedule for Saturday nights which usually commences with a 'Scandie' thriller.  So last night I actually taught myself how to use the special do-flicker-recording-thingie so that I could ensure that I would not miss a minute of a new Swedish series called "Beck".   Well, 'Beck', an overweight, boring, unattractive policeman surrounded by equally unattractive policemen - and women, all ghastly! -  lasted about 3/4 of an hour before I switched it off and went to bed!  I mean, dammit, if you can't rely on a good 'Scandie' thriller what is the point of BBC4?  In fact what is the point of the BBC?  And what is the point of Sweden?  I don't know but I think I should be told!

No more rumbles tonight.

 

When will the Tories split?

I never thought I would live in an England which would become a one-party state but that, my friends, is what we have today following the mass suicide of the Labour party.  Once again I lean on the expertise of Mr. Dan Hodges, as shrewd an observer of Labour party politics as you will find anywhere.  Here are his final words of obsequy at the strangest cremation ever witnessed given that it was the corpse which put a shilling in the meter and turned on the gas jets! 

But in the end it all boils down to this. Political parties die because they want to die. None of this had to happen. Labour could have elected a solid but unremarkable interim leader. Yvette Cooper’s steel. Liz Kendall’s courage. Whatever it is that’s left of Andy Burnham after three months of remorseless self-abasement. They would not have enthused or energised anyone. But at least they would have kept the flame alive.

But that’s not what Labour Party members wanted. They wanted to see their party go out in a final blaze of uncompromising glory.

And so it has. Something may still emerge from the ashes. But the Labour Party as we know it – and as some people once loved it – died today. Each and every one of us will be touched by its passing.

So now, with increased vigilance, we must turn our attention to the Tories, the only functioning political party in England which now 'doth bestride the narrow world (of England) like a Colossus'.  Under Cameron's leadership it has already moved to the democratic socialist Left which was enough to usurp Labour's hard Left appeal at the last election.  Not only will Cameron refuse to move from this Centre-Left ground, in Labour's absence he will probably move even further to the Left - nature and politics both abhor a vacuum!  And this, in turn, and in the absence of a proper opposition, will put increasing pressure on the Tory Right to break away.  The deal Cameron cuts with Europe and the manner in which he plays it will be the catalyst.

Of course, it is over four years before the next election is due and the only definite forecast that can be made is that there will be even more blood under the bridge by 2020, so hold on to your hats!

 

"Hence shall we see, If power change purpose, what our seemers be"

Yes, yes, I know, I keep trotting that old line out every time there is 'a new political kid on the block'.  But, dammit, 'our Will' was spot on -  again.  It is spoken by the silly old Duke of Venice in Measure for Measure when he hands over power to his deputy, Lord Angelo . . .  'Angelo' - angel - irony - geddit?!   Suffice to say that Angelo gives every appearance of being a holier-than-thou, fundamentalist Puritan - but he's not, he's an evil, old perv!

And that brief introduction brings me to Jeremy Corbyn, the man about to be crowned the new King of Labour but I hasten to add that whilst it appears from his multiple marriage record that 'Jezza' likes the ladies there are no personal peccadilloes likely to blacken his reputation.  His political record, on the other hand, is evil!  Of course, it is necessary for statesmen to sup frequently with the thieves, torturers and killers who have murdered their way to the top of the various manure heaps over which they rule, but 'Jezza' is not yet a statesman but he does it regularly - presumably because he likes it and finds their company pleasant and invigorating.

But today he is about to become a 'statesman' given that he will be the new leader of Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition.  He comes to the job with a set of beliefs honed over sixty-six years from which, I think, he has never deviated.  Well, sitting on the backbenches without a hope of ever being responsible for anything made that sort of political 'purity' fairly easy to handle.  But now he is responsible.  Now he has to win over politicians who do not agree with all, or even any, of his policies.  On top of that, and even more hideously difficult, he has to win over an exceedingly doubtful electorate if he is to stand any chance of implementing even part of his core beliefs.  Suddenly, one suspects, 'the people', hitherto spoken of in hushed tones of idolisation, will become 'the bloody people' when it dawns on 'Jezza' that the vast majority of them think he's bonkers! 

So it is going to be a fascinating spectacle watching 'Jezza' juggle idealism with expediency.  What a pity 'our Will' isn't around to write a play about him!

 

Dear Miss Proudman,

No doubt the irony of your surname has occurred to you 'many a time and oft''.  I gather that you have taken severe umbrage at a gentleman who was gracious enough to compliment the photo of yourself you placed on Linked-in, a web site for business people to connect with each other.

 

However, for a woman who abjures any commentary on personal looks, I am curious as to exactly which high-class salon you attended in order to have your hair so beautifully cut and styled - and coloured? - and I wondered - gulp! - how much that cost?  Then there is the time you spent applying just the right amount of eye-liner, to say nothing of the delicate coral pink lipstick.  And dare one, as a mere man, wonder if that is not a goodly layer of foundation cream - or whatever you ladies call it - that provides you with just the right complexion?  Also, even I, as a man only capable of using a Box Brownie, can see that the very carefully posed photograph of your, er, 'looks' was taken by a very skilful and probably expensive professional photographer.  And yet you are offended by mild comments as to how physically attractive you appear.

It all says so much about you!

Still, I am here to help and so I have pleasure in publishing, dare I say, a more honest photo of you:

There you are, looking chubby, smuggy and ineffably stupid with that silly wig on your head.  So come on, Miss Proudman, live up to your name and tell us which is the real you - the 'hottie' or the 'dottie'!  Ah well, whatever, this entirely manufactured maelstrom will no doubt do you a power of good in your second career writing for 'The Graun' and every other infantile, 'wimmin's lib' publications.

If ever a woman deserved a Petruchio, Miss Proudman, it is you and I do sincerely hope you meet one,

Yours with even more of my usual sincerity,

David Duff

 

 

The 'Nuclear' Health Service

It's only a matter of time before the cowardly politicians, representing an even more gutless electorate, will be forced "to take up arms against a sea of troubles" and face up to the most expensive and potentially explosive racket in British life - the 'Holy National Health Service' - I trust you are now all prostrating yourselves at the mere mention of this God-like icon of socialism at its stupidest!  Who else but a socialist could believe that a service with an inexhaustible demand could be supported by a limited income?  We all want to live long, very long, healthy lives and if the medical services required to provide this are unbelievably expensive, well then, someone, anyone, all of you, must pay!  But like all Ponzi schemes eventually reality kicks the door down.

Stand by whilst I slap those electric shock pads on your chest and tell you that in 1990, net expenditure on the NHS was £27,100 million.  A mere twenty years later in 2010 the net expenditure was - stand by - £121,305 million.  Have you noticed a 4.5 times increase in what you receive from the NHS in the way of treatment and are you ready to stump up a similar increase over the next 20 years?

It's not as though the NHS ("The envy of the world!" - not) stands tall in any of the league tables for measuring quality of treatment as an article in yesterday's Telegraph by James Bartholomew makes clear.  He has conducted a fairly rigorous examination of several different solutions deployed by different countries which incorporate the principle that poor people do not pay.  His conclusion is that something very similar to the Swiss and/or Singaporean systems would be a huge improvement and because they incorporate the idea that the patient is also the customer they achieve good result for less money.

 

"Here's a health unto Her Majesty"

So, she has reigned for longer than Queen Victoria!  What can one say?  Well, not very much, actually, because, in a sense, she hasn't done anything worth remarking on.  She has just got on with the job.  One boring, tedious day after another.  Shake a hand here, acknowledge a curtsy there, listen to yet another speech jam-packed with clichés she's heard a thousand time before but above all else keep on smiling, smiling, smiling.  How does she do it?

Perhaps a more pertinent question is should she bother doing it at all?  The answer to that is a very firm 'YES'!  There is a school of what passes for thought, mostly emanating from Europe, that insists that everything in society should be analysed and its usefulness measured.  It rarely occurs to these pseudo-intellectuals that the measurers themselves need to be measured to test their fitness to measure anything accurately! 

The British system of governance in which a royal family is supposed to rule over all of us is of course a colossal deceit, not a deceit inflicted on us by others but one that is cheerfully accepted by one and all - well, with the exception of the odd mouth-breather.  We all know, deep down inside, that the Queen has virtually no powers over us whatsoever, but we go on with the pretence because we sense, in that very English way, that power comes in different forms and that unspoken, rarely deployed power can, at moments of peril, be essential.

All the politicians, the bureaucrats, the generals, admirals, air marshals and Chief Constables, even the judges, in other words all those who do, potentially, have the power to harm us, are forced by tradition to bend the knee to the Queen.  The fact that she rarely if ever deploys this power, oddly enough, makes its potential all the stronger.  I wish Prince Charles no harm but I hope he never succeeds Queen Elizabeth.  He is, I fear (and I could be wrong), not very intelligent and that the subtleties of the British constitution are beyond him.  He, alas, might well be tempted to deploy that regal power with dire results.

If possible, I hope the throne passes from Elizabeth to William (and Kate).  He appears to be a very well-grounded young man who seems to grasp the nuances of operating a royal family in the 21st century.  In the meantime, Ma'am, I send you my congratulations but more importantly I send you my thanks.

 

An absolute 'must watch'!

Many thanks, yet again, to Guido who pointed me to this unlikely interview between young Master Owen Jones, the 'Head Prefect' of the Lower Fifth, who is one of the main supporters of 'Jezza' Corbyn and his inexorable campaign; and (of all people!), Peter Hitchens, brother of the late Christopher, and a man who defies easy categorisation.  Suffice to say that I would not be surprised to learn that he thinks Attila the Hun to be a bit of a Leftie!  Well worth listening to:

http://order-order.com/2015/09/08/owen-jones-v-peter-hitchens-on-the-socialist-disease/#:IR6os-ZFB5oqqQ

 

Why do I have a niggling worry about government executions?

Well, for a start, let me correct myself.  The drone strikes against these two British men, Ruhul Amin and Reyaad Khan, were not executions in the judicial sense of that word.  We no longer have the death penalty in this country so nobody can be 'executed' in that sense.  Even so, by some mysterious internal government process yet to be explained in detail, two British subjects were deliberately killed and the legal defence appears to be one of self-defence. In other words, the government had reason to believe that these two men were planning attacks on Britain and thus it was imperative to act first.

Now, praise the lord, I am not a lawyer but I do seem to recall that at different times and under different circs, private citizens in Britain have claimed self-defence as they blasted away some intruder on their property with their pet shotgun and yet various 'Cocklecarrots' have refused to entertain the self-defence argument.  Thus, I am intrigued to know what the 'Bench of Cocklecarrots' make of the government argument in this case. 

According to what I heard on my TV last night, the main defence the government has is some law or regulation or motion passed by the United Nations which grants the right of self-defence.  Yeeeeeeeeeees, quite, the United Nations, as fine a collection of crooks, knaves, robbers and murderers as you could ever wish to avoid!  However, what intrigues me is who, in our government, was party to the decision.  Well, 'Dim Dave', obviously but he, I guess, would have been merely the wielder of the rubber-stamp at the end of the process.  One of the main protagonists appears to be 'Fatty' Fallon, our so-called Minister of Defence.  His honking and hooting of defence matters since he got the job have convinced me that he is stupid beyond belief and merely a glove-puppet for all those total tits in command of our armed services.  These are the tits who keep urging us to get back in the middle east despite the fact that our last two adventures ended in embarrassing defeats because of their gross ineptitude - for which they were all awarded baronetcies and seats in the Lords.

Then we can turn to the other mysterious hand in this little fester-pit of governmental decision-making, our own less than distinguished Secret Service.  This is the service which stuck its tongue so far up Blair's backside before the Iraq invasion that the rumour he spoke with two tongues was literally true.  Again, one of the MI6 creeps who bent the story for Blair was rewarded with a knighthood and became the head of the service!

So, sorry, Dave but I am not taking your glib line at face value.  I do realise that there are matters involved which cannot and should not be made public, however, I want a third umpire to be present before I let you and your total tits free to go off and assassinate British subjects.  There should be some sort of independent committee drawn from, say, retired judges, academics and former politicians to oversee the evidence and the arguments and take the final decision.

 

In the finest traditions of the Duff family heritage

I am unable to provide you with the exact lineal linkage, well, things became a tad complicated after my naughty mother's episode which resulted in me, but I'm quite certain that were I to dig deep enough I would find that the late Sir Cosmo Duff-Gordon was my Great Uncle, once removed, or something like that.

Anyway, I am delighted to say that the dear old boy is on the front page of The Telegraph where the tale of his adventure on the SS Titanic is recounted yet again.  Apparently one of his letters referring to his conduct when the 'abandon ship' order was given is coming up for auction.  Naturally, it will sell for zillions just as, in due course but not too early I hope, my letters are offered up for sale!

You can see the family likeness

Anyway, poor Sir Cosmo was grossly traduced for his behaviour because he and Lady Duff-Gordon (and his secretary, Sir Cosmo was no snob) plus a fine selection of Anglo-American gentry scarpered off made their escape via the No.1 life boat having bunged some of the crew a few quid for the privilege.  Allegedly this boat could take 40+ people but obviously Sir Cosmo insisted on some standards and thus they paddled 'orf' with only 12 people aboard - but awfully nice people, you understand.

After the event, some oily scrotes based, no doubt, within spitting distance of Fleet Street, had the temerity to accuse Sir Cosmo of cowardice!  I know, I know, shockin'! Obviously they failed to understand that even in the emergency of a sinking ship it is essential to maintain standards.  The Duff family line is immensely ancient and revered and cannot be allowed to mix with vulgarians from the lower orders no matter what the circumstances.

 

Your Monday Funnies: 7.9.15

A 5 year old Granddaughter is usually taken to her local school, daily, by her Grandfather.  When he had a bad cold his wife took the Grandchild. That night she told her parents that the ride to school with Granny was very different!!

"What made it different?" asked her parents.

"Gran and I didn't see a single tosser, blind bastard, dickhead, Asian prick or wanker anywhere on the way to school today!"

 

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A selection of Aussie quickies - you have been warned!

 

 

 

Cowboy: "Give me 3 packets of condoms, please."

 

Cashier: "Do you need a paper bag with that, sir?"

 

Cowboy: "Nah...She's purty good lookin'....."

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

 

Some asshole looked at my beer belly last night and sarcastically said, "Is that Corona or Bud?"

 

I said, "There's a tap underneath; taste it and find out."

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

 

I was telling a girl in the pub about my ability to guess what day a woman was born just by feeling her boobs.

 

"Really" she said, "Go on then...try."

 

After about thirty seconds of fondling she began to lose patience and said, "Come on, what day was I born?"

 

I said, "Yesterday."

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

 

I got caught taking a pee in the swimming pool today.

 

The lifeguard shouted at me so loud, I nearly fell in.

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

 

I went to the pub last night and saw a fat chick dancing on a table. I said, "Great legs."

 

The girl giggled and said, "Do you really   think so."

 

I said, "Definitely!  Most tables would have collapsed by now."

 

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An old married couple no sooner hit the pillows when the old man passes gas and says, 'Seven Points.'

His wife rolls over and says, 'What in the world was that?' The old man replied, 'its fart football.'

A few minutes later his wife lets one go and says, 'Touchdown, tie score...'

After about five minutes the old man lets another one go and says, 'Aha. I'm ahead 14 to 7.'

Not to be outdone the wife rips out another one and says, 'Touchdown, tie score.'

Five seconds go by and she lets out a little squeaker and says, 'Field goal, I lead 17 to 14.' Now the pressure is on for the old man.

He refuses to get beaten by a woman, so he strains real hard.

Since defeat is totally unacceptable, he gives it everything he's got, and accidentally poops in the bed.

The wife says, 'What the hell was that?'

The old man says, 'Half time, switch sides.'

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

The mother of a 17-year-old girl was
concerned that her daughter was having sex.

Worried the girl might become pregnant and adversely impact the
family's status, she consulted the family doctor.

The doctor told her that teenagers today were very wilful and any
attempt to stop the girl would probably result in rebellion.

He then told her to arrange for her daughter to be put on birth control and until then, talk to her and give her a box of condoms.

Later that evening, as her daughter was preparing for a date, the mother told her about the situation and handed her a box of condoms.

The girl burst out laughing and reached over to give her mother a huge hug saying,

'Oh mum! You don't have to worry about that!  I'm dating Susan!'

 

That's your lot - and a big 'thank you' to all my joke contributors.

 

 

 

The Sunday Rumbe: 6.9.15

'Historic sailing ship sinks in Mersey docks:  Much wailing and gnashing of teeth in the boating world this week when it was reported that the good ship Zebu which once circumnavigated the world sank in a Liverpool dockyard.

Before ...

        ... and after

I gather Her Majesty's Loyal Liverpool Plods are investigating not least because it's obvious to everyone that a gang of 'scousers' nicked all the planking that made the keel!  Golden Rule for visitors to Britain, never park anything in Liverpool, car, bicycle or boat - it will disappear overnight!

 

Now this is definitely worth reading:  Today The Mail has a long report on the relationship between the 'Kaiserin' and 'Dim Dave' based on a new book, "Cameron At 10" by Anthony Seldon and Peter Snowdon.  Both these men are very experienced observers of the political scene.  If they are right then you can forget all about an incipient love affair between Angela and David, they obviously can't stand each other and more to the point, they no longer trust each other.  In addition, The Mail is publishing a ComRes poll that shows a majority of Brits want OUT of the EU:

Before you break open the 'champers', just remember how wrong the polls were over the last election!

 

Now this is SERIOUSLY GOOD NEWS!   I will try and keep it to the minimum because you can read the whole thing over at principia-scientific.  In essence, Dr. Michael Mann of Penn State University, the 'inventor' (I use the word carefully) of the famous 'hockey stick' graph which has been the equivalent of the Queen's Colour to the Grenadier Guards to all the soppy Greenie-warmer idiots.  As most of you know, Mann sued Mark Steyn, the Canadian journalist, and also Dr. Tim Ball, a Canadian scientist.  Both of them maintained in their different ways that Mann's 'hockey stick' was pure unvarnished BS.  Mann sued them both but that opened him up to challenges from both Steyn and Ball to do something he had hitherto refused to do, that is, show his original data.  Mann's legal strategy became very clear very quickly - he would stall, and stall, and stall again.  And he has done so for three years.  But finally the judges lost patience and threw Mann's case out.  At which point, of course, both Dr. Ball and Mark Steyn will now slap multi-million damages claims on Mann who may well be forced into bankruptcy.   So there you are, dear readers, not just one but two pieces of joyous news for your Sunday morning.

 

Six of the biggest shits in our recent history:   Until recently we only knew about five of these shits - Anthony Blunt, Donald Maclean, Kim Philby, Guy Burgess and John Cairncross.  Yes, indeed, 'the Cambridge Five', all impeccably middle-class, Cambridge educated, and with gilded futures ahead of them.  And yet, despite the true nature of Stalin's regime being well-known they ignored reality and such innate intelligence as they possessed and threw their lot in with one of the monsters of the 20th century.  Now we learn of another, Wilfred Mann, an atomic physicist who worked for MI6 - as well as the KGB.  Truly can it be said that there is no bigger fool than a well-educated fool.

 

No more rumbles today

 

 

Well, I asked for it, now I've got it!

Somewhere back under the mountain of huff 'n' puff that constitutes this blog you will find several references from me bemoaning the fact that hardly any politician these days provides a sense of authenticity in what they say.  (Note to my archivist, JK, don't bother looking them up, let's just take it as read!)  For most politicians these days you need the skills of those old Kremlinologists from the Cold War days who would study the dull, dire, dreary manifestos issued by the Politbureau and attempt to analyse the true meaning hidden within.  Thus today, even the keenest political observers would be stumped if asked to sum up, say, David Cameron's authentic political philosophy, let alone that of Hillary Clinton.

'Be careful what you wish for' is good advice as I have learned in the last few weeks because we now have not one but two authentic politicians to view and in neither case is it a pretty sight.  First, let us consider Mr. Donald Trump.  Now he does not actually possess an authentic political philosophy because I am not sure he could actually spell the phrase let alone understand its meaning.  What he has in enormous cubic capacity are authentic belly rumbles.  Unfortunately, what erupts from his digestive system seems to depend very much on what he had to eat for lunch.  That is not to say that he does not believe it, just the opposite, at the moment he belches it forth he believes it utterly.  He is at that exact moment utterly and completely authentic.  Only later is one 'authenticity' replaced by an equal and opposite 'authenticity'!  Thus he resembles one of those irritating sub-atomic particles which can be here, there and everywhere - simultaneously!

By contrast, 'over here' today we now have the genuine article, a politician whose world view has been honed over several decades and who believes utterly and completely in what he proposes.  I give you, ladies and gentlemen, the totally authentic, Mr. Jeremy Corbyn MP.  Yes, what he believes in is juvenile twaddle with an added dash of polytechnic student 'sophistication' but that, with no 'ifs' or 'buts', is truly and completely what he stands for - take it or leave it.  According to a much greater expert on Labour affairs than me, Mr. Dan Hodges writing in Total Politics, Mr. Corbyn's authenticity will win him the Labour leadership and then kill the Labour Left - so not all bad then!  In addition, his bravely held authenticity will keep the Labour party out of power for at least 15 years.

Meanwhile, I suppose, we will, in our very English way, pootle along behind Dim Dave's version of Social Democracy, you know, a bit of welfare-ism, a touch of 'Greenery' and just the merest hint of capitalism until, of course, the 'you-know-what' hits the fan, which it does so regularly, and then we, the electorate, will need to examine our own authenticity!

 

A star was born, er, but nobody noticed: #9

As promised, darlings, this is the last puff for my late, lamented acting 'career' - well, I lamented its passing!  I was very lucky to play so many different characters summoned up from the imaginations of various brilliant playwrights.  I typified the huge advantage a reasonably good amateur actor has over a professional - I could, by and large, pick and choose the roles I went for so I made sure I only went for what I really wanted - well, with the exception of Launcelot Gobbo, I suppose.

Those of you who don't act may wonder why anyone would?  It is, after all, a somewhat nerve-wracking or even terrifying business and the latent capacity for personal humiliation is enormous.  So it is difficult to explain why we do it.  Of course, there is the 'show off' tendency present in most actors who would kill for the chance to be centre stage doing absolutely anything.  However, that wasn't a driver for me.  "The play's the thing" summed up my first motivation and then a specific role within that play was the clincher.  I promise not to bore you with the details but it truly is a fascinating exercise to study a play text in detail and try to work out what the playwright is aiming for, and then to study in even greater detail the character you are playing - or to be accurate, the character you will become!  Thus, for a few hours a week I ceased to be David Duff and instead I became Barney Cashman or Det. Insp. Nelson or Col. Vershinin.  And finally, I became, or at least I tried my utmost to become one of the three greatest characters ever invented for the stage - Sir John Falstaff. 

Here I am with one of the nicest people I ever met in our theatre, Mike Green, the author of the hilarious "Course" series of books, especially "The Art of Course Acting" which dissects amateur theatre down to the bone and leaves you weeping - with helpless laughter!

Falstaff is a monstrous character made all the more appalling by the fact that he is also very funny.  I shall never forget spitting out a line of his uttered at the prospect of yet another civil war; "I shall turn disease into commodity."  In other words, whatever human misery ensues, 'jolly Jack Falstaff' intends to make money out of it.  I was too old to play Hamlet and by the time I was old enough to play Lear my unfortunate habit of occasionally forgetting the odd line here or there(!) disqualified me - which is why I took up directing.

In my somewhat rickety-rackety life in which I drifted without any forward planning into this, that or the other occupation, I am now deeply thankful that I did not discover theatre in my youth.  I would have taken it like a salmon taking a bait and swallowed it whole!  Only after many futile and wasted (and impoverished) years of playing walk-ons and small roles would I finally have recovered my senses and realised that I really did not have that 'certain something' that makes a great actor.  So today I look back to my days at the Richmond Shakespeare Society and the Teddington Theatre Club with enormous gratitude.

 

A picture of a tit

Now then, Gentlemen, no need to get all excited, this is Duff & Nonsense not Playboy magazine, er, unfortunately!  (Incidentally, is Playboy still going?  Jest askin'!)  Anyway, back to my 'Tit of the Month', here he is:

     

                     An almost perfect tit                        Two perfect tits

 

I am obliged to m'Lud Bishop Hill for offering a perfect example of Mr. Mark Lynas's tittishness:

By almost any measure, the UK - and England in particular - is seriously  overpopulated. According to the Optimum Population Trust, our numbers  are growing by more than 320,000 a year. Addressing this doesn't mean  forced sterilisations or a Chinese-style, one-child policy, but it does  mean giving incentives for people to have smaller families and  addressing rising levels of immigration.

Mark Lynas, vintage 2007

 

Yesterday, our new favourite tit offered us this:

Mark Lynas     ‏@mark_lynas                   23h23 hours ago               

See you there! #refugeeswelcome

Still, we must not be totally harsh towards the somewhat muddleheaded Mr. Lynas.  According to his Wiki entry he broke with the fruitier and nuttier element of the Greenie movement by supporting nuclear energy as a means of replacing coal-fired energy stations.

So well done, Mark, old fruit, but sorry if I have to tell you that on the whole, by and large and weighing one against the other, I prefer the tits on the right!

 

A blast from the past

No, no, darlings, sorry to disappoint you, this is not another of my thespian remembrances - er, you are disappointed, aren't you?  Well, yes of course you are but you will be receiving the final instalment very shortly - sorry, I didn't quite catch that . . .  Anyway, this particular 'blast' is from my 'past' blogging days.  For you old blogging veterans I need only write one title, 'Lenin's Tomb' and one name, Richard Seymour.  Ah yes, does that ever bring back the memories! 

Richard Seymour is a sort of political equivalent to that dipstick theatrical director who, when directing Hamlet recently, decided that Shakespeare really, really didn't know how to construct his plays and so she altered great chunks of the text.  Seymour has a somewhat similar view on Marx and Lenin and feels that, you know, in a very deep and meaningful way they really, really didn't understand, er, Marxism.  Yeeeeees, quite!

Even so, finding him on this 'new-fangled-web-thingie' all those years ago was a total joy to me because there is nothing I enjoy more than a good political argument.  Alas, my joy was swiftly ended when the freedom-loving Seymour banned me.  I know, shockin', shockin'!  I believe 'SoD' had a go later but he didn't last much longer than me.

Very occasionally, this pseudo-intellectual has cropped up on the fringes of the news but yesterday he hit the headlines.  He had attempted to defend Jeremy Corbyn's remarks to the effect that the entire Falklands campaign was a Tory plot.  This brought forth a sharp response from ex-Guardsman Simon Weston OBE, a man who left most of his face on a burning ship just off the Falkland's shore.

Quick as a flash and with all the intelligence you would expect from a Marxist pseudo intellectual, Seymour issued this incisive response:

"Seriously, who gives a shit what Simon Weston thinks about anything?  If he knew anything, he would still have a face."

Or to put it another way:

'Hilariously, who gives a shit what Richard Seymour thinks about anything?  If he knew anything, he'd go and look for what passes for his brain.'

 

'Vee haf vays of making you take more immigrants!'

Oooh, scrummy-yummy Mummy!  The EU plan to take 'Dim Dave' down to the cells and give him a right going over when he arrives all spick and span in his new suit and polished shoes to negotiate a new deal for the UK. According to Werner Faymann, the Austrian chancellor, 'Dim Dave' can expect eine gute Tritte (a good kicking) before he and his polite requests are sent packing off to Calais where he will be left to find his own way home.  Apparently, Chancellor Faymann is in a strop because he thinks Britain is failing to take its fair share of immigrants and so he is threatening to throw all of Dave's proposals out unless Britain opens its doors.  Of course, some of you regulars here at D&N, being a rough lot, will no doubt be urging our 'Hunnish' neighbours to 'give 'im one for me' - and you would be right to do so but probably for the wrong reasons.

The fact is that the more the Europeans beat up and humiliate 'Dim Dave' in a misguided attempt to get him to agree to take in more immigrants, the bigger will be the 'OUT' vote in the referendum. " 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished."

 

The dread curse of Duff strikes again!

I wonder just how long it will be before the Republican party actually pays me not to endorse one of their nominees for President?  I am beginning to lose count of the number of candidates who have shrivelled and died on the campaign trail after receiving my endorsement.  The latest is Gov. Walker of Wisconsin who has achieved miracles in his home State where he took on the public (non)service unions in true 'Maggie-style' and crushed them whilst winning three elections as Governor.

However, alas and alack, whilst I have not followed his campaign in detail - not easy to do with the honkin', hollerin' 'Trumpeter' drowning everybody else out - nevertheless, I keep reading stories indicating that Gov. Walker is finding it difficult to make up his mind on many of the vexatious problems facing his country.  This isn't necessarily a total impediment if he just owned up and stated that he needed to study the problems in more detail before opining on them.  Unfortunately he does not do that, instead he gives one opinion in the morning, at lunchtime under questioning he says he is considering the matter and then in the evening he says the opposite of what he said in the morning!

A few stumbles from a 'newbie' candidate is allowable, Governor, but if you keep on stumbling we'll begin to think you're drunk - so get a grip!

 

English nationalism: 'A Good Thing' or 'A Bad Thing'?

First of all, a personal note to clarify this post.  I was born in London to a (very) Scottish lady and rumour has it that my father might (or might not!) have been Canadian.   Yeeeeees quite, heaven knows what my Mum was up to before war broke out!  I have always lived in England but up until quite recently, if asked, I would have described myself as 'British', meaning that I was part of the United Kingdom which includes Ulster, Wales and Scotland as well as England.  However, increasingly over recent times I have hesitated over that category and instead called myself 'English'.  Certainly, whilst always happy to acknowledge my Scottishness - what else could I do with a surname like mine? - I have always thought of myself as being English.  Even so, I have been somewhat perplexed as to why, suddenly, I prefer to claim England as my home country rather than Britain.

The reason, of course, is obvious - the rise and rise of Scottish nationalism.  It has come as a shock to me to discover that whilst the three non-English 'nations' of the United Kingdom quite rightly cherish their own heritages, the biggest of them has decided that it dislikes ('detests' might be a better word) the English so much that it wants to break away even when it is obvious that economically it would be a disaster and politically even worse given that they, a tiny national entity, would be gobbled up by the Berlin-Brussels axis which would treat them infinitely worse than London ever would - see Greece passim. 

Anyway, the end result is that I have been forced to surrender the fond regard I once had for my Scottish heritage and instead to bring to the fore my Englishness.  In other words, the seeds of English nationalism have begun to flourish in my psyche.  I wonder if it is shared by others and also, in the words of Sellars & Yeatman, authors of the greatest history book ever written, 1066 and All That, whether a rise in English nationalism is 'A Good Thing' or 'A Bad Thing'?  By and large, of course, nationalism is rather disdained by the English as being somehow a foreign habit indulged in by Europeans from time to time.  It usually brings forth loud-mouthed agitators with a liking for rather eccentric uniforms that, my dears, one wouldn't wish to be buried in!  It can also bring out the very worst in people so it needs to be handled with care.  Even so, the longer and louder the Scots Nats go on and on like a bagpipe with holes in it, the more I just wish they would all, putting it politely, go away.

 

Dame Julia Slingo should sling her hook!

This, from today's Telegraph, about sums it up:

The Met Office has defended its forecast for a hot, dry summer despite some areas looking set to have the most rain since records began.

Dame Julia is the boss of the Met Office, an organisation that makes the current Labour party look super-efficient.  She had this to say in defence of her organisation's utterly useless forecasts:

“We all know that forecasting months and seasons ahead is still in its infancy and much more research needs to be done.”

Well, possibly, Julia darling, but you've just spent several 'squillion' quid installing new, all-singing, all-dancing computers which you assured us would improve your forecasting enormously.  Big Fail!  Perhaps, I might offer you two suggestions that will improve Met Office forecasting abilities enormously.  First, remove the global warming bias in the computer programmes you run because there is no global warming.  Second, given that you are obviously as useless as your forecasts why don't you just sign your resignation letter, take your gold-plated pension and go forth and multiply!