DUFF & NONSENSE!

The Sunday Rumble: 31.7.16

Are men becoming (even more) juvenile?   I ask because two of the chaps who regularly appear in these distinguished columns keep referring to their ladies as, respectively, "Fluffbun" and "Honey Pie".  For God's sake, chaps, man up!  A respectful title such as 'Memsahib', or even better if you are guiltily aware of some misdemeanour, "Your majesty", is quite sufficient.

 

'That other woman' scores again:   According to The Telegraph, Mrs. May has encouraged her new International Development Secretary to use the £11 'squillion' quid which Dave 'n' George gave away to sundry African/Asian 'gangstas' as "leverage" to encourage them to sign new trade deals.  Of course, "leverage" is Whitehall-speak for bribery but what can one say except 'jolly good show'!

 

Nelson wept:   Yesterday, someone spotted a tear trickling down the face of Horatio Nelson as he stood patiently on his column in Trafalgar Square:

Apparently he had just heard the news that the Royal Navy's entire fleet of Type 45 Destroyers was tied up in the docks.  They cost about a billion quid each and are packed full of the latest gizmos to offer Her Majesty's grateful subjects protection from air attack.  A 'spokesidiot' insisted that it had nothing to do with the unfortunate fact that most of their engines failed to work properly when on duty in the Persian Gulf.  Must have bought them from 'Duff Motors'!

 

The man's a nutter or a netter!   I have just watched some poor man who is obviously suffering with severe brain damage collected over his years as a Hollywood stuntman who jumped from a 'plane at 25,000 feet without a parachute and who landed in a net!  I assume that in several of his previous jumps he landed on his head!  Had it been me, I suspect my poo would have hit the net long before I did!

 

I want you to consider closely Hillary's tongue:   Oh come on, try, I know it's the stuff of nightmares but Mr. Lifson of The American Thinker has recently made it his life's work!

 That is definitely a hole in her tongue.  Is it, one wonders, the route by which all those lies slip out?  Mr. Lifson, quoting others, suggests it might be the result of a biopsy which, along with her constant throat clearing might make one wonder about her health.

 

The day I led the German Grand Prix:   I may have mentioned this before - sorry, did you say something? - but I once led the German Grand Prix round the Hockenheim circuit.  No, I wasn't driving a Ferrari or a Mercedes, I was actually behind the wheel of a Ford Transit van - yeeeeees, quite!  Behind me on a trailer was a vintage BRM racing car once raced by Jackie Stewart.  Also on the trailer were two lovelies, the 'Memsahib' and her best friend, waving to the crowd and throwing samples of Yardley's after-shave to them because that was what we were promoting.  It was a thrilling drive but in the end I had to pull into the paddock because all those 'Flash Harries' wanted to race around in those silly cars.  Anyway, today's race was won by that frightfully decent black chap, Lewis Hamilton, who is a credit to England - and it stuck it to all those Huns - Heh! Heh!

 

No more rumbles today

 

The late, but not so great, Gen. Douglas MacArthur

I thank God that I am not 'A Great Man'!  The thought of countless scholars poring over every infinite detail of one's life is the stuff of nightmares.  Happily, for me, 'it ain't gonna happen'.  But the late Gen. Douglas MacArthur is never going to rest in peace!  I wrote about him in a post in January 2012 entitled, fairly accurately I think, as:

"Megalomaniac? Yes! Swine? Yes! But . . .

I am reminded of this by a book review written by Victor Davis Hanson over at The National Review.  Apparently another historian, Arthur Herman, has attempted a biography which aims to put MacArthur in a better light than he has received hitherto - well, good luck with that one!  Mr. Hanson does not seem totally convinced.  I was tempted to buy the book but I gather it runs to nearly a thousand pages and I'm not sure I could lift the bloody thing!

Inevitably, Master Shakespeare sums it up in his famous seven ages of man:

Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,  

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation. 

                                               

Ah yes, "the bubble reputation", exactly!

 

I'm the king of the swingers

If any of you see a sexual connotation in my title then you are all very naughty boys and girls!  As always on this high-minded blog, I am referring to political matters, to be precise, American political matters.  Quite why I bother I do not know given that I do not have a vote and it's not my country.  But, dammit, it looms large in the world and has done since 1917.  Even so, today there are distinct signs of shrinkage occurring and quite what that entails I do not know, except that it will almost certainly mean trouble.

Anyway, in my dream world I do have a vote and in this presidential election year I keep swinging between one and t'other.  I am 77 years old and I cannot remember two such utterly inadequate candidates.  There have been some single buffoons, one remembers with a shudder the hopeless and hapless Jimmy Carter, but I can't recall two nincompoops trying for the top job at the same time.  Mind you, it is only this 'internet-thingie' in the last ten years that has allowed us foreigners to see the American political process up close and personal!

For the past few weeks I have been smashed this way and that like a shuttlecock in a badminton match.  First, the ghastly Trump gives me a swipe and I am sent at speed across the net into Hillary's arms (dread thought!), then she opens her mouth wider than the Mersey Tunnel and I flee back to 'The Donald' praying that he is not really as dumb as he looks and sounds.  It's like one of those really bad dreams that keep repeating and repeating.

In the meantime, the Chinese remain calm - and inscrutable! - and from the depths of the Kremlin a menacing chuckle can be heard echoing through the chambers.  The once great European powers, ruled as they are by an unelected, drunken ex-prime minister of Luxembourg, confine themselves to picking up sundry body parts supplied at regular intervals by a bunch of hairy maniacs who are, apparently, beyond control not least because, of course, they were actually invited in!

So, in these increasingly dangerous times, being a totally wet, effete European, I do what we have always done and look to America for help and support but all I can see 'over there' is a bouffanted buffoon and slimy crook with a huge mouth!

I ask you, what's a fella' to do?  Take cover, I suppose!

 

'Put not your faith in the IMF'

In my title I paraphrase a favourite expression used - constantly! - by 'SoD' who as I write is actually on his way back from mitteleuropa.  It refers to an article by A E-P in today's Telegraph and the heading is:

IMF admits a disastrous love affair with the euro and apologises to Greece

I did warn 'SoD' not to be entranced with slim, elegant, older, French ladies with perma-tans but he never pays any attention to his dear old dad!  Anyway, A E-P goes on to quote from a coruscating report by the IMF's top watchdog committee which states amongst other things that the top staff misled their own bosses because they were so fanatically in favour of the euro and that they failed to grasp the elemental concept of currency theory.  Read the whole thing but if you are Greek do try not to vomit over your keyboard!

Thank God we are on our way out of it - and no, please don't thank me for my sterling efforts tramping the lanes of Zouth Zummerzet in all weathers to deliver my Brexit leaflets, just send the usual 'readies' in a plain envelope!

 

Another hooray for Mrs. May

Dammit, the lady has only been in the job for a month and already I am becoming seriously impressed,  And yes, I do know that those words could come back to haunt me, courtesy of my in-house archivist, JK, but today's news that she has stamped her kitten shoes on the Hinckley Point nuclear power station project is excellent.  No decision will be taken until the Autumn.

Now at this point I will summarise for you in a single sentence everything I know concerning energy policy and nuclear power stations:

"...............................................................................................................................

...............................................................................................................................!"

 

Got that?  Good!  But of course, all these highly technical and complex arguments are as nothing compared to the most important factor of all - the feeling in my gut.  Don't ask me how I know but I just do know with absolute certainty that the whole Hinckley Point scheme is a crock of shit!  It has been rumbling on for over ten years.  It is a French building project backed with Chinese money and the complexities were way above the understanding of those two thick, posh boys who used to 'run' this country.  The clincher, as far as I was concerned, was when one of the French directors resigned rather than support the project and the remainder of the board only passed the deal by 7 - 10, hardly a vote of confidence.

It's early days, I know, but that Mrs. May is showing very real signs of promise.

 

Right, sit up and pay attention, this is serious!

A truly shocking report has just been released by the RSPTB based on years and years of research by some deadly serious swots from Cambridge.  They have discovered that working in an office could shorten your life span!  And no, they don't mean that you might die of blood poisoning if you accidentally pin your finger to the desk with a stapler - please be serious!  Research shows (to quote a phrase!) that a sedentary office job will increase your chances of dying of heart disease, cancer and galloping piles.

Also, staring at the tits of that gal in the green sweater could make you go blind. 

The RSPTB insist that to prolong your life it is essential to undertake an hour of exercise a day.  Of course, if you go for a run you might get run over by a No. 15 bus so take care.  In addition, a regime of weight lifting might induce an undue strain on muscles and skeletal frame, so only lift one file at a time.

I would add some further health warnings.  Getting up in the mornings can be bad for you, you never know what you might come across outside the haven of your bedroom.  Also, breathing can be highly dangerous, you have no idea of the muck and filth you take into your body!  So my advice is for you to stay in bed and stop breathing, apart from anything else it will save the paramedics from carrying you upstairs and depositing you on the bed ready for the undertaker.

Sorry ... what was that?  Ah, what's the 'RSPTB'?  A very distinguished body of scientists known as the Royal Society for the Preservation of Total Bollocks!

 

"Oh, the horror, the horror!"

Yes, yes, sorry to ruin your morning but I'm a caring-sharing sort of a bloke.  Happily, I tuned my radio to TalkSport last night so I avoided Obama's boring-snoring handover speech. 

All I can say to 'HillBilly', apart from please, please, close your mouth, is beware Obama bearing gifts!  What he's offering you is a country split more or less down the middle with deep-seated hatred on both sides, plus a loan account for which you will become responsible of some $20 trillion.  Yeeeeees, quite, well, good luck with that one!  I bet he tootles off to Hawaii as fast as he can go in January, and don't expect too much lovin' support from good ol' Bill, he will be far too busy relieving sundry Asiatic zillionaires of their loot.

Then you will have to deal with all those wars!  No, no, not in the middle east, I mean in all the big cities of America where the blacks and the Hispanics and the few remaining whites plus the immigrants are itching to have a go at each other.  Oh, and I wouldn't put too much faith in your various police forces because, frankly, they will have absolutely none in you!  In fact, thinking about it, it might be better for you if you handed over the entire sorry mess to Trump!

 

Hurrah - it's war!

I must confess to a slight feeling of uneasiness since the magnificent referendum result came in.  Prime Minister May was and still is an unknown quantity.  I was slightly mollified by the men she appointed to handle the Brexit negotiations, all good 'Outers', the lot of them.  But even so, there's "many a slip 'twixt cup and lip", especially in international politics.

So it is with joy in my heart, not say 'joie de vie', that I can tell you that 'Junck the Drunk' has appointed a virulently anti-British Frenchman to conduct the Brexit negotiations.  According to all reports, he detests the British and blames them for the fact he once lost his job.  In addition, he is - and I choose my words with care - a fanatical Europhile of the sort that will warm the cockles of SoD's heart whilst at the same time convincing every doubting Englishman that we must get out of the EU as fast as possible.

The media are on to him already so the headlines will be coruscating when he tries what so many other Frenchmen have tried over the years, to browbeat the Brits into surrender.  Given this man's all too public record, there will be no way Mrs. May will allow herself to be browbeaten.  His appointment by 'Junck the Drunk' merely confirms the man's utter stupidity - but I am deeply grateful for it!

http://order-order.com/2016/07/27/juncker-appoints-hardline-britain-basher-eu-brexit-negotiator/

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2016/07/27/eu-appoints-former-french-minister-who-blames-britain-for-losing/

 

And last night it was Bill Clinton in my bed

I will not repeat my explanation for my title which I already did a few days ago, well, I mean, boring? - moi? - never!  Anyway, tossing and turning in bed last night I reached for my trusty radio ear-piece and jammed it into my ear.  What did I get?  Good ol' Southern boy Bill burbling on and on and on about what a sweetie his adorable, kind and caring wife and mother she was, so full of the milk of lovin' kindness an' all, and that the Amer'can people were privileged to have her as their president.  (You lucky people, you!)

Well, Bill, buddy, if she was such perfection, I wondered, how come you shagged everything in a skirt within reaching distance?  I could feel the vomit rising in my throat as I fumbled for the 'OFF' switch in the dark.  Then, as I lay there, I began to wonder about the nature of the morons people who actually pay good money to attend these circus shows and spend their time listening - and cheering - and hoopin' 'n' hollerin' - as a whole series of lying liars troop up on stage to do what they do best - tell bloody great whoppers!  Or even worse, just shout utterly meaningless slogans like Trump's endlessly repeated "I'll make America great again!"  (What, exactly and precisely, does that actually mean?)

Tonight, I suppose, 'HillBilly' will be up on the platform doing what she does best - telling lies!  Unfortunately, she will not be telling them but booming them, all in her masculine, basso profundo voice interspersed with her hideous facial tick in which she opens her mouth even wider than Andy Murray showing her flesh-eating teeth.  Note to self: make sure the radio's tuned to TalkSport tonight!

 

In which my synapses collapse

Or if you like, my mind boggles.  Well sometimes problems arise which are simply to huge for even a brain like mine to cope withal, you know, like the square root of -1, or what is my wife's favourite colour, that sort of thing.  Anyway, to try and be a tad more serious, there is a fairly huge problem hovering over us all.  I think we all sense it but to the sound of collapsing synapses and boggling minds we all try to avoid thinking about it. 

Alas for me, two things have occurred in the past 24 hours to force me to consider this mega-problem.  The first was yesterday when a friend told me that there were now available automatic lawn-mowers that you can programme to cut your grass, avoiding all the flower beds and paths and which, when it has completed its task, will automatically lodge itself back into its recharging site.

Then this morning I did something exceedingly rare by actually reading a column in The Telegraph by William Hague.  I should add quickly that I do not have anything against Mr. Hague but I am not an avid fan either.  Anyway, he had picked up on Mrs. May's promise to institute a range of policies that would ensure that 'the system' worked for 'ordinary people' not just the mega-rich.  However, as Mr. Hague shrewdly reminds her, and us, there is a potentially cataclysmic revolution building up and that the first signs are already visible.  The automatic lawn-mower is but one example.

Automation, in all its myriad forms, is going to effect everyone but in particular it is going to have a shattering effect on all those who earn a wage, and indeed, it has already begun.  Just this week it has been reported that the government are in consultations with Amazon to work out a system whereby goods can be delivered by drones directly to customers.  Hey, there goes 'white-van-man'!  That is but one example and there are very many more.  Where it will all lead, alas, I cannot say, not least because my synapses just boggled - big time!

 

Your Monday Funnies: 25.7.16

Ok, so I've stopped drooling and calmed down and here are your Monday Funnies so you can all stop that moaning in the work's canteen!  I begin with an Irish mother's letter to her son:

Dear Son - We are all doing very well.

You won't recognize the house when you get home, because we have moved.  Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles from your home, so we moved 25 miles to Wexford.

I won't be able to send you the address because the last family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so that they wouldn't have to change their address.‎

This place is really nice.  It even has a washing machine.  I'm not sure it works so well though.  Last week I put a load in and pulled the chain and haven't seen them since.‎

Your father's got a really good job now.  He's got 500 men under him.  He’s cutting the grass at the cemetery.‎

Your sister Mary had a baby this morning, but I haven't found out if it's a boy or a girl so I don't know whether you are an auntie or an uncle.

Your brother Tom is still in the army.  He's only been there a short while and they've already made him a court martial!

Your Uncle Patrick drowned last week in a vat of whiskey in the Dublin Distillery.  Some of his workmates tried to save him but he fought them off bravely.   They cremated him and it took three days to put out the fire.‎

I went to the doctor on Thursday and your father went with me.  The doctor put a small tube in my mouth and told me not to talk for ten minutes.  Your father offered to buy it from him.‎

The weather isn't bad here.   It only rained twice this week, first for three days and then for four days.   Monday was so windy one of the chickens laid the same egg four times.

We had a letter from the undertaker.  He said if the last payment on your grandmother's plot wasn't paid in seven days, up she comes.

About that coat you wanted me to send you - your Uncle Stanley said it would be too heavy to send in the mail with the buttons on, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.‎

John locked his keys in the car yesterday.  We were really worried because it took him two hours to get me and your father out. 

Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pick-up truck.  Ralph was driving.  He wound down the window and swam to safety.  Your other two friends were in the flatbed at the back.  They drowned because they couldn't get the tailgate down.‎

There isn't much more news at this time.  Nothing much has happened.

Your loving Mum.

P.S.  I was going to send you some money but I had already sealed the envelope.

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

 

Wife texts husband at work on a cold winter's morning;

"Windows frozen, won't open."

 Husband texts back;

"Gently pour some lukewarm water over it."

 Wife texts back 5 minutes later;

"Computer really f****ed now."

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

 

An elderly couple had just learned how to text each other.

One afternoon the wife went out to meet a friend for coffee. 

She decided to send her husband a romantic text message and she wrote:

"If you are sleeping, send me your dreams. If you are laughing, send me your smile.

If you are eating, send me a bite. If you are drinking, send me a sip. If you are crying, send me your tears…….. 

I love you." 

The husband texted back to her: 

"I'm on the toilet.    Please advise."

 

That's your lot- get back to work with happy smiles on your faces!

 

Look, I just want to drool for a minute

Sorry but you will all have to wait a bit for your Monday Funnies because I want a few minutes of tranquillity to indulge in some serious drooling.  I don't indulge in drooling much these days because the vast majority of young women appear to have been churned out by that factory in southern California, to which I have referred many a time and oft', in which vast quantities of silicone is poured into an enormous vat and after due processing a production line of 'gorgeous' women is churned out. (Is that why they call it 'Silicon Valley'?)  Once they have been fitted with blonde wigs, skimpy dresses and 6" heels so that that they all look exactly like each other, they are free to inhabit the gossip columns of the world's press.  Truly boring-snoring!

But today, you lucky people, I bring you a truly beautiful woman.  For a start, she's a brunette.  Second, she has normal size tits. Third, she is dressed simply, casually and elegantly.  She behaves impeccably and, to be honest, I can only detect one fault in her.  I did make it clear to her some years ago that I was, so to speak, free(ish), willing and able to offer her a magnificent future.  Alas, she failed to respond to my letters (instead I was called in for an interview with Special Branch!) and even worse she went off and married that 'Old Etonian'.  I mean, what's he got that I haven't, er, apart from youth, riches and an entire kingdom?

Anyway, I give you, her Right Royal Deliciousness, Princess Kate:

 

The Sunday Rumble: 24.7.16

I do be a 'orny-'anded zon of the zoil:  Or at least, I will be later on when I set off with the 'Memsahib' and a couple of friends to undertake some fruit picking.  I'm not terribly good at it so most of my raspberries will probably be squidged and I will be in receipt of sundry bollackings from 'she who must be obeyed'.  I put up with it because I just love fruit crumble!

 

Brave fella' that Emmett Tyrrell:  He is the founder and editor of The American Spectator and he it was who forecast Trump's triumph at the Republican convention - eight days after he announced his run!  He has now doubled down on his bet by forecasting a Trump win in November.  According to him, republicans are divided over this and that but one single thing binds them together - their absolute determination to beat "crooked Hillary".  I think, over here, we sometimes underestimate the extreme detestation in which 'HillBilly' is held by an enormous number of Americans.

 

Jezza well and truly 'Hodged':   I still can't get used to Dan Hodges writing for The Mail on Sunday and so sometimes I miss his usually excellent columns.  His effort today is a corker.  It can be summed up in just one of his passages:

Jeremy Corbyn is not a nice or decent man. He is a coward. He is a hypocrite. He is a bully. And he is a fraud.

He continues by backing up those accusations with some recent history. 

 

Hate crime!  Really?   According to news reports this morning, the government has given the go ahead for so-called 'hate crimes' to be more severely punished and this will likely include saying publicly hateful things about other people.  Perhaps our new Home Secretary, the less than delicious Amber Rudd, will hand herself in for all the hateful things she said to Boris during one of those Brexit debates.

 

The Tour de France:   Is there anyone out there who really understands the ins and outs and the ups and downs of this ridiculous 'race' which takes weeks and weeks and which ends with everyone pedalling gently up the Champs-Élysées?  Still, I gather that it has been won by a frightfully decent British chap, so that's alright then!

 

That was a hard day's work:  We were driven by our friends to the fruit-picking site which has a fairly decent restaurant.  It was tough trying to choose a suitable red wine to wash down my lunch but I stuck to the task in hand and settled on an Argentinian Malbec.  After that the 'Memsahib' and our friends went off to pick fruit whilst I, valiantly, volunteered to sit in the sunshine and guard the ladies' handbags and finish off the red wine.  Damn, I'm good!

 

Turkey's in the oven:   I do not pretend to know what is really going on in Turkey.  I offer you an opinion piece from The Coffee House which intimates that the whole coup thing was a set up by Erdogan as a means for him to seize total power.  Read it and make up your own minds - but remember, that's how they do things in the Middle East!

http://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2016/07/president-erdogans-postmodern-coup/

 

John Kerry should sue the doorman at No. 10:   The other day, the Brain of America (aka: John Kerry) turned round suddenly and walked straight into the door of No. 10.  We all thought no damage had occurred, er, to Mr. Kerry (or to the door) but now I'm not so sure.  According to those rascals at IHTM, he has just issued the following statement:

“Secretary of State John Kerry said in Vienna on Friday that air conditioners and refrigerators are as big of a threat to life as the threat of terrorism posed by groups like the Islamic State.”

Yeeeeeeeeeeees, quite!

 

James Bond is a mystery:   I expect to be confused by John le Carré but not by James Bond.  However, I tried to watch the film Quantum of Solace tonight but gave up because I couldn't understand what the hell was going on or why!  I remember exactly the same confusion when I saw the film originally.  Is it the film-makers or is it, dread thought, me?  Don't answer that!

 

No more rumbles today

In which I forgive Matthew Parris his sins

Which particular sins of his do I have in mind?  Well, hardly any actually because I don't know the man, I only read his usually urbane, witty and intelligent columns in The Spectator every week.  Even so, a few weeks ago as the temperature was rising in the final run in to the referendum, he suddenly turned very nasty against the leading Brexiteers.  He sounded like the old queen that in one way he is but in another way he usually isn't!  Well, we're all entitled to our off days, for example, sometimes my sunny nature turns to near terminal grumpiness - yes, hard to believe, I know!

Anyway, today he is forgiven because he has put into words, sensible words, thoughts that have been flapping around in my mind since the infamous Chilcot Report was finally published.  Now, I am not a fan of Tony Blair but I do not think that his conduct of the Iraq war deserves ludicrous legal challenges.  As Parris puts it:

Doubtless Blair and everyone around him were incompetent. Doubtless they took on trust what they should have rigorously tested. Doubtless they shamelessly overegged the case to get support for what they believed to be necessary. Doubtless they never planned properly for the aftermath of the invasion, and doubtless the plans they did make were flawed. The whole fiasco was marked by blunder, delusion and miscalculation.

But, as Parris says, in effect, 'So what's new?'  That's what prime ministers and presidents do, have done and will continue to do.  Blair, and almost everyone around him, never contemplated the outcome that arose.  If fingers need to be pointed they should be wagged in the faces of all the military and intelligence 'experts', none of whom were prepared to resign.  In the meantime, let history be his judge - and executioner!

"Victory has a thousand fathers but defeat is an orphan."

I had that Donald Trump in my bed last night

Sorry, as usual my title needs an explanation, you see, I have some funny habits in bed at night . . . oh dear, perhaps I had better start again.  Some years ago I went through a period of not sleeping well and to fill the empty hours I put a radio on my bedside table with an earpiece on a wire.  I would switch from BBC Radio 5 to the BBC World Service or even to Talk Sport.  The latter would send me off in no time!  Last night, feeling a little restless I plugged in to Radio 5 and then - "the horror, oh, the horror" - it was non-stop Donald Trump!

He proceeded to honk and hoot like an angry gander for over an hour!  Why, suddenly (or at least it seems sudden to me) do American politicians have to behave like fairground barkers? Next up we will have 'HillBilly' doing much the same in her ghastly basso profundo voice interspersed with her grimacing death-mask face as she attempts what she thinks is a smile.  But if the politicians are hideous beyond caricature - in fact, even the cruellest of cartoons never quite captures their monstrosity - what can one say of - dread words! - The People?

Increasingly over the years I have become suspicious and fearful of crowds and that mob of yelling, cheering, shouting, screaming morons made me despair.  Who, in their right mind, would actually part with time and money to stand in a mob and holler in support of a politician whom you know, in your heart if not your head, will never produce what he or she has promised?

After a while I tore the earpiece away and, in some relief, went off to sleep.

 

It's war!

Perhaps it might be more accurate to describe the approaching cataclysm in the Labour party as a massacre rather than a war.  Today, Jeremy and his polit-bureau, launched their leadership campaign.  His only opponent is some Welsh creep that no-one has ever heard of and whose chances of success range from 0.1 to -o.1.  All MPs who oppose 'Jezza' will face deselection within two years.  Now shall we see just how enthusiastic they all are to defend democratic socialism against totalitarian Trotskyism.  If they have any sense they will begin - now! - to arrange a major split in the Labour party so that they can escape, seek allies and attempt to form a new party, perhaps in concert with the Lib-Dems.

Alas, for them, the Brexit result means that there is no chance of the Tory Right splitting away from the soppy-soft Cameron tendency.  The Brexiteers won and their main men are now in charge of the decoupling.  Mrs. May will continue to pat the heads of the poor and needy and thus keep the Tory Lefties feeling good about themselves.  Meanwhile the Labour party will be roiled in their civil war which will bring out the very worst of their totalitarian tendency, so the Tories could be set to rule for another ten years!  There will be some slight interest in seeing how the 'Kippers' get on without the charismatic leadership of Nigel Farage but my guess is that they will have concentrate even harder on the working class vote which will have the beneficial effect of keeping Mrs. May on her toes.

In the meantime, we bid farewell to the Labour party but please don't think it wasn't fun - because mostly it wasn't!

ADDITIONAL:   Oh God, simply too, too embarrassing!  No sooner had I scribbled that bit of ill-considered verbiage above than I came across this in-depth article on Britain written by John Lanchester - no, me neither! - who, whether or not you agree entirely with his analysis, is obviously a man of great erudition and intelligence - bugger it!

Now I can't get the link to work but it is the first article in the latest London Review of Books.

http://www.lrb.co.uk/

 

 

Come on, Vlad, go nuclear

No, no, I don't mean rockets and bombs, I mean your reaction to all those 'suits' who run athletics and who have come to the conclusion that your athletics team is stuffed full of very naughty boys, er, and girls, too!  They have all been banned and unless you can bung the Olympic Games 'suits' with enough 'dosh' to get them to stand on their heads then you and all your waddling, steroidal Frankenstein's are out!

The game's up, Vlad, old chap, and there's nothing you can do except to pull some stroke which will result in the entire Olympic Games grinding to a halt.  Do that and you will earn the admiration of every old codger, like me, who retains truly fond memories of the days when the Olympics were (relatively) clean and even your tractor-factory girls (!) who used to shave twice a day didn't always win everything.  So bring it all crashing down, Vlad baby, it's long overdue.

WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

For some reason my 'Outlook-thingie' has gone haywire and I am unable to see what e-mails have been sent to me.  At this moment of acute danger and embarrassment you might well ask where my IT Manager is?  Well, he's sitting on his arse in sunny Czechland, sipping chilled ouzo as he weeps prodigious tears over the fate of poor Britannia whilst we, of course, continue to sink pints of ale in celebration of our freedom!

Anyway, I think comments to the blog will continue to get through but I'm not sure if I will know when you send me any personal e-mails.  In the meantime I will just have to get my cheque book out and pay my local 'computer-thingie' experts to find out what is wrong whilst 'SoD', whose training I paid for, sits blubbing in to his ouzo comforted by various gorgeous Czechie birds!

ADDITIONAL:  Hoorah, I managed to get through to my usual IT Manager, a lad called Brett who is all of 14 years of age and he put me right in seconds!  So all is well with the world - and 'SoD' is fired!

Oh dear, it gets worserer and worserer!

That R. Emmett Tyrrell, jnr, is "a very naughty boy" and if he wasn't the distinguished Founder and Editor of the second best 'Speccie-mag' in the world, The American Spectator, I would have to ask his Mum to smack his bottom!  In a coruscating article he has summarised Hillary Clinton's main faults, leaving one with the distinct impression that there are a myriad others which he simply cannot be bothered to list.  Rather naughtily, his article is illustrated with a picture of Nurse Ratched but he can be excused because it was actually our very own, ultra posh, Old Etonian Foreign Secretary who described Mrs. Clinton as "having dyed blonde hair and pouty lips, and a steely blue stare, like a sadistic nurse in a mental hospital."  Spot on, Boris, old chap, but not the sort of thing you can say now that you're the boss of the F.O.

  

                Hillary Clinton                                 Nurse Ratched

Anyway, Mr. Tyrrell points out that Mrs. Clinton's eyes are as fake as the rest of her because she actually wears blue-tinted lenses to cover up her mud brown eyes!

Mr. Tyrrell continues with a summary of Mrs. Clinton's crime sheet.

Her recent run-in with the FBI and her obvious lies to the American people and to the relatives of Benghazi’s victims have been preceded by lies during her work for the Watergate committee, during her years in the Arkansas governor’s mansion (cattle futures, Whitewater, scores more scandals), during her White House years, during 9/11 (Chelsea’s epic run) and then her e-mail catastrophe. These are only lies she has told. They have nothing to do with her corruption. Forget not that we have yet to hear about the investigation of her co-mingling of State Department and Clinton Family Foundation work.

Personally, I can put up with her dishonesty and greed, after all some of my favourite international statesmen have been rascals, but it is the combination of her lazy carelessness and stupidity that worries me.  Anyone who can conduct the business of the United States of America on a personal e-mail account using a bog standard, hand-held device needs their bumps felt.

Come on, America, you're not really going to put her finger on the nuclear button - are you?

 

 

 

Please give generously

By and large this blog does not provide a charity column, er, well, except, of course, Duff's Poor Children's Beer Fund, an exceedingly worthwhile charity deserving of your generous contributions.  However, today marks an innovation.  I am asking you for as much help as you can spare to support an urgent appeal - and I do mean URGENT! -  for an exceedingly good cause, the RSPJC,  the Royal Society for the Preservation of Jeremy Corbyn.

As a lifetime lover of really, really cruel sports I have enjoyed watching 'Flashman' Cameron beat up 'Jezza' every week at Prime Minister's Questions.  Today it was the first time in the ring for 'that other woman' (no, no, not 'that woman', the other one!)  Anyway, suffice to say that both 'sados' and 'masochists' would have loved it.  'Jezza' was stupendously awful and 'that other woman' kept hurling him to the mat and then jumping up and down on him in her kitten shoes.  It made your eyes water - with laughter!

I think it is probably a dead cert that 'Jezza' will cling to his leadership of the Labour party but it may well be that when he turns round he might not actually have a parliamentary Labour party to lead!  It will then be a moot point as to who is going to question 'that other woman' every week.  Who-ever it is I feel really sorry for them - she is 'cruel and unusual punishment' on kitten heels!

 

Did the earth move for you?

I ask because according to sundry 'experts' - yeeeeeees, quite! - Planet Earth, oh alright then, the British bit of it, should now be consumed in fire with millions wading into the sea preferring death by drowning to being burned alive or covered in brimstone and ashes.  It has now been nearly a month since a majority of British people - the sensible ones! - decided to stick two fingers up to the 'expert' doom-sayers and VOTE LEAVE!  I was so terrified I hardly dared get out of bed - well, according to the 'Memsahib' I always have difficulty getting out of bed! - and I can barely move about downstairs because of the three zillion cans of baked beans I bought in ready for 'apocalypse now'!

But, guess what!  Nothing much has happened.  The pound went down, then went back up, then went down again which is exactly what it has been doing since some 'clever clogs' invented currency rates.  That moose-brain from Canada who runs(?) our Bank of England warned that interest rates would rocket if we dared to defy him, and about a week after the event his committee met and, guess what, rates remained unchanged.  Today they have issued a waffling statement more or less saying that if things remain the same then, er, well, nothing much will change - yeeeeees, quite!  Also today, the IMF, that huge financial racket run by that perma-tanned, old, French bag, has issued yet another statement more or less saying that if nothing much changes things will, er, well, more or less remain the same!

Now of course, we all know - do we not? - that things will, absolutely and definitely, change because they always do, and that when they do it will be in directions none of the experts will have foreseen because the only thing that never changes is that experts nearly always get it wrong!  Anyway, in the meantime, can I interest any of you in some very cheap tins of baked beans?

 

"What the Fox" is going on?

In the very finest tradition of this distinguished blog, the quote in my title was nicked from the New York Post, well, no-one does wholesale larceny better than Duff & Nonsense!  It refers, of course, to the current shenanigans at Fox News and at this point I must declare an interest - no, no, I don't care whether or not the Big Boss, Roger Ailes, hugged the ice-maiden, Megyn Kelly, "inappropriately" - I mean that I was once a devoted follower of Fox News.  In fact, for me it was the tiny gleam of gold amongst the ton of hugely expensive sludge provided by my ex-best friend, 'Rupe'.  It was the 'go to' news station for me to learn some of the background to American affairs, not, I hasten to add, because I totally trusted their version of events but mainly because almost all the other American news stations seemed to be wholly owned subsidiaries of the Democrat party.  In fact, the more the Leftie media howled their disgust at Fox News the more I liked it!

Eventually, as I have told you before (many a time and oft'!), I could no longer afford Rupe's multiple wives and so I ditched Sky TV and Fox News went with it.  I still miss it.  Most of their straightforward reportage seemed pretty good to me and I also enjoyed their set piece debates and commentary programmes.  Even so, I am always slightly suspicious when the presenters of political news programmes begin to get bigger than the news they report - Megyn Kelly being a typical example and Bill Reilly another.  Apparently, Rupe wants Roger Ailes out and on the pavement but now there are rumours that some of the 'Big Name' presenters are thinking of leaving and setting up their own news station.  What can one say except , "Heavens to Betsy!"

 

Thank God I'm not American

I have no need to parade my pro-American feelings, they have been obvious throughout the history of this blog even if, from time to time, I have had to groan and hold my head in my hands.  Alas, to day is one of those times.  Today, Americans are faced with a choice 'between the devil and the deep blue sea'! Today, or to be precise, over the next few months, they will have to choose between Trump and Clinton.  'Flawed' hardly begins to describe these two fault-riven potential disasters.

Just recently, given the lazy, arrogant stupidity of 'HillBilly' demonstrated by her handling of state secrets, I began to soften towards Trump, but then I stumbled over a couple of Trump performances ("Oh, the horror, the horror!") and I shifted back towards her.  Then I was reminded that the Supreme Court is split 4-4 and that who-ever wins in November will get to choose the ninth judge.  'Over here' we tend to forget the importance of the Supreme Court whose members can sit on the bench for as long as they live and whose decisions are influential for generations.  If 'HillBilly' wins, the next few years of American history will show a deepening shift to the Left via the Supreme Court.

So, if I were American (which thank the Lord I'm not, Sir), could I, would I, bring myself to hold my nose and my breath and vote Trump?  'Dunno', is my pathetic answer!  Thank heavens it's not my decision.

 

Your Monday Funnies: 18.7.16

Bright and early this morning because later I'm off to lunch at that glittering centre of sophistication, er, Sidmouth!

 

This is an Australian version of a universal joke:

I just knew someone would find a name for our election process.

ELECTILE DYSFUNCTION:

THE INABILITY TO BECOME AROUSED OVER ANY OF THE CHOICES

FOR PRIME MINISTER PUT FORTH BY  ANY PARTY. 

Could apply just as well to the current American presidential election!

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An 8-year-old girl went to her grandfather, who was working in the yard and asked him, "Grandpa, what is a couple sex?” 

The grandfather was surprised that she would ask such a question but decided that if she's old enough to know to ask the question then she's old enough to get a straight answer.

Steeling himself to leave nothing out, he proceeded to tell her all about human reproduction and the joys and responsibilities that go along with it. 

When he finished explaining, the little girl was looking at him with her mouth hanging open, eyes wide in amazement. Seeing the look on her face the grandfather asked her, "Why did you ask this question, honey?” 

The little girl replied, "Well, Grandma says to tell you that dinner will be ready in just a couple secs.”

 

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 Excerpted from an article which appeared in The Dublin Times about a bank robbery on March 2.  

Once inside the bank shortly after midnight, their efforts at disabling the security system got underway immediately. The robbers, who expected to find one or two large safes filled with cash andvaluables, were surprised to see hundreds of smaller safes throughout the bank.  

The robbers cracked the first safe's combination, and inside they found only a small bowl of vanilla pudding.  

As recorded on the bank's audio tape system, one robber said, 'At least we'll have a bit to eat.'  

The robbers opened up a second safe, and it also contained nothing but vanilla pudding. The process continued until all safes were opened.  

They did not find one pound sterling, a diamond, nor an ounce of gold. Instead, all the safes contained covered little bowls of pudding.  

Disappointed, the robbers made a quiet exit, each leaving with nothing more than a queasy, uncomfortably full stomach. The newspaper headline read:  

'IRELAND'S LARGEST SPERM BANK ROBBED EARLY THIS MORNING'....

I do hope that didn't put you off your breakfast! 

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Murphy applied for a fork lift operator post at a famous Irish firm based in Dublin.

 A Norwegian applied for the same job and since both applicants had similar qualifications, they were asked to take a test and led to a quiet room with no interruptions by the Manager.

When the results were in, both men had scored 19 out of 20. The manager went to Murphy and said, "Thank you for coming to the interview, but we've decided to give the Norwegian the job.”

 Murphy. "And why would you be doing that? We both got 19 questions correct. This being Ireland and me being Irish surely I should get the job.”

 Manager, "We have made our decision not on the correct answers, but on the question you got wrong.”

Murphy, "And just how would one incorrect answer be better than another?”

Manager "Simple; on question number 7 the Norwegian wrote down, 'I don't know.’

You put down, 'Neither do I.’ “

 

Right, that's your lot, now where did put my bucket and spade - no, no, not for the beach but for the lunch!

 

The Sunday Rumble: 17.7.16

Who is Michael Dobbs?   No, no, not that English one, I mean, the American journalist one!  Let me explain.  Yesterday was the height of the social season here in downtown Milborne Port - the annual Church fete - need I say more?  I tootled across and eventually returned with an enormous and delicious coffee cream sponge cake (and I urgently need to find the name of the village lady who made it because I want her to have my babies) and an intriguing book written by Mr. Michael Dobbs and titled One Minute to Midnight.  It is, or purports to be, an almost minute to minute history of the Cuban missile crisis.  Yesterday I only had the chance to read 17 pages but it is already quite clear that Bobby Kennedy was a raving loony and his much quieter, elder brother was also a few sandwiches short of a picnic!  Now that is why I am appealing to my American pals to let me know how far I can trust Mr. Dobbs' version of events.

 

"It's too damned hot!"   Approximately eight weeks late "the sun has put his hat on, hip, hip hooray" and about bloody time, too!  I frequently repeat myself - oh, you've noticed! - but even I am sick of hearing me moaning endlessly about the non-stop rain.  It's such a relief today to go out and complain to the neighbours about how hot it is.

 

At least Paul Klee never used a mirror:   Following on from my little artistic foray yesterday in the company of Paul Klee, today I visit the greatest of the great masters, Rembrandt, courtesy of an intriguing article at The Weekly Standard.  I always think of Rembrandt as the Shakespeare of painting, particularly having viewed some of his self portraits:

Now, someone is suggesting that he used mirrors and the laws of optics to reproduce his face on a canvas so that all he had to do was trace over the image.  The same has been said of Vermeer whose 'skill' with perspective is extraordinary, just look at the candelabra hanging from the ceiling, executed to perfection:

Don't ask me whether they 'cheated' or not because I do not know and I do not care.  Rembrandt's self portraits as an aging man are simply superb.

 

Right, I'm off to Alice Springs:   Taking a short break from back-breaking, slave labour in my huge 0.17 acre garden, I sat down and watched some 'telly'.  By accident I came across The Kangaroo Sanctuary near Alice Springs run by a chap with the improbable name of Brolga.  Now, as a rule, I don't do animal programmes.  I work on the basis that most animals bite you from one end and do unspeakable things from the other!  However, I was entranced and my admiration for Brolga is huge.  Click on the link for more info or use your 'catch-up-thingie' to watch it.  It was on BBC2 this afternoon.

 

Damned guns and now damned stats:   In case you miss it, 'Antiquarian' has added an interesting comment to the discussion on gun laws down below.

 

Will 'Mrs McWhinge' really have a veto on Brexit?   There have been some strong indications but it might be wise to await events.  I would suggest that if 'St. Theresa' lets the Jocks veto Brexit then her premiership will end shortly there-after!

 

No more rumbles today

Oh no, 'Nippon No. 1' - again!

I'll be frank, what I know about Japan could be written on a sushi!  Even so, I have over the last couple of years picked up, faintly, one or two bad vibes from their new premier, Mr. Shinzo Abe.  The vibes have now moved up to alarm signal level.  I must blame Mr. Josh Gelernter at the NRO site.  I had already heard that Mr. Abe and his Right-wing party had managed to secure 2/3 majorities in both houses of the their parliament.  So far, so boring but what I did not realise is that such dominance gives Mr. Abe the chance to change the Japanese constitution.  Originally, I thought that would allow the Japanese to lift the strict neutrality restrictions placed on the armed services by the American government in 1945 and that would free up the Japanese to play their part in facing down Chinese ambitions.

However, what I did not know was that Mr. Obe's party, the so-called Liberal Democrat Party (LDP), could be renamed the Japanese National Socialist Party!  It is somewhere to the Right of old Emperor Hirohito!  Obe, himself, plus a large segment of his party including most of his cabinet:

are members of a radical nationalist organization called Nippon Kaigi, which believes (according to one of its members, Hakubun Shimomura, who until recently was Japan’s education minister) that Japan should abandon a “masochistic view of history” wherein it accepts that it committed crimes during the Second World War. In fact, in Nippon Kaigi’s view, Japan was the wronged party in the war.

Oh my, 'there could be troubles ahead'! 

According to the Congressional Research Service, Nippon Kaigi believes that “Japan should be applauded for liberating much of East Asia” during WW2, that the “Tokyo War Crimes tribunals were illegitimate,” and that the rape of Nanking was either “exaggerated or fabricated.” It denies the forced prostitution of Chinese and Korean “comfort women” by the Imperial Japanese Army, believes Japan should have an army again — something outlawed by Japan’s current constitution — and believes that it should return to worshipping the emperor.

I will not belabour the point but if you can I urge you to read Mr. Gelernter's article - particularly if your shores lie on the Pacific!

Klee play - again!

Blame 'Big Henry' for jogging me into Klee-mode this morning via some comments below.  Don't try and analyse them, just relax and enjoy the delight of them:

 

 

 

 

 

 

What a fantastic start to your day - no, no, don't thank me, thank Big Henry for starting me off!

  

 

When it comes to revolution, no-one does it better than us Brits

"What was that, dear?"

"What was what?"

"I thought I heard a noise in the distance."

"Oh, that!  That was just the Brits having a revolution."

"Oh dear, will it last long?"

"No, no, all over in a couple of days and then we can go back to sleep."

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Whilst I frequently walk round in circles these days, alas, I do not move at all in high society circles.  Thus, I must rely on the front-line reportage of Ms. Isabel Oakeshott who has her pretty little foot inside all the very best houses in London, including the Houses of Parliament.  In today's Daily Mail she details the wholesale slaughter of the so-called Notting Hill set, that collection of wealthy, ex-public school, posh boys (and their equally posh wives) who assumed that they were anointed by God to rule this rather common little Island forever.

Alas, there are no bodies to be seen gently swinging from the lamp-posts because, you see, this is Britain and we don't do that sort of thing here, I mean, simply too, too messy.  Mind you, the political death is real enough and lasts just as long as the real one.  Anyway, we bid farewell to Dave 'n' George and all their cabal of frightfully posh advisors who considered the rest of us to be "swivel-eyed loons".  Riiiiight, so whose eyes are swivelling now, I wonder?

Today we have, to paraphrase a more sonorous statement from 'over there', government of the normal people by (fairly) normal people which doesn't necessarily mean that it will be better but at least we will not have to put up with the condescension.  God bless this damp and smelly Island, it might have taken a thousand years and many, many mistakes, but we got there in the end.  Now all we have to do is prise those European fingers off our throat!

 

 

No, seriously, she's beginning to impress me

What an excellent day!  I left the ladies of Dorchester trembling with excitement - oh alright then, it might have been suppressed giggles! - and on return I caught up with the latest ups and downs of St. Theresa's cabinet.  The new Chancellor, Philip Hammond, has one huge advantage - he's not George Osborne!  I have no idea if he is competent or even intelligent but just so long as that little shyster has been booted out then I am happy.

All sorts of SHLOCK-HORROR re-actions, mixed with nervous giggles, to BoJo's elevation to Foreign Secretary.  We should remember that he has both American and British citizenship, having been born in 'Noo Yawk', and his family line is, well, international, shall we say? He is far more intelligent than he looks and above all he has one outstanding credit to his curriculum vitae, he was once the editor of The Spectator - need one say more?

Regular readers will know of my distaste for Ms. Amber Rudd, the new Home Secretary, but I shall just have to see whether her almost masculine aggression is guided by intelligence.  She was once married to A. A. Gill, "a very naughty boy", so maybe her toughness was developed the hard way. 

I remain unimpressed with Michael Fallon who has been retained as Defence Secretary.  He is, as far as I can tell, a political greaser (and an expenses cheat!) with absolutely no knowledge or experience of the armed services.  Fortunately, these days our chances of taking a large part in any foreign war is roughly 1 in a zillion so he probably can't do too much harm.  If he confines himself to ensuring that our nuclear submarines are rebuilt that will be good enough.

David Davis as the cabinet minister in charge of conducting Brexit is an excellent choice.  His appointment more than anything has convinced me that the canny St. Theresa really believes that "Brexit means Brexit".  Any attempt on her part to duck and dive and she knows that David Davis is more than capable of resigning and kicking up a storm as a matter of principle.

None of the rest matter that much.  The main thing is that we are on the way out and the greasy, undemocratic fingers of 'Junck the Drunk' and the rest of the European cabal will be prised from our throats.  Best of all, when the Italian banks go broke we will not have to pay for the stitch-up that will follow.  We will be free again and, yes, before SoD charges in, we will make mistakes and get things wrong but they will be British mistakes, made by British politicians who will be subject, every five years, to the wrath of the British people.

Time for some, er, French champagne, I feel!

 

ADDITIONAL:  I forgot to add the really GOOD NEWS:

Michael Gove - sacked

Nicki Morgan - sacked

John Whittingdale - sacked

Oliver Letwin - sacked

Pity about Gove who started well and then, with all due care and attention, jumped into oblivion. 

Anyway, more champagne, I feel!

 

Boring for Britain - again!

Oh yes, I'm off again to, er, entertain a group of ladies, this time in the ancient town of Dorchester.  I do hope they can control their enthusiasm because it is very difficult to keep talking as the knickers sail through the air and onto my stage.  The subject of my talk is Shakespeare in Love: The Young, the Middle-aged and the Don't Ask.  Oh yes, indeed, racy stuff!

Anyway, it will keep me busy because otherwise I would be glued to my 'telly' to find out who else is up, down, in or out of 'St. Theresa's' cabinet.  Will she spank Gove for being such a naughty boy when he stabbed Boris in the back?  How many more ghastly 'wimmin' will she employ?  Exciting stuff, well, it's exciting when you're an old geezer with nothing much else to do!  See you later . . .

By Jove, what a start!

I think that what passes for my mind may have to be changed again - pronto!  St. Theresa's first - and most important - appointments are more or less spot on.  True, Boris as Foreign Secretary may, just, risk a declaration of war against someone, well, anyone, really!  But putting David (ex-SAS) Davis in as the top Brexit negotiator is terrific news and with Liam Fox, another keen Brexiteer, as International Trade Secretary, that makes quite a team.  Not too sure about boring-snoring Hammond as Chancellor but at least he is very unlikely to put the nation's finances on the 2.30 at Epsom races!  Pity about that ghastly Amber Rudd getting the job of Home Secretary but if she's as tough as she tries to make out, she might be the one to sort out our useless and expensive Constabularies. 

Anyway, Theresa, jolly well done, er, so far!

"Round and round the mulberry bush"

Who's in, who's out, who's up, who's down - who cares?  Well, all of us elderly political nerds care because, frankly, there isn't much else in our lives, yes, sad, isn't it?  Still, it's more interesting than 'footie' or 'hockey at the halt' or 'rounders' which the ancient game of cricket has morphed into.  Regular readers will know of my love for theatre and these occasional blood baths in the political arena make it the best show in town.  Happily these days no actual blood is spilled but even so, ambitions are smashed, political lives ruined, power snatched away from grasping hands ... it's all so, so delicious!

I would not wish to offer advice to the formidable 'St. Theresa of the May' but I do hope that little Georgie is dispensed with - totally and forever, expunged and exterminated!  Also, against what the experts are forecasting, I hope the deeply unpleasant Ms. Amber Rudd is just moved sideways, preferably to the Ministry of Paper Clips.  Similarly, that gutless little creep, Sajid David, who claimed to be an ardent 'Brexiteer' right up until he had to choose and who then snivelled up to the Prime Minister and became a 'Remainer'.

Of course, the Tories, being in government will try to remain serious and grave but us nerds can always switch over to Fred Karno's circus and watch the Labour party chuck custard pies at each other.  It's a toss up, really, as to whether or not the Labour party, from its original and honourable beginnings, will morph into the Kiddie-Winkies Kult, a deeply strange sect populated entirely by 'like, ya know, sort of, well, really, really, er, committed teenagers' and led by decrepit old men still dreaming of the October revolution.

You couldn't make it up!

ADDITIONAL:  I have just watched 'Call me Dave's' final Question Time in the Commons and my instant response is to paraphrase old Will's famous line,  "Nothing in his [political] life became him like the leaving of it".  Through gritted teeth I am forced to acknowledge that that Old Etonian charm can work a treat. 

 

Goddamit, put the gun down!

Offering opinions or advice on other country's cherished traditions is always a mug's game but, hey, y'all know I am a prize mug! 

As seen from 'over here', the United States of America has never looked more dis-united since the first civil war!  I actually lived through the 'second civil war' in the '50s and '60s which, fortunately, passed with minimal loss of life as the blacks, with considerable white support, pressed their claims for civil rights.  Back then, of course, the number of guns available was a fraction of today's totals.

But it is 'today' that we have deal with, or rather, that Americans have to deal with.  Several things have changed.  Today, malignant ideologies have arisen that have seized the imaginations of huge swathes of the population.  The era of "peace 'n' love, man" has gone and been replaced with "gimme what's yours 'cos its mine - or I'll blow y'all away!"  Traditional American heterogeneity based on a majority of European stock with a resentful black minority has been swamped with increasing numbers of, so to speak, 'late arrivals', mainly Hispanic and Oriental.  If it's true that America was always big and dangerous, now it's huge and the danger signals are moving toward critical.  The final ingredient is the equivalent of a lit cigarette in an armoury packed with explosives.  Guns are everywhere!

In the comments thread to my previous post on this subject, several American pals have offered good reasons why it is vital that the American population should have access to guns.  I cannot argue against them because the reasons they offer are valid.  However, in an age where anarchical terrorism is all the rage - and I use the word 'rage' deliberately - easy access to weaponry is like pouring petrol on a simmering fire.  Of course, that is both obvious and easy to say but the difficulty lies in correcting it.  Perhaps the best approach can be summed up in the old phrase "softlee, softlee, catchee monkey".  So to begin with, a ban on all automatic assault rifles, making 6-round pistols the only legal weapon, might be an agreeable way to start.  I do not suppose for a second that it will be easy - but it's a beginning.

If and when it happens it is important that it begins at the very top with the White House and the Congress acting together because it will be futile to expect the States to act in concert.  Of course, I realise that the chances of it happening soon are no greater than that of the mythical snowball in hell!  Unfortunately, it will take a full-on, armed insurrection involving mass slaughter before the pols, the vested interests and the Great American Public change their minds.

I think most of my regular readers will know that I have an abiding admiration, bordering on love, for America, so none of the above is meant as snarky criticism.  If you see a friend teetering on the edge of a cliff, your instinct is to help.

 

May be good, May not!

I know, I know, that title is a pathetic play on Mrs. May's name but it's the best I could come up with given the rapidity of today's events.  What will she be like as Prime Minister?  Who knows?  Not even she does because, of course, there are always those damned "Events, dear boy, events", of which today's example is a perfect illustration.  What is always amazing is the way in which our apparently sluggish, hide-bound, traditional, parliamentary system can sometimes move like greased lightning.  When you think of the gazillions of dollars spent over at least two years by 'the cousins' in choosing their leader who, if recent experience is a guide, usually turns out to be a twerp - or worse! - then perhaps there is something to be said for the false smile, the covering cloak and the swift dagger!

So, it's farewell, Dave 'n' George, the door's over there and don't think even for a second we will miss you!  Perhaps little Georgie will be kept on but only, one hopes, in a fairly obscure position where his stupidity can do least damage.  Not the least of Mrs. May's important decisions will be who she appoints as Chancellor.  Then there is the critical choice of the team - and it will take a team - who will conduct the negotiations with Berlin-Brussels.  Every scrofulous, dandruff-ridden hack in Fleet Street will watching the details of that like hawks!

It was Napoleon who said that what he wanted most was a lucky General.  Let us hope we have a lucky Prime Minister!

 

OK, buddy, wadda we do next?

All nations have their problems but the one facing America today is huge but, even worse, it is also apparently intractable.  For reasons too complex to elucidate here, some 12% of the American population, around 38 million black people, are disgruntled, resentful, fearful and close to rebellion.  Whoa!  See, already I fall into the error of over generalisation, a fault that repeats itself endlessly through most of the reportage and analysis of the 'state of the Union'.  Of course, not all black Americans are supporters of organisations like Black Lives Matter.  Nor are all black Americans fearful - just ask Barack Obama!  There are very many successful and reasonably contented black Americans who, if they fear anything, it is their fellow black Americans of the rougher sort!  Even so, it cannot be denied that a very large segment of the black American population is disaffected.

Mind you, just how deep that disaffection goes is very difficult to ascertain.  In a land of (apparent) plenty, the poorest will always grumble.  Black Americans have a history that encourages them to fester on past wrongs and, being human, very few of them are prepared to acknowledge the sacrifices of millions of white Americans who were sacrificed in order to right those wrongs.  So far, so human!

In general terms, these sorts of situations occur everywhere but in America there is one added ingredient that turns a social/political problem into a potentially lethal one - guns!  I understand the historical imperative that lies behind the desire of many (most?) Americans to preserve the right to bear arms but even so it must now be obvious that the custom has long out-lived its utility and is now becoming a very real threat to civil American society.

That said, of course, one is left with the problem of what to do about it, and it is precisely at that point that what passes for my mind slams shut!  Apart from the fact that huge amounts of money are involved in the gun trade, and Big Money always plays strongly in America, there is also the problem that people are genuinely fearful at the thought of being unarmed in what seems to them to be a dangerous domestic situation. It's worth remarking that when America faced a very real existential threat from overseas, problems with gun ownership did not arise.  Now that such threats have diminished, people have replaced their fear of Germany/Japan/Russia with fear of their neighbours.

Quite how this problem is to be solved I do not know but for sure, in my opinion, one essential is that the number of guns in private hands, be they black, white, brown or yellow, must be reduced.

 

Your Monday Funnies: 11.7.16

Here are your Monday Funnies beginning with a particularly fine selection of near one-liners from an old mate of mine from the second-hand car trade - yeeeeees, quite!  They are, of course, in the worst possible taste!

 

I was invited to a party and was told to dress to kill. Apparently a turban, beard and a backpack wasn't what they had in mind. 

After a night of drink, drugs and wild sex, Jim woke up to find himself next to a really ugly woman. That's when he realised he had made it home safely.  

Seven wheelchair athletes have been banned from the Paralympics after they tested positive for WD40. 

"IT’S A BOY" I shouted "A BOY, I DON'T BELIEVE IT, IT’S A BOY". And with tears streaming down my face I swore I'd never visit another Thai Brothel! 

An Englishman has started his own business in Afghanistan. He is making land mines that look like prayer mats. It’s doing well. Prophets are going through the roof!! 

Japanese scientists have created a camera with a shutter speed so fast, they can now photograph a woman with her mouth shut.  

A boy asks his granny, 'Have you seen my pills, they were labelled LSD?' Granny replies, 'Don't worry about your pills, have you seen the dragons in the kitchen?'  

Little Billy asks his dad for a telly in his room. Dad reluctantly agrees. Next day Billy comes downstairs and asks, 'Dad, what's love juice?' Dad looks horrified and tells Billy all about sex. Billy just sat there with his mouth open in amazement. Dad says, 'So what were you watching?' Billy says, ' Wimbledon.' 

Wife gets naked and asks hubby, 'What turns you on more, my pretty face or my sexy body?' Hubby looks her up and down and replies, 'Your sense of humour!'

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

 

You will guess the source for this one from the final line in brackets:

After having their 11th child, an Irish couple decided that that was enough, as they couldn't afford a larger bed. So the husband went to his doctor and told him that he and his wife didn't want to have any more children .

The doctor told him there was a procedure called a vasectomy that would fix the problem but it was expensive. A less costly alternative was to go home, get a large firecracker, light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to his ear and count to 10.

The husband said to the doctor, "B'Jayzus, I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but I don't see how putting a firework in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me with my problem."

"Trust me, it will do the job", said the doctor.

So the man went home, lit a cracker and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5," at which point he paused, and placed the beer can between his legs so he could continue counting on his other hand.

(This procedure also works in Arkansas and Tasmania)

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

Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears. 

He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?" 

She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night." 

The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible.  Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?" 

She says, "That he did, Father." 

The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?" 

She says, "He said,  'Please Mary, put down that damn gun...'

 

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

 

Your Monday Funnies: 11.7.16

Here are your Monday Funnies beginning with a particularly fine selection of near one-liners from an old mate of mine from the second-hand car trade - yeeeeees, quite!  They are, of course, in the worst possible taste!

 

I was invited to a party and was told to dress to kill. Apparently a turban, beard and a backpack wasn't what they had in mind. 

After a night of drink, drugs and wild sex, Jim woke up to find himself next to a really ugly woman. That's when he realised he had made it home safely.  

Seven wheelchair athletes have been banned from the Paralympics after they tested positive for WD40. 

"IT’S A BOY" I shouted "A BOY, I DON'T BELIEVE IT, IT’S A BOY". And with tears streaming down my face I swore I'd never visit another Thai Brothel! 

An Englishman has started his own business in Afghanistan. He is making land mines that look like prayer mats. It’s doing well. Prophets are going through the roof!! 

Japanese scientists have created a camera with a shutter speed so fast, they can now photograph a woman with her mouth shut.  

A boy asks his granny, 'Have you seen my pills, they were labelled LSD?' Granny replies, 'Don't worry about your pills, have you seen the dragons in the kitchen?'  

Little Billy asks his dad for a telly in his room. Dad reluctantly agrees. Next day Billy comes downstairs and asks, 'Dad, what's love juice?' Dad looks horrified and tells Billy all about sex. Billy just sat there with his mouth open in amazement. Dad says, 'So what were you watching?' Billy says, ' Wimbledon.' 

Wife gets naked and asks hubby, 'What turns you on more, my pretty face or my sexy body?' Hubby looks her up and down and replies, 'Your sense of humour!'

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

 

You will guess the source for this one from the final line in brackets:

After having their 11th child, an Irish couple decided that that was enough, as they couldn't afford a larger bed. So the husband went to his doctor and told him that he and his wife didn't want to have any more children .

The doctor told him there was a procedure called a vasectomy that would fix the problem but it was expensive. A less costly alternative was to go home, get a large firecracker, light it, put it in a beer can, then hold the can up to his ear and count to 10.

The husband said to the doctor, "B'Jayzus, I may not be the smartest guy in the world, but I don't see how putting a firework in a beer can next to my ear is going to help me with my problem."

"Trust me, it will do the job", said the doctor.

So the man went home, lit a cracker and put it in a beer can. He held the can up to his ear and began to count: "1, 2, 3, 4, 5," at which point he paused, and placed the beer can between his legs so he could continue counting on his other hand.

(This procedure also works in Arkansas and Tasmania)

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

Mary Clancy goes up to Father O'Grady after his Sunday morning service, and she's in tears. 

He says, "So what's bothering you, Mary my dear?" 

She says, "Oh, Father, I've got terrible news. My husband passed away last night." 

The priest says, "Oh, Mary, that's terrible.  Tell me, Mary, did he have any last requests?" 

She says, "That he did, Father." 

The priest says, "What did he ask, Mary?" 

She says, "He said,  'Please Mary, put down that damn gun...'

 

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

 

The Sunday Rumble: 10.7.16

Dozy Duff:   I'm still feeling a bit dozy - oh alright then, dozier than normal - because I woke up early, went down and pulled the cover off the bird table and then sat and watched the usual feeding frenzy.  As the 'Memsahib' was still asleep I sneaked in for a quick cuddle - and promptly fell asleep again for an hour!  I now feel like 's,h,1,t'!  And of course, during my two day absence, a host of stories have hit the headlines for me to comment on, er, when my brain clears, that is!

 

Gunfight at the 'Not-so-OK Corral':   There are so many facets to these incidents that it is difficult to think your way through to any sensible conclusion.  However, one detail seems - just! - to be seeping into the original media reports  in which a cop shot dead a black man during a routine traffic stop.  As always, the Left-wing biased media failed to point out that it was not a 'routine traffic stop'.  The man was stopped because he closely resembled a man who had carried out an armed robbery in the locale just a few days earlier.  Thus, the cop was taking no chances - particularly when he saw that the man was armed.  Later 'reports' that the man had a legal permit to 'Carry and Conceal' were denied by the local Sheriff who said that no such permit was issued by his office, and it's still not clear that the man had even purchased the weapon legally.  None of that, of course, was allowed to spoil the Left-wing fable that this was just another case of a cop killing an innocent man.

 

Taffy the Texter:   I see that, according to The Mail, that jumped-up Taffy, Stephen Crabb MP, who suddenly appeared from nowhere in order to run for the leadership of the Tory party based not least on his self-proclaimed Christian piety, has been outed as a secret sex-texter.  Where do these 'stoopids' come from?  Is there a factory somewhere that churns them out?

 

And talking of 'stoopids':   There is always the Labour party to snigger over.  With Stakhanovite industry the 'Bruvvers' have dug an enormous hole and hand in comradely hand they are all jumping in!  It all began, of course, under the leadership (who giggled?) of Ed 'the Dork' Miliband who allowed anyone and his dog to gain a vote in a leadership election for £3.  Cue: a stampede of juveniles whose combined intelligence just about equalled that of an amoeba.  The result was 'Jezza', and the end is nigh! 

 

Meanwhile, over on the Right:   Mrs. Leadsom, of whom I had some hopes, managed to create an enormous and solid lead ball and then, with due diligence and care, dropped in on her own foot!  The way is now clear for 'St. Theresa of the May' to step elegantly in her leopard-pattern high heels into No. 10 provided she can avoid a similar gaffe - remember "The nasty party"?  What she will be like as a Prime Minister I do not know but 'I ha'e ma doots', as 'Jimmy Glesga' might put it.  You never can tell ahead what sort of a fist they will make of it but then again, I remember my misgivings when 'that woman' took over and she was brilliant.

 

This might lead to war:   Here in 'Chateau Duff' we, by which I mean the 'Memsahib' and I, rarely if ever argue over what to watch on the 'telly', not least because there is hardly anything of interest on it as far as I can ever tell.  But today could be different.  The 'Memsahib' is a besotted 'plink-plonk' fan where-as I remain a keen follower of F1 racing.  Needless to say, this afternoon the Wimbledon final will be playing at the same time as the British GP.  "There will be blood"!

 

Meanwhile, 'down under there', chaos reigns:   I must await a full report and analysis from my two Aussie reporters, Andra and AussieD, before I can give you a definitive description but it appears that the Right wing party have sort of, more or less, by and large, snuck into the winners' enclosure after the recent election.  But as always, the devil is in the detail and it seems that the erstwhile prime minister, Malcolm Turnbull (or Malcolm Turncoat as some call him!) will face extreme difficulties in pushing through any legislation.  Time for another crate of Fosters, methinks!

 

It's going to be a travesty, I tell you:   I refer, of course, to the up-coming production of Tom Stoppard's peculiar but brilliant play, Travesties, which is going to run at the Menier Chocolate Factory theatre in London.  It is a great play not least because it held up even when I directed it some years ago (with help from 'Miss Mayfly' who was my Stage Manager)!  Only Stoppard could manage to stitch together the fact that in 1917 in Zurich there lived Henry Carr, the British consul, who sued James Joyce for the price of a pair of trousers made for a production of The Importance of Being Earnest, and Tristan Tzara, the instigator of the Dada-ist movement.  In addition, a certain Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov (aka: Lenin) and his wife make an appearance because they, too, were in Zurich at the time but desperate to return to Russia where the revolution had taken place.  If you're quick there are tickets available - and Tom Hollander (Corky from The Night Manager) is playing in it.  Need I say more?

 

Thank God he won!   No, no, no, not that gobby Jock in the 'plink-plonk' match!  I mean that fine upstanding example of English gentility and sportsmanship, Mr (Sir???) Lewis Hamilton, of course.  He drove like a dream and thoroughly thrashed that young Hun who has had the impertinence to take the lead in the Divers' Championship.  But now that lead is cut to just 4 points and if young Hamilton can drive him off the course, oops, sorry, I mean outdrive him at the German Grand Prix my cup will over-floweth!

 

An 'aaaaah' story, and from America too!   Reported in The Telegraph, eight handcuffed prisoners being held in a cell pending court appearances rushed to the aid of a prison guard who collapsed with a heart attack.  They shouted and tried to use his radio to call for assistance and as a result the guard's life was saved.  There, that makes you all feel better doesn't it?!

 

No more Rumbles today

Normal service might be interrupted

Later this evening I am expecting guests so what passes for 'normal service' may well be interrupted.  Apart from anything else, an attractive Hungarian lady will be using the spare bed up here in the garret of Chateau Duff and the 'Memsahib' is likely to limit my visits!  However, by Saturday evening D&N will return to normal.  In the meantime, feel free to chat with each other but remember - be nice!

It's the wimmin wot won it!

And so now it is down to the bog standard Tory party members to choose between 'St. Theresa of the May' and Angela 'Leadbelly' Leadsom.  Actually I didn't think there were that many of them left after years of being sneered at by the two posh boys.  To be honest, I can't decide between them but my advice to who-ever wins is that the first thing they should do after crossing the threshold of No. 10 is to sack that malignant toad, Sir Jeremy Heywood, or 'Sir Cover-up' as The Mail calls him.

'I ha'e ma doots' about Mrs. May who, despite six years in the job of Home Secretary, achieved nothing of note.  Her pusillanimous behaviour during the Brexit debate might have been shrewd politics but then again it could have been rank cowardice.  Meanwhile, Mrs. Leadsom remains the 'great unknown' with little experience at the top of government where poisonous toads like 'Sir Cover-up' breed with impunity.

So, we shall see what we shall see and by their deeds shall we know them.  In the meantime, farewell, Dave 'n' George, don't think it hasn't been fun - because it hasn't!

Here rests the walking, talking corpse of Tony Blair

In the end, it all comes down to judgment.  Most prime ministers only have to exercise their judgment over fairly minor matters and if they get it wrong the damage to their reputations is the equivalent of accidentally treading in some dog poo.  But equally, some times, the reputational effect is colossal.  Churchill was frequently tempted to bad judgment during WWII but fortunately he possessed just enough common-sense (and knowledge of English history) to acquiesce to adverse advice from his Generals and civil servants.  I'm not sure what advice Anthony Eden received but his decision to try and invade Egypt was a huge misjudgement.  On the other hand, 'that woman's' determination to take back the Falklands turned out to be a huge success, although what history would have made of it had our armed services failed in their mission does not bear thinking on!  And before I forget, Harold Wilson's decision not to support America in Vietnam was, in retrospect, exceedingly wise.

All of which brings me to the pitiful figure of Tony Blair.  He was one of those prime ministers who wished desperately to mark his place in history.  In that he has succeeded but not, alas, in the way he desired. Unfortunately, he lacked the ability to think much further than the next day's headlines.  He possessed no strategic, geo-political knowledge but made up for it with ruthless determination to drive through his agenda.  The desperately unfortunate happenstance was that, with one or two outstanding exceptions, he was surrounded by gutless careerists whose only response to his policy was to mutter, "Yes, Prime Minister", which was the equivalent of pouring oil into a machine that was running, literally, out of control.  It is worth reminding ourselves that his Principal Private Secretary at the time, a man who did his best to exclude from his presence anyone who had doubts, was the oleaginous Sir Jeremy Heywood who went onwards and upwards to become Cameron's right-hand man and head of the Civil Service - yeeees, quite!

Even so, it must be admitted that Blair's technique in driving through a policy to which he was totally committed was exemplary!  Admirers of real-politik (such as me!) can only applaud his dexterity and deviousness even if the end result was disastrous.  Before we condemn him out of hand we should remember that Maggie Thatcher used similar techniques in order to ram through her policies for which, today, we are all grateful.  All of that comes under the general heading of 'leadership' and that is what politicians are for.  We, 'The People' (dread words!), might have our opinions but in the end we hand executive powers to politicians to carry out what they think is best.  Sometimes they will get it right, sometimes wrong.  But far and away the most important thing is that we have the power to turf the rascals out on a regular basis and if their policies have been a catastrophic failure we also have the means to investigate the murky details so that history will place the 'suspects' either on a plinth - or in the stocks!

 

Now I know what "American exceptionalism" means

Our 'cousins over there' never cease to use the expression 'American exceptionalism' and I find it puzzling and irritating in equal parts.  It implies that there is no such thing as, say, Taiwanese exceptionalism, or Guatemalan exceptionalism - mind you, try telling the 'Frogs' they are not exceptional could get you a bowl of bouillabaisse poured over your head!  If all that the 'cousins' are saying is that America is unique then it is a prime example of 'the bleedin' obvious' because, of course, all nations, in their own ways, are unique.

Even so, I gain the impression that the expression actually means that somehow, in someway, America possesses unique characteristics that sets it above and beyond all others.  I have puzzled over this, trying to come up with some example to prove the notion and today, courtesy of the Director of the FBI, Mr. James Comey, I think I have it.  Only in America can you blatantly break a law thousands of times, constantly lie about it and destroy as much evidence as possible, a law, incidentally, which has brought down severe punishment on the heads of sundry 'little people', and then walk away laughing from the whole thing if, but only if, you happen to be a lying, mega-rich bitch who is running for the Presidency!

If that indeed is your 'exceptionalism', America, you are welcome to it!

 

 

Tomorrow the Chilcot brown stuff hits the fan

As I mentioned earlier, the fact that Tony Blair is very visibly 'back in town' indicates to me that he has no worries - and he has already seen the report!  Even so, somebody lied but equally, I suspect, the blame for the falsehoods will be spread evenly - and therefore, thinly - round Whitehall and Westminster.  Spanked 'pandies' all round but not too severe!  As for the dead and injured servicemen, well, as they say, 'shit happens' and anyone who volunteers for front-line service knows that and accepts the risks - and most of them wouldn't miss it for anything!  That's what soldiering is about.  Even so, I hope that accusatory fingers are pointed in the direction of the top Brass who do owe a duty of care to their own troops.  They above all should have been able to accurately assess the intelligence and yet none of them resigned and thereby risked their eventual ennoblements.

So farewell, 'Nige', and thanks for everything

Alas, today Nigel Farage has sought retirement but he goes with the grateful thanks of 52% of the country - and the other 48% can just get stuffed!  If anyone deserves a statue on that empty plinth in Trafalgar Square it's him.  It has been a remarkable story in which one man seized on a political idea which was originally shared by three men and a dog and against huge opposition and derision he drove it to a literally stunning success.

Unfortunately, earlier today, I chanced upon a post at EU Referendum a blog run by Dr. Richard North, a former colleague of Nigel Farage both of whom worked together in Brussels.  Today's post is on the subject of Farage's resignation and might be briefly described as the equivalent of pouring equal measures of bile and sick over the departing Nigel Farage.  To say that there is obviously bad blood between these two is to understate the case by a mile.  I have no idea what caused the rift and I definitely do not take sides. 

However, as I have remarked, uneasily, before on this blog, regular writing even on non-personal subjects gradually tells the careful reader more and more about you.  I used to be a regular reader of Dr. North's blog but gradually I was put off by the sheer belligerence of his writing style.  He is the political equivalent of Geoffrey Boycott, another fellow 'Yorkie'!  For all I know, his abusive, opinionated, insulting 'stream of consciousness' on the subject of Mr. Farage may be well deserved.  However, the post itself plus the argumentative comments below has definitely put me off Dr. North for ever.

Anyway, 'we bid farewell' to 'our Nige' - er, but don't rule out a come back! - and wish him well.  He goes with the gratitude of several zillion British voters - including me!

 

For God's sake, America, this LGBT stuff has gone far enough!

Now look here, America, I know you're all easy going, generous, kind hearted folks with not a speck of prejudice amongst you but all this LGBT (or should that be GLTB, or even BLT - oh no, I've just remembered, that's a Bacon, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich - oh Lord, life is very confusing these days!)  Anyway, what I mean is all those chaps who don't, er, 'dress to the right' and all those gals who favour collar and tie outfits plus various in-betweens awaiting surgery.  You have quite properly lifted all prejudice against them even allowing them entry into your armed forces - yeeeeeees, quite! - which should add an extra shiver of excitement to 'Kiss Me Quick' sailor hats!

However, I must ask you to draw the line at great monuments which over the centuries have come to represent the very best of America.  For example, it is now reported in The Mail that the Statue of Liberty is (gulp!) transgender!  Or at least, where for centuries we have politely doffed our hats to the lady who dominates the approaches to 'Noo Yawk', it now appears likely that, er, she is a he!  And he's  wearing a dress!  Mind you, I always did think that 'she' had mighty, meaty forearms for a gal!

 

Anyway, do please sort yourselves out because we sexless Brits do find it all very perplexing!

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 4.7.16

It's the 4th of July and for some reason 'the cousins' become all 'starry 'n' stripey-eyed', can't think why!  Anyway, they might not need cheering up but the rest of you probably will as you face another week at the coal-face!  This first one is especially for 'Whiters':

Four guys have been going to the same fishing trip for many years. Two days before the group is to leave, Ron's wife puts her foot down and tells him he isn't going. Ron's mates are very upset that he can't go, but what can they do.

Two days later the three get to the camping site to find Ron sitting there with a tent set up, firewood gathered, and  dinner cooking on the fire, sitting having a cold beer.                                                           

"Shit, Ron, how long you been here, and how did you talk your missus into letting you go?"                                                           

"Well, I've been here since last night. Yesterday evening, I was sitting in my living room chair and my wife came up behind me and put her hands over my eyes and asked,  'Guess who?" I pulled her hands off, and there she was, wearing a nightie. She took my hand and pulled me into our bedroom. The room had candles and rose petals all over. Well, she's been reading 50 Shades of Grey...... On the bed she had handcuffs, and ropes!  She told me to tie her up and cuff her to the bed, so I did.”

And then she said, "Do whatever you want."  

So, here I am!

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

 

A guy turns to his wife in bed and whispers, "Did you know it's National Orgasm Day?"

"Oh, what a pity," she said, "Right in the middle of National Headache Week."

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

 

My wife has days when she wants us to "talk about things."  We were discussing aspects of our future so when it was my turn I asked her: "What will you do if I die before you do?"

After some thought, she said that she'd probably look for a house-sharing situation with three other single or widowed women who might be a little younger than herself, since she is so active for her age

Then she asked me, "What will you do if I die first?"

I replied, "Probably the same thing."

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

It's 1942 and the train was quite crowded, when a U.S. Marine walked the entire length looking for a seat, but the only one left was taken by a well-dressed, middle-aged, French woman's poodle. 

The war-weary Marine asked, 'Ma'am, may I have that seat?'

The French woman just sniffed and said to no one in particular, 'Americans are so rude. My little Fifi is using that seat!' 

The Marine walked the entire train again, but the only seat left was under that dog. 

'Please, ma'am. May I sit down? I'm very tired.' 

She snorted, 'Not only are you Americans rude, you are also arrogant!' 

This time the Marine didn't say a word; he just picked up the little dog, tossed it out of the train window, and sat down. 

The woman shrieked, 'Someone must defend my honour! This American should be put in his place!' 

An English gentleman sitting nearby spoke up, 'Sir, you Americans seem to have a penchant for doing the wrong thing. You hold the fork in the wrong hand. You drive your cars on the wrong side of the road. And now, sir, you seem to have thrown the wrong bitch out of the window!!'

Y'all have a happy July 4th.

The Sunday Rumble: 3.7.16

Why do socialists find it so hard to eat?   'Up over here', we have only just recovered from the sight of Ed Miliband attempting to look like, er, you know, a real 'prole' by eating a bacon sandwich in a café.   The result was hilarious:  

Meanwhile, 'down under there', the leader of the Australian socialist party has attempted the same thing:

Big fail!  Even so, I must call upon my Aussie mates for some explanation for the surprising election results 'down under there'.  What's going on?  And please tell me there is no chance of that ghastly woman with the incomprehensible accent returning to my news bulletins!  By the way, sorry if the pics up above ruined your breakfast.

 

'I'm innocent, I tell ya, innocent!'   'Honest ta God, y'all got the wrong gal!'

Yes, sorry again, yet another ghastly photograph.  Still and all (as they say 'over there'), such fun to be had at the thought of that female, lying liar being grilled by the FBI.  Mind you, I suspect they were all falling over themselves to be ultra polite to the dreadful little 'perp', referring to her constantly as 'Madame Secretary' or 'Senator Clinton'.  What I wouldn't give to see her in yellow overalls!

 

I have been diagnosed with GES:   I know, I know, a fate worse than death!  And alas, Galloping Ennui Syndrome has no known cure for someone of my age. Years ago if I became eye-stabbingly bored by something I could always turn to sex but, alas, these days not only is the flesh not willing, nor is the spirit!  Of course, it is in the Summer that GES reaches the depths because there is nothing to distract me except endless 'Plink-Plonk' from Wimbledon, or 'rounders' from the Oval (cricket having disappeared years ago), or even worse, the England non-Football team.  Is it any wonder that my attention is diverted to Brazilian Ladies Volley-ball but, dammit, the coverage on my 'telly' is virtually non-existent.  I may have to make up with my old ex-best friend, Rupe, especially during the Olympics.  Here's a pic to make up for those ghastly ones above:

 

And now the splitters ooze out of the paintwork:   Beginning with the biggest 'oozer' of the lot, Tony Blair.  Never mind, he says, that a majority of Brits voted for 'OUT', who cares about all that democracy lark, we, the political class know best what's best for you lot!  Suddenly, Blair is here, there and everywhere in London so my guess is that the Chilcot enquiry will slap whitewash all over him.  If he had a hint that he might get his collar felt he would have sent his messages from some dictatorial dump in Asia where he is always so very welcome! 

 

Why did Obama send us a dipstick?   I ask because, according to The Mail, the American ambassador to the Court of St. James, Mr. Matthew Barzun, has let it be known that he and his wife are in, er, 'couples therapy' - yeeeeees, quite!  Apparently she is a therapist and he is the son of a therapist so one is tempted to suggest 'therapist, heal thyself!',  According to this latter-day Talleyrand, "

'It is really important to think about what you say and to be honest.  'You know, that's between two people, and not two countries. But I think the same should apply.' 

Where do they find these people?

 

 

No more rumbles later today

 

 

 

Has the Daily Telegraph been got at?

God bless Guido Fawkes, and his smelly socks, if we didn't have him we would need to invent him!  Today he has picked up on a story concerning a critical essay on 'St. Theresa of May', written by Jonathan Foreman for The Telegraph but which was withdrawn at the last moment, allegedly under pressure from her campaign team.  Obviously this says as much about the so-called newspaper as it does about the lady!  Only yesterday I was expressing my misgivings at the thought of her becoming prime minister, mostly on the grounds that her long, 6-year tenure at the Home Office has produced nothing of note, indeed, just the opposite, the situation in several areas under her command has worsened.

Here is Guido's copy of Mr. Foreman's article which more or less states my thoughts but with a great deal more detailed knowledge and authority:

In the run-up to the 2015 election, one of the handicaps David Cameron had to finesse was the fact that net migration to the UK was three times as high as he had promised it would be. Remarkably, none of the opprobrium this failure provoked brought forth the name of Theresa May, the cabinet minister actually entrusted with bringing migration down. Then, as now, it was as if the icy Home Secretary had a dark magic that warded off all critical scrutiny. 

The fact that her lead role in this fiasco went unnoticed and unmentioned likely reflects Mrs May’s brilliant, all-consuming efforts to burnish her image with a view to become prime minister.

After all, Mrs May’s tenure as Home Secretary has been little better than disastrous – a succession of derelictions that has left Britain’s borders and coastline at least as insecure as they were in 2010, and which mean that British governments still rely on guesswork to estimate how many people enter and leave the country.

People find this hard to credit because she exudes determination and strength. Compared to many of her bland, flabby cabinet colleagues, she has real gravitas. And few who follow British politics would deny that she is a deadly political infighter. Indeed Theresa May is to Westminster what Cersei Lannister is to Westeros in Game of Thrones: no one who challenges her survives undamaged, while the welfare of the realm is of secondary concern.

Take the demoralised, underfunded UK Border Force. As the public discovered after a people-smugglers’ vessel ran aground in May, it has has only three cutters protecting 7,700 miles of coastline. Italy by contrast has 600 boats patrolling its 4722 miles.

Considering the impression Mrs May gives of being serious about security, it’s all the more astonishing that she has also allowed the UK’s small airfields to go unpatrolled – despite the vastly increased terrorist threat of the last few years, the onset of the migration crisis, and the emergence of smuggling networks that traffic people, drugs and arms.

Then there is the failure to establish exit checks at all the country’s airports and ports. These were supposed to be in place by March 2015.

Unfortunately the Border Force isn’t the only organisation under Mrs May’s control that is manifestly unfit for purpose. Recent years have seen a cavalcade of Home Office decisions about visas and deportations that suggest a department with a bizarre sense of the national interest.

The most infamous was the refusal of visas to Afghan interpreters who served with the British forces in Afghanistan – as Lord Guthrie said, a national shame.

Mrs May has kept so quiet about this and other scandals – such as the collapse of the eBorders IT system, at cost of almost a billion pounds – that you might imagine someone else was in charge the Home Office.

[It’s not just a matter of the odd error. Yvette Cooper pointed out in 2013 that despite Coalition rhetoric, the number of people refused entry to the UK had dropped by 50 per cent, the backlog of finding failed asylum seekers had gone up and the number of illegal immigrants deported had gone down.]

The reputation for effectiveness that Mrs May nevertheless enjoys derives from a single, endlessly cited event: the occasion in 2014 when she delivered some harsh truths to a conference of the Police Federation.

Unfortunately this was an isolated incident that, given the lack of any subsequent (or previous) effort at police reform, seems to have been intended mainly for public consumption.

In general Mrs May has avoided taking on the most serious institutional problems that afflict British policing. These include a disturbing willingness by some forces to let public relations concerns determine policing priorities, widespread overreliance on CCTV, the widespread propensity to massage crime numbers, the extreme risk aversion manifested during the London riots, and the preference for diverting police resources to patrol social media rather than the country’s streets.

There is also little evidence that Mrs May has paid much attention to the failure of several forces to protect vulnerable girls from the ethnically-motivated sexual predation seen in Rotherham and elsewhere. Nor, despite her supposed feminism, has Mrs May’s done much to ensure that girls from certain ethnic groups are protected from forced marriage and genital mutilation. But again, Mrs May has managed to evade criticism for this.

When considering her suitability for party leadership, it’s also worth remembering Mrs May’s notorious “lack of collegiality”.

David Laws’ memoirs paint a vivid picture of a secretive, rigid, controlling, even vengeful minister, so unpleasant to colleagues that a dread of meetings with her was something that cabinet members from both parties could bond over.

Unsurprisingly, Mrs May’s overwhelming concern with taking credit and deflecting blame made for a difficult working relationship with her department, just as her propensity for briefing the press against cabinet colleagues made her its most disliked member in two successive governments.

It is possible that Mrs May’s intimidating ruthlessness could make her the right person to negotiate with EU leaders. However, there’s little in her record to suggest she possesses either strong negotiation skills or the ability to win allies among other leaders, unlike Michael Gove, of whom David Laws wrote “it was possible to disagree with him but impossible to dislike him,”

It’s surely about time – and not too late – for conservatives to look behind Mrs May’s carefully-wrought image and consider if she really is the right person to lead the party and the country.

There’s a vast gulf between being effective in office, and being effective at promoting yourself; it’s not one that Theresa May has yet crossed.

Dammit! Why can't the Welsh be more like, er, the English?

Hasn't anyone explained to the 'Taffs' that there is a very ancient custom prevailing in British sporting activities under which gallant Brit teams sally forth with a crescendo of support from the twerps fans who support them and after that they do the decent British thing and lose, preferably at the first opportunity, or failing that, by losing to absolute minnows, as England did so brilliantly against Iceland.  However, the 'leek-eaters', with typical Celtic indiscipline, have broken all the rules by actually winning and have thus advanced to the semi-finals of the European Cup.  This is frightfully un-British!

This act of insubordination can only be dealt with by harsh punishment which in this case means exile to Llanfair­pwllgwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­gogo­goch where no-one will ever write to them because none of us could spare the time to write the name of the wretched place even if we possessed envelopes big enough to encompass it!  In the meantime, of course, our gallant English multi-zillionaires are doing what they do best - falling over dead drunk on the beaches of the most expensive resorts in the West Indies whilst their wives and girlfriends keep busy checking on their net worth!

 

"Lord, Lord, how this world is given to lying!"

Thus spake one of Shakespeare's greatest liars, Sir Jack Falstaff, and I would not be surprised to see him running for the leadership of the Tory party!  There is, of course, an art and a craft to political lying.  Both Blair and the self-styled 'heir to Blair' mastered it effortlessly.  With political lying it is necessary always to leave doors slightly ajar, obscure avenues of retreat left open, space maintained to encompass the sudden U-turn.  Michael Gove, for all his high intelligence, failed to take those precautions.  He stood before the nation on live television and swore that under no circumstances would he run for leadership of the Tory party.  All he lacked was the proverbial stack of bibles on which he could have stood to emphasise his sincerity.  Even worse, he did not lie to another politician but to an ordinary member of the public who had posed the question to him during a 'Brexit' debate.  In a sense, via the camera lens, he looked us all in the eye and lied through his teeth.  The result is death.  Not, alas, by stoning from the mob in a public place, although he deserves it, but for him, even worse, it will be a career death by inches as he is cold-shouldered, ignored and passed by as he watches his political career swirl round and then down the toilet.  Politically, he is dead man walking! 

So now we must look forward, with some apprehension, to the leadership of 'St. Theresa of May'!  Personally, I remain unmoved and uneasy by the prospect.  She has been Home Secretary for six years and as far as I can tell (which isn't far, I admit) our constabulary are officered by idiots and crooks, our prisons are the human equivalent of landfill sites and our so-called borders should simply have a multi-language sign saying "This way to London"!  Even so, there is a God, there must be because only a God could have arranged for the Labour party to turn itself into the Judean Peoples' Front and thus fail utterly to be a responsible opposition.

Is it too early for a drink?