DUFF & NONSENSE!

An opinion based on zero knowledge

I make no apologies because that is the sort of thing you are used to reading here at D&N!  In fact were I to list all the things about which I know nothing you would all die before you reached the end.  Equally, were I to attempt to construct a list of things I do know about, I might die before I made the first entry!  Anyway, with my customary confidence I will now launch into a subject on which I am sublimely ignorant - corporation tax!

I am prompted to this subject, of course, by the decision of the EU to squeeze the pips out of the Apple Corporation by insisting, nay, ordering, the Irish government to raise 13 million euros in corporation tax on the grounds that the Paddies have been undercharging in order to steal the business in the first place.  For me, this is simply too, too delicious because I loathe the EU apparat, almost as much as dislike the 'Oirish' and, as a bought and sold Microsoft man, I dislike 'Crapple'!  And to top off this delightfully tasty soufflé it has got right up the nose the American government who are 'shocked, I tell you, shocked' that those Europeans have had the nerve to rip off a fine American corporation, even though the aforesaid American government via its (non)justice system always takes every opportunity to tear the arms and legs off any foreign company (remember BP?) that they decide has infringed their rules!

Of course, it's obvious that the main reason for all this is the hopelessly complicated rules introduced by governments to deal with taxing international (or even national) corporations.  Governments are run by civil servants who know even less about the intricacies of corporate finance than I do, where-as, corporations are run by 'Slick Willy' lawyers and accountants who run rings round them.  Allister Heath in The Telegraph has some ideas on the subject which are worth reading.  In the meantime, I really must get on with finishing my tax return!

 

Bring back inches and ounces and all the rest

The splendidly-named British Weights and Measures Association has called for allowing the old Imperial system to return - and about time, too!  Shop assistants are always telling me that such-and-such is half a kilo and I have to ask them to speak English.  They get cross because they don't know the answer and I get even crosser!  And why do we have to use centimetres for small items whilst we continue (thank God!) to use miles on our road system?  And whilst we're on the subject, Fahrenheit provides a much clearer description of temperatures than Centigrade.  Tell me 'it's below 50' and I know to take a coat!

And so, now it begins

Well, it begins next week, actually, once this boring-snoring Summer holiday season ends.  Perhaps the most fascinating matter of interest between now and Christmas will be how 'St. Theresa of May' steers the ship of state.  Early indications are good but, of course, 'there's many a slip 'twixt cup and lip'.  The first, and therefor cautious, impression is that she is a woman who knows where she wants to go and how to get there.  It may be that her chosen course might not be agreeable to everyone but if she steers with care and competence and drive then that is "A Good Thing" in itself.

Of course, she will be aided immensely by Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition who, instead of holding her to account, appear to be totally distracted by what can only be described as student politics.  Having chosen one elderly dementia-sufferer to compete for the leadership, they have now chosen a childish retard to oppose him.  What a choice!  And, of course, once the choice is made, "There will be blood", not Tory blood but Labour blood.  Still, it's not all bad, after all, red is their favourite colour!

Meanwhile, 'over there', they are about to start the final laps of the 'Presidential Grand Prix'.  Trump, of course, suffers from the fact that he steers the car whilst facing backwards but is somewhat assisted by his opponent who veers from side to side depending on how much the latest 'zillionaire' deposits in the Clinton Foundation!  The result will be a massive crash whichever one of them wins.  'Still 'n' all', as they say 'over there', those nice Chinese will be eager to help pick up the pieces!

And talking of crashes, those of a ghoul-like nature, can watch with delight and fascination as that man-made construct, the European (dis)Union, disintegrates under the pressure of - and given its origins I do love this phrase - 'it's own internal contradictions'.  There is nothing to compete with the folly of men dazzled with 'Big Ideas'.

So, plenty to look forward to and of course you will be able to read all about it here at D&N!

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 29.8.16

Not that you deserve any 'funnies' given that it's a Bank Holiday Monday and - unbelievably! - the sun is shining.  Even so, I'm a generous fellow - and I heard that! - so here they come and today it's a cocktail of 'shorties':

 

My neighbour knocked on my door at 2:30am this morning.  Can you believe that,  2:30am? Luckily for him I was still up playing my Bagpipes.

 

I sat on the train this morning opposite a stunning Thai girl. I kept thinking to myself, please don't get an erection, please don't get an erection...............but she did.

 

The Grim Reaper came for me last night, and I beat him off with a vacuum cleaner. Talk about Dyson with death.

 

Did you hear about the fat alcoholic transvestite? All he wanted to do was eat, drink and be Mary.

 

Paddy says "Mick, I'm thinking of buying a Labrador." “Sod that” says Mick, "have you seen how many of their owners go blind."

 

I was in bed with a blind girl last night and she said that I had the biggest “thingy” she had ever laid her hands on. I said "You're pulling my leg."

 

I've just had a letter back from Screwfix. They said they regretted to inform me that they're not actually a dating agency.

 

A man walks into a pub in the Rhonda and orders a white wine spritzer. The bar goes silent as everyone stares at him... The barman asked, "Where are you from?" "I'm from across the Severn," replies the man nervously. "English ay boyo. And what do you do, just across the Severn?" "I'm a taxidermist." "What on earth is one of those?" "I mount animals." "Its alright boys," shouts the barman, "He's one of us."

 

Spent £40 on eBay last week for a penis enlarger. Just opened it and some git's sent me a magnifying glass!

 

I saw a poor old lady fall over today on the ice!! At least I presume she was poor – she only had £1.20 in her purse.

 

My girlfriend thinks that I’m a stalker. Well, she’s not exactly my girlfriend yet.

 

An old lady is being examined by her GP. He asks, "Have you ever been bedridden?" "Yes I have," she says, "And I've been table ended and backscuttled a few times too."

 

A wife says to her husband, "You’re always pushing me around and talking behind my back." He replies, "What do you expect? You’re in a wheel chair."

 

I was explaining to my wife last night that when you die you get reincarnated but come back as a different creature. She said, "I would like to come back as a cow." She was obviously not listening.

 

Doctors have just identified a food that can cause grief and suffering years after it's been eaten. It's called a wedding cake.

 

The wife has been missing a week now. Police said to prepare for the worst. So I have been to the charity shop to get all her clothes back.

 

Hi, mate. I don't want you to panic but I’m texting you from A & E Casualty. Turns out the new Dyson Ball cleaner isn't what I thought it was.

 

That's your lot!  All of them in the worst possible taste - so no change there then!

 

The Sunday Rumble: 28.8.16

The irony is simply too, too delicious:   As Booker explains in The Telegraph, with a fairly straight face, three of the 'managing board' of the EU met last week on the island of Ventotene off the Italian coast to try and work out what the E(dis)U is to do in the face of Brexit.  Ventotene was once a prison in which one of the main founders of the E(dis)U, a certain Altiero Spinelli, was once imprisoned by Mussolini.  This gentleman drew up a master plan for the formation of a New Europe which was to be kept secret until the last moment when it was near completion and could be revealed to the people of Europe.  Post war, he worked closely with Jean Monnet and such was his influence on the development of the Europe we know today that the main office block housing the European parliament is called the Altieri Spinelli Building.  What is kept very discretely in the background - you would never hear mention of it via the BBC! - is that Spinelli was and remained all his life a rabid communist.  It is also indicative of the, er, 'democratic' nature of the E(dis)U that only three European leaders were invited to this meeting to decide future plans - well, I mean, who gives a toss what the Greeks think! - the Kaiserin, of course, and her French poodle, Presidente (soon to be ex-Presidente!) Hollande and Matteo Renzi, the Italian PM of the next European country to go bust who actually owns the wretched little Island.  Not very democratic?  Well, that's how they do things 'just over there'!  (Cue: incoming 'SoD' - take cover!)

 

By Jove, Winnie, that's the way to go to war:   I was amused at the review of a book on Winston Churchill recently reviewed in The Mail.  It concentrates on the time after Gallipoli when he was forced to resign.  Rather than lurk about on the backbenches he volunteered for service on the Western front.  The officers and men of the Royal Scots Fusiliers must have been a bit bemused when he "arrived mounted on a black charger, followed by a gun carriage laden with his belongings — among them a full-sized bath and a boiler to heat the water."  He also ensured that his wife kept him well supplied with at least three bottles of brandy every ten days.  Despite all that, Churchill never shirked going into 'no man's land' which he did on at least 38 different occasions.  Worth reading the entire review.

 

Sorry, sorry but it is a holiday weekend:   Yes, I know, I am a dismal failure but I have been somewhat occupied today.  I shall make up for it tomorrow with my Monday Funnies which I can promise you will reach new depths heights!

 

No more rumbles today

 

Let's hear it for 'Chicago U'

Now look, this blog pleads guilty to being totally 'Chicago-ist' printing as it does endless stories concerning the malfeasance and malignancies associated with that city.  Needless to say, the proprietor of this blog (er, that's me, actually!) has never visited the place and knows nothing more than what he reads in the papers which is, I suppose, a monument to his, er, my, ignorance!

Still 'n' all (as I believe you say 'over there') I am British and therefore a firm believer in fair play, well, except when we play the Aussies at cricket, or the Germans at football, or the New Zealanders at rugby, and thus I am delighted to sing the praises of Chicago University, as fine an institution as you will find anywhere in the USA.  This splendid academy has, according to PJ Media, done the unthinkable and refused to go along with the Marxist bullying that has infested other universities - 'over here' as well as 'over there'.

The University of Chicago sent a letter to the incoming Class of 2020, explaining why it values free inquiry and free expression over the politically correct culture of "safe spaces," "trigger warnings," and — unstated but very much implied — "microaggressions."

"You will find that we expect members of our community to be engaged in rigorous debate, discussion, and even disagreement. At times this may challenge you and even cause discomfort," Dean of Students John (Jay) Ellison wrote. The university embraces this discomfort because one of its "defining characteristics is our commitment to freedom of inquiry and expression."

I never thought to read such splendid common-sense from an institute of higher learning most of whom produce never ending dangerous and muddled PC crap whilst handing over control of their institutions to a bunch 0f 18-year-old idiots who couldn't think their way out of a paper bag!

Ra-Ra-Ra, go Chicago!  Er, or something like that . . .

And the French get it wrong on the 'burkini', as well

Sorry to go on and on about the French but their capacity for getting most things wrong most of the time is incroyable!  Sundry mayors of French seaside towns have banned the 'burkini', the all-in-one beach suit for ladies considered de rigueur by Muslims.  These jumped-up Town Hall toss-pots have now been supported by that Hungarian dwarf, Sarkozy, who is trying yet again to get his hands on the French presidency before someone sends him to jail.  No doubt, les gens (dread words!) are all in support thus proving yet again that the French always get everything wrong. 

The fact is that the 'burkini' should be made compulsory for all women, not just in France but over here in dear old 'Blighty', too! Especially those grossly fat 'lardies' I see waddling down my local High Street wearing the bare - and I do mean 'bare' - minimum.  They add insult to injury by thus displaying grossly ugly examples of the tattooists so-called 'art'.  These 'adornments' are so hideous that they deserve to be on permanent display inside the Tate Modern art gallery where they would be barely noticed amongst all the other crap on view!

Even so, being a decent British chap, I am not one to become dictatorial over these matters.  Exceptions can and should be made and I, for one, am prepared to give up my precious time to attend my local Town Hall and adjudicate on exactly which ladies should be permitted to wear a proper bikini and which should be condemned to wear the 'burkini'.  This will involve a parade of the applicants for my inspection.  Yes, it will be time consuming but I am, as you are all aware, exceedingly community-minded.

 

Yet more 'Frenchy-poo' stuff

My friend, Richard, who has been a.w.o.l. from these distinguished columns for some time (and will therefore be up on a charge when he returns!) did at least send me an interesting essay on the Battle of Waterloo.  It is irritating to amateur military history buffs like me that so many myths arise almost instantaneously after a battle.  Given the critical importance of Waterloo it is important to separate fact from fiction although there is some interest to be derived from the way in which different myths are invented to suit different parties to the proceedings.  Thus, the author of the essay, Prof. Tim Blanning, completely squidges that old fairy-tale about the French Imperial Guard forming square at the end of the battle and replying to a British demand for surrender by a one word answer - "Merde!"

He implies, quite correctly in my view, that Bonaparte's mad return to France from his prison on Elba was an extreme gamble by any measure.  As I have mentioned before, it is worth noting that when news of his escape and return reached the Congress of Vienna it only took a few days for all the Grand Panjandrums of Europe to agree that they would all go back to war until Bonaparte was utterly finished.  Just think, these days, how long it takes the EU leaders to agree on the time of day let alone matters of war and peace. 

Bonaparte was just another in a long line of murderous, maniacal egotists who wreak havoc whenever they arise.  The fact that even today most Frenchmen admire him tells you all you need to know about the folly of 'The People' - dread words!

The French are so clever but ...

In English, the word 'clever' is not quite a compliment in the way that, say, 'intelligent' is.  One can understand and even sympathise with the determination of France after WWII to cuddle the Germans into an all-embracing hug given that the Germans had spent the first half of the 20th century ripping the guts out of France.  In such circumstances the words "Never Again!" have an understandable resonance.  Of course, in retrospect, the French might have done better to cuddle the Americans, or even the detested rosbifs, but that was never going to happen under the haughty rule of Gen. de Gaulle.  In addition, of course, the French are always in thrall to their intellectual class and a whole coterie of them had swallowed the 'New United Europe' dream whole.

The problem with dreams, however, is that eventually you wake up, and you do so to a harsh reality.  Thus it is with France today - according to A E-P in The Telegraph.  According to him, whole swathes of French society, from the Left to the Right, are beginning to see the truth behind the words of the late, laconic Nicholas Ridley, "This is all a German racket designed to take over the whole of Europe."  This "racket" might have worked if the philosophy and policies of the late, great Ludwig Erhard had been continued but, like all human efforts, eventually the 'little people' destroyed them.  Today, in keeping with German tradition, the country - and therefore Europe - is led by a loony, in this case, a madwoman rather than a madman.

In France, according to A E-P, the truth is slowly dawning but alas it is giving licence to even greater lunacies which will lead - well, who knows where?  The Hungarian dwarf, Sarkozy, has suddenly been reborn as an extreme Rightist in the hope, presumably, of thwarting Mde. Marine le Pen whose far Right party has recently made great gains.  On the Left, some new Leftie called Arnaud Montebourg wants to rebel against most European edicts but just short of Frexit, much as the Poles and the Hungarians are doing.  In other words, do what they want to do and ignore the rest.

Hitherto, I have been relying on Italy to bring down this delusional house of cards because they are, to all intents and purposes, broke!  However, given that the French are holding elections next year, who knows?

My last words on the Olympics, well, Robert Hardman's actually!

To be fair, I'm not in a position to write anything definitive about the Olympics for the simple reason that I barely saw any of it.  Thus, I am reduced to reliance on Robert Hardman's excellent summary in The Mail.  The first photograph sums it up and indicates that I was not alone in ignoring the whole ghastly pantomime:

According to Mr. Hardman, "At some events, you could measure the vacant plastic by the acre."  Hardly surprising given that Brazil is a corrupt, disease-ridden, third world country run by crooks and gangsters but at least the corruption made it that much easier for them to deal with the equally corrupt Grand Panjandrums who run the international Olympic games.  Meanwhile, as the greasy money changed hands in the swank hotels and villas, back in the slums of Rio:

The shootings continue. The poverty continues. The 30 per cent of the population with no sanitation now have even less chance of a flushing lavatory because the city has blown the budget on crummy sporting facilities.

Also, if you listened carefully you might just have heard a ghostly laugh from hell currently occupied by the late, unlamented João Havelange, a former Brazilian  capo di tutti capi who ran both the Olympics and that other example of international sporting rectitude, FIFA. - yeeeeeeees, quite! 

So the stadia were unfinished, the seats were empty, the athletes' accommodation was slum-like, the food was atrocious, the swimming pools kept turning green and, to cap it all, the money's all gone so there's nothing left for the 'crip' games.  They should thank their lucky stars that they don't have to go!  Meanwhile, our dopey 'pols' and all those get-rich-quick 'sporting administrators' are boasting - yes, actually boasting - about how many 'zillions' of our money has been spent for all those sweaty 'hearties' to do whatever it is they actually do. 

Well, I want my money back!

 

So Jezza's just another lying liar after all!

But at least his lying is consistent with his political fantasy philosophy being, as it is, bereft of any rationality (as he would call it) or truth (as we would call it).  Here is our poor, little socialist leader suffering at the cruel hands of that bloated 'zillionaire', Sir Richard Branson, who owns Virgin Trains:

How dare they?!  The elderly leader of Her Majesty's (more or less) loyal opposition forced to sit on the floor of a train from London to Newcastle because there were no seats available.  You see, the leader of the labour party "suffers the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" (er, well, Branson's fortune anyway) just like the rest of you put-upon proles.  Something must be done!  There is only one answer - nationalise the railways!

Of course, having a large staff around you to arrange all the details of your every waking hour, you might think that someone could have booked some seats in advance for an engagement which had been in the diary for weeks but then, you proles just don't realise that when every part of your being is wrapped up in plans to turn Britain into a workers' paradise, there isn't time to bother with petty, little details.  And anyway, it now transpires that the whole thing was a load of make-believe 'blx' because, of course, there were plenty of seats available and the security video kindly released by that nice 'zillionaire', Sir Richard Branson, shows 'Jezza' walking past dozens of them until he found just the spot for a nice agit-prop photograph to fool all you dim-witted proles.

Thus, one is left with the gloomy knowledge, well, gloomy if you are a supporter of the Labour party, that not only is Jezza hopeless at thinking through a practical political agenda that anyone outside of a Polytechnic Trot faction would dismiss as barmy, the silly old coot can't even manage the very basic skill required by every politician from every party - the art of lying.  It's a good job he frequently wears sandals because I doubt that he could actually tie his own shoe-laces!

 

 

Who's that bloke with glasses who keeps squeaking about the Labour party?

Well, thanks to my estimable source - well, anyone's source if you read The Mail on Sunday - my already minimal interest in that four-eyed pip-squeak has been satisfied by Mr. Dan Hodges.  He's a little chancer called Owen Smith MP and he popped up like a jack-in-the-box when there was a chance to appear regularly on the 'telly' pretending to be a sort of 'Jezza' Mk. II who would be much better at idiotic, Trot-lot, political fantasies than 'Jezza' himself.  Yeeeeeees, quite!

Mr. Hodges, who knows this pathetic little show-off better than me, describes him as "spineless, incoherent, incompetent", well, to be accurate that was Mr. Hodges' description of Owen's campaign but one senses that it fits the man, himself, beautifully.  In Owen's pathetic attempt to out-Jezz 'Jezza', he made desperate attempts to distance himself from anything 'Blairite' which has an element of truth in it but only because:

To be fair, when Smith says he was never a Blairite, I believe him. But that’s because by the time he was elected an MP, Tony Blair was long gone. If Smith had been an MP when Blair was leader, he would have been a Blairite. Under Brown, he’d have been a Brownite. As it was, when he was elected in 2010, he became a Milibite.

And now, in 2016, he’s conveniently become a born-again Corbynite – albeit one who can read an Autocue.

The whole charade, of course, is merely the entertainment that will precede the main fight.  'Jezza' will win and the Labour party will become a sort of Polytechnic Trot-lot Faction.  Then the emphasis will shift to 'the sensibles' - oh, alright then, 'the fairly sensibles'.  What will they do?  Have they made their plans?  Are they ready to act together?  'Dunno', I will have to wait for Mr. Hodges to tell me!

 

Good old Guido, give him a Knighthood even if he is 'Oirish'!

I know, I know, it's a bit cheeky pre-empting Her Maj's prerogative in awarding a Damehood to Ms. Anna Raccoon (see below) and now offering a Knighthood to 'Guido Fawkes' but sometimes the vox populi must be heard!

I reported the other day that the EU apparatchiks were busy melding all the Olympic medals won by EU members (er, except Britain, natch!) in order to boast that Europe, not America, had won the Olympics.  Now, Guido ('who is a very naughty boy!') has melded all the medals won by the (former) British empire and, dammit, sir, we won by a mile!

British Empire               396

Rest of the world           320

European (dis)Union   258 (who sniggered?)

And just to rub their Euro noses in it, all those countries that include a Union Jack on their flag won 115 medals of which 40 were gold!  Splendid show, chaps!

 

Make that Anna Raccoon a Dame!

After all, she is now well on the way to being a national treasure'!  Every so often, when I have expelled my mixture of waffle and blather here at D&N, I pay her site a visit to remind myself what proper rigorous thinking is like.  Today, in her very proper lawyer-like way, she examines a case which can only be described as cataclysmic for everyone concerned but especially Dr. Stephen Hamilton, a middle-aged, married doctor who was convicted three years ago for sexual activity with his daughter.  He appealed the conviction but the Appeal Court upheld the judgment.

Before I go further let me remind you that (so far!) my only experience of Crown Courts was when I was called as a defence witness for one of my old car-trader mates and the Judge, who looked around 103 years of age, admonished me in the strongest terms for "uttering forged documents"!  I nearly wet myself in fear but considering it all later it confirmed my suspicion that many of our Judges are just a bunch of puffed-up 'Cocklecarrots'!

Anyway, taking my cue from Ms. Raccoon (as though I would dare to do otherwise!), a jury found Dr. Hamilton guilty and we must abide by that decision which has now been confirmed by the Court of Appeal.  However, there are ramifications to this case which Ms. Raccoon describes much better than I ever could.  I will not attempt to summarise them but urge you to read her post on the subject.  WARNING: it will leave you exceedingly uneasy about our so-called 'justice system'.

 

The 'Amalgamated Union of Stoopids' is alive and well and still 'stoopid'

An amusing story in The Mail today reporting that several unions are planning to co-ordinate their strike activities in the Autumn in an effort to force a general election.  One is left wondering on which planet these people exist?  You would expect such 'stoopidity' from the train drivers' union - surely driving a train requires minimal intelligence - but you might expect better thinking from the junior doctors and the teachers.  On second thoughts perhaps not because I have been constantly underwhelmed with what passes for thinking from those two, er, 'professions'.  Here is a picture of the "swivel-eyed loon" who represents junior doctors:

As an indication of this man's intelligence, The Mail tells us that he is a Corbyn supporter who said, "Building links between our unions is vital. Now is the time to ramp things up. We need to defend Corbyn and show the Government the door."  As a doctor would you trust this man to diagnose a head cold?  Does he seriously suppose that the country, having just voted the Tories in with a majority, is itching to defeat them, rid themselves of Mrs. May and install 'Jezza'?  Even most Labour voters don't want 'Jezza'.  I don't think he inhabits a different planet, I think he is in a parallel universe!

Mind you, it could provide the Blessed St. Theresa with a chance to install a new Tory government with a majority in treble figures.

 

Your Monday Funnies: 22.8.16

Right, all those sweaty 'hearties' have finished running and jumping and throwing things so you can all jolly well concentrate on your work.  Howevr, to help you along here are some hilarious funny side-splitting witty - oh alright then, mildly amusing jokes to help you along:

Everyone seems to be in such a hurry to scream 'racism' these days.

A customer asked, "In what aisle could I find the Irish sausage?"

The clerk asks, "Are you Irish?"

The guy, clearly offended, says, "Yes I am. But let me ask you something.

“If I had asked for Italian sausage, would you ask me if I was Italian? Or if I had asked for German Bratwurst, would you ask me if I was German? Or if I asked for a kosher hot dog would you ask me if I was Jewish? Or if I had asked for a Taco, would you ask if I was Mexican? Or if I asked for Polish sausage, would you ask if I was Polish?"

The clerk says, "No, I probably wouldn't."

The guy says, "Well then, because I asked for Irish sausage, why did you ask me if I'm Irish?"

The clerk replied, "Because you're in a Halfords Car Parts store."

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I woke up to go to the toilet in the middle of the night (as I often do) & I noticed a strange individual who looked Muslim with a knife in his hand, sneaking through my next door neighbour’s back garden.

Suddenly my neighbour came from nowhere and smacked him over the head with a shovel, killing him instantly.

He then dug a grave in the vegie patch and put the body in it and covered it.

Astonished, I got back into bed. As I tossed and turned my wife said, "You're upset, what is it?"

"You'll never believe what I've just seen," I said.

”What” she said.

"That bastard next door has still got my shovel."

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My wife Andrea found out that our dog (a Schnauzer) could hardly hear, so she took it to the vet.

The vet found that the problem was hair in the dog's ears. He cleaned both ears and the dog could then hear fine. The vet then proceeded to tell Andrea that, if she wanted to keep this from recurring, she should go to the pharmacy and get some "Nair" hair remover and use it in the dog's ears once a month.

Andrea went to the store and bought some "Nair" hair remover.

At the register, the pharmacist told her, "If you're going to use this under your arms, don't use deodorant for a few days."

Andrea said, "I'm not using it under my arms."

The pharmacist said, "If you're using it on your legs, don't use body lotion for a couple of days."

Andrea replied, "I'm not using it on my legs either. If you must know, I'm using it on my Schnauzer."

The pharmacist said, "Well, stay off your bicycle for at least a week!"

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Men can't win...

Oh what a tangled language English is and how easy it is to misconstrue.......

A man takes a blonde out to dinner for the first time. Later they go on to a show. The evening is a huge success and as he drops her at her door he says 'I have had a lovely time. You looked so beautiful, you remind me of a beautiful climbing rose. May I call on you tomorrow?'

The blonde agrees and a date is made.

The next night he knocks on her door and when she opens it she slaps him hard across the face.

He is stunned. 'What was that for?' he asked.

She said... I looked up "beautiful climbing rose" on Google last night and it said "Best suited for rooting against a brick wall or fence, no good in an open bed."

 

Right, that's your lot - back to the coalface and get at it!

 

The Sunday Rumble: 21.8.16

The art - and craft! - of the eulogy:  I am provoked to this particular 'rumble' by an article I read via the ever-excellent Arts & Letters Daily.  It is a review of a book on the subject of eulogies which rather intrigued me because I have, on two or three occasions, been asked to deliver eulogies on dead friends.  Should you ever be invited to do it let me warn you that it's a damn ticklish business!  In the very nature of friendship you become aware of, shall we say, the highs and lows of a friend's character.  That's OK but it is the realisation that almost everyone at the ceremony is equally aware.  Too much gush and you will sound like a total hypocrite, too much honesty and the widow is likely to faint.  Minefield clearance is easier!

 

No, really, truly, honestly:   There is another interesting essay pointed to by A&LD on the subject of good, old-fashioned dishonesty in public discourse.  It suggests, among other things, that whilst we know that our leaders lie to us constantly we don't really care any more.  That can't be right, can it?

 

Another film for my Top Ten:   And yes, I know there are at least 38 films in my Top Ten but that merely goes to prove the breadth of my good taste!  Actually, this one is probably in there already but I happened to catch it again last night and I had forgotten how superb it is.  I refer to Master and Commander, directed by Peter Weir and starring Russell Crowe and Paul Bettany.  Nor should I forget the original writer, Patrick O'Brian, who invented two of the greatest characters in fiction.  Before you rush off to buy any of O'Brian's books let me warn you that they do contain a fair amount of sailing-ship jargon which is indecipherable to land-lubbers like me but if you develop the knack of skim-reading you can whizz past all that 'haul away the starboard fo'cstle main sail' stuff and just enjoy the yarns.  Or better still, just watch Peter Weir's superlative film.

 

They never stop:   I refer to the EU fanatics who run the closed-shop government of the European (dis)Union.  Apparently the Brussels bureaucrats are busy totting up the total medal-count of EU countries taking part in the Olympic games in order to prove that Europe is better than America.  Why can't they just concentrate on the important things, like their expense accounts?

 

'The evil that men do' just multiplies:   On hearing the news that yet another suicide bomber had wreaked havoc and horror, alas, I merely shrugged.  Then I heard that the 'perp' had deliberately targeted a wedding party and killed 50+ and wounded God knows how many.  Now what kind of twisted mind can actually choose a wedding party?  Surely, a happy, harmless occasion common to all people of all religions, everywhere.  Then I learned that the 'perp' was between 14 and 16 years of age.  Who, I wondered, could deliberately indoctrinate a kid of that age into doing their dirty work for them?  My mind wandered to that evil s.o.b. who got away with preaching hate to young Muslims here in Britain for over ten years before, finally, the law acted - even though he only received a sentence of 10 years and will thus probably be out in five.

 

"Oh, the horror, the horror!"   When it comes to matters of truly horrific, ghastly, car-crash ladies' fashion, I am forced to rely on my lovely - and elegant - e-pal, 'Sister Wolf', for guidance.  She deserves a Congressional Medal of Honour for courage above and beyond the call of duty in the way that she scours the depths of female fashion in order to warn the 'sisterhood'.  Here is a prime example:

  

It's the sort of thing you might find on a charity stall in support of the blind!  But actually, they cost - wait for it! - $795!

 

Well done, Sir Ian!   I have been a 'fan' of Sir Ian McKellen for some time now, not least because I was able to see him live in one or two of his Shakespeare productions and also his one-man show on the subject of Shakespeare and his plays.  However, with the exception of his film version of Richard III, I have not seen him on the screen and certainly not the film of Lord of the Rings in which he played, famously, the character of Gandalf.  I'm sure it was excellent and all that but it's just not my thing!  Even so, it speaks well of Sir Ian that, according to The Telegraph, he turned down $1.5 million to officiate at the wedding of some brain-dead American 'zillionaire' who wanted the 'ceremony' conducted in the style of Lord of the Rings with Sir Ian dressed as Gandalf.  I'm only a tad disappointed that Sir Ian never thought to pass the offer on to another distinguished 'thesp', er, me, actually!  I'd have done it for half the money - oh alright then, a quarter!

 

And here is my final - but loud - raspberry to the Olympics:   Apparently the 'lady' who won the female 800 metres has two internal testes and no womb or ovaries.  The 'ladies' who finished second and third have similar abnormalities.  I say bring back the tractor 'girls' of Sverdlovsk who used to win the hammer throwing competition back in the day!

 

No more rumbles today

 

Calm down, dear, it's just an EU negotiation

Nobody, as all my regulars here 'do know', is quicker to bend the intellectual knee before the wisdom of an editor of The Spectator than me.  This is partly because I have just enough self-knowledge to sense the limits of my education and intelligence but also because for the past nearly 40 years I have rarely (not 'never', just 'rarely') read anything stupid or malignant from those in command of the best weekly magazine in the world.  However, today, the current editor, Mr. Fraser Nelson, a man whose views I normally admire and respect, gives me pause.

In an article at The Coffee House, he names the British bureaucrat who first suggested to 'St. Theresa' that she should, and I paraphrase his words, 'use EU residents in the UK as bargaining chips in the forthcoming Brexit negotiations'.  The official concerned, by the way, is Sir Ivan Rogers, currently the British ambassador to the EU and presumably a man who knows the highways, byways and even the dark alleys of Brussels/Berlin politics.  Even so, Mr. Fraser is affronted at the mere thought of such an action which he denounces as "bizarre and repugnant" and even worse, frightfully un-British!

This is not the first time that Mr. Nelson has re-acted sharply to this notion perhaps, and here I am guessing, because his own wife is Swedish and as a London metropolitan he probably socialises and works with a large number of EU citizens living in this country.  Of course, I cannot match his sources of information but as I understand the matter, from the outside looking in, Mrs. May is simply refusing to rule out ahead of negotiations the possibility that the UK might expel European foreigners, particularly if the Brussels 'thugocracy' take steps to penalise British people living in Europe.  Of course, I am sure that such a thought has never entered the head of, say, 'Junck the Drunk' or 'Presidente Pipsqueak' of France but it would strike me as needlessly chivalrous, in fact downright dumb, to surrender our trump card before they slap down their ace.

Unless the Europeans are determined to toss their toys out of the pram by threatening retribution on British people 'just over there' then there is not a snowball's chance in hell of us taking action against their citizens legally resident here.  Mr. Nelson, a Jock of the first order, should take a wee slug of his nation's favourite tipple and calm down!

 

The way to save Labour - suicide!

Well, at least the inherent idiocy of that plan smacks of what passes for genuine Labour 'thinking'.  According to a rather excitable report in the usually staid Daily Telegraph, 6,000 Labour members could be expelled for being rude to Jews and to fellow members of the Labour party.  This, er, story (well, it is mid August!) arises from the claim by a Tory MP that Labour party MPs had approached him urging that an early general election be called in order to decimate Labour and thus force out 'Jezza' and his eye-ball swivelling apparatchiks by demonstrating their utter uselessness.

Well, it's a plan - I suppose!  But on closer reading of the report it turns out the number of Labour MPs suggesting this mass hara kiri is, er, three, actually!  Now whilst it is possible that 'St. Theresa of May' might be tempted to go for a quick election in order to virtually wipe out Labour and increase her small majority, she might well think long and hard on what happened to her predecessor, 'Dim Dave', who, when under pressure from the 'Kippers', panicked and offered 'The People' (dread words!) a referendum.  'The People' promptly kicked him in the nuts and ended his less than distinguished premiership!

Well, even if this Telegraph tale smacks of August editorial padding, nevertheless, the schism facing the Labour party is truly cataclysmic.  How it will resolve itself will be the thriller of the decade!

 

"It's all over, it's all over"

This has been the longest three years of my life, oooops, sorry, I mean the longest three weeks of my life, it just feels like years!  As a monument to human ambition, folly, greed, nonsense (in the literal meaning of that word), hyperbole and in some cases downright chicanery there is nothing to beat the Olympics.  As in so many other facets of life, what began as a high ideal soon degenerated into a disgusting showcase for the very worst of human nature.  Perhaps it started with the 1936 Berlin Olympics which were saved from total infamy by that black upstart, Jesse Owens, who ruined Adolf's pageant in praise of national socialism by beating all those white herrenvolk.  The 'games' sort of returned to their ideal in 1948 when battered London in post-war austerity did its best to restart them but it has been steadily downhill ever since.

The Soviets and their puppets began the rot when they brazenly cheated on the old Olympic ideal that the competitors should be strictly amateur.  Then, of course, the druggies moved in with the connivance of various governments and, as the world took off again to reach new heights of prosperity, 'Big Money' followed and slowly but inexorably, the games have deteriorated.  The men (mostly men!) who should have been the guardians of the Olympic ideal were the very first to succumb to the corruption of 'Big Money' and it is a fitting 'tribute' to the current Brazilian Olympic games which were mostly rubbish that the very first capo di tutti capi, Joao Havelange, has just died in the middle of them - regrettably, he reached the age of 100.

As the inherent corruption at the top of the Olympic games spreads down to every part of the rotten, decaying body it is a source of huge merriment to bitter, old cynics like me to watch the growth in the number of (so-called) 'sports'.  The other day, by accident, I watched some 'sport' in which two women, covered entirely in padded suits to ensure there was no chance of them being hurt, kicked each other!  No, seriously, that's all they did - just kick each other.  Now at least topless ladies wrestling in mud, a 'sport' beloved of elderly gentlemen (well, this one at any rate), requires some sort of skill, or at least, it provides some entertainment, but the sight of two gift-wrapped women wearing helmets just kicking each other is truly and monumentally boring-snoring!

Well, at least I will not have to put up with this stinkingly corrupt snore-fest for another four years and with a bit of luck I'll be dead by then!

Right, you will all cheer up - NOW!

And that's an order!  There's far too much of all this bellyaching going on and it's demoralising the troops, sorry, I mean 'The People' - dread words!  Now, as you know, this is a sunny blog, not one given to doom and despondency and grim warnings of evils yet to come - yes, thank you, JK, but it's holiday time so don't go ploughing through the archives, just go fishing instead! - and here at D&N we strive valiantly and constantly to cheer you all up.

I am delighted to tell you that I have been re-enforced in this drive to good cheer by Mr. Johan Norberg in this week's Spectator.  He opens his essay with this quote: "We have fallen upon evil times, politics is corrupt and the social fabric is fraying."  See what I mean?  You wouldn't find that sort of 'doom 'n' gloom' in these distinguished columns - yes, yes, alright, JK; look, why don't you go off and pay Barney Magroo a visit!  Where was I?  Oh yes, Mr. Norberg's excellent correction to the prevailing mood - a mood, incidentally, which has hung around for nearly 6,000 years because that was when those words I quoted above were first carved in stone in ancient Chaldea, although it sounds like the sort of thing I hear in my local saloon bar.

Anyway, here are just a few good cheer facts: During the life of Karl Marx, 'gloomster' par excellence, the average Englishman was three times richer at 65 than when he was born.  In 1981, nine in ten Chinese lived in poverty, now only one in ten do so.  Since the end of the cold war GDP per capita has increased by nearly as much as it did in the previous 25,000 years and 25 years ago only about half the governments in the world were democracies, now nearly two thirds are.

So stop all that drowning your sorrows in the pub and instead celebrate (and read!) all the good news in Mr. Norberg's excellent article.  And don't worry about falling victim to euphoria, there will always be plenty of bad news here at D&N - oooops, sorry, shouldn't have said that!

 

I'm for Trump

Yes, I know that's the opposite of what I wrote last week and that what I wrote last week was the opposite of what I wrote the week before which differed from the week before that by roughly 180 degrees - but hell, that's the joy of this blog, it's never predictable!  Anyway, it's not my fault that 'the cousins', in their infinite madness, have chosen the worst pair of candidates in a lifetime.

Now, I do remember a few weeks ago - I can't remember where but my archivist, JK, is  no doubt 'poised in the slips' - writing that the single factor that would gain my - entirely theoretical - vote for Trump would be the make-up of the Supreme Court.  Then Trump opened his big, nay, gigantic, mouth and said something incredibly 'stoopid' even by his dire standards and so, with peg firmly on my nose and trembling hands I wrote that the truly hideous 'HillBilly' would have my support.

But yesterday courtesy of IHTM, I read an article by Mr. Hugh Hewitt (no, me neither) at The Washington Examiner.  Amongst other things, Mr. Hewitt, a former lawyer himself, teaches law at a college, so he has some expertise in matters pertaining to the Supreme Court.  For the benefit of my non-American readers I should emphasise the absolutely critical role the SCOTUS has in American affairs.  Originally, its purpose was to compare any legal/political decisions taken either by lower courts or by State or National governments and test them against the template of the original Constitution - and their word was final!

These days, of course, judges, on the whole, and particularly the Left-wing activist ones, are anything but neutral.  They all have their pet political axes to grind and many of them will not hesitate to ignore the tenets of the Constitution in order to reach what they consider to be a greater good.  So, as Mr. Hewitt emphasises, if 'HillBilly' reaches the White House she will choose who occupies the vacant seat on the SCOTUS which will then be split 5 Lefties against 3 Conservatives and 1 Neutral.  If any of the non-Lefties die or retire then the SCOTUS will be Left-wing dominated for decades!  The very worst sort of radical Left notions will then be made sacrosanct and, frankly, 'the cousins' might just as well have a ceremonial burning of the Constitution.

Yes, Trump is 'stoopid' and loudmouthed but he will probably only last for four years.  A radical Left-wing SCOTUS will be with us for decades and their influence will grip the American body-politic for a century!

VOTE TRUMP!

 

 

Not exactly another Molotov-Ribbentrop pact but even so

I was intrigued by an article at The American Thinker by Alex Alexiev pointing to some curious goings on between Berlin and Moscow.  As Mr. Alexiev reminds us, Germany is considered to be the absolute bedrock of the European Union, indeed it is far and away the most successful of all the European nation states.  However, as he points out,  that is more than somewhat relative these days.

Europe's largest economy, its most stable government, and the main if not only pillar of the EU and the euro is hardly a destabilizing factor, most would agree. Germany may indeed be all of that, but only in comparison to the rest of the EU, which has been stagnating economically for a decade and is beset by major political instability and terrorism. Since 2007, German labor productivity growth has been close to zero, while GDP growth has averaged a miserable 0.8% per annum, even as Germany's largest company, Volkswagen, is being prosecuted around the world for cheating, while its very symbol of stability, Deutsche Bank, has been called by the IMF "the biggest contributor to risk in global finance."

Even so, Germany remains a hugely powerful element in the European jigsaw and so it is puzzling to see the Kaiserin ignoring the fears and worries of her East European, er, 'colleagues' by cosying up to 'Vlad the Impaler'.

A case in point is the new Nord Stream 2 pipeline project, designed to bring up to 80% of the Russian gas supply to Europe while bypassing Ukraine and Eastern Europe. A blatantly political ploy by Mr. Putin and Gazprom, it will guarantee that Moscow can blackmail Eastern Europe at will. Despite that, the project enjoys support not only among companies likely to profit from Nord Stream 2, but also by significant parts of the German establishment, including Chancellor Angela Merkel, who quite disingenuously claims that it is just a commercial project.

Yeeeeees, quite, but she would say that, wouldn't she?  Even so, let us take the Kaiserin at face value and assume that her staunch support for the EU really does include the eastern half but does she speak for all Germany?  Not quite, according to Mr. Alexiev:

[O]ne must note the rapid growth of pro-Russian, anti-Western, and anti-American sentiments in all segments of German society of late. These attitudes often run counter to the official policies of the Merkel government, which may actually make them even more significant. Mrs. Merkel, for instance, is known as a key supporter and architect of the sanctions regime against Russia following its aggression against Ukraine, yet her government coalition partner, the social-democratic party (SPD), argues ever more forcefully that the sanctions should be lifted or, at the very least, made less onerous. This not only undermines the authority of the Berlin government, but also makes the continuation of the sanctions when they expire at the end of the year unlikely. This will please Germany's export community, but only at the cost of outraging its partners in Eastern Europe.

It is, perhaps, too early to judge the merits of Mr. Alexiev's warnings but they are worth keeping in mind and whatever the merits or otherwise, it is definitely worthwhile keeping a beady eye on that mad, old Merkel women who threw open Europe's doors to the entire population of the middle east.

 

Pity the poor Presidents

Before I begin today's sermon, oops, sorry, I mean 'post', let me tell you that today I am 'taking the waters' at Bath - and who said 'about time'?  I am driving an elderly lady neighbour over to a hospital for a knee operation and the 'Memsahib', always quick to seize any chance to cruise the elegant shops in Bath town centre was 'in like Flynn'!

Anyway, I would urge you all to take in an article by Andrew C. McCarthy in The National Review, a magazine that proudly puts the 'C' in conservative!  Unusually, in reviewing recent American strategy in the middle east, it takes a relatively soft line with Obama.

Inevitably, when there is a profound threat and an overarching strategic failure to apprehend it, disasters abound; and rather than becoming occasions for reassessment of the flawed bipartisan strategy, those disasters become grist for partisan attacks. From 2004 through 2008, the specious claim was that President Bush’s ouster of Saddam Hussein created terrorism in Iraq. Now it is that President Obama is the “founder of ISIS,” as Donald Trump put it this week.

Personally, I have tried not to be too critical of Obama's 'strategy' given that it complies with that propounded by that military genius, ex-Cpl. Duff, that by and large the Americans should keep 'boots off the ground' (except Special Forces) and use air and missile power to influence events.  Reading the details of the complexities of what is swirling and bubbling in the middle east makes it clear that we should keep our distance.  If the Russians are keen to be involved, we should hold the door open to them.  As those 'good ol' boys' in Texas, and elsewhere, have shown with their fracking abilities, oil, or at least, middle east oil, is no longer the strategic necessity it once was.

Whether or not the bellicose Mrs. Hillary Rodham Clinton understands that I do not know, it depends, I guess, who, having dumped zillions into the Clinton Foundation, has her ear!

 

It's still Monday, so here's another 'funny'

This is a funny story concerning judges so I should be careful because I have lifted the entire thing from Charles Moore's column in The Telegraph - yes, sorry, m'Lud, yet more larceny!  For the benefit of my overseas readers, a lady judge in the High Court was recently subjected to a rant from the dock by a particularly fat, obnoxious villain which ended with him calling her a cunt.  With perfect equanimity she told him that he was a bit of a cunt himself, before sentencing him.  Of course, Charles Moore, as befits a proper English gentleman and an ex-editor of The Spectator, no less, gently chides Her Ladyship for being out of order despite the provocation.  Even so, he retells this legal tale which, I suspect, is so old it has whiskers.  I paraphrase, as follows:

Some barristers were complaining about a particular Judge and all agreed that he was a cunt.  One of them, a lawyer known for his eccentricity accepted a bet from the others that he would dare to call the Judge just that - in court!  The day arrived and his comrades gathered in court to see how he would do it.  He simply stood and told the Judge he was a cunt.  The Judge, stunned and affronted, simply retorted, "I beg your pardon!"  The barrister confident he had won his bet simply replied, "There's no need to apologise."

Mr. Moore makes clear that he would not be prepared to swear to the truth of this tale over a bible!

And the train now leaving the Ministry of Health will also crash!

After my gloomy prognostications concerning the future of Illinois and Chicago, I thought I would drag my howls of woe back 'over here'.  It is becoming clearer by the day that the great Ponzi scheme that is the National Health Service ("the envy of the world"-not!) is now devouring itself.  Of course, the idea that a service with a totally unlimited demand could be provided with limited means was always the stuff of fable and fairy-tales and socialist crapula!  Needless to say, the people who know this better than anyone, the politicians, are the very same people who will never raise the subject in public, not for fear of causing riots in the streets but for fear of losing their jobs at the hands of an outraged and unbelievably stupid public.

The fact that the politicians actually boast of a service that "is free at the point of delivery" and that a credulously dim-witted population laps it up stands as a monument to human stupidity.  Sooner or later, and probably sooner, reality will crash-bang its way into the futile dreams of 'The People' (dread words!) and the politicians will be forced to either cut services or charge for them - or probably both and the sooner, the better!

Your Monday Funnies: 15.8.16

Yes indeed, and more or less on time - for a change.

 

Positive Attitude 

Late in the night, he finally regained consciousness. He was in the hospital, in terrible pain. 

He found himself in the ICU with tubes in his mouth, needles and IV drips in both arms, a breathing mask, wires monitoring every function, and a nurse hovering over him.   He realized that he was obviously in a life-threatening situation. 

The nurse gave him a serious, deep look, straight into his eyes, then spoke to him slowly and clearly, enunciating each word and syllable, "You may not feel anything from the waist down." 

Somehow he managed to mumble in reply, 

"Can I feel your boobs, then?" 

AND THAT, MY FRIENDS, IS POSITIVE MENTAL ATTITUDE!

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In a Chicago hospital, a gentleman had made several attempts to get into the men's restroom, but it had always been occupied. A nurse noticed his predicament.

“Sir,” she said "You may use the ladies room if you promise not to touch any of the buttons on the wall."

He did what he needed to, and as he sat there he noticed the buttons he had promised not to touch. Each button was identified by letters: WW , WA , PP, and a red one labelled ATR. Who would know if he touched them? He couldn't resist.

He pushed WW and warm water was sprayed gently upon his bottom. What a nice feeling, he thought. Men's restrooms don't have nice things like this.

Anticipating greater pleasure, he pushed the WA button. Warm air replaced the warm water, gently drying his underside.

When this stopped, he pushed the PP button. A large powder puff caressed his bottom adding a fragile scent of spring flower to this unbelievable pleasure. The ladies restroom was more than a restroom, it is tender loving pleasure. When the powder puff completed its pleasure, he couldn't wait to push the ATR button which he knew would be supreme ecstasy.

Next thing he knew he opened his eyes, he was in a hospital bed, and a nurse was staring down at him.

"What happened?" he exclaimed, "The last thing I remember was pushing the ATR button."

"The button ATR is an Automatic Tampon Remover. Your penis is under your pillow."

MEN NEVER LISTEN......

 

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2500 years ago a slave call girl from Sardinia named Gedophamee (pronounced Get-offa'-me) was attending the first athletic festival in Greece.  This festival had no name.  

In those days the athletes performed naked.

To prevent unwanted arousal while competing, the men imbibed freely in a drink containing saltpeter before and throughout the events. 

At the opening ceremonial parade of this first great festival, Gedophamee observed the waves of naked athletic males marching toward her and she exclaimed: 

"Oh! Limp pricks!"     [ Say it fast ]        

Over the next two and a half millennia that expression morphed into "Olympics".

Just thought I'd share this new found knowledge with you.  Enjoy the summer Olympics.

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In praise of exercise:

 

Walking can add minutes to your life.

This enables you at 87 years old to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $4,000 per month.

……………………………………………………………………

My grandpa started walking five miles a day when he was 60.

Now he's 97 years old and we have no idea where the hell he is.

…………………………………………………………………….

I like long walks, especially when they are taken by people who annoy me.

……………………………………………………………………….

I do have flabby thighs but fortunately my stomach covers them.

…………………………………………………………………………

If you are going to try cross-country skiing, start with a small country.

 

The Sunday Rumble: 14.8.16

'Gotta lurve those Gershwin guys':   Last night's BBC Prom from the Albert Hall was devoted to the music of George and Ira Gershwin, than which, etc, etc!  It was performed by the John Wilson Orchestra, a new outfit to me, which consisted of a full mixture of symphonic and dance orchestras.  It was an enchanting evening only slightly spoiled by the gloomy knowledge that there will never be a greater collection of musical genius than that which accrued in 'Noo Yawk' in the '30s, '40s and early '50s of which the Gershwin brothers were only a part.

 

Just for you, SoD:   An interesting - well, interesting for Brexit nerds like me and SoD - in The Telegraph today, analysing how many of the doom 'n' gloom prognostications of the Euro fanatics have actually come to pass. Not that many, seems to be the summary.  Yes, there is the odd problem here and there, but then, when did we ever have no problems at all?  Also, not mentioned in the article, is the joyful fact that we have dodged the proposed new Euro Income Tax which is approaching the European horizon even as I write!

 

One of our Bishops is missing!   I confess that as it has become increasingly clear, except to a manic fringe of mouth-dribblers, that anthropological global warming is no real problem, I rarely visit those sensible sites, like 'Bishop Hill' because, well, what is there left to say?  Alas, the good 'Bishop' obviously feels the same because his site has more or less lapsed.  However, before it disappears entirely, I would like to express my thanks for his always scrupulous but deadly attacks on the loonies.

 

The best news I've seen in yonks:   There was some newsreel footage on 'telly' showing some Syrian people whose town had just been liberated from ISIS.  Some of the men were busy cutting off the beards they had been forced to grow and the women were running down the street cheering whilst some were busy burning their burqas.  it was a salutary reminder that not all Muslims are mouth-foaming, murderous loonies!

 

A simple question:   Would you have the nerve to dive into that Olympic cesspool swimming pool that keeps changing colour?  Riiiight, thought not!

 

But not all bad at the Olympics:   According to a report via Drudge, a Russian flag has been torn down and despoiled in the Olympic village.  I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked!  However, a 'Rooskie' official has said that it might have been a mistake by a cleaner!  Yeah, well, try telling  that to 'Vlad the Impaler' before he invades Brazil!

 

Not so much "'Allo, 'Allo" as goodbye, goodbye:  For the sake of my foreign readers, "'Allo, 'Allo" was an old BBC TV comedy(!) series set in occupied France during WWII.  I think I once watched about ten minutes of it and, well, talk about laugh, I nearly did!  Well, there's nothing that funny about the Gestapo, is there?  Anyway, the BBC in its infinite wisdom(not) has decided not to run a new series because some people might be upset by the appearance of Nazis!

 

No more rumbles today

 

 

The train now leaving Chicago station - will crash!

And soon after that the train leaving Washington will also crash!  I base my prediction on an article by George Will which, though powerful in itself, merely confirms what I have picked up here and there in my reading of American news.  But let's stick to Mr. Will's piece which describes the situation in the State of Illinois, the fifth most populous State in the Union, of which Chicago is far and away the biggest city.

Illinois’s government, says Rauner [the first Republican governor in 12 years], “is run for the benefit of its employees.” Increasingly, it is run for their benefit when they retire. Pension promises, though unfunded by at least $113 billion, are one reason some government departments are not digitized at all.

What is misleadingly called the state’s constitution requires balanced budgets, of which there have been none for 25 years [my emphasis]. This year, revenues are projected to be $32.5 billion, with spending of $38 billion. Illinois Democrats are, however, selective constitutionalists: They will die in the last ditch defending the constitution’s provision that says no government pension can be “diminished or impaired.”

Illinois is often described as the most Democratic State of the Union and Chicago has been run by Democrat mayors since the 1930s.  Under this Democrat patronage the unions representing government employees have demanded and been granted ever, and ever more, increasing amounts of 'danegeld'.

Illinois is a leading indicator of increasing national childishness — an unwillingness to will the means for the ends that it wills. Nationally, state and local governments’ pensions have somewhere between $1 trillion and $4 trillion in unfunded pension liabilities, depending on, among other things, assumptions about returns on pension funds’ investments. The Wall Street Journal reports that in 2001, the 20-year median return was 12.3 percent and every percentage-point decline in returns increases liabilities by 12 percent. Last year, the largest fund, California Public Employees’ Retirement System, which assumes 7.5 percent returns, instead gained 0.6 percent. This, in the sixth year of the recovery from the 2008-09 crisis, was the worst performance since then — and another recession will surely happen.

This mad, mad, mad, mad profligacy will, eventually, meet the Ponzi end it deserves at which point, start digging in!  Or get out now - over a million people have vacated the State in the last 16 years.  Of course, what the Democrats do at the State level is more or less imitated at the national level, so if 'HillBilly' and her gang keep the Obama wagon rolling then I suggest to my American friends that they consider moving to Mexico before, as Ms. Lionel Shriver suggests rather naughtily in her latest book (see previous post), the Mexicans build a wall!

Incidentally, I bought her book and began reading it last night.  So far, so very, very good!

 

See, my earpiece-thingie isn't totally daft

A restless night, last night, probably due my GGS (Galloping Grumpiness Syndrome - see previous post) and so, as I told you previously, it is my habit to reach for my radio earpiece-thingie.  Recently I have abandoned Radio5 because they are totally obsessed with that drug-fest in Rio and I have retuned to Radio4 which at midnight switches to the BBC World Service.  Of course, there is always a chance that you will pick up a snoring-boring programme about 'Wogga-Wogga-Land' where the 'Wigga-Wigga' tribe are slaughtering the 'Wagga-Wagga' tribe for reasons beyond explanation but at least after a few minutes of some frightfully intense and worried BBC reporter explaining the details you find yourself snoring away quite happily.

However, last night I hit on a talk from the Hay Literary Festival by an American lady called, confusingly, Lionel Shriver.  Apparently, she was born Margaret Ann but in a fit of teenage, tomboy rebellion she changed her name.  According to Wiki, she has lived in Nairobi, Bangkok and, er, Belfast - yeeeeeeees, quite!  Anyway, the lady, who is married to a jazz drummer, has written several books which have become increasingly popular.  Last night the BBC World Service played a recording of a public interview she gave at the Hay Festival in which she talked mainly about her latest book The Mandibles.  This, apparently is a dystopian novel charting the problems of a previously wealthy American family who are trying to survive in a world where the American debt has become so unbelievably huge and incapable of ever being paid back that the US government has walked away from it and invented an entirely new currency.

Ms. Shriver came across in the interview as a very witty and intelligent lady.  The book is set mainly in 2029 and the President of the US is actually Mexican and his address to the people is first of all in Spanish and then an English translation is provided.  In her book, Ms. Shriver, with very sly humour, tells us that it is the Mexicans who have built a wall across their border with the USA!  This the first paragraph of a review of her book in The New Yorker:

If you think times are tough now, just wait until 2029. The good news is that the United States has hung on for another thirteen years. The bad news is everything else. “Dryouts” are commonplace, though it’s not clear whether scarcity of water or the dilapidation of the infrastructure meant to distribute it is to blame. Americans are still reeling from the Stone Age of 2024, when the electric grid crashed, wreaking technological havoc: pileups on unlit roads, airplanes dropping from the skies, pacemakers pumping double-time, looting and riots from sea to shining sea. But those disasters are minor compared with the latest: an economic collapse set in motion by the introduction of the bancor, a new global reserve currency meant to replace the dollar on the international market and backed by a coalition of countries led by Russia’s ruler-for-life, Vladimir Putin. Furious, President Alvarado, America’s first Mexican-born head of state, announces that the U.S. will default on its loans. The Fed goes into overdrive, printing new money to cover its debts. In short order, a greenback is as worthless as a Weimar cigarette rolled with a fifty-billion-mark note. Hard-earned savings go up in smoke. A meager cabbage costs thirty dollars one week, forty the next, and that’s when there’s still cabbage to buy. So long, superpower nation. Hello, hyperinflation.

You get the idea and frankly I don't think it is too fanciful.  Yesterday I read an article on the subject of current-day Illinois (and Chicago) and its hopeless, unstoppable debt problem which seems to have gone well past any effort to correct it.  Anyway, I'm grateful to my 'earpiece-thingie' and I will get busy on my Kindle to see if I can buy a copy Ms. Shriver's book..

 

 

Dammit, the French aren't all bad

Before I begin allow me to offer my apologies for going a.w.o.l. yesterday without giving you notice.  "It was just one of those days" which ended with me driving miles across 'Zouth Zummerzet' to a distant hospital for my 6-month check up on my rheumatoid arthritis.  The 'check up' itself only lasted about 54 seconds with me saying, "It hurts, doctor" and him saying, "Keep taking the pills!"  The rest of it was taken up with me frothing at the mouth because their guidance letter took me to the back of the carpark where the entrance/exit was blocked, and then, in something of a stew because I feared I might be late (although I managed to arrive dead on time),  they then kept me waiting for 45 minutes!!!!  Cue: ex-corporal-style rant and rave because every single time I have to see a so-called specialist they are always late!  Next time I shall send him an e-mail saying it hurts and he can e-mail me back to tell me to keep taking the pills!  Later today I shall have something to say about our NHS - "The envy of the world" - not!

In the meantime, allow me to offer my congratulations to the mayor of Cannes, a jolly splendid fella' even if he is French.  According to The Telegraph, this worthy gentleman has banned 'burkinis' from the beach!

'Burkinis', in case you didn't know, are the approved beachwear for Muslim ladies and as you can see from the photo, they are appalling!  I mean, what's the good of an old English gent like me spending zillions flying down to the French Riviera to ogle some drop-dead, gorgeous 'tottie' wearing next to nothing, or in some cases, absolutely nothing!  So well done Mayor David Lisnard and let's instantly put him on Dim Dave's Honours List - at least he's done something useful!

 

I say, jolly well spotted, General!

According to The Telegraph, a leaked report from the General Staff indicates - SHLOCK-HORROR! - that the Russian military can "outgun" the British military on the battlefield.  Whodathunkit?  Good to know that our military intelligence chaps have their eye on the ball!  But given that the population of Russia is around 164 million and ours stands at about 63 million one is not exactly gob-smacked to realise that our regular army stands at around 83,000 whilst the Russian army amounts to about 230,000 - and that's not including airborne forces!

The report also admits that the Russians have superior weapon systems to us but the General Staff insists that we will find ways to, er, "fight smarter" - yeeeeees, quite!  I'm not sure if that means sharper creases in the soldiers' trousers or not!  Still, I suppose that if the brown stuff hits the fan we can always rely on our European allies - who sniggered? - and failing that, should Donald Trump become president he will certainly push the nuclear button and there is a chance he might not obliterate us because he owns some expensive golf courses 'over here'!

 

How and when will an opposition party be formed?

It is almost beyond belief watching the Labour party devour itself.  There can be little doubt that very soon Corbyn and his juvenile Trot-lot gang will clinch, and then clench, their grip on the throat of the old Labour party.  They will then strangle themselves to death!  Determined not to be outrun in the 'stoopid stakes', the 'Kippers' appear to be determined to show us all in their leadership election, why they would have severe difficulties running a whelk-stall let alone a country.  The 'il-Lib-non-Dems' do not have enough MPs to make up a football team and so they sit quietly hoping and praying that some crumbs might fall from the Labour party to justify their increasingly useless existence.  Meanwhile, 'St. Theresa of May' marches onwards and upwards in her kitten shoes followed dutifully - so far! - by her 'faithful' followers.  Mind you, it's very early days and she has yet to face the full onslaught of those damned "events, dear boy, events!" 

As a true-born Englishman I do not like single-party regimes, so the quicker the vestiges of the old parties can get their acts together and form an alternative the better.  Or, it might be that either the Left or the Right of the Tory party will split off and they will form an opposition.  A great deal will depend on the general course to be laid down by 'St. Theresa'.  So far there have been some slight hints that she might shift to the Right and that, of course, would allow some breathing space for the Lefties to get their act together.  Or again, she might not have the leisure to pick and choose her future course because there are now distinct signs of an ultra militant tendency amongst all sort of people, not just the young and stupid but also the unions and even the professional classes as the doctors demonstrated just recently.  I also detect, lurking just beneath the surface, a willingness to use violence in the furtherance of their aims.

Interesting times - and we all know what that could mean!

 

Out and about surprises

Yes, thank you for asking, we did have a very enjoyable day out with another couple who are amongst our oldest friends.  Years ago they followed us down here to deepest , darkest 'Zummerzet' but made a huge mistake by finding a house just over the frontier inside Dorset - I know, appalling, appalling!  Anyway, some years back I invented 'Surprise Away Days' because around here if you drive a couple of hours in any direction you come across some interesting and attractive nooks and crannies.  So, maybe a couple of times a year, either them or us would discover some place or area of interest and we would then invite the others for a 'Surprise Away Day'.

Today our friends took us to Milton Abbey and if you click on the link and just watch the changing photos they will give you an idea of the beauty of the place and its incredible history.  The grounds around the Abbey and the village were designed in the 18th century by Capability Brown.  What a genius that man was and thank the Lord that he changed gardens and landscapes from the old geometric shapes from Europe and the Elizabethan era into the 'natural' vistas we can still enjoy today.

Afterwards, they took us to lunch at Compton Abbas Airfield, a grass-strip airfield with sundry small 'planes in which you can take trips to see Dorset from the air.  I do hope that my e-pal and ex-RAF type, 'BOE', is reading this because 11 years ago this was where I earned my 'wings'.  Well, perhaps not quite but it was my 65th birthday and 'SoD' and the 'Memsahib' bought me a half hour trip in a Tiger Moth during which the pilot put me through some dizzying aerobatics. 

For the sake of the uninformed, a Tiger Moth is an old-fashioned biplane - with an open cockpit!  I had my seating harness pulled so tight it almost cut off the circulation to my limbs!  It was a terrific experience and going back there today brought back the memory of it all.

So all in all - a superb day out!

 

If you no likee, you fuck offee!

If there was ever any doubt as to the wisdom of St. Theresa's decision to delay and think hard on whether we should accept zillions from the Chinese to build a French nuclear plant then the Chinese ambassador to London just settled it.  Apparently, he has written to The Times (I think) saying, in effect, if you don't accept this kind and generous loan then "there may be troubles ahead"!  My immediate response was to mutter, "Bring it on" but then I thought twice (hard work for me these days!) and instead I am deeply grateful.  Now we can see at first hand the iron fist inside this velvet Chinese glove and the thought of that ghastly country and the gangsters who run it having a knife to our throat by access to the computer systems that run our energy systems is frightening.  Only those two dim, posh boys would have fallen for it but now, thanks to all you brave Brexiteers, they are history, or to be precise, historical footnotes.

(Just a note to say that the 'Memsahib' and I are on an outing today so I apologise for not being able to join the conversation in the comments to the posts below.)

 

Is 'HillBilly' cuckoo?

That Thomas Lifson at The American Thinker is a very naughty boy!  He has had the temerity to raise a question publicly that has occurred to me privately, that is, is Hillary Clinton unwell?  Before you judge, just remember that the American media hid from the public the fact that FDR was wheelchair-bound for years.  Today, the mass of the media is totally in love with her and will never publish anything derogatory which is why the supine arse-lickers allowed her to get away with a (non)press conference in which only five, pre-allotted questions were permitted before an audience of 'journos' most of whom were black or Hispanic and who, at the end, applauded her!

This recently captured photo of her looking incapable of mounting just a few steps is not the first of this sort.

And I, myself, have recoiled many a time and oft' from the ghastly and deeply peculiar facial expressions she pulls during her appearances.  Courtesy of naughty Mr. Lifson, I will give you the link to a YouTube film made by Infowars 'analysing' her, shall we say, 'eccentricities' but I will repeat his warning that the film has been slowed down in places and loop techniques used to exaggerate her peculiarities.  Even so, one wonders . . .  and worse, one worries!

https://youtu.be/OqbDBRWb63s

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 8.8.16

Alright, alright, I know, they're all kicking off in the works canteen because the Monday Funnies are late!  Well, better late than never:

 

This morning I was sitting on a bench next to a homeless man. I asked him how he ended up this way.

He said, "Up until last week, I still had it all.  A cook, my clothes were washed and pressed, I had a roof over my head, I had TV, the Internet, went to the gym, the pool, the library, medical and dental, I could still continue my education ..."

I asked him, "What happened man? Drugs? Alcohol? Divorce? Tell me what??"

"Oh no, nothing like that” he said. "No, no... I got out of prison.”

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I got my gun permit so yesterday, I went over to the local Walmart to get a small 9 mm for home protection.

When I was ready to pay for the gun and bullets, the cashier said, "Strip down, facing me."

Making a mental note to complain to the NRA about the gun control wackos running amok, I did just as she had instructed.

When the hysterical shrieking and alarms finally subsided, I found out she was referring to how I should place my credit card in the card reader!!!

I've been asked to shop elsewhere in the future.

They need to make their instructions to seniors a little clearer.

I still don't think I looked that bad.

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A Zebra dies and arrives at the Pearly Gates. As he enters, he asks St. Peter, 'I have a question that's haunted me all of my days on earth. Am I white with black stripes, or am I black with white stripes?'

St. Peter said, 'That's a question only God can answer.'

So the zebra went off in search of God.    When he found Him, the zebra asked, 'God, please - I must know am I white with black stripes, or am I black with white stripes?'  

God simply replied, 'You are what you are.'  

The zebra returned to see St. Peter once more, who asked him, 'Well, did God straighten out your query for you?'  

The zebra looked puzzled.  'No sir, God simply said 'You are what you are.''   

St. Peter smiled and said to the zebra, 'Well then, there you are. You are white with black stripes.'  

The zebra asked St. Peter, 'How do you know that for certain?'   

'Because,' said St. Peter, 'If you were black with white stripes,  God would have said, 'You is what you is..'  

WARNING: If you laugh at this, we will be comin' after yo white ass!!!

 

That's your lot, sorry, but it's been one of those days  . . .

 

Congratulations, Mr. Peaty, but . . .

Yes indeed, young Adam Peaty won a gold medal at the Olympics breaking the World Record not once but twice, a terrific performance for which he deserves huge congratulations.  It speaks of a dedicated young life spent endlessly in the gym and the pool and I know what that means because up until a year ago I was in my local pool five mornings a week dead on 7.00am.  Mind you, if I swam a hundred metres non-stop, a very rare occurrence, you could smoke a fag and take the dog for a walk before I crossed the finish line and then you would have to call the medics!

It is difficult for us old 'stodgers' to even imagine the sort of drive and determination displayed by Adam Peaty and thus it is all the more pitiable that through no fault of his, as the well-deserved congratulations flood in, there will hover overhead the unspoken question, the dread suspicion, the rank stench engendered by the acts of others over the years that have reduced the once noble spirit of the Games to suspicion and mistrust.

ADDITIONAL:  For those old curmudgeons like me who loathe the whole Olympic farrago this headline from The Mirror is simply too, too delicious:

Rio 2016 : Olympic security chief attacked after opening ceremony before knife-wielding robber shot dead by police

 

The Sunday Rumble: 7.8.16

The return of the Grammar Schools:   I never thought to see it but if it happens then two cheers for 'St. Theresa'.  I only offer two cheers because much will depend on the practicalities and on how the opposition to it will be overcome - and boy, will there be opposition, not least from the mostly useless 'education blob'.  What a pity Michael Gove blotted his copy book and was 'given a detention' because he would have driven it through with enthusiasm.

 

Dan Hodges stomps Shami Chackrabati:   That sounds a bit cruel given that Dan Hodges is a hefty, fit-looking guy and Shami is a female midget.  But having just read Mr. Hodges' piece in The Mail, which confirms my own suspicions concerning this wretched little woman, I am inclined to shout, "Give 'er a stomp from me, Dan, wiv both boots and when you've finished give that Jezza a good kicking, too!"  Honestly, the anti-Semitic Labour party has sunk to sewage levels.

 

Gotta lurve lagoons!   According, that is, to Martin Vander Weyer over at The Coffee House.  These are man-made tidal lagoons which cost a mere £1 billion each - cheap compared to that Sino-French nuclear horror at Hinkley Point - and according to Mr. Vander Weyer they will produce "electricity on the ebb and flood of every tide, 14 hours a day for a project lifetime of 120 years".  Worth a look, I'd say!

 

The Labour party - you couldn't make it up:   A despairing howl of anguish from Nick Cohen at The Coffee Shop.  Cohen is a Labour man through and through but above all he is an Englishman - oh alright then, a Jewish Englishman!  He is quite literally 'shocked, I tell you, shocked' by what has happened to his beloved Labour party since the 'Corbynistas' took over.  He describes it thus:

Thoughtful writing about the Corbyn phenomenon is not just impossible to find, it is impossible to imagine. Admirers live in a land of make believe as closed to the rest of the world as North Korea. They barely know how to explain themselves to outsiders because they cannot imagine any honourable reason for outsiders disagreeing with them. Disputes with ‘Jeremy’  must be the result of ideological contamination – you have become or, perhaps secretly always have been, a ‘Tory’ or ‘Blairite’ – financial corruption  – you have sold out – or racial corruption – you are a ‘Zionist’.

You can sense the heartbreak.

 

Little 'Georgie Moonbat' is back:   I must confess, dear reader, that my interest in so-called AGW has waned more than somewhat and not only because having just put up with another wet and miserable so-called Summer I would give my right arm for a really good dose of warming so that I could dust the cobwebs off my BBQ and burn some sausages and steaks.  Anyway, twice in the past few days little 'Georgie Moonbat' has intruded on my peace and quiet, first on the radio and then today he is mentioned over at WUWT.  Need I say it?  Yes, you're right, we're all doomed but according to 'Moonbat' the evil mass media are not telling us - it's a conspiracy, I tell you, a conspiracy!  Oh God, give us all a break, Georgie!

 

Despite it all, we won:   Over at one of my favourite American Leftie-blogs, I was rather careless with my words - I know, I know, hard to believe! - and was slightly unfair to FDR.  Anyway, the exchange made me reread the last chapter of Masters and Commanders by Andrew Roberts, an excellent overview of the Allied High Command.  I suppose you could sum up WWII by saying that we made fewer mistakes than the Germans and Japs!

 

No more rumbles 

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed to go away"

Yes, another of my needlessly obscure titles - sorry!  But I have discovered a little gem of a TV station called 'Yesterday' and I want to cover it in kisses.  Just as I was resigning myself to non-stop, corrupt, drug-addled Olympics on absolutely every TV station, I came across 'Yesterday', and indeed, yesterday I watched an episode of that truly great TV classic 'The World at War'.  From the opening music by Carl Davis, through the opening photographs and into Laurence Olivier's compelling narrative, the whole thing is riveting.

This was followed by David Starky's superb series of talks called 'Monarchy'.  Oh boy, did I ever have my ignorance shown up so quickly!  My guess is that some of Starky's very confident assertions and analyses would be disputed by other equally qualified historians but, hey, that's the nature of historical studies.  Suffice to say that Starky's delivery is superb and the history is utterly fascinating.  God, what a murderous lot our Kings of old were but, all the time, slowly, inexorably, the effects of Magna Carta seeped into the warp and woof of English history.

In addition, and despite the fact my cup over-runneth, 'Yesterday' also show some of the old classic comedy shows and, mirabile dictum, I found myself laughing - out loud!

Oh God, the snore-fest begins

I have bored written before of my detestation of the Olympic Games which has now reached a nadir of pseudo religiosity mixed with all too real corruption.  None of the (so-called) sports results can be trusted and it beats me quite why so many young men and women waste the best years of their lives trying to win a medal when their 'achievement' will produce raised eyebrows and snorts of derision.

However, as you will all be forced to watch this mega 'snore-a-thon' because it will dominate all the news channels everywhere 24-7, allow me to 0ffer you an intriguing game to play whilst it is on.  This game is called 'Spot-a-Willy' and it is confined to the ladies' competition only.  I have been provoked to invent this game by an article in this week's 'Speccie' by a lady called Sarah Ditum who reminds us that in this confusing transgender age the Olympic panjandrums have decided that ex-men may now take part in women's competition - yeeeeees, quite!  According to Ms. Ditum, two British athletes, formerly men, will indeed be taking part in the games - jolly well done, chaps, er, sorry, I mean, ladies!

Anyway, this is the test I have set you, to try and spot as many willies as you can in the ladies' competitions.  This will require maximum concentration and thus you will not have time to waste letting your minds wander into what exactly goes on in the showers after the competition! 

 

In which 'The Kraut' makes up what passes for my mind

That tiny, soggy, splatting sound you heard was me making up my mind.  Or, to be absolutely truthful, it was 'The Kraut' doing it for me.  As you regulars will know, I have long been a fan of Charles Krauthammer whom I first 'met' courtesy of my ex-best friend, 'Rupe', when, via SKY TV, he enabled me to watch Fox News.  'The Kraut' was a regular on the political talk shows and very quickly he impressed me with his intelligence.  Now, I only get to read him, usually via the National Review site.

Again, as some of you already know, I have been shilly-shallying on the totally theoretical question of which way I would vote were the great United States of America unfortunate enough to have me as a citizen.  My detestation of 'HillBilly' and all her works have been enough to blind me to the approaching horror of a Trump presidency.  Foremost in my mind has been the dread thought of a Supreme Court being irrevocably shifted - for decades - to the very worst sort of activist Left.  It will be bad, no doubt about that, and even if 'HillBilly' only rules for four years because of age and ill-health, any subsequent Republican president will be well and truly stymied by the SCOTUS.

Even so, the horror of a Trump presidency is beyond contemplation.

This [Trump's behaviour when criticised] is beyond narcissism. I used to think Trump was an eleven-year-old, an undeveloped schoolyard bully. I was off by about ten years. His needs are more primitive, an infantile hunger for approval and praise, a craving that can never be satisfied. He lives in a cocoon of solipsism where the world outside himself has value — indeed exists — only insofar as it sustains and inflates him. Most politicians seek approval. But Trump lives for the adoration. He doesn’t even try to hide it, boasting incessantly about his crowds, his standing ovations, his TV ratings, his poll numbers, his primary victories. The latter are most prized because they offer empirical evidence of how loved and admired he is.

Prized also because, in our politics, success is self-validating. A candidacy that started out as a joke, as a self-aggrandizing exercise in xenophobia, struck a chord in a certain constituency and took off. The joke was on those who believed that he was not a serious man and therefore would not be taken seriously. They — myself emphatically included — were wrong.

And I was wrong, too!  I kept hoping that the clown-like figure that appeared so regularly was simply a marketing device and that eventually a newer, shrewder Trump would emerge. Fat chance!  So, my American friends, my (useless) advice to you is:

VOTE 'HILLBILLY' - and pray!

 

I do wish real life would stop interrupting me

As you will have surmised from the previous post there have been some domestic goings-on which have interfered with the normally smooth production of this distinguished blog.  Whilst they are not entirely settled - nothing in life ever is! - they are on their way.  The elderly relative is in hospital being cared for by the people who (usually! hopefully?) know best.  We shall see.

One aspect of the 'kerfuffle' has scarred my mind for ever.  Do not, except under extreme circumstances, ever telephone for an ambulance.  You will be met with a woman with all the charm and perception of a 'Speak Your Weight' machine.  She will proceed to ask an endlessly long list of mostly irrelevant questions, many of which merely repeat themselves using different terminology.  She, of course, is ticking boxes whilst the victim continues to lie on the floor suffering.  I should add that the actual paramedics, when they arrive, are superb but the 'wimmin' on the telephones should suffer unspeakable tortures in hell!

More later when I catch up with what passes for news!

 

In which I play Nurse Ratchet

Sorry for going 'awol' yesterday but we have an elderly and frail (and distant) relative staying with us for a few days - and yes, she's even more elderly and frail than me!  Suddenly my usual placid routine (ie: hiding up here in the garret playing with my computer!) has been upset.  She has taken a couple of tumbles already so constant supervision is required.  I'm already finding out for myself that getting old is not a bundle of laughs but her example is truly depressing.  

Given her condition, I was forced yesterday to make contact with her local London-based Social Services.  Expecting the worst I was somewhat surprised that my call was dealt with rather efficiently.  Mind you, that was a first contact so we shall have to wait and see how they actually perform after Monday when they will pay her a visit and assess her needs.

Oh dear, life's a bitch - and then it rains!

In which I turned down a Knighthood

'Dim Dave' truly was, and still is, monumentally dim.  Virtually every paper in the land is giving his (so-called) honours list a right good kicking.  What a mixture!  Tory party donors, sundry 'Remain' dimwits who carefully planned a humiliating defeat for him in the referendum, a government driver for doing his job and his wife's stylist. 

Of course, he offered me a knighthood for services to blogging and true to form he had never read a page of this distinguished blog which has been constantly rude about him.  I had to turn it down because, frankly, it was an earldom or nothing! 

Actually, it was many, many years ago when the Beatles were given a gong that I decided that in the microscopically tiny chance that I might be offered a gong, for services to the second-hand car trade perhaps, I would turn it down because if four Scouse gits could get one for singing songs then I wanted no part of it.  Er, well, excepting an earldom, of course, because the 'Memsahib' would kill me if I failed to seize that chance.  Perhaps if I continue my 'nicely-nicely' praise of 'St. Theresa of May', maybe it will happen, for services to the VOTE LEAVE campaign, perhaps, after all, it was the massive Milborne Port vote 'wot dunnit and wunnit'!

 

Your Monday Funnies: 1.8.16

Starting with another 'blondist' joke, sorry, ladies:

 

A blonde motorist was about two hours from San Diego when she was flagged down by a man whose truck had broken down…… 

The man walked up to the car and asked, "Are you going to San Diego?"   

"Sure," answered the blonde, "do you need a lift?"   

"Not for me. I'll be spending the next three hours fixing my truck. My problem is I've got two chimpanzees in the back that have to be taken to the San Diego Zoo. They're a bit stressed already so I don't want to keep them on the road all day. Could you possibly take them to the zoo for me? I'll give you $200 for your trouble."   

"I'd be happy to," said the blonde.   

So the two chimpanzees were ushered into the back seat of the blonde's car and carefully strapped into their seat belts, and off they went. 

Five hours later, the truck driver was driving through the heart of San Diego when suddenly he was horrified!  There was the blonde walking down the street, holding hands with the two chimps, much to the amusement of a big crowd.  

With a screech of brakes he pulled off the road and ran over to the blonde.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, "I gave you $200 to take these chimpanzees to the zoo!" 

"Yes, I know you did," said the blonde. "But we had money left over so now we're going to Sea World."

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MEDICAL UPDATE:

Remember this the next time you have major surgery and need a blood transfusion!  This is good to know.

Australian Medical Association researchers have found that patients needing blood transfusions may benefit from receiving chicken blood rather than human blood.

It tends to make the men cocky and the women lay better.

Just thought you'd like to know.

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The postman is walking through the neighbourhood on his usual route, delivering the mail.   As he approaches one of the homes he noticed that both cars were still in the driveway.

His wonder was cut short by David, the home owner, coming out with a load of empty beer, wine and spirit bottles for the recycling bin.

'Wow David, looks like you guys had one hell of a party last night,' the Postman comments.

David, in obvious pain, replies 'Actually we had it Saturday night. This is the first I have felt like moving since 4:00 am Sunday morning. We had about 15 couples from around the neighbourhood over for some weekend fun and it got a bit wild. We all got so drunk around midnight that we started playing 'WHO AM I.'

The Postman thinks a moment and says, 'How do you play WHO AM I?'

Well, all the guys go in the bedroom and come out one at a time covered with a sheet with only the 'family jewels' showing through a hole in the sheet. Then the women try to guess who it is.'

The postman laughs and says, 'Sounds like fun, I'm sorry I missed it.'

'Probably a good thing you did,' David responded. 'Your name came up 7 times.

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Paddy and Mick go to London to donate sperm.

It was a disaster!

Paddy missed the tube and Mick came on the bus!

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Finally, some great one-liners from the incomparable Bob Hope:

 

ON TURNING 70:  'I still chase women, but only downhill.'

 

ON TURNING 80: 'That's the time of your life when even your birthday suit needs pressing.'

 

ON TURNING 90:  'You know you're getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.'

 

ON TURNING 100:   'I don't feel old. In fact, I don't feel anything until noon. Then it's time for my nap.'

 

ON GIVING UP HIS EARLY CAREER, BOXING:  'I ruined my hands in the ring. The referee kept stepping on them.'

 

ON NEVER WINNING AN OSCAR: 'Welcome to the Academy Awards, or, as it's called at my home, 'Passover.'

 

ON GOLF: 'Golf is my profession. Show business is just to pay the green fees.'

 

ON PRESIDENTS:  'I have performed for 12 presidents but entertained only six.'

    

ON WHY HE CHOSE SHOWBIZ FOR HIS CAREER: 'When I was born, the doctor said to my mother, Congratulations, you have an eight pound ham.'

    

ON RECEIVING THE CONGRESSIONAL GOLD MEDAL:   'I feel very humble, but I think I have the strength of character to fight it.'

 

ON HIS FAMILY'S EARLY POVERTY:   'Four of us slept in the one bed. When it got cold, mother threw on another brother.'

 

ON HIS SIX BROTHERS:   'That's how I learned to dance. Waiting for the bathroom.'

 

ON HIS EARLY FAILURES:  'I would not have had anything to eat if it wasn't for the stuff the audience threw at me.'

 

That's it and the Boss says have a good week - or else!