DUFF & NONSENSE!

I have seen the future and it is - aaaaaaaaargh!

To be honest, I had my suspicions that 'HillBilly', like one of those persistent flies that buzz around one's kitchen on a Summer's day, would never go away but I am obliged for more definite information to Ms. Doris O'Brien at The American Thinker, a very witty lady who refers to Madame Secretary as "Her Heinous" - oh God, I wish I had thought of that one!

Did anyone really expect Madame Secretary to meander forever?  Even in the wake of her unexpected defeat, Hillary’s professed pining for natural seclusion was, as usual, a lie.  Henry David Thoreau she’s not. Having barely survived ordering a meal at the counter of a roadside Chippotle, Mrs. Clinton is not the sort who would cozy up to Mother Nature.  And though her walks in the park supposedly resulted in a resolve to “resist, insist, persist and enlist”, Hillary is better known for scheming than  for rhyme schemes.

Her first target, needless to say, is a fellow Democrat - why am I not surprised? - the current mayor of 'Noo Yawk', Mr. Bill de Blasio.  I gain the distinct impression from various reports that he is as thick as a box pf spanners but, alas, the majority of 'Noo Yawkers', like the inhabitants of most mega-big cities 'over there', are equally thick and keep on voting the idiots in - so 'HillBilly' will 'do fine, jus' fine'!  But of course, poor old Bill is merely a stepping stone on her way to higher matters:

In the rampant liberal obstructionism against Donald Trump, Hillary senses her means of getting back into the game.  She views the absurd claims about  his collusion with the Russians as a vindication for her unanticipated defeat.  Although some Democrats may still chide her for a lackluster performance on the 2016 campaign trail, that will all but be forgotten by the next presidential election, especially if she, say, were to become the first Hiz Honor to be a her – and if she does a better job than Bill De Blasio, which  wouldn’t seem all that  hard.

So, my message to 'The Donald' is - get a grip!  I know it's early days but so far you have only scored 'E' for Effort!  If you lose the next election to 'that woman' I may be forced to grab you by the gingers - dread thought!

 

Trump will tremble!

Mr. President, don't worry about 'Vlad the Impaler' or 'Fat Boy Kim' or the bloke who runs that massive Chinese take-away over the Pacific.  You only have one, 'yuuuuuge', terrifying threat facing the United States of America and here he is - Jean Claude Juncker:

Here is what he said yesterday, read it and tremble:

‘Brexit isn’t the end. A lot of people would like it that way, even people on another continent where the newly elected US President was happy that the Brexit was taking place and has asked other countries to do the same. If he goes on like that I am going to promote the independence of Ohio and Austin, Texas in the US.’

‘Brexit isn’t the end. A lot of people would like it that way, even people on another continent where the newly elected US President was happy that the Brexit was taking place and has asked other countries to do the same. If he goes on like that I am going to promote the independence of Ohio and Austin, Texas in the US.’

I should warn you, Mr. President, to take this threat seriously.  If it came from one of us weedy Englishmen then you would be safe to assume that it was irony but 'Luxembuggers' don't do irony, they mean every word they say, er, particularly after two (or three, or even more) glasses of schnapps.

You have been warned!

 

 

Us 'n' them

An interesting piece in The Telegraph today written by an academic, Dr. Patricia Hogwood, in which she draws attention to one particular factor likely to arise when the negotiations commence between 'us 'n' them'!  Of course, money and power and prestige will loom large but beneath there will be a greater gulf, according to Dr. Hogwood - cultural differences.  To 'them', we Brits appear "arrogant, insensitive and contrary", no, really, that's what the lady tells us.  I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked!

Part of this stems, she suggests, from our 'winner takes all' political system in which, by and large, just one party wins and then that party rules - absolutely.  Of course, 'just over there', election results are rarely that clear cut and various factions needs must cut deals with each other in order to keep the governmental machine running.  Of course, to us straight-up, straightforward, British chaps, that smacks of slipperiness and corner-cutting!  Dr. Hogwood puts it this way:

"For Europeans, a good outcome is one that combines as many common interests as possible. For the UK, it means getting our own way."

I have no expertise in the matter but for sure there is a latent, and sometimes blatant, dislike of Britain and the British by the Europeans.  'Quelle dommage' and all that sort of thing and one would hope for some sort of rationality in the forthcoming talks - but I ain't holding my breath!  The experts tell us that the negotiations will go on and on for years.  My guess is that they will end sooner rather than later when Mrs. May 'does a Maggie', picks up her handbag and departs.  "A consummation devoutly to be desired"!

 

 

 

At last, the Dems begin clearing the Augean stables

Now before I begin, not one but two confessions!  First, I am all too well aware that most of my American visitors here at D&N, Bob is the exception that proves the rule, are Republican supporters and they will not be the slightest bit interested in any news concerning the Dems.  Second, I'm not too interested either but I am concerned that there have not been eruptions within the Democratic party to find out how and why they lost an election to a fairground barker like 'The Donald'.  As far as I can judge, the Dem apparatchiks believe they fought a superb election and the only reason they lost was because so many of the redneck rubes were too thick to appreciate the, er, 'very fine qualities' of the dumpy, little crook they ran as a candidate - yeeeees, quite!  Ever since they have not ceased to offload offal onto what they call the 'deplorables' whilst seeming to forget that those very same 'deplorables' are actually voters - again, yeeees, quite!  In other words, rather like the less-than-delectable 'HillBilly', they seem to be suffering with mega-entitlement syndrome!

I worry about that because whilst I am a Right-winger by instinct there are aspects of the current Republican party I find quite worrying and they do not rest solely on the 'yuuuuge' shoulders of 'The Donald' and no democratic country can run properly without a sensible, functioning opposition party - as we are finding out 'over here'!  So it was with some relief that I read that the new boss of the Democratic National Committee (DNC) has fired every single staff member whilst he vets them all and recruits new people.  His name is Tom Perez, although perhaps he should be renamed as Hercules because the top of the Democratic party resembles the Augean stables of mythology.  I have no idea whether or not Mr. Perez is up to the job, in fact, I have no idea about almost any aspect of American politics these days, but if he succeeds in rooting out the Clinton crime family and the swivel-eyed 'Obama fanatics then I will be pleased withal!

http://www.zerohedge.com/news/2017-03-28/dnc-asks-entire-staff-resignation-letters

 

 

It'll be the 'polies' and the 'pen-pushers' who wreck it

So, today's the day!  The beginning of the world's greatest 'snore-fest' as we Brits raise our hats politely and make for the European exit.  Enter from stage left, a whole chorus of singing and dancing European 'polies' and 'pen-pushers' from every obscure region of the continent eager to have their moment centre-stage in the spotlight.  Good manners insist that we listen politely to a certain amount of their show-standing but, paraphrasing the words of Evelyn Waugh, only 'up to a point, Monsieur and mein Herr'!  Gradually, it will dawn on the GBP (Great British Public) that just like the Eurovision song contest the whole thing is based on BML (Britain Must Lose).  Oddly enough, I don't altogether blame them after all, the French under 'General de Grumpy' tried their best to keep us out because he was shrewd enough to see that we would never fit in properly and would only make trouble.  It was us, or at least, some of us but not me who kept banging on the door and insisting on entry and now, 45 years later, we're on the way out.

So there will be hurt feelings all round and no doubt a strong desire from many of the Europeans to ensure that we are stripped naked before being pushed out through the exit.  So far, so human - and so very, very stupid.  But when are 'polies' and 'pen-pushers' ever intelligent?  I sense - I cannot know for sure - that Mrs. May is about the best leader we could have in these circs.  She is, or appears to be, exceedingly calm and will not allow herself to be provoked too early but I just hope she has a streak of Thatcher in her so that when the European intransigence is at its height, she has the determination to pick up her handbag and make for the door.  To quote her own words, "Brexit means Brexit!"

 

Massive humour outage hits Britain

And needless to say, all the moaners and groaners and whingers simply added to the fun of it all.  For those of my readers unfamiliar with the front page of The Daily Mail, here it is:

Image: The Daily Mail headline

Of course, it shows 'Mrs. McWhinge' and 'St. Theresa of May' at their meeting yesterday when they discussed Brexit and Scottish independence, er, well, to be accurate, 'Mrs. McWhinge' probably never stopped going on like an out of control hedge-trimmer on the latter, whilst 'St. Theresa, talked down to her on Brexit assuring her that Scottish views were really, really - no, really! - important and HMG would study them very closely before ignoring them!  So far, so normal and 'notta lotta' of laughs.

However, the 'down at heel, dandruff-ridden, smelly socks brigade' in the newsroom of The Mail could not resist a bit of fun at the expense of both ladies, hence the picture and the caption.  Mind you, to be fair, it was also a plug for an article by one of their star columnists, Mrs. Sarah Vine (aka: Mrs. Michael Gove MP) who had some light-hearted fun at the expense of both ladies:

But what stands out here are the legs – and the vast expanse on show. There is no doubt that both women consider their pins to be the finest weapon in their physical arsenal. Consequently, both have been unsheathed.

May’s famously long extremities are demurely arranged in her customary finishing-school stance – knees tightly together, calves at a flattering diagonal, feet neatly aligned. It’s a studied pose that reminds us that for all her confidence, she is ever the vicar’s daughter, always respectful and anxious not to put a foot wrong.

Sturgeon’s shorter but undeniably more shapely shanks are altogether more flirty, tantalisingly crossed, with the dominant leg pointing towards her audience.

Cue: a mega, nay, a 'yuuuuge', torrent of hissy-fits, foot-stomping and outrage from the usual suspects.  Thus, the first thing I heard this morning was one of Dim Dave's more useless ex-ministers, Nicky Morgan MP, complaining about sexism - why am I not surprised? - and then the news that that big girl's blouse, Ed 'Milipede', was 'shocked, I tell you, shocked', then 'Jezza' joined the chorus of weepin' 'wimmin' and so it has gone on all day.

Yet again I am reminded of those wise words of the late, great Auberon Waugh who advised that when faced with a politician on a soap-box always shout, 'Show us your willy!'  Difficult for the ladies but you know what I mean!

 

 

The workers are revolting!

I was intrigued by the news that nation-wide, anti-government demos had taken place across Russia.  It wasn't just the size of them - pretty titchy given the total population of Russia - but that they had happened at all!  Plus, the fact that they had not been confined just to Moscow and one or two other major cities but were spread across the entire country.  Roland Oliphant in The Telegraph provides some of the background including a brief mention of the 'agitator-in-chief', a certain Mr. Alexei Navalny.  I have just attempted to read his Wiki entry but it is almost as long as "War and Peace" and after my heroic efforts yesterday in the salt-mines Cribbs Causeway shopping mall (see below) I am knackered today so I didn't read it in detail.  Even so, anyone who is prepared to stand up to that gangster in the Kremlin deserves considerable admiration.  Alas, my ace Russian reporter, Richard, is no longer living in Russia, he had the very good sense to return to 'God's little acre', but if he reads this perhaps he can give us some background. 

Of course, in the main, the Russian people are all too familiar with hardship but let me tell you that what I suffered yesterday was as bad as anything they have ever had to put up with.  Mile after weary mile I trudged in the wake of the 'Memsahib' as we hoovered our way through shop after shop after shop.  The only good thing was that one of them was Waterstones bookshop and I picked up a couple of good books - so not all bad then!

 

Your Monday Funnies on a Sunday: 26.3.17

That's because first thing tomorrow I am off on a mega-shopping trip to Cribbs Causeway, a 'yuuuuge' shopping mall.  Well, it's 'yuuuuge' as far as 'Zummerzet' is concerned but you'd probably get ten of them inside a Texas equivalent!  Anyway, to avoid the weeping and wailing if you plebs don't get your Monday morning 'funnies', here they are tonight.  And the first one should offend just about everyone!

_{IN RESPONSE TO ALL RECENT E-MAILS ABOUT OUR DOG:} 

_{PLEASE BE ADVISED, WE ARE SICK AND TIRED OF ANSWERING QUESTIONS ABOUT HIM.}

_{YES, HE BIT TWO PEOPLE WHO WE THINK MAY HAVE BEEN WOMEN WEARING BURKAS, TEN PEOPLE WEARING TURBANS, TWENTY PEOPLE WEARING JEREMY CORBYN T-SHIRTS, TWO CAR DRIVERS WITH RAP}

_{MUSIC BLARING FROM THEIR VEHICLES, FOUR JEHOVAH'S WITNESSES, TWO MORMONS, NINE TEENAGERS WITH PANTS HANGING PAST THEIR ASS CRACKS, THREE MUSLIMS AND A PAKISTANI TAXI DRIVER.}

_{FOR THE LAST TIME. . .THE DOG IS NOT FOR SALE!}

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The bartender was so sure that he was the strongest man around that he offered a standing $1,000 bet. The bartender would squeeze a lemon until all the juice ran into a glass, and then hand the lemon to a patron. 

Anyone who could squeeze two more drops of juice out of it would win the money. 

Many people had tried, over the years: weightlifters, wharfies, football players etc., but nobody had ever been able to do it. 

One day, a scrawny little fellow came into the bar, wearing thick glasses and a polyester suit. He sat down, ordered a glass of draught, and  started looking around the bar. 

After reading the sign on the wall about the lemon challenge, he said in a meek voice: "I was just reading your sign, and I'd like to try the bet." 

After the laughter in the pub had died down, the bartender grabbed a lemon and squeezed the heck out of it. Then he handed the wrinkled remains of the rind to the little fellow. 

The crowd's laughter turned to total silence as the man clenched his little fist around the lemon and six drops fell into the glass. 

As the crowd cheered, the bartender paid the guy his $1,000, and then asked little man: "Do you mind if I ask what do you do for a living? Are you a lumberjack, a weight-lifter, or what?"

_{The little fellow quietly replied: "No, I work for the Australian Taxation Office".}

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Women’s responses to size: 

2 inches: I can't even hold it. 

3 inches: Never been so unsatisfied. 

4 inches: I've had bigger than it. 

5 inches: Good, but I wish it was a bit bigger. 

6 inches: perfect. 

7 inches: Love it. 

8 inches: Wow! But can't have it all. 

9 inches: A lot, but manageable. 

10 inches: Too much pressure on stomach, fills me up. 

This survey was actually Customers' Feedback on different SIZES of Subway Sandwiches!  But I love the way you think!

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A friend of mine has two tickets in a corporate box for the England v Ireland rugby match on 18th March. He paid £100 each, but he didn't realise when he bought them that it was going to be on the same afternoon as his wedding.  

If you are interested, he is looking for someone to take his place. 

It's at the Registry Office on Grand Canal Street at 4.30 p.m. The bride's name is Nicole -- she's 5'4", about 115 lbs, nice figure, quite pretty and is a really good cook.  She'll be the one in the white frock!

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Just read that 4,153,237 people got married last year; not to cause any trouble but shouldn't that be an even number?

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Today a man knocked on my door and asked for a small donation toward the local swimming pool. I gave him a glass of water.

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I want to die peacefully in my sleep, like my grandfather. Not screaming and yelling like the passengers in his car.

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If I had a dollar for every girl that found me unattractive, they would eventually find me attractive.

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I find it ironic that the colors red, white, and blue stand for freedom until they are flashing behind you.

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When wearing a bikini, women reveal 90 % of their body... men are so polite they only look at the covered parts.

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A recent study has found that women who carry a little extra weight, live longer than the men who mention it.

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Relationships are a lot like algebra. Have you ever looked at your X and wondered Y?

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America is a country which produces citizens who will cross the ocean to fight for democracy but won't cross the street to vote.

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You know that tingly feeling you get when you’re attracted to someone? That's your common sense leaving your body.

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Did you know that dolphins are so smart that within a few weeks of captivity, they can train people to stand on the very edge of the pool and throw them fish?

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My therapist says I have a preoccupation with vengeance. We'll see about that.

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I think my neighbor is stalking me as she's been googling my name on her computer. I saw it through my telescope last night.

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Strong people don't put others down. They lift them up and slam them on the ground for maximum damage.

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Money talks... but all mine ever says is good-bye.

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You're not fat, you're just... easier to see.

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If you think nobody cares whether you're dead or alive, try missing a couple of payments.

 

That's your lot and when I get back tomorrow I might be asking y'all for a few contributions to the coffers!

 

 

The Sunday Rumble: 26.3.17

Bad news, worse news and worserer news:   I'll take them in order.  The "bad news" is that God, or Donald Trump (if you can tell them apart), has fiddled with the clocks again so that I am an hour behind the times.  Why do they do that?  I don't mind when it gives me an extra hour in bed but this time I lost an hour which leads me to the "worse news" which is that I missed half the commentary on the Australian Grand Prix because the bloody-bloody clock was wrong!  Of course, it hardly needs explaining but the "worserer news" is that that fine, pukka, British gent, Lewis Hamilton, was beaten into second place by a damned Hun!  I think I'll go back to bed!

But here's some good news:   With enormous courage and stamina I have beaten off that vicious attack of 'Man-flu' with which I was suffering - and, boy, I do mean suffering! - earlier in the week.  God I'm good!

So, just another druggie yob, then:   Everybody was, er, 'shocked, I tell you, shocked' when that low-life loon attacked people in Westminster and killed a policeman.  It's another dastardly, clever ISIS plot, the prints all screamed.  Nah!  He was just another inadequate, pathetic psycho with a taste for drugs, as Peter Hitchens points out in The Mail.  Do give him a read and calm down, dears!

Is nothing sacred anymore?   You will not be surprised to learn - yet again - that I am shocked, I tell you, shocked!  Some 'pint-puller', well, he calls himself a 'mixologist' - yeeeees, quite! - has seriously suggested that a drop of olive oil should be added to the ingredients of a dry martini in order to enhance its flavour.  According to The Mail:

Davide Gagliazzo, bar manager of Gordon Ramsay’s Union Street Cafe in Southwark, South London, said: ‘I think Bond would love it. Olive oil enriches the drink – it gives it a silky texture and complexity.’

 

On second thoughts, perhaps I shouldn't be too dismissive.  It was a London bartender who told me that I should always give the inside of the martini glass a quick wipe with the sliver of lemon (which I prefer to an olive) in order to spread the flavour.  Anyway, I hope for his sake that 007 is not displeased - could be messy!

Don'cha just lurve this internet-thingie?   Yes of course you do otherwise you wouldn't be wasting your time reading D&N!  What I like is that you can pick at a thread, give it a tug and suddenly you are onto all sorts of other threads.  Just now (via A&L Daily), I came across a review of a recently published biography of one of my favourite people, Machiavelli.  I like him because he is one of the very few philosophers who make me laugh out loud - the Aussie, David Stove, is another one. Anyway, A&L Daily pointed me to a review by Terry Eagleton of a Machiavelli biography.  Now, he has been around the edge of my consciousness (if you can call it that) for ages and I have rather dismissed him as just another Left-wing intellectual prat, er, without actually reading anything he wrote, natch!  Anyway, his review was sharp and witty and that was enough for me to check his Wiki entry and that, in turn, led me into some of the bar-room brawls, ooops, sorry, I mean intellectual disagreements he has had with all sorts of people.  There's nobody like high-minded intellectuals for producing copious amounts of blood, er, theoretical blood, of course!

It's the 'Don't Knows' wot'll win it:   Reports indicate that the French centrist bloc is getting its act together now that the former front-runner, Fillon, has been caught out with his hand in the till.  All 'les movers and shakers' (Damn, my French is good!) are coalescing behind Macron, a typical establishment 'man for all seasons'.  The socialists have the French equivalent of 'Jezza' for a candidate so they're nowhere.  Thus everything and everyone is combining with but a single aim - stop le Pen!  Will they succeed?  (French shrug), it all depends on the enormous number of 'Don't Knows'!

 

No more rumbles today

 

And so we bid farewell to UKIP

But, please, 'Kippers', don't think it hasn't been fun.  And don't think that I, personally, am not deeply grateful because I am!  However, once the referendum was won and 'Dim Dave' expunged from parliament if not, alas, totally from memory, then 'for you the war was over'.  Today, your sole MP, Douglas Carswell, has, so to speak, 'done a Churchill' who shifted from the Tories to the Liberals and then back again and boasted that he didn't just rat once, he ratted twice!

The 'Kippers' would have been described by the late, great, Bernard Levin, as "sifs", single issue fanatics, and their problem, as always, is that when the single issue is resolved they cease to have a raison d'être.  Even so, I am second to none in my admiration for the Herculean efforts of Nigel Farage in particular, and the 'Kippers' en masse, who brought off one of the greatest political coups in post-war British politics.

Douglas Carswell also deserves praise for his political courage in resigning from the Tory party and then fighting his corner on behalf of UKIP.  I hope he remains in politics and it will be interesting to see where he ends up because he is that rarity, a politician with ideas which are original and sensible.

 

Tricky business, this politics lark, Mr. Trump!

With all the inevitability of an out of control train heading for the bumpers, President Trump learns, the hard way, that politics is not a command and control game.  It is actually a subtle, tricky, now you see it now you don't game of three dimensional chess.  Of course, he never served an apprenticeship in that hall of mirrors in the Capitol, instead he barged in using the tools of his own commercial trade - bluff and bluster.  Sorry, Mr. President, this is politics not business!

I always try and avoid the subject of Obamacare because I know so little about it.  Suffice to say that I suspect that Obama himself didn't know too much more, either!  However, he did recognise that in all modern states there is, dare I say, a 'yuuuge' demand from the public that the government install a universal system of healthcare available to all.  Of course, how you arrange that financially is exceedingly complicated.  Not the least of the problems is that you are offering a service with unlimited demand based on limited means.  That there are, and always will be, limits is not something the average voter understands or cares about, especially when they are sick.  One thing is for sure 'over there', it is only a matter of time before Obamacare runs onto some hideously difficult rocks!

In the meantime, what if anything is 'The Donald' to do?  In effect, he has just been hit in the face by the Constitution which was designed precisely to do that to any President who ignores it.  Of course, what he has to do, and do very quickly, is to learn the lesson.  Can a man of his age and monstrous ego do that?  I don't know but I do sincerely hope so because he has several very excellent propositions for the future that would be very beneficial for America.

So pick yourself up, Mr. President, brush yourself down and start to box clever!

ADDITIONAL:   Simply too, too embarrassing!  No sooner had I let loose the belch above than I read Tim Stanley's much more thoughtful and informed piece in today's Telegraph which I urge you all to read for a deeper analysis of the problem.

 

 

'The Kraut' brings tidings of great joy to our American friends

I used to watch and listen to 'The Kraut' on Fox News back in the day when I was able to afford to keep my ex-best friend, 'Rupe', in the style to which he and his expensive wives were accustomed.  I was always impressed by 'The Kraut' although he was rarely of a sunny disposition which was not very surprising given that he was crippled for life by a motoring accident as a young man.

The fact that he has made such a success of his life since the accident indicates a steely character.  Certainly, his analyses of political life 'over there' are always worth reading.  He may be a Right-winger but that never stops him from taking the Republican party and its leadership to task when they are more annoyingly 'stoopid' than usual.

Today at the NRO he points out, almost with relish, that in the saloon-bar brawl that is American politics under 'The Donald', there is and always will be only one winner - the Constitution!  And for that we must offer up thanks to the polymath, James Madison, who amongst other things studied Latin, Greek, science, geography, mathematics, rhetoric, Hebrew and political philosophy.  He is, rightly, called 'the Father of the Constitution' which, despite non-stop battering from Right and Left over two centuries, still exerts its subtle but powerful influence.

'The Kraut' sums up today's Trumpian 'broohaha', thus:

Taken together — and suspending judgment on which side is right on any particular issue — it is deeply encouraging that the sinews of institutional resistance to a potentially threatening executive remain quite resilient. Madison’s genius was to understand that the best bulwark against tyranny was not virtue — virtue helps, but should never be relied upon — but ambition counteracting ambition, faction counteracting faction.

 

Clever fella', that Madison!

 

'Arty-farty' time!

I know and I apologise, it has been 'yonks' since I last raided Donald Pittenger's superb 'art gallery'.  In fact, it has been so long that all the entries were new to me.  The fact that all the artists are new to me as well, of course, indicates and indicts my ignorance.  Still, that's why I keep Pittenger on, he does all the work for me, especially the commentary notes below each example!

The following are random picks from his treasure trove and if you want to see more then get over there!

Afternoon Thoughts
Her costume can be seen on other paintings.

Richard Edward Miller (1875-1943)

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From Gazette du Bon Ton

André Edouard Marty (1882-1974) was an École des Beaux-Arts graduate best known for fashion illustration.

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portrait d'un dragon - 1869
This dragoon portrait is more "painterly" than many other Bazille paintings. Might he have pursued this had he lived?

Frédéric Bazille (1841-1870) was associated with the French Impressionists during the early stages of the movement. He did not participate in the many later Impressionist showings and activities. That was because he died in battle.

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This seems to be considered his most famous poster design.

Léon Benigni (1892-1948) was one of several fashion-related illustrators whose similar styles helped to visually define the years between the two world wars.

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Poppy and Phyllis at the Window
That would be Poppy on the right.

Stanley Cursiter (1887-1976) featuring Poppy Low. Cursiter was from the Orkneys, but spent most of his career in Edinburgh where, among other things, he was Director of the National Galleries of Scotland.

(Phyllis was his wife and Poppy was his favourite model - I make no comment!)

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The final words on McGuinness the mass murderer

Given my weakened condition (see below) I will not attempt to write anything original, instead I will rely on quoting Ms. Jenny McCartney in this week's Spectator:

[A]ccording to Liam Clarke and Kathryn Johnston’s book Martin McGuinness: From Guns To Government, ‘McGuinness personally supervised the Derry IRA’s first major success of 1987.’ That ‘success’ was for two IRA men first to murder a psychology student called Leslie Jarvis, who taught leatherwork to inmates in Magilligan prison and was therefore deemed a ‘legitimate target’. The killers then used the dead man as bait, switching his briefcase with one containing a bomb. When two policemen arrived on the scene and examined the case, they were both blown to smithereens. An IRA volunteer interviewed by the authors explained that ‘McGuinness was in the house opposite watching everything. He quite often liked to be close when things went off to watch and see… it was part of his strategy, his way of refining operations.’

Paraphrasing Matthew 7.16, 'By their deeds shall you know them' and that little episode tells you everything you need to know about McGuiness. Or try this one with my emphasis added:

Consider his 2001 statement to the BBC about the 1987 IRA bomb that killed 11 people and injured 63 others during a Remembrance Day service in Enniskillen: ‘It was a total and absolute disaster. I felt absolutely gutted by it. I felt this would be damaging to our strategy in trying to build Sinn Fein as a political party.’ The gutting, it was clear, was because of the damage to Sinn Fein’s electoral prospects rather than the bodies strewn around the cenotaph. 

Still not sure?  Then how about this:

In 2013, at a debate at the Oxford Union, McGuinness refused to condemn the 1990 IRA murder of Patsy Gillespie, a Catholic canteen worker and father of three who was strapped into a lorry loaded with IRA explosives and forced to drive it to a British Army checkpoint. There it was detonated remotely, killing Gillespie and five British soldiers.

Or perhaps we could paraphrase Matthew's words even more - 'By their friends and supporters shall you know them':

Already, the mythologising is in full swing — Alastair Campbell: ‘the man I knew was a great guy’; Jon Snow: ‘an extraordinary life that culminated in great service’; Jeremy Corbyn: ‘a great family man’.

With friends like them who needs enemies?!

 

 

Oh no, the dreaded man-flu has struck!

Alas and alack and woe is me, I have gone down with severe, galloping man-flu!  Mind you, the 'Memsahib' is also fairly woeful given that she will spend much of the next few days running up and down stairs fetching cups of tea.  Still, as I keep telling her, you can never do enough for a good husband.  I will not repeat her reply it would not be suitable on a polite, proper blog like this!  Anyway, fear not, dear readers, I will battle on bravely and you will not hear a word of complaint from me, er, well, except my next cup of tea is a bit late  . . .

The vomit-inducing obsequies to a murdering torturer

Until now, I have refrained from commenting on the death of Martin McGuiness, the well-known mass murderer - OK, perhaps not 'well-known' because there's none so deaf, dumb and blind as those, and there are many of them, who are determined to ignore 'the bleedin' obvious'.  However, today at The Coffee House there are two articles on the subject of McGuiness, and over at The Telegraph another one by a man who knows where-of he speaks - Lord Norman Tebbit.

To be fair to Stephen Paisley who offers an unconvincing shroud to partially cover the memory of a mass murderer, he makes no attempt to shield McGuiness from the crimes he committed but he maintains, in effect, that his reversion to a 'peace process' at the end absolves him of some of his sins.

McGuinness chose to sit down, make peace, and allow his legacy to take care of itself. He put the lives of his community ahead of the allure of ideological purity, set his course against every impulse and doctrine of his movement, and as a result Northern Ireland was able to move forward.

Total twaddle, as Lord Tebbit makes clear when he reminds us that the main motivation for McGuinness and his gangster buddies to cut a peace deal was to save their own necks! 

The Army and our intelligence services had penetrated the IRA organisation right up to the governing Army Council. No one in that organisation knew who he could trust as a fellow terrorist, or who had been suborned and was a British spy.

McGuinness, himself, knew that there were several detailed police investigations into past murders, particularly that of Frank Hegarty, in which he had played a leading role.  It was only a matter of time before he would be arrested and charged with murder and so, miraculously, the IRA decided to sue for peace.  John Major, desperate to end his miserable era in an office which was forever over-shadowed by 'that woman', seized the proffered olive branch and agreed that the police dossiers on McGuinness would be 'disappeared'.  Needless to say, his successor at No. 10, Tony Blair, even more eager to strut his stuff on the world's stage, continued the sell-out by ensuring that no IRA killers would ever face trial - but numerous soldiers and policemen would!

Douglas Murray describes the obituaries to McGuiness as being "morally illiterate".  However, he hopes that now the psycho-killer is dead, perhaps the deeply buried files on his criminality will be resurrected.

As I pointed out in the Spectator six years ago, the British government somewhere has the files on McGuinness’s involvement in multiple murders, in particular his involvement in the killing of Frank Hegarty. The government of John Major deliberately ‘disappeared’ these files in order to pursue their negotiations with the almost defeated IRA (the now textbook example of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory). And as I imply in my book on the Bloody Sunday Inquiry there are many facts around McGuinness’s involvement on that and many other days which are yet to come out. They were never going to come out in McGuinness’s lifetime, but perhaps we can now hope that they will come out in ours.

Perhaps the least surprising obituary comes from that malignant pile of Scottish offal, Alex Salmond, who praised McGuinness as "a friend of Scotland".  With 'friends' like that, who needs enemies and perhaps someone will ask Salmond how many Scottish soldiers were killed by McGuinness and his fellow psychos?

 

The ifs, buts and maybes in the South China Seas

Hitherto, I have, rather naively, believed - perhaps 'hoped' is a better word - that the Chinese dictator, Xi Jinping, was the archetypal 'wily oriental gentleman' which I know leads to the acronym 'WOG' but which I think of as a compliment not an insult.  Like just about everyone, including our much vaunted Intelligence Services, I haven't a clue what it going on in the highest political circles in China.  As a corporate body, they succeed in looking even more impassive than the waxworks at Madame Tussauds.  Thus, one is reduced to dependence on their deeds in order to work out their aims and objectives which is a bit dodgy given that we, by which I mean the West, can only re-act rather than forestall.  Of course, we can estimate with a fair degree of accuracy that in general terms what the Chinese want is to rule the world, thus it was and always will be for great global powers but it would be useful to know the details of each little step on the way in order to give them pause.

Adding enormously to the uncertainties is their half-mad puppet, 'Fat Boy Kim', and his concentration camp country, North Korea.  'Fat Boy Kim' is the political equivalent of Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining', sort of predictable in that you know he's going to do something dreadful but you can't be sure exactly when and how!

 

       

                                      Kim Jongun                                                      Jack Nicholson

Today, of course, we have another 'known unknown' ingredient in the bubbling pot - 'The Donald'!  I suppose the only good thing is that Trump's unpredictability in which it is possible for him to say, or tweet, or (heavens to Betsy!) actually do, can actually, and frequently does, change by the hour.  So perhaps it is President Xi Jinping who is the most worried.

If so, then in the words of the great historians, Sellars & Yeatman, that "Is a Good Thing!"

 

Next time, grab him by the nuts, Mrs. May!

Apparently that great European statesman, the heir to Talleyrand and Bismarck, has assured worried 'Europols' that the mighty EU will inflict great punishment on Britain during the Brexit negotiations, indeed, of such severity that no other country will ever dare to leave again!  Bring it on, I say, because I have never believed it possible to negotiate a reasonable agreement with the likes of 'Junck the Drunk' and the Euro-fanatics who surround him, so the quicker that becomes apparent then the quicker we can make for the exit and revert to WTO rules which governs most of our trade with other nations round the globe outside of Europe.  Given that the Europeans sell very much more to us than we sell to them we'll soon see who is hurting the most!

If you were ever in any doubt that the EU is run by purblind fanatics and drunks then now you know!

 

Never mind the mind, what's the matter?

Why do I do this to myself?  Perhaps just as pertinent, why do I inflict it on you?  Sorry and all that but I just can't help myself.  The fact is that I am utterly hooked on all this quantum physics stuff.  I barely understand 0.2% of it, and even that comes and goes!  Anyway, on this occasion you can blame Prof. Adam Frank writing on the subject at Aeon.

He sums up the headache-inducing problem thus:

When I was a young physics student I once asked a professor: ‘What’s an electron?’ His answer stunned me. ‘An electron,’ he said, ‘is that to which we attribute the properties of the electron.’ That vague, circular response was a long way from the dream that drove me into physics, a dream of theories that perfectly described reality. Like almost every student over the past 100 years, I was shocked by quantum mechanics, the physics of the micro-world. In place of a clear vision of little bits of matter that explain all the big things around us, quantum physics gives us a powerful yet seemly paradoxical calculus. With its emphasis on probability waves, essential uncertainties and experimenters disturbing the reality they seek to measure, quantum mechanics made imagining the stuff of the world as classical bits of matter (or miniature billiard balls) all but impossible.

Well that's bad enough if your interest lies in the nature and behaviour of 'billiard balls' but when you turn this school of thought to, er, well, thought, actually, by which I mean, the mind, then you could quickly find yourself confined in a cell wearing a straight-jacket! 

It all comes back to this thing called 'The Hard Problem' which, put into simple - and I do mean really, really simple terms - attempts to explain consciousness, or how the mind, filled as it is with slippery thoughts, actually works.  Scientists, being on the whole materialists by nature, insist that the mind works entirely according to the laws of physics.  It's all just a matter of, well, matter, and of course, 'as any fule do no', matter behaves in mechanical ways which can be measured. 

Except, it doesn't!

At the sub-atomic level 'matter' dances to its own infinite variety of possibilities.  Any attempt to measure such particles, or quanta, actually interferes with their state of being.  A perfect example of 'now ya sees it, now ya don't'!  So what sort of a basis is that for determining reality?

Some neuroscientists think that they’re being precise and grounded by holding tightly to materialist credentials. Molecular biologists, geneticists, and many other types of researchers – as well as the nonscientist public – have been similarly drawn to materialism’s seeming finality. But this conviction is out of step with what we physicists know about the material world – or rather, what we don’t know.

Quite so because the real 'reality' is that 'real things' are made up of zillions of totally mad, unpredictable possibility of things each of which may be a 'thing', or merely, yet another zillion possibilities of things and if you so much as glance at them, let alone actually measure them, then you instantly lose about 99% of their 'reality' leaving you clutching at the equivalent of a grain of sand from the Sahara!

That graunching sound you just heard was my brain coming to an emergency halt so I will leave you to read Prof. Frank's excellent essay which, needless to say, explains things much more clearly than I can.

 

 

Your Monday Funnies: 20.3.17

Another fine selection of 'Funnies' to start your working week and I am long overdue in saying thank you to my very many busy little bees who provide them.

 

Marriage is sharing

The old man placed an order for one hamburger, French fries and a drink. He unwrapped the plain hamburger and carefully cut it in half, placing one in front of his wife. He then carefully counted out the French fries, dividing them into two piles and neatly placed one pile in front of his wife. He took a sip of the drink, his wife took a sip and then set the cup down between them. As he began to eat his few bites of hamburger, the people around them were looking over and whispering. Obviously, they were thinking, 'That poor old couple - all they can afford is one meal for the two of them.' As the man began to eat his fries a young man came to the table and politely offered to buy another meal for the old couple. The old man said they were just fine - they were used to sharing everything. People closer to the table noticed the little old lady hadn't eaten a bite. She  sat there watching her husband eat and occasionally taking turns sipping the drink.

 Again, the young man came over and begged them to let him buy another meal for them. This time the old woman said 'No, thank you, we are used to sharing everything.' Finally, as the old man finished and was wiping his face neatly with the napkin, the young man again came over to the little old lady who had yet to eat a single bite of food and asked 'What is it you are waiting for?' 

She answered, "The teeth".

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Jack and his date, Blossom were parked on a back road some distance from Brisbane, doing what boys and girls do on back roads some distance from Brisbane.  Things were getting hot and heavy when Blossom stopped Jack. 

"I really should have mentioned this earlier, but I'm actually a hooker and I charge $120 for sex," she said. 

Jack just looked at her for a couple of seconds, but then reluctantly paid her and they went on to have mind blowing sex for the next hour.

After they were done, and had smoked a cigarette, Jack just sat in the driver's seat looking out the window. 

"Why aren't we going anywhere?" asked Blossom.

"Well", Jack replied with a grin on his face, "I should have mentioned this before, but I'm actually a taxi driver and the fare back to Brisbane is $130 "

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MEDICAL DISTINCTION BETWEEN "GUTS" AND "BALLS"

You've heard people referring to other people having “Guts” or “Balls”. Do they, however, know the difference between them?  Here’s the official distinction; straight from the British Medical Journal: Volume 323; page 295.  

GUTS - is arriving home late after a night out with the lads, being met by your wife with a broom and having the “Guts” to ask: “Are you still cleaning, or are you flying somewhere?”

BALLS - is coming home late after a night out with the lads, smelling of perfume and beer, lipstick on your collar, slapping your wife on the bum and having the “Balls” to say: 'You're next, Chubby.'

I trust this clears up any confusion.  Medically speaking, there is no difference in outcome:  Both are fatal...

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Paddy and Mick were discussing popular family trends on sex, marriage and family values over a couple of pints.

Mick said, 'I didn't sleep with my wife before we got married, did you?’

Paddy replied, 'I'm not sure Mick, what was her maiden name?'

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While golfing, I accidentally overturned my golf cart.  A  very attractive lady who lived in a villa on the golf course, heard the noise and called out, "Are you okay?" 

"I'm okay thanks," I replied as I pulled myself out of the twisted cart. 

She said, "Come up to my villa, rest a while, and I'll help you get the cart up later." 

I noticed her silky bathrobe was partially open revealing what appeared to be a very nice figure. 

"That's mighty nice of you," I answered, "but I don't think my wife would like it." 

"Oh, come on now", she insisted. 

She was so pretty, and very, very persuasive and I was weak so I went in.  After a couple of drinks, I thanked her and said, "I feel a lot better now but I know my wife is going to be really upset. So I'd better go now." 

"Don't be silly!" she said with a smile, letting her robe fall open. "Stay for a while. She won't know anything. By the way, where is she?" 

I replied, "Still under the cart, I guess".

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Well, there you are, that's golfers for you!

 

The Sunday Rumble: 19.3.17

Sorry, sorry, sorry - again!   But on the other hand you could think of my absence over the last two days as a sort of holiday - waddya mean, you do already?!  Alas, with the 'Memsahib' still 'walking wounded' and batty 'Auntie Babs' up the road in a Care Home the domestics escalated.  However, I'm planning a calm day today!

 

Chuck - who?   Alright, alright, I admit it, I do know - sort of - who Chuck Berry was, I could hardly avoid knowing given that all the media channels are full of the news of his death and are playing his 'music' non-stop!  I can't help wondering if, when I die, the media will be filled with quotes from this distinguished blog - sorry, I didn't quite catch that!

 

In a nut shell:   Or perhaps that should read 'in an egg shell" given the nature of this cartoon from The American Thinker drawn by Ronny Gordon who is, of course, 'ein sehr frecher Junge', er, that means 'a very naughty boy' - and so are you if you don't brush up on your German!

 

 

 

Another election, Prime Minister?    'Maybe, baby', but somehow I doubt it.  'St. Theresa of May' does not strike me as an adventurous gambler.  Of course, there are all sorts of potential temptations especially with the Labour party disintegrating before our eyes, UKIP reduced to the size of the Tranmere Rovers Supporters Club and the 'il-Lib-non-Dems' being led by a man who looks and sounds like the sort of dipstick vicar you might see in a 'Carry On' movie.  But, one asks, how much confidence does the country have in the Tory leadership particularly after the Budget shambles and the fast approaching court cases over Tory swindling at the last election?  I could be wrong, I frequently am, but I wouldn't hold your breath if I was you!

 

The Keystone Cops move to Wiltshire:   Under the leadership of Chief Constable Veale, a man who once stated that he was 120% sure that former Prime Minister Edward Heath was a paedophile, the Wiltshire Branch of the Keystone Cops has decided to halt its £1,000,000 investigation into the allegations. 

Chief Constable Veale and his team

Apparently, the only thing they have proved without a doubt is that Chief Constable Veale doesn't understand mathematics!

 

Clever fella', that Einstein bloke:  I am grateful to Peter Hitchens for this quote from Albert Einstein not least because it is probably one of the few things he wrote that I can actually understand:

"I have repeatedly said that in my opinion the idea of a personal god is a childlike one. You may call me an agnostic, but I do not share the crusading spirit of the professional atheist whose fervor is mostly due to a painful act of liberation from the fetters of religious indoctrination received in youth. I prefer an attitude of humility corresponding to the weakness of our intellectual understanding of nature and of our own being."

There is a further quotation in the article which is worth reading too.

 

And now for some poetry to raise standards round here:

‘Won’t you join our Common Market?’ said the spider to the fly,

It really is a winner and the cost is not too high’

I know De Gaulle said ’’ Non’’, but he hadn’t got a clue.

We want you in, my friends and I, for we have plans for you.

 

You’ll have to pay a little more than we do, just for now,

As Herr Kohl said, and I agree, ‘we need a new milch cow,

It’s just a continental term, believe me , mon ami,

Like ‘’Vive la France’’ or ‘’Mad Anglais’’ or even ‘’E.E.C.’’.

 

As to the rules, don’t worry friend, there’s really but a few

You’ll find that we ignore them - but they all apply to you.

Give and share between us, that’s what it’s all about,

You do all the giving, and we all share it out.

 

It’s very British, is it not, to help a friend in need?

You’ve done it twice in two World Wars, a fact we must concede,

So climb aboard the Market Train, don’t sit there on the side,

Your continental cousins want to take you for a ride.

 

The face of evil or stupidity?   I will let you choose so let me introduce Prof. Wendy Savage whose name, perhaps, matches her nature.

 

 

The lady, and I use the term loosely, is a retired gynaecologist and obstetrician.  She also holds an influential position in that most powerful of 'trade unions', the British Medical Association (BMA).  To be precise, she is a member of their 'Ethics Committee' and the irony of that will freeze the smile on your face when you learn that she is urging that mothers should be permitted to abort babies if they are of the 'wrong' sex!  The Mail on Sunday has this quote from her:

If a woman does not want to have a foetus who is one sex or the other, forcing her [to go through with the pregnancy] is not going to be good for the eventual child, and it’s not going to be good for [the mother’s] mental health.’

Again, according to The Mail, the Professor has conducted some 10,000 abortions during her working life.  What a proud boast at the end of your days to say that you were a doctor and that you spent your entire life killing babies!

 

At least Donald's budget was better than ours:   Not hard to do, I admit, but according to The American Spectator:

Donald Trump proposes cuts of 29 percent to the State Department, 21 percent to the Departments of Agriculture and Labor, 18 percent to Health and Human Services, and 31 percent to the Environmental Protection Agency

Of course, it will be subject to Congressional gang-banging but even so, a mighty step in the right (and Right) direction. 

 

This sorta porn didn't oughta be allowed!   Especially in Her Majesty's Daily Telegraph, I'm shocked, I tell you, shocked!

European Commission President Jean-Claude Juncker greets former British Prime Minister Tony Blair Credit: REUTERS/Francois Lenoir

 

 

N o more rumbles today

 

 

Oh no, another creepy coincidence-thingie!

Only last Sunday I was extolling the beauties of Mottisfont Abbey in Hampshire following a visit there with 'SoD et al'.  This morning, cruising through the book reviews in The Mail, I came across this photo of a rather elegant lady:

 

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Maud Russell shot by Cecil Beaton from the book: A Constant Heart by Emily Russell.

Maud Russell was the chatelaine of Mottisfont Abbey before, during and after WWII.  The book, A Constant Heart: The War Diaries of Maud Russell, is an edited edition of her war-time diaries from 1938 to 1945 and the review makes it sound like a compilation by Somerset Maugham, Terence Rattigan and P. J. Wodehouse!  As the book reviewer puts it:

Yet another book of wartime recollections by a society hostess? As I opened this book with its painting of Maud Russell sitting up in her flouncy Thirties bed on the dustjacket, I guessed these might be rather shallow diaries jazzed up with a bit of Blitz excitement.

A quick flick through confirmed there was indeed a great deal of ‘lunched with Sibyl [Colefax]’ and ‘dined at the Savoy Grill with Duff and Diana [Cooper]’, and a rolling gallery of posh nicknames: Bim, Bongie, Crinks and Cardie.

But how wrong first impressions can be! I became entranced by these diaries and was deeply moved. To read them is to live through World War II inside the mind and world of an amazingly observant and warm-hearted woman. That the author happens to be the chatelaine of a large country house (Mottisfont in Hampshire) run by a legion of servants, and that she dines at Claridges, the Ritz and the Savoy each week, makes them all the more fascinating.

The book reviewer provides a flavour of the Mottisfont household on just one day in 1941:

Maud tells us who was in the house on the night of June 14, 1941: she and her husband, six house guests, her maid Adele, three housemaids, cook, three kitchen maids, a butler, two footmen, an odd-man, a ‘negro refugee’ from Southampton, five evacuee children and eight officers. Another 14 assorted batmen and evacuees were in the stables.

Not the least of the delicious ironies to be enjoyed in this book is the fact that Maud Russel was of German-Jewish stock!  Another interesting facet of the book is to be reminded that we all look back at WWII knowing how things turned out but, of course, the participants at the time had no idea.  Thus, when Belgium fell, everyone pinned their hopes on France holding out.

Anyway, this 'creepy coincidence-thingie' is obviously sending me a message and I will have to buy the book.

 

 

What can one say about Sgt. Blackman?

Not too much, actually, unless you were there when he executed a wounded Afghan fighter who presented no danger to him, or, you were present at the various court hearings including yesterday's in which his charge of murder was reduced to manslaughter.  The Daily Mail, and numerous worthies, have mounted a veritable clamour of support for Sgt. Blackman in which they seem to blame everyone for his actions except the man himself who pulled the trigger.  The entire chain of command was at fault, according to The Mail, from his Company Commander up to the Generals.  One has to admit that there is a ring of truth to that given one's natural scepticism of the abilities of the officer class. 

Also, they make much of the fact that, in essence, 'war is hell' and that therefor Sgt. Blackman was under severe mental stress.  Well, no-one could argue against that but even so, it wasn't one of his team who were suffering equal stress that pulled the trigger, it was him.  It is also of interest that the defence called not one, not two but three 'psycho-babblers' to 'prove' that Sgt. Blackman was suffering with, er, "adjustment disorder"!  I bet he was given that he had taken part in a fierce gun battle but so to had his comrades who somehow managed to keep their trigger fingers under control.

I'm just exceedingly glad that I did not have to weigh this case and come to a conclusion.

 

 

'Philip the Pillock' is dead man walking

I refer, of course, to the Rt. Honourable Philip Hammond MP, currently pretending to be Her Majesty's Chancellor of the Exchequer.

Well, he might have that as a working title but he's no more in charge of our nation's financial affairs than I am!  His total train crash of a budget has only been 'rescued' by slicing off the engine that produced the crash, that was the decision to break a Tory party vow not to raise National Insurance rates on the Self-Employed.  It might have been a Cameron/Osborne promise from yesteryear but a promise is a promise, maybe not to politicians, but certainly to all those irritating people who, dammit, have votes and long memories!

Of course, little Georgie Osborne, a previous Chancellor, had similar problems - who will ever forget his "Omni-shambles budget"? - but at the time his 'new best friend' was Prime Minister, and George himself was young, good-looking with a cheeky-chappie smile and the sort of charm you get from a public school and Oxford education.  Poor old Phil is an Essex boy who 'made good', and made good money, but lacks charisma, perhaps partly because I doubt he could spell the word!

Even so, when the 'brown stuff' hits the fan in politics everyone ends up picking bits of it off their suits, or in Mrs. May's case, her dress and carefully-coiffed hair-do.  She will not have been amused!  As a regular church-goer, she will have thanked God with trembling sincerity that He arranged to provide her with the dimmest, dumbest Leader of the Opposition since - well - since forever, I think.  At today's Question Time, 'Jezza' was totally and hopelessly useless.  My weapon training sergeant used to tell me that I would have great difficulty hitting a barn - even if I was inside it.  'Jezza' wouldn't hit it if he leaned the muzzle against the wall!

However, this whole farrago has serious implications.  Yes, it was mainly Hammond's responsibility but Mrs. May cannot dodge hers.  A PM and a Chancellor should work together in forming a new budget.  And what were all those allegedly 'smart Alecs', whose well-tailored suits polish the chairs in the Treasury and inside No. 10, doing and saying when this total cock-up was in the design stage?  Within an hour of the budget statement being delivered just about every Tory MP knew it was an 'A1 blx' of the first order.

These are the same people who will be guiding our 'negotiations' with the European hierarchy prior to Brexit.  Why do I suddenly feel queasy?

 

The quiet courage of ordinary people

This morning, like most mornings, I was festering quietly in my 'pit' with BBC FiveLive plugged into my ear as I listened to the news.  One of the topics that arose was a totally new one to me - the clash between the law as laid out in rules and regs that control what is and what is not permitted in dealing with people who are mentally unstable.  In particular, the rules governing exactly what may be used as a proper restraint for people likely to be a danger to themselves or others.

A man was interviewed whose mother-in-law was suffering with severe dementia.  It was absolutely necessary to keep her, in effect, locked up and/or under restraint because she would take advantage of any slight opportunity to either wander off or try to carry out some domestic activity that would prove dangerous.  For example, the man reported that once, inadvertently left alone, she had tried to make a cup of tea by placing an electric kettle on a gas hob which resulted in a kitchen fire!

Apparently, there is a forest of regulations which govern how far you may or may not go in restraining such people, most of them designed to cover activities by the authorities in police stations and psychiatric clinics and the like but very few of which cover the situation in a domestic home.  Even so,  any contraventions might bring down the full weight of the law on your head if you get it wrong, even with the best of intentions.

Quite how you sort out that tangle of problems I do not know, however, listening to the interview, my admiration for the man and his wife who obviously have been trying their best under enormous strain to keep an elderly, sick, confused parent in their own familiar domestic surroundings is beyond description.  I wish them all well.

 

What are the chances of a Brexit deal with Europe?

I have given this question the benefit of considerable deep thought and the answer I have come to is this: somewhere between zero and -0.1!  And that's looking on the optimistic side of things!

Lest you think me unduly cynical or so anti-European that I keep tripping over my prejudices, then I urge you to consider 'plucky little Poland'.  The Poles, of course, are quite mad!  Lest you doubt me, read the history of the Polish Lancers during Napoleon's time, and then their re-run in 1939 when  their successors charged German tanks on horse-back - yeeeeees, quite!  Anyway, the 'Euro-Polit-Bureau' has just re-appointed a previous Polish prime minister, Mr. Tusk, to the job of European Commissioner for a second term of office.  They did this despite the fact that Mr. Tusk had been voted out of being Prime Minister of Poland by that dreadful collection of rubes usually referred to as 'the People'.  The current Polish government, voted in by those self-same 'People', detest Mr. Trusk as being their very worst political enemy.  (I know, I know, this is all a bit over-heated but, dammit, this is Poland!)

What the current Polish government failed to recognise is that Mr. Tusk, having already served one term as European Commissioner, is now regarded as 'un cher collègue' and therefor can do no wrong in the eyes of all the other 'chers collègues'.  And if the current prime minister of Poland doesn't like it then as far as they are concerned he can take a jump in the Vistula!

I mention all this merely as background to ensure that you know the nature of the game when the Euro-fanatics are forced to deal with someone, anyone, who is not on the great Euro bus.  And that is despite the fact that, on the whole, Poland has not made that many European enemies in recent history.  So now let us consider Britain.  I would suggest that in all the great organs of power within the European apparat, you could count the friends of Britain on one hand and it is not just a re-action to our intention to Brexit, they never liked us, they detest our history and the fact that on the whole, by and large, we have done quite well for ourselves despite the occasional boo-boo. 

The resentment runs deep and we should expect absolutely no favours during these so-called 'negotiations'.  This should become very clear, very quickly and so I hope that 'St. Theresa of May' is ready to simply walk away at the right moment.

 

 

Buddy, can you spare a dime, er, a few squillion dimes, actually?

Back in the day, the early '80s, actually, when 'that woman' was starting her 'reign', I became interested in economics - I know, I know, sad but thus it was.  Pretty soon I was into Hayek, Keynes, Rawls, Landes, Gilder, Friedman et al.  It was, at best, a rough and ready education because more frequently than I am prepared to admit, I didn't fully understand all the nuances of a 'science'(?) in which there seemed to be very few hard and fast rules.  The notion that 'it all depends ...' seemed pre-eminent.  Nevertheless, on the whole, taken in the round and by and large, I preferred the notion of 'free' markets to government-controlled markets.

But today, some 40 years later, the picture has become more than somewhat blurred.  What system of economics do we have today?  The answer appears to be as many systems as there are nations although, if you look closely there is not a lot of difference between them.  The rise and rise of mega-global businesses have placed mere governments in subsidiary roles.  "Do it our way," whisper the mega-zillionaires from whatever electronic platform they are hiding in, and governments tremble.

Even so, they may be 'masters of the universe', as they run rings round mere politicians, but they seem totally unable to control the ever-rising tsunami that will eventually swamp the lot of them - and us, too, actually!  I refer to the astronomical levels of debt which, for the moment, broods like a dark cloud on the far horizon of a Summer's day.  Everybody - and I do mean everybody bar perhaps a few Kalahari bushmen - owes everybody else!  Thus, no-one, it seems to me, actually owns anything.  You might think that someone like me who owns the freehold of my house really does 'own' something tangible.  However, if when the tsunami of debt swamps the world then there will be nobody willing or able to buy my freehold which will then become worthless.

Now, my fellow Brits, just ask yourself this, do you think that our new Chancellor of the Exchequer, 'Spreadsheet Phil', ever thinks of this?  Or you, my American buddies, do you comfort yourselves with the thought that your new president has the whole thing under control?   Hmnnn, thought not!

 

'Mrs. McWhinge' drops the caber on her own foot

Were I a 'psycho-babbler' (which thank the Lord I'm not, Sir!) I could produce several volumes on the ids and egos of that deeply peculiar minority of meagre-minded muppets who strive for power in miniscule nations.  Nor would I need to search far because the perfect example is to be seen (and regrettably heard as well) just up the high road to Scotland, a minuscule nation with an even titchier leader of its National party in the less than delectable form of Ms. Nicola Sturgeon.  As so often, 'our Will' summed her up several centuries before she was born:

I have no spur

To prick the sides of my intent, but only

Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself

And falls on th' other.

Even an economic illiterate like me can work out in a few nano-seconds that an independent Scotland would start life utterly broke and then simply get 'broker'!  The ridiculously pampered life-style of the Scottish 'government' is only possible on the backs of English tax-payers.  As Leo McKinstry explains in today's Mail:

Ironically, the land that once produced the great economist Adam Smith — apostle of the free market — is gripped by debt, decay and dependency. Enterprise is too weak and state expenditure too high, running at a fifth higher per head than in England. 

Almost 21 per cent of the Scottish workforce is in the public sector, compared with 14.9 per cent in the south-east of England. Revenues from North Sea oil, which the SNP once eagerly cited as a prop for their cause, is drying up fast.  Four years ago, Scotland’s tax share of the profits from the North Sea stood at £11 billion. Even in 2014/15 the total was £1.8 billion. But last year, the amount in tax receipts was just £60 million, smashing one of the key economic arguments for independence.   

Without England, Scotland would be bankrupt.  Even the SNP government in Edinburgh admits that it spends £127 for every £100 it raises in taxation.

But of course, these pip-squeak Nationalists are not bothered by economic realities.  There are only two surging emotions in their hearts, to do down the English and to feed their "vaulting ambition".  Hopefully, a majority of canny Scots will see through this farrago of selfish stupidity, as they did at the last independence referendum, and send this bunch of psychos back to the loony bin where they belong!

 

 

Your Monday Funnies (Part II) 13.3.17

Yes, yes, I know I'm late but it has been just one of those days!  This first one has a slightly familiar ring to it but if you're as old as I am you probably won't remember it:

 

A husband walks in to ‘Victoria's Secret’ to purchase a sheer negligee for his wife.  He is shown several possibilities that range from $250 to $500 in price -- the more sheer, the higher the price.  Naturally, he opts for the sheerest item, pays the $500, and takes it home. 

He presents it to his wife and asks her to go upstairs, put it on, and model it for him.  Upstairs the wife thinks (she's no dummy), 'I have an idea. It's so sheer that it might as well be nothing. I won't put it on, but I'll do the modelling naked, return it tomorrow and keep the $500 refund for myself.' 

She appears naked on the balcony and strikes a pose. 

The husband says, 'Good Grief!   You'd think for $500, they'd at least iron the damn thing!' 

He never heard the shot. 

Funeral on Thursday at noon.  

Closed coffin.

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

 

Two golfers are waiting their turn on the tee when a naked woman runs across the fairway and into the woods. Two men in white coats and another guy carrying two buckets of sand are chasing her, and a little old man is bringing up the rear.

One of the golfers grabs the old man and asks, "What's going on?"

The old guy says, "She's a nymphomaniac from the asylum, she keeps trying to escape, and we attendants are trying to catch her." 

The golfer asks, "What about the guy with the buckets of sand?"

The old man says, "That's his handicap. He caught her last time."

 

That's your lot for this Monday!

 

 

 

Your Monday Funnies (PART I): 13.3.17

Yes, you lucky people, today you will be receiving TWO sets of Funnies because I have things to do this morning and I'm pressed for time.  Mind you, this first part contains more jokes than you usually get!  Also, they're Jewish jokes so you're getting a real bargain!

 

A car hit an elderly Jewish man. The paramedic says, "Are you comfortable?" The man says, "I make a good living."

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I just got back from a pleasure trip. 

I took my mother-in-law to the airport.

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I've been in love with the same woman for 49 years. If my wife finds out, she'll kill me!

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Someone stole all my credit cards, but I won't be reporting it. The thief spends less than my wife did.

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We always hold hands. If I let go, she shops.

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My wife and I went to a hotel where we got a waterbed. My wife called it the Dead Sea .

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My wife and I revisited the hotel where we spent our wedding night. This time I was the one who stayed in the bathroom and cried.

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My wife was at the beauty shop for two hours. 

That was only for the estimate. 

She got a mudpack and looked great for two days. 

Then the mud fell off.

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The Doctor gave a man six months to live. 

The man couldn't pay his bill, so the doctor gave him another six months.

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The Doctor called Mrs. Cohen saying, "Mrs. Cohen, your check came back." Mrs. Cohen replied, "So did my arthritis!"

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Doctor: "You'll live to be 60!"

Patient: "I AM 60!" 

Doctor: "See! What did I tell you?"

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A doctor held a stethoscope up to a man's chest. The man asks, "Doc, how do I stand? The doctor says, "That's what puzzles me!"

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Patient: "I have a ringing in my ears. 

"Doctor: "Don't answer!"

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A drunk was in front of a judge. The judge says, "You've been brought here for drinking. The drunk says, "Okay, let's get started."

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A man called his mother in Florida . "Mum, how are you?" "Not too good," said the mother. "I've been very weak." The son said, "Why are you so weak?" She said, "Because I haven't eaten in 38 days." The son said, "That's terrible. Why haven't you eaten in 38 days?" The mother answered, "Because, I didn't want my mouth to be full in case you should call."

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A Jewish man said that when he was growing up, they always had two choices for dinner 

Take it or leave it.

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A Jewish boy comes home from school and tells his father he has a part in the play. He asks, "What part is it?" The boy says, "I play the part of the Jewish husband." The father scowls and says, "Go back and tell the teacher you want a speaking part."

 

The Sunday Rumble: 12.3.17

An A1, prize clusterfuck of the first water!   My apologies for the bad language but how else can one summarise the mega-shambles that was last week's budget?  According to the Sunday 'prints', the blame game is in full swing but as far as I can judge no-one in Whitehall spotted the shit-storm that was to engulf them all.  Whilst 'Skipper' Hammond was at the tiller and blindly steering his government onto the rocks, nevertheless, 'Admiral' May was in overall command and she should take the incoming shot and shell.  Nobody seems to know for sure what the lady is about, least of all me, but I have always had my doubts.  Perhaps the worst result of this shambles is that Mrs. May's Tory cabinet have made 'Jezza' and his team of 'tonks' actually look competent by comparison.

 

Mottisfont Abbey:   After a birthday lunch yesterday with SoD and partner, we went up the road to Mottisfont Abbey.

 

Normally, I am fairly resistant to visiting 'grand houses' nearly all of whom are now 'owned' by what I call the National (Socialist) Trust.  Frequently they are dead boring and filled with ghastly paintings and I resent the fact that the families who used to own them have been, in effect, disinherited.  However, this one is a bit different.  It began 'life' in the 13th century as an Augustinian priory traces of which can still be seen.  The last true owners in the 1930s were the Russell family and Maud Russell was a patroness of the arts and the house was constantly filled with artists, musicians, actors and writers, including the late Ian Fleming who became her lover.  Another regular was the artist 'Rex' Whistler whose works remain on display.  Anyway, it was an excellent day out and I think that another visit will be required later in the year when the gardens will be in full bloom.

 

I just can't get the hang of this 'mwah-mwah' thing:   Dammit, whatever happened to the good, old, British handshake when greeting or bidding farewell?  All very proper, completely neutral and incapable of misunderstanding.  Somehow, over the last few decades this 'mwah-mwah' habit has taken over and thus opened a nightmare of misapplications and misunderstandings.  Should it be one 'mwah' or two?  There is even a move, I gather, to make it three - quelle horreure!  Also, I have noticed a tendency amongst some people towards a lip-on-lip 'mwah' and that I find totally disgusting.  Bring back the handshake, I say!

 

An open invitation to Russian hackers:   Please, tovarichs (er, if that's the correct plural), feel free to hack my internet presence but I will accept no responsibility if you die of boredom!

 

Those 'good ol' Texas boys' give 'Mrs. McWhinge' a kicking:   Quite disgraceful, Gentlemen, but can I hold your coats whilst you're at it?  I refer, again, to those shale oil producers 'over there' who have now reduced oil prices below $50 a barrel.  Even the high pitched whines from the minarets of Arabia are as nothing compared to what is emanating from 'Mrs. McWhinge' up in Edinburgh.  As Jeremy Warner points out in The Telegraph, the whole concept of an independent Scotland hangs on the price of (the fast disappearing anyway) North Sea oil.  At today's price an independent Scotland would resemble Greece and the Euro-scallywags wouldn't touch it with a barge-pole!

 

More good news from 'down under there':   Seriously, I may have to move to Australia because it seems to be the Land of Good News.  Making one of my increasingly rare visits to WUWT - yes, I know I should keep up but I sense that the, er, heat is out of the global warming racket - and I read a sort of confirmation in that the Australian Climate Institution is closing down due to a lack of funds.  Get the Fosters out, Cobbers, and let's party!

 

So farewell then, Joni Sledge, whoever you were:   Sometimes I wonder if I inhabit a parallel universe!  All day the ticker tape on my TV news channel has been full of the news that Ms. Joni Sledge has died at the relatively early age of 60.  Alas and alack, I have never heard of the lady and indeed, I have never heard her or her sisters sing.  Where have I been?  I don't know but I think I should be told!  Anyway, R.I.P.

 

 

No more rumbles today

 

 

 

So where were all those spotty SPADs?

It looks as though 'Philip the Pillock' Hammond's first great entry onto the stage of history started with a pratfall - ohdearwhatapitynevermind!  You have to ask why nobody noticed that 'Dim Dave's' injunction against any rise in taxation was still operative.  I think, and I know I am being unusually, even excessively, sympathetic, that there might be some slight excuse for the PM who has other great matters of State on her mind but there is no excuse for 'Spreadsheet' Phil who is supposed to be a millionaire master of financial detail and who was in the Cabinet when 'Dave' made his daft promise.

However, there is no excuse at all for all those jumped up little SPADs who are paid handsomely to keep one step ahead of their masters and mistresses in order to clear the dog turds before the high and the mighty step on them.  According to the 'prints', these SPADs, particularly the two who operate behind the skirts of 'St. Theresa of May', are enormously powerful to the extent that even Cabinet ministers cringe when they pass.  So where were they when they were needed?

To be fair - not a practice we encourage here at D&N - it could be that their bosses were warned but chose to ignore it.  Perhaps they thought we, the plebs, would not notice.  Big mistake!  Anyway, I'm off today to meet up with 'SoD' to buy him lunch to celebrate his birthday.  He, of course, being self-employed, is one of the victims of cruel Toryism so I expect a fairly non-stop moan 'n' groan.  Still, at least he might give Brexit a rest!

(For the benefit of my foreign readers, 'SPAD' means Special Advisor.)

 

 

A truly memorable headline

Actually, Thomas Lifson at The American Thinker, from whom I am stealing this story - yeah, I know, despite what the magistrate warned me about last time! - describes the headline concerned as "Funniest. Headline. Ever."  What do you think?

"Lawyer's Pants Catch Fire During Florida Arson Trial"

Oh come on, it's a beaut!  It would be hysterical if it was a genuine accident but the story is about a lawyer and there is rarely anything genuine about them!  Anyway, we have Mr. Steven Gutierrez to thank for this because he was in a Miami-Dade courtroom defending a man who stood accused of deliberately setting fire to his car.  Whilst in full volume to the jury that it was a terrible mistake and that it was the spontaneous combustion of some batteries in his client's car that caused the fire, suddenly, Mr. Gutierrez's trouser pocket began to smoke.

He was forced to vacate the court in a hurry and made for the Men's Room where the batteries he had been carrying in his pocket were extracted and doused.  The cynics amongst you - shame be on your miserable heads! - might surmise that this was no accident but a deliberate set-up designed to convince a jury.  Mr. Gutierrez adamantly denies such a thing and as a lawyer, of course, we must take him at his word!  Alas, nowhere in Mr. Lifson's story does it say whether the perp got off.

 

 

Hey there, cobber, how's it all goin' 'down under there'?

I must begin with an apology.  I don't really 'do' Australia.  The reason is simple, it's because I know next to nothing of what goes on 'down under there'.  Of course, I don't know much more than 'next to nothing' about America, or Europe, or China, or any of the other things I 'Bore for Britain' about on this blog but at least I have a veneer, only skin deep but just thick enough to bluff my way until one of you 'brainiacs' chip in your five bobs worth to the Comments.  But Australia - not a clue!

Thus, I was especially grateful to Mr. Tom Switzer (no, me neither) in The Spectator who provided me with enough of a briefing for me now to bluff my way on most things Australian.  Mostly, he concentrated on the Aussie PM, Malcolm Turnbull of the Liberal party (= conservative, sort of) whom I do recall, vaguely, carrying out as neat a political assassination of his fellow Liberal and party leader, Tony Abbott, as you would ever see outside the Kremlin!  According to Mr. Switzer, the Australian media went mad with joy and thanksgiving and assured Aussies everywhere that at last the Messiah had arrived.  Mega-wrong hardly describes it!

"When Turnbull backstabbed his predecessor Tony Abbott in a Liberal party coup 18 months ago, the media herd declared ‘hallelujah!’ The 62-year-old climate enthusiast and former merchant banker, we were told, would transform Australia into a beacon of progressiveness. At the time, I remember attending one of those swanky dinner parties in metropolitan Melbourne where eyes lit up at the mere mention of Malcolm. There was a real sense of excitement. In an echo of Harold Macmillan’s famous declaration that Brits had ‘never had it so good’, Turnbull declared: ‘There’s never been a more exciting time to be an Australian.’ But the trouble for any politician exciting high expectations is that they can almost never be fulfilled. Once he was the ‘it’ man; everyone wanted to know Malcolm or be seen with him, especially in his posh Sydney electoral district, Wentworth (our equivalent of Notting Hill in west London). These days, if you were at the pub and saw Turnbull waltzing in, you’d look the other way, hoping not to catch his eye."

Oh dear, "what a falling off was there"!  Now, apparently, the Labour party are climbing back up the popularity ladder - but please, I beg them, don't  bring back that Welsh woman who was once Prime Minister and whose Aussie accent, in an effort to out-Aussie any Aussie, was so atrocious as to constitute 'cruel and unusual punishment'!  Also, it is reported that so dismal is Turnbull's premiership that Pauline Hansen, the wickedest fish 'n' chip shop owner in the world, is also making a come back.

What is going on?

I don't know but I think we should be told!

 

 

The Obama motto: Open 24/7 for 4 years

The times, they are a-changin' 'over there'!  Normally, a US President having fulfilled his duties for four or eight years shuffles off stage Right or Left according to his temperament, and then takes up golf or gardening but definitely something that keeps him out of sight and out of mind in order to leave his successor a clear field.  That is, either good manners or good sense but it is certainly traditional.

Needless to say, Obama being a radical ideologue - OK, a fanatic if you insist - pays no heed to the niceties of good behaviour and thus he has set himself up with an 'alt-White House' in Washington just down the road from the real White House.  According to George Neumayr at The American Spectator, this operational centre has something like 30,000 volunteers nationwide under the name of 'Organising For Action (OFA)'.  It has raised in excess of $40 million in contributions (from anonymous contributors) and various grants.  According to the New York Post:

"OFA, in IRS filings, says it trains young activists to develop “organizing skills.” Armed with Obama’s 2012 campaign database, OFA plans to get out the vote for Democratic candidates it’s grooming to win back Congress and erect a wall of resistance to Trump at the other end of Pennsylvania Avenue."

Well, all's fair in love and war but when it comes to politics - anything goes!  However, there may be a piece of grit in this well-oiled machine - and they don't come much grittier than the Clinton family!  According to Heather Wilhelm at the NRO, any comforting thoughts you might have that no matter how rough and ready the Trump presidency will be, at least the Clintons are finished, could be a Big Mistake!  The malignant 'HillBilly' is still nursing her entitlement feelings but increasingly eyes are turning towards Chelsea Clinton.

If you follow the news, you can’t miss Chelsea these days: Like feminist darling Lena Dunham, she’s media-omnipresent, for reasons most normal people cannot discern. Do you want to know Chelsea’s opinion on the GOP’s Obamacare replacement? How about her thoughts on the latest Ben Carson kerfuffle? Want to hear what she thinks about International Women’s Day? No? Well, too bad. Clinton is on the menu, folks. 

Don't say you haven't been warned!

 

 

Look, ladies, it's not me it's that Shakespeare fella!

I am told that today is International Women's Day which, of course, cannot be allowed to pass without comment, although somehow, in some way, I don't think the ladies will be too impressed with this but don't blame me, it all comes from that English hero scribbler, Will Shakespeare:

From Kate in The Taming of the Shrew:

Fie, fie, unknit that threat'ning unkind brow
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor.
It blots thy beauty as frosts do bite the meads,
Confounds thy fame as whirlwinds shake fair buds,
And in no sense is meet or amiable.
A woman moved is like a fountain troubled,
Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty,
And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty
Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee
And for thy maintenance; commits his body
To painful labor both by sea and land,
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
Whilst thou li'st warm at home, secure and safe;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands
But love, fair looks, and true obedience -
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such a woman oweth to her husband;
And when she is froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel
And graceless traitor to her loving lord?
I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace,
Or seek for rule, supremacy, and sway,
Whey they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft and weak and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world,
But that our soft conditions and our hearts
Should well agree with our external parts?
Come, come, you froward and unable worms,
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown.
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.
Then vail your stomachs, for it is no boot,
And place your hands below your husband's foot,
In token of which duty, if he please,
My hand is ready, may it do him ease.

God, that man had guts to write that and with a volatile Queen on the throne, too!

 

 

'Spreadsheet' Phil bores for Britain

And a jolly good thing, too, because I like my Chancellors of the Exchequer to be boring.  Exciting Chancellors can be the stuff of nightmares!  So his proposals in today's budget, in so far as I could understand them, appeared to be modest and minimal, although I doubt that 'SoD' will think so because taxes on the self-employed will rise.  Still, when I explain to him that some of the money will be used to increase budgets for social care for the elderly - er, that's me, by the way - I'm sure he will be totally content!

So the good news is that it was a modest, not to say, minimal, budget but the bad news is that there is to be another one in the Autumn.  There-after we will return to just one budget a year - thank God!  Traditionally, it is reckoned that the hardest job for any leader of the opposition is to stand up and give a response to the budget speech even if he has only glimpsed it briefly just before it's delivered.  In this ever-changing world it is a relief to report that some things never change and thus 'Jezza' was his usual hopeless, hapless self.  He launched off into a tirade of gloom and misery that would have you convinced that Britain was no better than, er, well, that socialist nirvana, Venezuela.  "Woe is me", he cried, over and over again and then over again several times more.  There was hardly a dry eye in the House, perhaps because most of them were firmly closed!

 

 

Look, things escalated - OK?

Yes, sorry for my absence yesterday but things escalated.  You see, yesterday was a slight, very slight, harbinger of Spring.  Not only was it slightly warmer but the wind dropped and the rain ceased altogether.  Given these remarkable conditions as I gazed through my double-glazing, I felt emboldened to go outside and try to sweep up the detritus that had gathered around my 'garden' in the past six months.  Not that I have anything against detritus, frankly I find it quite easy to love it especially when compared to the effort required to clear it!  However, there is another voice in this marriage - need I say more?

I have pointed out before that my 'garden' is more accurately described as a micro-garden.  For the benefit of my Texan commenter, Michael, I would guess that it is roughly 0.000000000000001% the size of Texas.  It is, therefor, all the more remarkable that so much crap can accumulate in such a tiny space.  Most of the space is taken up by a patio and if that puts you in mind of a long, spacious and elegant terrace - think again!  You can just about get three people on it providing one of them is standing!  Partly this the fault of the 'Head Gardener' who insists on a plethora of pots and tubs - all of which have to be moved around if cleaning is to take place.

Anyway, without a word of complaint - well, not audible, anyway, I wouldn't dare! -  I set to with broom and bin.  Alas, this uncovered the actual stones of the patio.  Now I have nothing against grey - no-one can accuse me of 'greyism' - but the 'Head Gardener', from the sanctuary of the conservatory, indicated that the patio needed power-washing.  I wasn't too downhearted because it is so many years since I last used my power-hose that I was fairly confident that it would never work.  Wrong again!  Needless to say, given my inherent Scottish miserliness, I only bought it because it was the cheapest at the Garden Centre and the damned thing still works perfectly.

All this is by way of explanation that I spent most of the day blasting away at those damned stone slabs and whilst some of the grey went, alas, so did most of the cement that that holds the stones in place, so now I have the prospect of spending God knows how long outside re-grouting - such fun!  Anyway, by the time I finished every joint in my body was twinging or twanging or sometime both.  Suffice to say that I lacked the strength to even contemplate pushing down keys on a keyboard, hence my absence yesterday.

Are you all feeling sorry for me?  Huh, thought not!

 

Yet another lady I want to have my babies

Yes, yes, I know the list is growing and I also know that none of the previous recipients of my kind and generous offers have yet responded but, dammit, I live in hope.  Anyway, the lucky lady I have chosen today is Ms. Jilly Cooper.  There may be a teeny-weensy problem with the baby-bearing part of my plan given, as I learned last night on the radio, that she has just celebrated her 80th birthday!  Still, dammit, she's an upper-middle-class lady of sterling spirit so I'm sure that where there's a will, there's a way!

I sort of 'know' her from her reputation as a highly successful writer of what are usually classified as 'bonk-busters'!  Alas, whilst I might have been tempted by the 'bonking' bit, I gather that most of her yarns are set in country houses amongst the huntin', shootin', fishin' and ridin' set - ooops, I forgot to add 'bonkin' as well!  Anyway, being a lower middle-class oik, myself, all of that stuff (except the bonkin') is way above my social station.

Even so, from various bits and pieces picked up via the 'meeja', I gather that she is a very jolly lady - the photo catches her spirit exactly - and despite all the naughtiness in her books  she remained married to her husband for over 50 years.  Anyway, last night as I was half dozing in bed with Radio5 plugged into my ear, they interviewed her to celebrate her birthday.  What a jolly lady!  Very bright and very funny and absolutely charming. 

Definitely, she deserves me!

 

 

A Texas 'Sheikdown'!

According to A E-P in The Telegraph, those 'good ol' boys down Texas way' are at it again.  'Ahab the Arab' tried flooding the market with oil/gas in order to drive down the price and put those pesky Texans with their cheap-as-sand shale gas out of business but, alas, American technology came to the rescue and those 'cowboys' simply produced the stuff even cheaper!

Now, 'Ahab the Arab' plus his partner in crime good friend, 'Vlad the Impaler', have done their very best to cut oil/gas production in order to drive up the price.  As a perfect example of the truth in 'ur wee Rabbie's' famous poem,  “The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft a-gley”, the 'good ol' boys of Texas' kept on innovating so that now their oil and gas is even cheaper and they have now discovered that there are zillions and squillions more of it than had ever been thought possible.

The Opec oil cartel is waking up to an unpleasant surprise. Shale output from the Permian Basin in Texas is expanding faster than the world thought humanly possible.

The scale threatens to neutralise output cuts agreed by Saudi Arabia and a Russian-led bloc last November, and ultimately threatens to break their strategic lockhold on the global crude market for a generation.

"People just don't seem to realise how big the Permian is. It will eventually pass the Ghawar field in Saudi Arabia, and that is the biggest in the world," said Scott Sheffield, founder of Pioneer Natural Resources and acclaimed 'King of the Permian'.

What can one say to our Saudi and Russian, er, friends, except possibly "Oh-dear-what-a-pity-never-mind!'?  And by the way, memo to 'St. Theresa of May' - must remember to be awfully nice to that 'good ol' boy' in the White House even if he grabs you by the, er, you know what!

 

Your Monday Funnies: 6.3.17

Despite the fact that the biggest laughs are coming out of Washington, here are a few cheerful morsels for you to choke chew on as you start the working week:

Male SELF EXAMINATION FOR ALZHEIMER'S DISEASE....It takes less than 15 seconds..

If you are male and over 60 yrs old, you SHOULD take this Alzheimer's Test

How fast can you guess these words and fill-in the blanks?

1. _ _NDOM

2. F_ _K

3. P_N_S

4. PU_S_

5. S_X

6. BOO_S

And the correct answers are:

1. RANDOM

2. FORK

3. PANTS

4. PULSE

5. SIX

6. BOOKS

You got all 6 wrong...didn't you?  The good news is:  You do NOT have Alzheimer's.

You are a pervert!

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Working people frequently ask us retired people what we do to make our days interesting. Well, for example, just the other day my wife and I went into town and visited a shop.  When we came out, there was a parking meter bloke writing out a parking ticket.

We went up to him and I said, 'Come on how about giving a senior citizen a break?' He ignored me and continued writing the ticket. I called him an asshole . He glared at me and started writing another ticket for having worn-out tires.

So Anne called him a shithead. He finished the second ticket and put it on the windshield with the first. Then he started writing more tickets. This went on for about 20 minutes. The more we abused him, the more tickets he wrote.

Just then our bus arrived, and we got on it and went home. We weren't too concerned about the vehicle's owner because of the sticker on the back window:  "I support Muslims".

We try to have a little fun each day now that we're retired. It's important at our age.

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A Jewish grandmother is giving directions to her grown grandson who is coming to visit with his wife.

"You come to the front door of the apartments. I am in apartment 301.  There is a big panel at the front door. With your elbow, push button 301.  I  buzz you in. Come inside and elevator is on the right. Get in, and with your elbow, push 3rd Floor. When you get out, I'm on the left. With your elbow, hit my doorbell.  OK?"

"Grandma, that sounds easy, but, why am I hitting all these buttons with my elbow? .........

"What ... You're coming empty handed?"

__________________________________________

Wise Italian Grandfather

An old Italian man in Brooklyn is dying. He calls his grandson to his bedside, "Guido, I wan' you lissina me. I wan' you to take-a my chrome plated ... 38 revolver, so you will always remember me."

"But grandpa, I really don't like guns ... How about you leave me your Rolex watch instead?"

"You lissina me, boy!  Somma day you gonna be runna DA business, you gonna have a beautiful wife, lotsa money, a big-a home and maybe a couple of bambinos. "

"Somma day you gonna come-a home and maybe finda you wife inna bed with another man. "Whatta you gonna do then?  Pointa to you watch and say, 'Times up!' "?

__________________________________________

Irish blonde...

An attractive blonde from Cork, Ireland, arrived at the casino.

She seemed a little intoxicated and bet twenty thousand dollars in a single roll of the dice.

She said, "I hope you don't mind, but I feel much luckier when I'm completely nude."

With that, she stripped from the neck down, rolled the dice and with an Irish brogue yelled, "Come on, baby, Mama needs new clothes!"

As the dice came to a stop, she jumped up and down and squealed. "Yes! Yes! I won, I won!"  She hugged each of the dealers, picked up her winnings and her clothes and quickly departed.

The dealers stared at each other dumbfounded.

Finally, one of them asked, "What did she roll?"

The other answered, "I don't know - I thought you were watching."

MORAL OF THE STORY

Not all Irish are drunks, not all blondes are dumb, ...

But all men ... Are men!

 Look out, here comes the Boss - late again!

 

The Sunday Rumble: 5.3.17

Bumps in the Brexit road:   Nothing produced more sniggers from me than the prat-falls executed by the heavenly chorus of doom-laden hysterics who foretold the end of the world as we know it if we voted for Brexit.  We ignored them, or most of us did, and guess what - the end of the world was postponed!  Even so, it would be an equal folly to assume that divorce from the EU will not entail some collateral damage.  However, as we stumble-bum our way to freedom, let us not forget the increasing adversities that would have been inflicted on us had we stayed in.  In fact, such is the parlous state of the divided EU today that it is not beyond possibility that by the time we reach the end of our 'negotiations' there may not be an EU for us to leave!

 

Mind you . . .   To be fair, given the fact that the 'Shinners' and the 'Proddies' are about to kick off on round 193 of their never-ending punch-up, and that the 'Jock Nats' are eagerly looking for an Anglo - any old Anglo will do - to head butt, one cannot be absolutely certain that there will be a United Kingdom left to walk out of the EU!

 

I thought the Jews were smarter than that!   I was surprised - well, mostly because I had never thought about it before - to learn that the state education system in Israel, and particularly in East Jerusalem, was strictly divided on ethnic and religious grounds.  Needless to say, the Arab controlled schools concentrate their efforts on producing as many Islamic militants as they can, for example, the recent wave of knife attacks was traced back to such schools.  Far be it from me, a goy, to advise the Israelis but surely there must be a better system. Gidon BenZvi at The American Thinker has some suggestions.

 

Profile in courage? I don't think so!   There is a delicious example of American humbuggery to be found in the granting of the 'Profile in Courage Award' to President Obama.  Older readers will recall that this pompous award was based on the book Profiles in Courage written(?) by the late Jack Kennedy.  Like almost everything in the history of the mostly despicable Kennedy clan, this was a false claim because it became clear much later that it was his speech writer, Ted Sorenson, who wrote most of it - why am I not surprised?  Thus, it is deliciously appropriate that 'Ol Big Ears' is up for this fake prize given the fact that it was his friend and neighbour, the ex-terrorist, Bill Ayers, who wrote most of the book Dreams from My Father.  Read all the sordid details at The American Spectator.

 

 

Trump digs a grave:   The only question is whether he buries Obama in it or himself!  He has openly accused Obama of criminal behaviour without, so far, offering any proof.  That Obama was, and still is, capable of bending, or even breaking, the law is not something that would have me calling for the smelling salts.  Even so, such an accusation should, and must, be backed up by evidence.  So far Trump has not produced any although he has asked Congress to investigate the matter.  Whether they will must be doubtful given the lack of any substantial evidence - so far!  'The Donald' likes to live dangerously, let us hope he doesn't die of it, er, politically speaking, that is!

 

 

No more rumbles

 

 

Oh no, the 'Micks' and the 'Paddies' are at it again!

What a bunch of Celts!  It's bad enough having to put up with 'Mrs. McHaggis' up north of the border sounding off like a punctured bagpipe but now we're back to those guttural Ulstermen and the blarney-filled Paddies 'just over there'.  I'm sick of the lot of them!  Most commentators blame a fat, stupid, Ulster woman called Arlene Foster who, as First Minister, allowed a mad, bad, environmental scheme to go ahead which cost zillions and has been renamed 'Ash for Cash'!  Instead of doing the decent thing and going off to ruin the Women's Institute or something, she dug her fat heels in and brought about an election which was all that 'Murder Inc.' (aka: 'the Shinners') needed to, in effect, win the election.  Now, the brown stuff which is in plentiful supply in Ulster will hit the fan and my gloomy guess is that soon it will be turned red!

Can we not just cut them free and let them drift off into the Atlantic where they can set about doing what they're good at - murdering each other?

 

 

Scalpel, Donald, not the chain-saw!

According to Rick Moran at The American Thinker, 'The Donald' has rolled up his sleeves, made a few practice swings with the axe and is poised to take an almighty chunk out of the American National Oceanic & Atmospheric Administration (NOAA).  He intends to chop 17% off their budget which will eliminate most of the programmes dealing with so-called 'global warming'.  Mr. Moran quotes Politico:

Among the satellite programs facing the largest cuts is the National Environmental Satellite, Data and Information Service, which houses climate and environmental information through the National Centers for Environmental Information. Researchers in that program have studied the continuing rate of global climate change. Another would be the Sea Grant program, which currently supports university research programs at 33 institutions nationwide. 

The proposal highlights the Trump White House’s continued effort to undermine environmental research funding and regulations. 

Since taking office President Donald Trump and his administration have moved swiftly to push back against the environmental agenda, repealing Clean Water Act protections for wetlands, proposing significant cuts to the Environmental Protection Agency and considering roll backs for President Barack Obama’s signature climate change regulations.

One is tempted to holler out something like - go git 'em, boy! - but, like Mr. Moran, I am somewhat cautious.  Somehow, in some way, I can't quite equate the Trump administration with subtlety, it just 'ain't their thang!'  The giant Environmental Agency with its constant abuse of powers does need to be cut back but given the range of their activities, some of which, like extreme weather watch, are absolutely essential, it might be wiser to use a scalpel than an axe.  Apart from any other reason, those eye-ball swivelling 'Greenies' who make up much of the work force will be more than happy to direct the cuts at essential items and thus bring down the government.

 

"Shit! What do you want us to do?"

Thus, spake (or snarled, perhaps), 'Junck the Drunk' at an EU parliamentary meeting in which members argued the toss about the future direction of the EU.  Some EMPs were in favour of returning to the original idea of a trading bloc with no central political authority whilst others were hell bent on even more centralisation.  Every other possibility between these two extremes were also thrown in to the pot.

Poor old 'Junck' couldn't stand it and in the end he lost it, shouting at 'the colleagues':

"But shit!  I would say 'shit' if we weren't in the EU parliament.  What do you want us to do?"

Quick, waiter, a large cognac for the excitable gent in the blue suit!

In the meantime, let us all consider quietly exactly what it is we want 'Junck' to do - and please, keep it clean!

 

H/T to: http://www.zerohedge.com/news/2017-03-03/

 

 

 

"The maths mob" trip over an iambic pentameter

The Economist is not a magazine in which I place much trust.  Their semi-hysterical squealings over Brexit and their hopeless economic forecasts do not engender trust from me.  So I was not surprised to see they had picked up on the claims of the New Oxford Shakespeare edition which has turned to computational mathematics to prove that 'the country bumpkin from Stratford' did not write all of his plays.  So what's new, you may well ask given that even an amateur student like me is well aware that not only did Shakespeare occasionally use collaborators but was himself a collaborator on other men's plays.  Also, even knowing theatre a little as an amateur myself, I am guiltily aware that I have had the nerve to change the odd word and delete several lines - 'so what's new, pussycat?'

Anyway, the editors of the New Oxford Shakespeare were so determined to downgrade Shakespeare to what they believe is his proper and lower place in the Pantheon that they resorted to the number-crunchers, their computers and statistical analysis.  The writer of the piece in The Economist had the wit and intelligence (well done, that man!) to begin his report with a reference to Tom Stoppard's play Arcadia in which an Eng. Lit. don with a passion for literature sneers at a maths swot who has used statistical analysis to 'prove' that D. H. Lawrence had written an hitherto anonymous book and points out that using that same technique would 'prove' that he had also written the 'Just William' books and much of the previous day's Brighton & Hove Argus newspaper!

Apparently, this latest analytical technique concentrates on how writers used functional words like 'to' and 'a'.  For example, Shakespeare had a habit of putting 'and' next to 'with', as when Claudius marries Gertrude "with mirth in funeral and with dirge in marriage".  But, again, even an amateur like me knows that playwrights of that period wrote their dialogue as verse, mostly iambic pentameter.  Thus the line quoted above must comply and will be delivered by the actor, thus:

With mirth in fune-ral and with dirge in marr'age

The final syllable is redundant, a thro-away, but without the 'and' the line would clunk!

Quite why these latter-day Eng.Lit. swots strain so hard to reduce William Shakespeare to the level of his contemporaries I do not know.  Probably something to do with the 'equality indoctrination' that was pumped into their silly noodles at University!

 

'The Kraut' opens my eyes - again!

I refer, of course, to Charles Krauthammer, my teacher and my guide when it comes to the American 'body-politic', an organism of such complexity and change-ability as to defy the understanding of a mere 'Limey'.  Child-like, I hold his hand as he leads me into the labyrinthine complexities of the ever-shifting constituents of American power politics.

Over at the NRO, he has an article which, in effect, writes off the Congress as not only supine but also failing in its duty to reign in an over-mighty White House.  This began under Obama who scattered Presidential edicts like confetti at a wedding at which the Congress moaned and groaned but failed to do anything very much.  Thus it was that some new players entered the field in the unlikely form of various States Attorneys.

The Democrats in particular, approving of Obama’s policy preferences, allowed him free rein over Congress’ constitutional prerogatives.

Into that vacuum stepped the states. Florida and 12 others filed suit against Obamacare the day it was signed. They were later joined by 13 more, making their challenge the first in which a majority of states banded together to try to stop anything.

That, and other lessons, have been learned by the Democratic party who are outnumbered in the Congress.  Thus, within a few weeks of a Trump presidency, sundry States Attorneys have mounted legal challenges to Trump edicts.  'The Kraut', despite his Right-wing leanings, praises the development as an example of the ability of the American political system to grow new limbs where others have withered.  He takes no sides as to who is right or wrong on any of the particular issues, he is just happy that rule by edict faces opposition.

God bless America and all that sort of thing!

 

 

'Yes, yes, Mrs Lincoln, but how was the play?'

I know, I know, you could hardly sleep last night for wondering whether or not I enjoyed the play.  The answer is, well, yes, sort of!  To be fair it was actually the day itself I didn't enjoy very much because 'Houston, we had a problem'!  From 'down 'ere in deepest, darkest Zummerzet' the cheapest way into London is by a local coach company.  An excellent service which departs from Wincanton at 8.45am and drops you at Hammersmith bus-station/Underground at 11.00am.  The problem yesterday was getting back!  The last coach departs at 6.15pm.  Now normally, a matinee curtain comes down around 5.00/5.15pm which is comfortable timing, it being 8 stops from Piccadilly to Hammersmith.  Alas, when Edward Albee wrote his play he made it, in President Trump's words, 'yuuuuuuge' so I guessed it would end at 5.30pm which made the return timings tight but not impossible.  Alas, when I reached the theatre I was informed that actually the curtain was coming down about 5.40pm.  This, in the words of the dear, old 'Duke of Boot', would make it "a fine run thing, the finest thing you ever saw!"  I was somewhat on edge throughout the performance and at 5.30 I lost my nerve and made a quick exit - well, dammit, I know how it ended but even so, the ending is a real choker if done right so I was disappointed to miss it.  To cap a more than somewhat fraught day, on the journey home there was a massive pile-up on the motorway and the coach remained stationary for over an hour - such fun!

As to the production, what can I say?  The four people who inhabit it are all more or less total shits of the first water!  So why would we waste three and a bit hours of our precious lives watching them tear strips off each other?  Well, I suppose it is for much the same reason that some people go to watch dog fights, they just love the blood!  There is certainly plenty of emotional blood spilled in this play and I guess that there is some comfort for most of us that we can come out, wiping our brows and thanking God that we are not like them - er, we're not, are we?  (Oh no, say it ain't so!)  Even so it must be said that, although I missed the ending of this production, I already knew how it ended and it is quite brilliant, even if one senses that it is the domestic equivalent of one of those Christmas truces in WWI which brought a brief calm to a scene of murderous mayhem but which the participants knew would kick off again the next day.

Imelda Staunton was quite brilliant in the explosive role of Martha, as was Conleth Hill (no, me neither because he's an American actor!) as the equally vicious George.  Imogen Poots played Honey and she was terrific as a young, somewhat dim woman so far out of her depth she was barely aware that she was drowning!  Luke Treadaway played Nick very well but I'm not sure he had quite the physicality required.  The set had the usual fault of most domestic sets in that the fireplace was over on stage right but all the chairs and the sofa faced the 'fourth wall', ie, the audience.  This never looks right and the answer is to use the 'fourth wall' as the 'fireplace wall' just using a small grate with fireplace accoutrements around it which will not block the audience's view.  (I am available as a set designer consultant should anyone in the West End or Broadway require my services!)

Albee's play is a master-piece, an all too true depiction of the almost murderous imperatives that lie beneath so many domestic tranquilities.

 

ADDITIONAL: Especially for my e-pal,  'The Big Henry', who in a comment elsewhere asked who played Martha to my George given that Liz Taylor was not available?  The answer may be found here:

http://duffandnonsense.typepad.com/duff_nonsense/2015/07/a-star-was-born-er-but-nobody-noticed-4-1.html?cid=6a00d8341c5caf53ef01b8d1399ad7970c#comment-6a00d8341c5caf53ef01b8d1399ad7970c