Go and tell it to the man who lives in Hell

If one consorts with pickpockets, crooks and thieves, one can hardly complain if one subsequently discovers one’s pocket watch, wallet, credibility and integrity have all been lifted.

If you befriend, cosy up to and patronise Chancers who later turn out to be as toxic as the debt in which they dealt, you deserve everything you get by way of collateral damage to your reputation.

There is no sympathy here for Arrivederci, the man who is in rapid danger of succeeding Lee Majors as The Fall Guy.

This week should be Posh Boy Dave’s vision of Heaven.

Where normal men dream of a week filled with an Access All Areas pass to a couple of grammes of coke, a crate of JD and the US women’s gymnastics team, PBD prays for day after miserable day of news of economic decay and financial ruination for thousands of families up and down the land, secure in the knowledge that all he has to do in order to inherit a landslide at the next election is sit there quietly like a good boy and make sure he doesn’t get papped emerging from the Garrick with Bernie Madoff.

Wacky Jacqui’s been caught with her fingers in the till; Jeremy Clarkson’s doing all the name-calling for him; unemployment’s heading north; Clegg’s getting what for about his haircut; the Bank of England’s running around screaming, “Doomed, doomed, we’re all doomed!” at the top its lungs; the dog whistle politics of “British Debt For British Taxpayers” is rightly biting Gordo on the arse; Ed Balls, of all people, has gone native; even The Harry Potter Bugle is repeatedly kicking Cabinet members in the nads.

When things are this bad for a Government – and 2009 is shaping up to be as bad for Labour as 1981 was for That Bloody Woman; if there’s a hot spell this summer, they’ll be back out on the streets of Toxteth, Brixton, Handsworth and St Paul’s, not to mention Kensington & Chelsea, Hemel Hemspstead and Alderley Edge – the Opposition doesn’t even have to offer up any policies or plans.

This week simply couldn’t be going any better for PBD.

So what does he do?  He gets involved in pantomime exchanges across the despatch box about the age of a Renaissance artist when he died 450 years ago and his mates doctor Wikipedia to support his argument.

While seeking at every turn to undermine the credibility of Arrivederci and Captain Darling (something at which they’ve proven amply adroit without his help), PBD – like the PR hack he actually is – has a little army of helpers graffiti-ing corners of t’Internet to big up their boy.

It’s a tiny story – it won’t get a minute on the Six or Ten.  But it sums up everything about the rancid cunts who are even closer to the Crosbyites than Arrivederci was and who are now so close to power that they are standing proud in anticipation.

PBD says, “Ooh, sorry.  Naughty me.  Let’s move on.”

But PBD won’t let other politicians do the same thing.

PBD says it’s time to do away with Punch and Judy politics and stop the spin that’s fatally undermined the credibility of politicians in the eyes of generations of voters.

Some might say PBD’s a clueless, hypocritical little turd who a half-effective Prime Minister could kick around the chamber of the Commons for sport.

The rest of us simply despair.


Coming all too soon…

You make the knife feel good

Last week, BBC4 ran a short series of programmes celebrating the commitment of the BBC to its regional TV and radio network.

One of the programmes shown was a 50-minute film directed by Bafta-winning documentarian Rex Bloomstein entitled All In A Day: The City.

Without commentary, the film simply chronicled a series of events that occurred in Sheffield on Wednesday 5 September 1973.

The documentary’s narrative was relatively unremarkable – a birth, a marriage, a retirement, a funeral – yet it was the most fascinating thing I’ve seen on the box in months.

It was a very real depiction of the mundanity of real life, far removed from the so-called reality shows of the 21st century – much more human and much, much more humane.

It also generated a bizarre feeling.  The things recorded in this film happened in my lifetime; indeed, they happened down the road from me – I was born two years earlier in a town neighbouring Sheffield.  Yet so much has life in Britain changed – at least in some ways – in the subsequent 35½ years, that they might as well have been recorded by pioneering film-makers in the Victorian era, so removed are they from life in 2009.

It’s difficult to explain – I watched the film on Saturday and have been trying ever since to figure out how to describe how it made me feel – because in some ways, paradoxically, very little has changed – babies are still born; couples still marry; people still die.

Yet, despite these events literally being within my lifetime, they seem utterly alien.  As a boy I remember an ITV daytime programme featuring newsreels from that week 20-25 years ago; black and white footage of a life where streetlights were gas-powered and London lived under a perpetual pea-souper.  Even if I could recognise an occasional odd face or landmark, the life shown in those newsreels had no resonance with what I recognised as life around me.  So it was with All In A Day: a snapshot of a way of life that now seems archaic.

This film made me remember that, growing up in the late 70s, I went to school with kids whose families really did only have an outside toilet, like one of the families in the film.  It wasn’t necessarily the norm – and my own upbringing was resolutely upper working/lower middle class, so this is not a Monty Python sketch about a working class boy made good – but nor did having a privy represent grinding destitution; I used outside loos plenty of times when I visited friend’s houses yet now indoor plumbing, double glazing and central heating is the norm.

In some ways, it’s made me revisit some of my own assumptions.

There is, shamefully, still poverty in Britain in 2009 – and, thanks to the recent efforts of a few thousand cunts in the City, there will be a lot more by the end of 2009 than there is today – but there is no doubt that just watching this film, which at times looks like the inspiration for a thousand Hovis ads, brings home the inarguable fact that Britain in 2009 is a wealthier society in which to live.

Were a miracle to occur and the Minister’s Wife find herself in an NHS maternity unit about to pop a sprog, she would not have a midwife pressing a listening horn to her stomach to monitor the baby’s heartbeat; she would be surrounded by and treated using more computer-driven, electronic technology than put men on the moon.

Those material gains do not, however, mean 2009 is necessarily a better place in which to live than 1973.

Sheffield’s steel foundries may have gone – industry replaced metaphorically and physically by the Meadowhall shopping mall – and their passing may not be mourned by those who spent their entire working life sweating in such a place, but lost with them has arguably been a sense of community and a national self-confidence brought about by actually making things.

“You can’t stop progress”, as Muriel’s Wedding had it: but with the ever-quickening pace of life and pace of change within that life, it doesn’t half make you wonder where we’ll be come 2044.

(In the Minister’s case, probably dead.)

The film is sadly not available on the BBC iPlayer, but can be viewed in two parts on Veoh and, if you didn’t catch it on BBC4 last Thursday, I heartily recommend it:

Part One -

Part Two -

Harry Potter and the Lunatic Asylum Management Buy-Out

Mr. Rubbisher must be on holiday because parts of today’s Harry Potter Bugle are positively Trotskyite.

First we’ve got Mark Thomas providing a cut-out-and-keep card to wind up The Filth when they seek to impinge our civil liberties.

Then we’ve got George Mobiot absolutely flaying that android/banshee Hazel Blears in terms so vitriolic they could have been written by a hungover Minister:

An open letter to Hazel Blears MP, secretary of state for communities and local government.

Last week you used an article in the Guardian to attack my “cynical and corrosive commentary”. You asserted your political courage, maintaining that “you don’t get very far in politics without guts, and certainly not as far as the cabinet table”. By contrast, you suggested, I contribute “to the very cynicism and disengagement from politics” that I make my living writing about. You accused me of making claims without supporting evidence and of “wielding great influence without accountability”. “We need more people standing for office and serving their communities,” you wrote, “more people debating, engaging and voting; not more people waving placards on the sidelines.”

Quite so. But being the placard-waving sort, I have a cynical and corrosive tendency to mistrust the claims ministers make about themselves. Like you, I believe opinions should be based on evidence. So I have decided to test your statements against the record.

Courage in politics is measured by the consistent application of principles. The website TheyWorkForYou.com records votes on key issues since 2001. It reveals that you voted “very strongly for the Iraq war”, “very strongly against an investigation into the Iraq war” and “very strongly for replacing Trident” (“very strongly” means an unbroken record). You have voted in favour of detaining terror suspects without charge for 42 days, in favour of identity cards and in favour of a long series of bills curtailing the freedom to protest. There’s certainly consistency here, though it is not clear what principles you are defending.

Other threads are harder to follow. In 2003, for instance, you voted against a fully elected House of Lords and in favour of a chamber of appointed peers. In 2007, you voted for a fully elected House of Lords. You have served without public complaint in a government which has introduced the minimum wage but blocked employment rights for temporary and agency workers; which talked of fiscal prudence but deregulated the financial markets; which passed the Climate Change Act but approved the construction of a third runway at Heathrow; which spoke of an ethical foreign policy but launched an illegal war in which perhaps a million people have died. Either your principles, by some remarkable twists of fate, happen to have pre-empted every contradictory decision this government has taken, or you don’t possess any.

You remained silent while the government endorsed the kidnap and the torture of innocent people; blocked a ceasefire in Lebanon and backed a dictator in Uzbekistan who boils his prisoners to death. You voiced no public concern while it instructed the Serious Fraud Office to drop the corruption case against BAE, announced a policy of pre-emptive nuclear war, signed a one-sided extradition treaty with the United States and left our citizens to languish in Guantánamo Bay. You remained loyal while it oversaw the stealthy privatisation of our public services and the collapse of Britain’s social housing programme, closed hundreds of post offices and shifted taxation from the rich to the poor. What exactly do you stand for Hazel, except election?

The only consistent political principle I can deduce from these positions is slavish obedience to your masters. TheyWorkForYou sums up your political record thus: “Never rebels against their party in this parliament.” Yours, Hazel, is the courage of the sycophant, the courage to say yes.

Let me remind you just how far your political “guts” have carried you. You are temporarily protected by the fact that the United Kingdom, unlike other states, has not yet incorporated the Nuremberg principles into national law. If a future government does so, you and all those who remained in the cabinet on 20 March 2003 will be at risk of prosecution for what the Nuremberg tribunal called “the supreme international crime”. This is defined as the “planning, preparation, initiation or waging of a war of aggression”. Robin Cook, a man of genuine political courage, put his conscience ahead of his career and resigned. What did you do?

It seems to me that someone of your principles would fit comfortably into almost any government. All regimes require people like you, who seem to be prepared to obey orders without question. Unwavering obedience guarantees success in any administration. It also guarantees collaboration in every atrocity in which a government might engage. The greatest thing we have to fear in politics is the cowardice of politicians.

I believe there is a vast public appetite for re-engagement, but your government, aware of the electoral consequences, has shut us out. It has reneged on its promise to hold a referendum on electoral reform. It has blocked a referendum on the European treaty, ditched the regional assemblies, used Scottish MPs to swing English votes, sustained an unelected House of Lords, eliminated almost all the differences between itself and the opposition. You create an impenetrable political monoculture, then moan that people don’t engage in politics.

It is precisely because I can picture something better that I have become such a cynical old git. William Hazlitt remarked that: “Man is the only animal that laughs and weeps; for he is the only animal that is struck with the difference between what things are and what they ought to be.” You, Hazel, have helped to reduce our political choices to a single question: whether to laugh through our tears or weep through our laughter.

In the immortal words of Hong Kong Phooey, “Fanriffic!”

Tags: fuckwits, snow

Attempting to drive to work this morning on a trunk road masquerading as an ice rink – more than once fearing the wrath of the Minister’s Wife as one of any number of the Minister’s bodily fluids regularly threatened to stain the Ministerial Limousine’s beige upholstery – I was overtaken dangerously by a twat in a Cheap Range Rover Clone and, as I saw the rear of at least one child’s head protruding from the 4×4′s rear seats, I thought, “You fucking stupid cunt.”

Just about successfully negotiating the 16-mile return journey to work (and having survived a short spell early doors answering calls in our call centre due to the late arrival of, er, every other fucker in the place) I this evening surfed to The Tin Drummer, whom I quote with approval:

The $1,000,000,000,000 Question

As an overweight white man with greying hair, the Minister is delighted to report that the most sensible economic voice on television this year to date belongs to an overweight white man with grey hair.

Speaking on Monday night’s Daily Show, the former director of the US National Economic Council, Lawrence Lindsey, spoke more sense on a comedy programme than the combined efforts of Arrivederci and PBD in a year’s worth of Prime Minister’s Questions.

Here he is:

You know my resolution about not buying any new books until I’ve read all the unread books on my bookshelves?  It might have to be broken…

Where do you go AFTER you’ve dumbed down?

Jesus Harold Christ.

The Harry Potter Bugle:

Freeze grips Britain, day two – LIVE
News blog: Minute by minute coverage of the travel disruption, school closures and snow stories

It’s the first week of February.  It’s snowing.  Get over it.

Auntie:

HAVE YOUR SAY
Are you coping with the bad weather?

No, I’m not.  It’s making me anxious.  I’m not sleeping.  I may slash my wrists because it’s the first week of February and it’s snowing.

Fucksake.