The 1992 Committee


Ed Miliband’s getting a little full of himself for his own good. Buoyed by the local election results and the turmoil within the Tory Party, you can imagine Ed leaning across the dispatch box in the House of Commons and asking Dave Cameron “Surely you’re not the best politician to lead your party?”
“Maybe not,” DC might reply “but at least I’m the best politician in my family” (copyright Paul Collingwood).
A weak man is a short time in politics, so who can blame Mr Ed for crowing while he can? For a good few months the press and his party has been on his back, accusing him of being dull, uninspiring, distant and not his brother, but following the recent council polls, he and his adenoids feel vindicated in irritating a nation for the past couple of years. If it wasn’t for Bonking Boris, last week would have been a true disaster for the Tories, spurring on the bank-benchers to launch an immediate revolt. As it is, the win for the incumbent London Mayor merely highlights just how much more popular he is than the resident PM…er…sparking an immediate revolt among Tory back-benchers.

There’s nothing more enjoyable than watching the British GOP knock shite out of each other, fighting like cats in a sack in attempt to gain the high ground. A wave of nostalgia washed over me this morning as the late, great John Redwood took the the airwaves of T’BBC to launch version #738 of the Tory Right’s plan to get back into power (under its own steam). In re-hashing and re-launching the old battle cries of “Europe Out/Lords In/Wogs Out/Cronies In“, the former forgetful Minister for Wales reminded all listening of just why the Conservative Party hasn’t won an election in this country since 1992.

You know when you’re in trouble when chinless twerps like Nadine Dorries and Amanda Platell are calling you out of touch and if there’s a better blood sport to watch than the Tories fighting like a bunch of pissed wedding guests, then I’d like to see it. The Posh Boys’ honeymoon is over and they have painted themselves into a corner (easy on the metaphors, Harry). On one side they need to remain faithful to Sir Bufton Tufton of Tunbridge Wells – shooting, flogging and hanging anything that moves, but on the other thy need to give their coalition partners a good luvvie-cuddle as they try to convince the Liberals that they really are a new, warm green version of the old Right. It’s as convincing as watching Tom Cruise walking out with Katie Holmes.

As if things weren’t bad enough for Dave and Gid, then Frank goes and wins in France. A socialist hasn’t been in elected in France since Johnny Hallyday turned 80 (1981) yet the people of France have decided they no longer want the Poisoned Dwarf anymore and will try Francois Hollande for a while, especially as he’s promised to stand up against big bad Angela from Allemagne. Rather him than me.

The French people have spoken and ousted the little git. Across The Channel, however, no matter how awful Tony Blair and then Gordon Brown were for the UK, and however long Labour were in power, enough people still couldn’t bring themselves to vote for Cameron for PM. It doesn’t look good for him. I mean, I fancy myself up against Miliband. AT ANYTHING. And I’m sure you do too. But, even with the wholehearted support of The Mail, The Sun and Fox Skinning Gazette this charmless berk can still not rally enough support to attempt to lead the country out of recession without the shameless toadying support of the former Liberal Party. When you have to look to Simon Hughes, Chris Huhne and Beaker (whatever his real name is) to be electable and to get your policies through, times are indeed tough.

The Liberals appalling showing at the elections have led the wonderful Lembit Opik to call for Nick Clegg to resign. Jesus, no wonder Ed Miliband’s happy. In a few months he could be fighting a coalition of parties led by Boris Johnson and Limpet Optic. And if that doesn’t spell another 20 years of socialist government, I dunno what does.

Good Moaning


There’s nothing like a bit of Franglais to get people into the polling booths. Where the British local elections recently attracted a massive 32% turnout, this sort of thing may be the reason the French expect 80% this weekend, and why Ken Livingstone now finds himself in la maison de poo.

Even I might find the ballot box.

Thanks Philip H.

Goal Line Technology


Ah! The FA Cup Final

Was it in ? Was it over the line? Or did the goalie save it ? Chances are, given the TV replays shown to us, the punter, that the ref and the lino probably did get it right, much to one-eyed Kenny’s chagrin. But why do we need to guess? Why do we need to think that the right decision was “probably” made ? Arguments against “going upstairs for a decision” argue that this would slow the game down, to the detriment of the match. Really ? Slow it down more than some Uraguan Fascist shouting at the Assistant ref, being pulled to one side then being booked ? Slower than that ?

With so many cameras at every match nowadays, it seems daft not to use them and settle arguments. There will be some occasions that it’s so close even then we can’t gain a definitve answer. But most times it’ll be clear for all to see what happened in an incident which passed too quickly for the human eye to detect.

The regular TV coverage can easily miss it, but a freeze-frame will pick up most events, no matter how brief, very easily. Such as this photo of Mr Terry and Mr Suarez shaking hands before kick off.

Guest List


I have a problem which I hope you can help me with. I’m waiting for the postman to arrive with a letter I’m eagerly expecting. I’ve invited some celebrities to witness me opening the envelope but am unsure as to who or how many of them will turn up. I have asked the local paper to photograph the event too, if that helps.

Here’s my invite list. How many of them do you think would attend the opening of an envelope ?

 

All those who answered “all of them” please take a House Point. Although, to be fair, only Sue Pollard will admit she will only be present to further her career as a tv celebrity.

Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Bag


Sorry for the delay. I’ll be with you just as soon as I get out of this duffle bag I padlocked myself into. Am typing this post with one finger pushed through a hole in the zip. What do you mean it’s impossible to padlock yourself inside a duffle bag ?? Do you know nothing ? Everyone’s doing it ! Especially us alleged “sexual deviants”. Just ask the lads over at the Secret Service. Or rather don’t bother. They won’t tell you anything, apart from revealing my whole back story, and trash my character. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they immediately tell you enjoyed sordid sex, so you won’t care what happened to me. They’ll tell you everything I got up to, but nothing they did.  It’s a secret.

(this post has been vetted by the security services to ensure it contains wholly and exclusively 100% bollocks)

Bag of Bollocks