Last words

Image via anorak.co.uk

The poignant and rather touching tribute to the late Baroness Thatcher in this week`s Walsall Advertiser from, of all people, Councillor Pete Smith reminds me of my own encounter with the former Prime Minister.

The circumstances that led to me driving towards St James`s Park (the one in London, not the one on Tyneside) at six thirty on a spring morning in 1988 are too complex to describe in detail. Suffice to say that it involved a friend who worked for a television news company, a Ford Fiesta that refused to start, my reliable if battered Mini and a government photo opportunity. I pulled over at the end of The Mall near Admiralty Arch to let her out and find her camera crew then went on to find somewhere to park. By the time I joined her at the Horse Guards end of the park, a host of photographers and camera crews stood around looking bored and opening flasks of coffee. That was about to change.

From the direction of Whitehall, a group of six or seven young men in expensive suits approached and they seemed pleased at the number of cameras that had turned up so early in the morning. Presently, however, these “special advisors” detected a problem. Looking at a clipboard and the Rolex, one chinless wonder turned to another and said:
“Where`s the rubbish? Where`s the bloody rubbish? It was booked for seven. Find it Nigel, find it now.”
Nigel started looking in the bushes much to the amusement of the waiting photographers. Then, striding across the grass came the colossal figure of Nicholas Ridley, the then Secretary of State for the Environment. It could be that he was suffering from some illness or that he might not be a morning person, but given the ungodly hour, the minister appeared to be drunk. Surveying the scene, he lit a cigarette and turned the air blue with some very unparliamentary language. Spad panic ensued and two ran off in the direction of Great George Street and the others started screwing up papers from their clipboards and throwing them on the ground. The press, now openly guffawing, joined in by screwing up their briefing notes and throwing them at the Spads. Ridley contributed by flicking his cigarette end at the laughing snappers and sparking up another fag.

Monarch of the glen

(c) National Museums Scotland; Supplied by The Public Catalogue Foundation

Any attempt to parody the profound words attributed to Pastor Martin Niemoller is at best in poor taste and could be considered as sacrilegious. Anyway, here goes…

First they came for the forests, and I didn`t speak out because I wasn`t a tree.

Then they came for the badgers, and I didn`t speak out because I wasn`t a badger.

Then they came for the deer and I didn`t speak out because I wasn`t a dirty great big stag with sharp pointy antlers.

Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me because they were all too busy signing bloody pointless petitions, every single one of which will be completely ignored.

Don`t get me wrong; I like forests and I like badgers and I like deer. I would also like the nation of my birth which is, after all, the seventh richest economy on the planet, to support and nurture its citizens in what was once known as civilized democracy. It would seem that the notion of sharing our common wealth is deeply unpopular and the term “welfare state” is now a derogatory sound bite used to justify what can only be described as oppression. Quite how a nation that defeated fascism and then went on to provide homes, employment, health care, education and that other derogatory sound bite “social security” should now allow four million children to grow up in poverty and demonise the terminally ill and people with disabilities as an underclass of scroungers and shirkers is a cause of frightening concern. Save the Children, a most worthy charity usually tugging at our heartstrings to donate money to help starving children in far flung places that are anywhere but here, are now running TV ads asking us to donate to help feed and clothe children born and living in the United Kingdom. Our current coalition government is selling weapons to far flung dictators that are anywhere else but here and giving tax breaks to millionaires as well as supporting eye-watering bonuses to crooked bankers who caused the economic mess in the first place. This has been achieved by the dark propaganda of fear and blame.

Fair enough

Councillor Anthony Harris, portfolio holder for Leisure and Culture at Walsall Metropolitan Borough Council and Conservative member for Aldridge North and Walsall Wood, is not very keen on criticism. Brace yourself Tony.

In the midst of the annual farce of council budget setting, Walsall cabinet, including public servant Harris, awarded themselves a considerable increase in their allowances. We all know that savings, efficiencies, working smarter, rationalisation or cuts as they are known to people connected with the real universe are inevitable under inept local and national government. Councillor Harris, along with his cabinet colleagues, is a fine upstanding local representative of the community he serves and does a marvellous job defending the interests of his constituents. Any other reward for this selfless democratic duty is, of course, simply a bonus that is rightly deserved.

In a rather bizarre letter emailed to a constituent who had the temerity to speak out against savage cuts to vital services, Anthony went on the offensive. The invaluable Brownhills Bob has brought to our attention the rather disturbing communication sent to a founding member of the Save Walsall`s Green Spaces and Countryside group, the remarkable Linda Mason. In the letter, Councillor Harris claims that he is: “a strong supporter of community involvement and I applaud any group working to improve our greenspaces and countryside – as your campaign group claims to do.” Clearly with an ear to the ground and a finger on the pulse, it is comforting to know that the noble councillor realises that the word “claims” has connotations beyond the entitlement to cabinet allowances. The brightest and the best that Walsall can offer continues: “However if you are going to continue to criticise the council publicly I think we are entitled to know on what basis these criticisms are made.” Obviously the councillor is working so hard for his constituents and the people of Walsall that he has not had enough time to read the evidence that forms the basis for criticism.

The honourable, worth his weight gold representative of the people is quite right to say that it is unacceptable for any member of the public to talk to the press about anything other than what a brilliant job Walsall cabinet are doing and in future any evidence or criticism should be presented to the council press office for approval and burial. Furthermore, it is totally irresponsible for Brownhills Bob to publish private correspondence that in an open democracy should remain secret in order to protect the public from false, unfounded and malicious suggestions that Councillor Harris is something other than a local hero and a treasured genius.

It takes a train to cry

HS2

The entire HS2 proposal presents a huge dilemma. The crooked coalition government want it so it must, therefore, be a very bad idea. However, opposing HS2 means forming alliances with some very, very strange people.

It takes a lot to stop yourself laughing when the very well off and the privileged complain of unfairness. What could be causing such ire in the leafy shires? Beggars, foreigners, tradesmen, the price of foie gras? No, it`s vulgar public transport that is causing sabres to rattle. When HS2 Phase 1 was finally approved, the landed gentry got themselves into a bit of tizzy. Lord Astor, for example, secure in his stately pile in Buckinghamshire, doesn`t want wretched trains spoiling his view or impeding his pursuit of small red mammals answering to the name Reynard. The noble Lord blames “northern Labour MPs who relish the thought of the beauty of the Chilterns being destroyed, particularly in Conservative-held seats.” Old Etonian William Waldorf Astor, The fourth Viscount Astor is a former Social Security Minister in the John Major government and is the stepfather of the Prime Minister`s wife.

As inbred and influential as my Lord Astor is, even though his wealth is inherited from vulgar American, hotelier stock, he is not alone in his opposition to HS2. No less than four cabinet ministers and six junior ministers have constituencies that will be dug up to take 30 minutes off the journey time from London to Birmingham. Quaking Tories now feel the wrath of retired colonels and the genteel ladies of flower arranging clubs and so the high speed line was hastily redesigned to pass under outraged Tory voters in tunnels. The projected cost went from £28billion to £33billion. Tickets from London to Curzon Street in Birmingham are expected to cost about £200.

Lord Rothschild has also objected, fearing that passing trains might shake the dust from his chandeliers. David Allen, the owner of a large estate in Northamptonshire threatened to stop donating to the Tory party. The route near his fiefdom will now be in a tunnel. The second phase of HS2 connecting Manchester and Leeds to Birmingham takes a mysterious and illogical detour within the constituency of Tatton in Cheshire which, by complete coincidence, is the very posh seat of the very posh Chancellor of the Exchequer. The argument for the HS2 Phase 1 route was that it had to be straight to achieve 225 mph but, in Tatton, the super trains will be forced to slow down to negotiate a six mile dog leg that takes the line away from the affluent Tory strongholds of Wilmslow, Alderley Edge and Prestbury. With an estimated cost of £93million per mile, that equates to £500,000 to secure each individual vote in an Osborne majority of 1,000 in 2015. Lichfield`s very own Boris Johnston tribute act, the frankly bizarre Michael Fabricant, is screaming about property prices and compensation. Then there is the odious Tax Payers Alliance who are implacably opposed to anything other than tax avoidance by the obscenely wealthy. Given this unholy alliance of self interest, support for HS2 seems to be the only obvious option. However, as with anything touched by the liars and shysters in government, it is not that simple.

Invisible men

Image via Walsall Council

You can`t beat a good ghost story. Months beyond Halloween, it is deliciously chilling to know that spectres still haunt the streets of Walsall that are beyond the imaginations of Sheridan Le Fanu or even Edgar Allan Poe. The terrifying ghouls are invisible Walsall snow spirits.

To everyone`s great surprise, snow fell in winter on a small island just off continental northern Europe. Oh the humanity as car drivers trembling with fear at the covering of white ectoplasm used first gear and a floored accelerator in the hope of escaping the horror by spinning their wheels to polish snow into ice. If the “right foot make car go” boneheads cannot master driving in snow, what hope for them next week when the pot holes of Hell have opened up again. It is likely that the boy and girl racers lacking in the competence to drive to the conditions are the ones complaining of an absence of rock salt treatment to the highways and byways. Others, however, report experiencing ghostly visitations from huge yellow monsters spewing out grit in some malevolent attempt to keep the roads open. We might never be able to explain the presence of the creatures of the night on “the other side”. Mwuhahahaha…

Okay, Walsall does not boast of the best track record for gritting when the snow descends and the ice forms but, the ghost busters claiming that the roads received no grit seem to be as knowledgeable of physics as they are adept at driving in the white stuff. It seems that the amiable snow rider Brownhills Bob pointed out on the dreadful Facebook that rock salt was not magic and would probably not slaughter household pets. The reason that I don`t “do” Facebook is because it is difficult enough to cope with idiots on Twitter and apparently Bob`s sensible comments were removed from idiotville Facebook because of complaints by some very stupid people. The truth is out there, but some folk still believe in ghosts.