In imagined nostalgia, there was a time when a community was defined by its pub, church, post office and school and life in merry old England revolved from cradle to grave with reassuring certainty. In present reality, however, dark forces are at work hatching dastardly plots intended to subvert our culture by infiltrating communities with hard line, fundamentalist extremists hell-bent on imposing warped dogma and alien ideology.
The pub is now a Tesco Express and the church is falling down but remains a lucrative long-term real estate investment opportunity. The post office is long gone and has been replaced with a food bank next to a loan shark. The school is now an Academy named after an unfamiliar sponsor and the community is now defined by hedge funds rather than hedgerows. (more…)
Image via telegraph.co.uk
Regardless of hysterical media frenzy, the fate of the Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport remains completely and utterly inconsequential and even if Maria Miller resigns or is banished to wander the barren corridors of the Welsh Office in perpetuity, there are plenty of thieving hypocrites perfectly qualified to take her place.
With the entire disorder spectrum of the press screaming for her blood, poor Maria is clearly a victim of lynch mob rhetoric not experienced since England gave up playing cricket and we need to consider why she is being singled out as a fraudster when the majority of her fellow MPs consider embezzlement to be a legitimate second or, more usually, third job. Ah yes, of course, Leveson and press regulation. (more…)
Via Beau Bo d`Or
There was no ring of the doorbell or a knock on the door but the sound of a metallic slap was definite evidence of something coming through the letterbox.
Under normal circumstances, the addition of a bundle of pizza leaflets, a bin bag attached to a card inviting me to donate unwanted clothes to the provisional IRA and the offer of a one-to-one consultation with a “world famous” clairvoyant would provoke nothing more than a passing consideration of the fullness of the recycling bin. However, on this Saturday morning I was expecting a package to be delivered and so I hot-footed it to the front door in the hope of finding the long-awaited, small and expensive spare part thingy that would make my beloved wotsit work again. (more…)
It is all too easy to dismiss current television schedules as being filled with mindless pap designed to keep the nation anesthetised in a permanent state of compliant stupor. It`s easy because it`s true.
To celebrate the recent industrial action taken by teachers, we decided to end the day off in solidarity with the NUT by having a junk buffet family meal in front of early evening television. With Blue Peter now a distant memory, I was exposed to a game show that managed to fill an hour of sub-prime time with a game of shove ha`penny. Okay, the show did involve some general knowledge questions along the lines of “who was the author of Dante`s Inferno” and “what is a coat hanger used for” but the big money jackpot was dependent on a machine with moving shelves usually found in seedy penny arcades in run-down seaside towns. The inordinate amount of time taken to confirm a correct or incorrect answer to the question; “the Beatles came from which city on the River Mersey” is not there to build tension but to pad out this rubbish into an hour including commercial breaks. It`s taking a long time for the penny to drop. (more…)
This morning, in welcome sunshine, the sound of six month old burger fat being scraped from rusty barbeque grills in neighbouring gardens heralded the beginning of the E-coli season. The gentle hiss of flammable liquid on charcoal still damp from winter complimented the coughing of poorly maintained lawn mowers being persuaded into life. The spring aroma of burning meat was infused with the subtle fragrance of desperation, fear, panic and the unmistakable stench of electioneering. (more…)