I heard that Iain Dale bloke on The World at One today defending Julie Kirkbride. Decent fella, he said she's a luverly girl, trying to hold down a decent job while her brother looks after her child. Quite right, say I. Women need to work to support their husbands and this Ms Kirkbride is doing a great job. And what's wrong with her building her brother a little extension to live in? I'm happy to pay my taxes for that.
My friend's a working mum. She's also a district councillor. So I says to her, 'Don't worry about looking after your kids at your own expense, why not get the local Council Taxpayer to foot the bill? Your mum could move in and look after them. And, if there's no room, surely your council can build her an extension.' She says to me that the council won't build her an extension and won't pay her relatives to live with her at the taxpayer's expense!
What is the world coming to?!
So I says to her, 'Why don't you and your husband buy another house? Then you can each claim a second home allowance.' She told me the council won't pay for this either. I said to her that she should get herself elected to Parliament then, so she can follow the shining example to working mothers of that Ms Kirkbride. If she can wring out the taxpayer for every last fiver, why shouldn't you?
That's why that Iain Dale was clearly spot on to defend his cheating, lying, deceitful colleague.
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
BLIMEY, I'M GETTING FIT
A very strange feeling is coming over me. Sure I'm coming home knackered with my feet in a sling but somehow its not hurting as much. I knocked out about 6 rounds of delivering today pretty much without breaking into a sweat.
Still hundreds of leaflets in my car, however, with many, many more to follow so no complacency, just a sense of increased hardiness which comes from having a manic MP chasing me at every turn and, somewhat oddly, an increasing sense of enjoyment of the whole thing.
Mind you, tonight's chips were pretty poor - I couldn't get to my usual chip shop - and unbelievably expensive as they came from Woodstock, which is posher than the Queen.
Was that a digression? Is this?
Still hundreds of leaflets in my car, however, with many, many more to follow so no complacency, just a sense of increased hardiness which comes from having a manic MP chasing me at every turn and, somewhat oddly, an increasing sense of enjoyment of the whole thing.
Mind you, tonight's chips were pretty poor - I couldn't get to my usual chip shop - and unbelievably expensive as they came from Woodstock, which is posher than the Queen.
Was that a digression? Is this?
Monday, 25 May 2009
TIME TO FACE THE CHANGE
Alan Johnson has done a good job raising the issue of PR. I am fully in favour of AV plus and I have never been an STV zealot. Put bluntly, STV is too messy, whatever the complex arguments put forward by its proponents might be. The overwhelming majority of voters are simply not interested enough but they should be able to make the effort to tick or cross two boxes, as they would be required to under AV Plus. Also, having an advocate such as the Late Roy Jenkins is a powerful argument for AV Plus. Jenkins devised what he thought 'would work' with the British system, not what he considered the best system.
Around this comment by Mr Johnson, others have mentioned reform and it is reassuring to see the pendulum swinging back to somewhere near to equilibrium. Sure, a large number of our politicians have let us down badly but this does not mean the system is fundamentally flawed. And - a key 'and' here so it shall go in capitals - MOST OF THEM WERE TORIES. This pleases me as John Tory must be found out before the next election.
He has not changed. He is not 'new'. He is the same old right wing, anti-European, mildly bigoted person we all know and cope with, like that uncle we all try to avoid who smokes 40 a day, drinks Campari and calls people 'darkies' but who is a relative so who comes along to all the family events.
Anyway, that was a digression. I am fighting an election against a Tory so forgive me. [Although, to defend my opponent, she is a youngish woman of ordinary background who completely blows my argument out of the water...but let's never let real life get in the way of blind prejudice.]
Parliament needs minor reforms which are not rocket science:
1. Give MPs a reasonable salary and then abolish the ludicrous expenses scheme. Pay distant MPs additional costs for travel and given them all a standard allowance for a second home in London based on the cost of renting a one bedroomed flat or buying one in one of the cheaper parts of the capital within easy public transport reach of Westminster. If they want something more, they can pay for it. If they bleat about having their families around, give them a P45 and tell them to work for someone else.
2. Introduce a sensible voting system and fixed term Parliaments. Blindingly obvious to all but the most stupid of individuals.
3. Elect the House of Lords based on sensible regions, not the disastrous ones the Tories devised in the 1980s.
4. Ban any man entering the building wearing tights. If they persist, sit them down and explain that it is now the 21st century. If they want to wear tights, give them a list of appropriate clubs in their area and invite them to join one of them. In other words, update the practices of the legislature - that's legislature, not house of varieties or recording of 'The Good Old Days, ladies and gentlemen - and tell anyone stuck in the past to move on.
Everything else is less important. These four reforms will make everything more logical and intelligible and any attempt by HM Government under the Luddite in Chief to set up an elaborate commission should be resisted by anyone wishing to retain their seat whenever they manage to prise Gordon's whitened knuckles from the reins of power.
Around this comment by Mr Johnson, others have mentioned reform and it is reassuring to see the pendulum swinging back to somewhere near to equilibrium. Sure, a large number of our politicians have let us down badly but this does not mean the system is fundamentally flawed. And - a key 'and' here so it shall go in capitals - MOST OF THEM WERE TORIES. This pleases me as John Tory must be found out before the next election.
He has not changed. He is not 'new'. He is the same old right wing, anti-European, mildly bigoted person we all know and cope with, like that uncle we all try to avoid who smokes 40 a day, drinks Campari and calls people 'darkies' but who is a relative so who comes along to all the family events.
Anyway, that was a digression. I am fighting an election against a Tory so forgive me. [Although, to defend my opponent, she is a youngish woman of ordinary background who completely blows my argument out of the water...but let's never let real life get in the way of blind prejudice.]
Parliament needs minor reforms which are not rocket science:
1. Give MPs a reasonable salary and then abolish the ludicrous expenses scheme. Pay distant MPs additional costs for travel and given them all a standard allowance for a second home in London based on the cost of renting a one bedroomed flat or buying one in one of the cheaper parts of the capital within easy public transport reach of Westminster. If they want something more, they can pay for it. If they bleat about having their families around, give them a P45 and tell them to work for someone else.
2. Introduce a sensible voting system and fixed term Parliaments. Blindingly obvious to all but the most stupid of individuals.
3. Elect the House of Lords based on sensible regions, not the disastrous ones the Tories devised in the 1980s.
4. Ban any man entering the building wearing tights. If they persist, sit them down and explain that it is now the 21st century. If they want to wear tights, give them a list of appropriate clubs in their area and invite them to join one of them. In other words, update the practices of the legislature - that's legislature, not house of varieties or recording of 'The Good Old Days, ladies and gentlemen - and tell anyone stuck in the past to move on.
Everything else is less important. These four reforms will make everything more logical and intelligible and any attempt by HM Government under the Luddite in Chief to set up an elaborate commission should be resisted by anyone wishing to retain their seat whenever they manage to prise Gordon's whitened knuckles from the reins of power.
YOU SAY UBUNTU, I SAY OOBONTOO
If you're one of those hanging on my every post on ubuntu, here's my gen on upgrading to 9.04, the latest release. If you're not, seriously - move on.
I have just done this upgrade - in about four goes as my wireless link is not ideal. Still, we eventually got there and today I started up my computer only to get a lovely, blank beige screen. Cue panic as all my election material is on this computer.
I started it up about 16 times to get the same lovely beige...but b*gger all else. The panic rose so I decided to take a practical approach and to press every option I could. One of ubuntu's minor failings is that it offers me a series of options for start up programs which I had to run through to try every possibility.
Remarkably, it eventually worked. My computer slipped into scary DOS and offered me lots of choices, including 'repair' which seemed a good route to go down. Cue lots of script and lots of questions I did not understand. Luckily I seemed to guess right and, after about 15 minutes of agonising waiting and lots of 1980s computer script scrolling up the screen in very 'War Games' style, bingo! We were back in action.
The new system is a little smoother and I also now have Open Office 3.0, the benefits of which I have yet to establish. I suppose I should commend Ubuntu for allowing me to solve the problem with a small injection of common sense but it wasn't straightforward. The summary is perhaps that it cannot be said to be as idiot-proof as Windows - with the huge rider that this refers to when Windows is working, of course. When Windows goes down, you are well and truly stuffed.
To use an analogy, I still love Ubuntu but if I catch it eyeing up those laptops in PC World I will start to suspect it of cheating of me...The honeymoon is over but the marriage remains strong.
I have just done this upgrade - in about four goes as my wireless link is not ideal. Still, we eventually got there and today I started up my computer only to get a lovely, blank beige screen. Cue panic as all my election material is on this computer.
I started it up about 16 times to get the same lovely beige...but b*gger all else. The panic rose so I decided to take a practical approach and to press every option I could. One of ubuntu's minor failings is that it offers me a series of options for start up programs which I had to run through to try every possibility.
Remarkably, it eventually worked. My computer slipped into scary DOS and offered me lots of choices, including 'repair' which seemed a good route to go down. Cue lots of script and lots of questions I did not understand. Luckily I seemed to guess right and, after about 15 minutes of agonising waiting and lots of 1980s computer script scrolling up the screen in very 'War Games' style, bingo! We were back in action.
The new system is a little smoother and I also now have Open Office 3.0, the benefits of which I have yet to establish. I suppose I should commend Ubuntu for allowing me to solve the problem with a small injection of common sense but it wasn't straightforward. The summary is perhaps that it cannot be said to be as idiot-proof as Windows - with the huge rider that this refers to when Windows is working, of course. When Windows goes down, you are well and truly stuffed.
To use an analogy, I still love Ubuntu but if I catch it eyeing up those laptops in PC World I will start to suspect it of cheating of me...The honeymoon is over but the marriage remains strong.
Thursday, 21 May 2009
PMQs - PLUS CA CHANGE...
The Chamber was packed as usual with the Speaker's Chair replaced by a set of stocks in which the Great Man was sat looking like the man whose blind date turned out to be Sharon Osborne. Rotten tomatoes slid gently off his person and a cabbage sat on his head. The House was filled with the acrid smell of bank statements and receipts being burnt on makeshift bonfires.
Doug Elghorn (Expenses-on-the-Moat South Central) asked the Prime Minister if he agreed that his luxury yacht could be considered a legitimate expense for visiting residents in his Midlands constituency. The Prime Minister began to sob quietly as he rose and responded that all such matters would be considered by one of the array of new committees he planned to set up to ensure that MPs' expenses were looked into rigorously and that appropriate action could be taken at a suitable point once some other poor sod had the responsibility for the problem.
The Other Poor Sod duly rose, his brow furrowed like a newly ploughed field in the Spring frost in his Witney constituency. His gaze set to more earnest than Jeremy Paxman squeezing one out after a 14 day diet of eggs, Dave asked the Prime Minister if he truly repented of all his sins and the sins of his party. David Davis, dressed in his usual sackcloth and ashes, began to glow perceptibly.
The Prime Minister responded that yea, verily he did and that all MPs must atone and prepare for the day of judgement, which approacheth sometime next year. Harriet Harman was heard to suppress a snort as she flicked through a Civil Service brochure of 'Opposition Leader's cars'.
Dave rose again, brandishing a small ceremonial whip which he proceeded to flail across his back as he asked his second question: would the Prime Minister bring forth the day of judgement to this year so that, verily, they could all be judged now. Gordon, brandishing a small cat o' nine tails, set about his own back as he replied that he might look stupid [loud murmers of approval around the Chamber] but he wasn't quite ready to jump into his own grave. Instead the whole House should repent, repent! He glared at the Speaker, who sighed, absent-mindedly picking an old orange from his coat.
Hazel Blears stood up and, in a display of atonement, attempted to decapitate herself with a hand axe. Being shorter than the outcome of a coupling between a munchkin and an oompa loompa, even she misjudged where her head was and missed by a mile. Her axe instead buried itself in Ed Balls but, given that he is securely encased in several feet of his own ego, he remained unharmed.
Dave, setting about his head with a cosh to show due humility, said the people of Britain wanted to judge MPs now and that they should consequently surrender to the will of the people, on the strict understanding that this was his position at the moment but that further revelations may make the Tories' poll rating go up or down, at which point he would like to revise his demands. The Tory benches commended him for coming as close as he ever had to making a concrete commitment. Gordon was raised to the dispatch box on a makeshift rack fashioned from order papers which loyal minions – aided by a gleeful Harriet Harman – were tightening. As he screamed in pain, he thanked them and reminded the leader of the opposition that no one on the Labour benches had a moat [a few Labour MPs of the old school attempted to correct him but were beaten down soundly by their colleagues] and that Dave might seek to get his own house in order first before seeking the judgement of the electorate. He added a 'yea' and a 'verily' on the end for good measure. David Davis sat carving two tablets of stones with what seemed to be 'commandments'.
Dave, his hands tied and his feet being beaten with paddles, repeated his demand for an early election. The British People should have the opportunity to decide on the future of the House as MPs had let them down. At this point onions were brandished by the Tory benches and they began to sob in unison, with the exception of Ken Clarke who reached for what looked like a hip flask.
Gordon rose, his best cat's behind pout on his face and wearing a mail overcoat which loyal minions were applying wires to from a car battery. He replied between shrieks of pain that the Right Honourable Gentleman would do well to remember his upbringing and to avoid any statements about unnecessary expenses which he might come to regret. Many MPs struggled to survive on their salaries and they needed support to afford items to support them in their second homes. Sir Peter Viggers was heard to agree, complaining audibly about the cost of a floating duck island. He was later carried out and is expected to make a full recovery, although he may never speak again – if he knows what's good for him...
Keith Vaz rose and asked the Prime Minister if he would join him in celebrating the fact that the dodgy MP for Leicester was for once not implicated in any scandal. The Prime Minister said it was indeed a shocker but that he was sure that the wealth of sleaze associated with Mr Vaz would eventually find its way to the media sluices.
At this point Joanna Lovely burst into the Chamber, flanked by several embarrassed Nepalese gentlemen. She glared at the Prime Minister and demanded that he allow the Gurkhas and their families to live in Britain. A number of Tories threw flowers at her feet and several proposed marriage. Ms Lovely, ever the consummate professional, glared on.
Gordon gawped, attempted to speak, faltered, then caved in, to rousing applause from the House, more roses and a number of further proposals. One Conservative ran from the benches to prostrate himself in front of Ms Lovely, declaring his undying love. He had to be hauled back to his place by embarrassed colleagues, some of whom took the opportunity to touch Ms Lovely's clothes. David Davis looked on, nonplussed at not being the semi-religious object of respect on this occasion.
Ms Lovely gave them all 'that look', screamed her war cry “Will there be cameras?!” and trooped out. Some of the Nepalese remained in the Chamber, not sure what to do. Eventually, they sat with the Nationalists, secure in their mutual incomprehension of each other.
Then it was Nickers' turn. He stood up, naked but for a loin cloth, being beaten with birch twigs by his colleagues – well, we are Liberals, after all. Looking earnest, tearful and bloody angry all at the same time, Nickers asked the Prime Minister if he agreed that the whole thing was shocking and wasn't he outraged and generally fed up. The Prime Minister, slightly bemused, agreed.
Nickers said that he did too and pledged that the Liberal Democrats would pay for the trouser press Chris Huhne had bought on expenses and promised action to ensure that when the next scandal breaks the Lib Dems would have something a bit more interesting to be revealed than just a bloody trouser press. Andrew George attempted to speak but a swift punch to the groin from Lynne Featherstone put paid to that. Nickers continued that he had set up a 'Moat' commission to look into this and promised action to become as sleazy as the Tories, although accepting that it would take decades to achieve their standard.
Gordon Brown couldn't think of anything to say so he restricted himself to pouring a bucket of slurry over the Speaker's head to rousing applause.
Ann Widdecombe then rose and actually made sense. All these years in Parliament spouting pseudo-religious tosh and this time she actually made sense. She reminded the Prime Minister that MPs should be paid more so that they didn't need to claim expenses and asked him to ensure that this was looked at. The House sat in silence as they marvelled as Ms Widdecombe's foray into 'the real world'. Eventually Gordon Brown replied that this was a very sensible suggestion and that in consequence his government would have to mangle it out of all recognition as he would be damned if anything practical came out of this whole debacle. A murmur of assent spread across the Chamber as MPs pretended to busy themselves with their Blackberries.
As the Prime Minister sat down the Speaker rose with some difficulty, his robes soiled and torn and the stocks he was locked into now forming a bizarre set of anklets. With his legs akimbo he presented a more formidable figure than he has managed to do for some years. He raised his hand in defiance and began to speak but the weight of the stocks carried him forwards so that he finished up prone between the clerks in front of him. Ken Clarke was heard to remark that this was the furthest he had moved on any issue since being elected to the exalted position.
David Davis leapt to his feet, having donned his best Charlton Heston beard and brandishing his now completed tablets with his 'commandments'. He demanded that the House repent and surrender itself to God while there was still time. Dave glared at him for making such a clear statement on anything, which simply wasn't what the modern Conservative Party was about under his leadership. Everyone else ignored him.
Finally, Lembit Opik rose, his harmonica on hold and his cheeky grin absent as he contemplated his next foray into the media. Katie Price would be single soon, he mused...He regained himself and asked Gordon whether he expected reforms of Parliament to be in place this year. Gordon responded that he had been advised that a cooler period in Hades might occur and following this extraordinary event he expected firm action immediately. Ed Vaizey looked blank at this but luckily a neighbour was on hand to explain that reform would occur when Hell froze over.
The Speaker called 'Ordure, Ordure' and the session ended with MPs emptying out into the corridors of the House to sell any spare nick nacks they could to waiting spivs in an attempt to repay countless claims they could not justify in a month of Sundays.
[Etc, etc, ad nauseum until the end of time. Mark my words...]
Doug Elghorn (Expenses-on-the-Moat South Central) asked the Prime Minister if he agreed that his luxury yacht could be considered a legitimate expense for visiting residents in his Midlands constituency. The Prime Minister began to sob quietly as he rose and responded that all such matters would be considered by one of the array of new committees he planned to set up to ensure that MPs' expenses were looked into rigorously and that appropriate action could be taken at a suitable point once some other poor sod had the responsibility for the problem.
The Other Poor Sod duly rose, his brow furrowed like a newly ploughed field in the Spring frost in his Witney constituency. His gaze set to more earnest than Jeremy Paxman squeezing one out after a 14 day diet of eggs, Dave asked the Prime Minister if he truly repented of all his sins and the sins of his party. David Davis, dressed in his usual sackcloth and ashes, began to glow perceptibly.
The Prime Minister responded that yea, verily he did and that all MPs must atone and prepare for the day of judgement, which approacheth sometime next year. Harriet Harman was heard to suppress a snort as she flicked through a Civil Service brochure of 'Opposition Leader's cars'.
Dave rose again, brandishing a small ceremonial whip which he proceeded to flail across his back as he asked his second question: would the Prime Minister bring forth the day of judgement to this year so that, verily, they could all be judged now. Gordon, brandishing a small cat o' nine tails, set about his own back as he replied that he might look stupid [loud murmers of approval around the Chamber] but he wasn't quite ready to jump into his own grave. Instead the whole House should repent, repent! He glared at the Speaker, who sighed, absent-mindedly picking an old orange from his coat.
Hazel Blears stood up and, in a display of atonement, attempted to decapitate herself with a hand axe. Being shorter than the outcome of a coupling between a munchkin and an oompa loompa, even she misjudged where her head was and missed by a mile. Her axe instead buried itself in Ed Balls but, given that he is securely encased in several feet of his own ego, he remained unharmed.
Dave, setting about his head with a cosh to show due humility, said the people of Britain wanted to judge MPs now and that they should consequently surrender to the will of the people, on the strict understanding that this was his position at the moment but that further revelations may make the Tories' poll rating go up or down, at which point he would like to revise his demands. The Tory benches commended him for coming as close as he ever had to making a concrete commitment. Gordon was raised to the dispatch box on a makeshift rack fashioned from order papers which loyal minions – aided by a gleeful Harriet Harman – were tightening. As he screamed in pain, he thanked them and reminded the leader of the opposition that no one on the Labour benches had a moat [a few Labour MPs of the old school attempted to correct him but were beaten down soundly by their colleagues] and that Dave might seek to get his own house in order first before seeking the judgement of the electorate. He added a 'yea' and a 'verily' on the end for good measure. David Davis sat carving two tablets of stones with what seemed to be 'commandments'.
Dave, his hands tied and his feet being beaten with paddles, repeated his demand for an early election. The British People should have the opportunity to decide on the future of the House as MPs had let them down. At this point onions were brandished by the Tory benches and they began to sob in unison, with the exception of Ken Clarke who reached for what looked like a hip flask.
Gordon rose, his best cat's behind pout on his face and wearing a mail overcoat which loyal minions were applying wires to from a car battery. He replied between shrieks of pain that the Right Honourable Gentleman would do well to remember his upbringing and to avoid any statements about unnecessary expenses which he might come to regret. Many MPs struggled to survive on their salaries and they needed support to afford items to support them in their second homes. Sir Peter Viggers was heard to agree, complaining audibly about the cost of a floating duck island. He was later carried out and is expected to make a full recovery, although he may never speak again – if he knows what's good for him...
Keith Vaz rose and asked the Prime Minister if he would join him in celebrating the fact that the dodgy MP for Leicester was for once not implicated in any scandal. The Prime Minister said it was indeed a shocker but that he was sure that the wealth of sleaze associated with Mr Vaz would eventually find its way to the media sluices.
At this point Joanna Lovely burst into the Chamber, flanked by several embarrassed Nepalese gentlemen. She glared at the Prime Minister and demanded that he allow the Gurkhas and their families to live in Britain. A number of Tories threw flowers at her feet and several proposed marriage. Ms Lovely, ever the consummate professional, glared on.
Gordon gawped, attempted to speak, faltered, then caved in, to rousing applause from the House, more roses and a number of further proposals. One Conservative ran from the benches to prostrate himself in front of Ms Lovely, declaring his undying love. He had to be hauled back to his place by embarrassed colleagues, some of whom took the opportunity to touch Ms Lovely's clothes. David Davis looked on, nonplussed at not being the semi-religious object of respect on this occasion.
Ms Lovely gave them all 'that look', screamed her war cry “Will there be cameras?!” and trooped out. Some of the Nepalese remained in the Chamber, not sure what to do. Eventually, they sat with the Nationalists, secure in their mutual incomprehension of each other.
Then it was Nickers' turn. He stood up, naked but for a loin cloth, being beaten with birch twigs by his colleagues – well, we are Liberals, after all. Looking earnest, tearful and bloody angry all at the same time, Nickers asked the Prime Minister if he agreed that the whole thing was shocking and wasn't he outraged and generally fed up. The Prime Minister, slightly bemused, agreed.
Nickers said that he did too and pledged that the Liberal Democrats would pay for the trouser press Chris Huhne had bought on expenses and promised action to ensure that when the next scandal breaks the Lib Dems would have something a bit more interesting to be revealed than just a bloody trouser press. Andrew George attempted to speak but a swift punch to the groin from Lynne Featherstone put paid to that. Nickers continued that he had set up a 'Moat' commission to look into this and promised action to become as sleazy as the Tories, although accepting that it would take decades to achieve their standard.
Gordon Brown couldn't think of anything to say so he restricted himself to pouring a bucket of slurry over the Speaker's head to rousing applause.
Ann Widdecombe then rose and actually made sense. All these years in Parliament spouting pseudo-religious tosh and this time she actually made sense. She reminded the Prime Minister that MPs should be paid more so that they didn't need to claim expenses and asked him to ensure that this was looked at. The House sat in silence as they marvelled as Ms Widdecombe's foray into 'the real world'. Eventually Gordon Brown replied that this was a very sensible suggestion and that in consequence his government would have to mangle it out of all recognition as he would be damned if anything practical came out of this whole debacle. A murmur of assent spread across the Chamber as MPs pretended to busy themselves with their Blackberries.
As the Prime Minister sat down the Speaker rose with some difficulty, his robes soiled and torn and the stocks he was locked into now forming a bizarre set of anklets. With his legs akimbo he presented a more formidable figure than he has managed to do for some years. He raised his hand in defiance and began to speak but the weight of the stocks carried him forwards so that he finished up prone between the clerks in front of him. Ken Clarke was heard to remark that this was the furthest he had moved on any issue since being elected to the exalted position.
David Davis leapt to his feet, having donned his best Charlton Heston beard and brandishing his now completed tablets with his 'commandments'. He demanded that the House repent and surrender itself to God while there was still time. Dave glared at him for making such a clear statement on anything, which simply wasn't what the modern Conservative Party was about under his leadership. Everyone else ignored him.
Finally, Lembit Opik rose, his harmonica on hold and his cheeky grin absent as he contemplated his next foray into the media. Katie Price would be single soon, he mused...He regained himself and asked Gordon whether he expected reforms of Parliament to be in place this year. Gordon responded that he had been advised that a cooler period in Hades might occur and following this extraordinary event he expected firm action immediately. Ed Vaizey looked blank at this but luckily a neighbour was on hand to explain that reform would occur when Hell froze over.
The Speaker called 'Ordure, Ordure' and the session ended with MPs emptying out into the corridors of the House to sell any spare nick nacks they could to waiting spivs in an attempt to repay countless claims they could not justify in a month of Sundays.
[Etc, etc, ad nauseum until the end of time. Mark my words...]
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
DAVE SPEAKS BUT ONCE MORE NOTHING COMES OUT
David Cameron is a remarkable politician. He has taken over his party, transformed its fortunes through a clever mix of presentation and manufactured showdowns and he has manoeuvred himself into the position of Prime Minister-in-waiting - and all without saying anything at all. He even tells us he's green. And I'm the Queen of Sheba.
This morning this brilliant performer was on the Today programme at this key moment in our national political life. Parliament is in meltdown, politicians have been found out, the political system is cracking under the strain and the spotlight has been shone on Mr Speaker, exposing all his myriad failings, most notably his inability to extract his head from the government's fundament, which is not quite the job of Mr Speaker. At least he's now resigned and good riddance really is the most charitable thing which can be said there.
So, Dave must have relished his chance to speak on the radio. You can visualise the furrowed, serious, 'I really care' brow and the earnest demeanour. Dave was asked repeatedly by a remarkably coherent John Humphreys if he would call for the tarnished Speaker of the House to go and repeatedly Dave said it was a matter for others to decide. As the leader of a major party it was not his role to comment or to tell others what to do.
Humphreys asked again and again the unconscionably earnest Dave swerved, saying it was not his role to tell others what to do. Humphreys persisted and Dave ducked and dived like John Travolta in a white suit.
Whoops, Dave. There seems to have been another opportunity to lead the debate ludicrously missed. It was the political equivalent of an open goal.
More parochially, in Oxfordshire two new waste incinerators - er 'energy from waste facilities' - are planned and five MPs have come out publicly opposed to the new facilities. There are six Oxfordshire MPs, so one did not make any comment on this. David Cameron is an Oxfordshire MP. Can you guess which one made no comment, saying instead that it was a matter for others.
Furrowed brow, earnest voice, natch...
Putting aside my contempt for all things blue and my disdain for Dave's sophistry, you have to worry about the future of our country if, in this period of turmoil the man who wants to run things cannot give a view on anything. One imagines his house - houses, sorry - is/are like a supermarket, with an array of breakfast cereals on offer and Dave repeatedly refusing to confirm which cereal he wants to have in his bowl. This is not a decision for now, he must tell his wife with brow furrowed like a newly ploughed field. We need to consider the conditions in the cereal world when we enter government as, until then the full picture will not be clear.
How long can Ducking, Diving Dave be allowed to continue with this equivocation before he is seriously tested - and how long can the country cope with a leader who can't make decisions. We seem to be hurtling back to the 1990s and the great John Major.
So, we've had Life on Mars where Sam Tyler wakes up in a nightmare of time travel back to a dysfunctional period. We've had Ashes to Ashes, where Alex Drake is in a nightmare of time travel etc etc. And now perhaps it will be 'Under Pressure' where DI Dave Cameron wakes up in a nightmare repeat of the 1990s with the Tories reviving the Cones Hotline, disintegrating over Europe, perhaps dragging the country down with them as they once again descend into infighting due to a weak leader.
I feel the same sense of horror as Sam Tyler and Alex Drake felt when they woke up. Nurse! The Screens!
This morning this brilliant performer was on the Today programme at this key moment in our national political life. Parliament is in meltdown, politicians have been found out, the political system is cracking under the strain and the spotlight has been shone on Mr Speaker, exposing all his myriad failings, most notably his inability to extract his head from the government's fundament, which is not quite the job of Mr Speaker. At least he's now resigned and good riddance really is the most charitable thing which can be said there.
So, Dave must have relished his chance to speak on the radio. You can visualise the furrowed, serious, 'I really care' brow and the earnest demeanour. Dave was asked repeatedly by a remarkably coherent John Humphreys if he would call for the tarnished Speaker of the House to go and repeatedly Dave said it was a matter for others to decide. As the leader of a major party it was not his role to comment or to tell others what to do.
Humphreys asked again and again the unconscionably earnest Dave swerved, saying it was not his role to tell others what to do. Humphreys persisted and Dave ducked and dived like John Travolta in a white suit.
Whoops, Dave. There seems to have been another opportunity to lead the debate ludicrously missed. It was the political equivalent of an open goal.
More parochially, in Oxfordshire two new waste incinerators - er 'energy from waste facilities' - are planned and five MPs have come out publicly opposed to the new facilities. There are six Oxfordshire MPs, so one did not make any comment on this. David Cameron is an Oxfordshire MP. Can you guess which one made no comment, saying instead that it was a matter for others.
Furrowed brow, earnest voice, natch...
Putting aside my contempt for all things blue and my disdain for Dave's sophistry, you have to worry about the future of our country if, in this period of turmoil the man who wants to run things cannot give a view on anything. One imagines his house - houses, sorry - is/are like a supermarket, with an array of breakfast cereals on offer and Dave repeatedly refusing to confirm which cereal he wants to have in his bowl. This is not a decision for now, he must tell his wife with brow furrowed like a newly ploughed field. We need to consider the conditions in the cereal world when we enter government as, until then the full picture will not be clear.
How long can Ducking, Diving Dave be allowed to continue with this equivocation before he is seriously tested - and how long can the country cope with a leader who can't make decisions. We seem to be hurtling back to the 1990s and the great John Major.
So, we've had Life on Mars where Sam Tyler wakes up in a nightmare of time travel back to a dysfunctional period. We've had Ashes to Ashes, where Alex Drake is in a nightmare of time travel etc etc. And now perhaps it will be 'Under Pressure' where DI Dave Cameron wakes up in a nightmare repeat of the 1990s with the Tories reviving the Cones Hotline, disintegrating over Europe, perhaps dragging the country down with them as they once again descend into infighting due to a weak leader.
I feel the same sense of horror as Sam Tyler and Alex Drake felt when they woke up. Nurse! The Screens!
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
EH? WASSAT? LARGE ESPRESSO...ER, I MEAN VOTE FOR ME...
Sheesh, it was never meant to be like this. I was supposed to be carried to power on a wave of acclamation with an adoring team of Obama-esque acolytes attending to my every whim. Instead I am stuffing and delivering all my own mailings, which I wrote myself, and looking forward to more of the same for the rest of the week - and indeed for weeks to come.
My feet feel like they have been assailed by a madman with a razor blade and my family are a distant memory.
So, after a full day of shoving bits of tree through letterboxes across the area I went home for a brief shower, a couple of cups of tea and a bag of chips which tasted like the finest caviar, after which it was down to folding, stuffing and sorting yet more mailings which muggins here might find himself doing alone once more. I have some very kind people who have offered to help but I haven't got my delivery network up and running. I fear that even when such a grand-sounding institution does come into existence I will still find myself applying the plasters to my aching plates.
So this is politics: slog, sweat and expense. And the appeal is...?
Well, that's the problem. Its bloody brilliant being stopped by someone and telling them bashfully that you are the candidate. Luckily in my part of the world people tend - important word, that - to be rather pleasant so there's been little aggro so far. It's a drug and, my aching feet, bags under my eyes and general sense of blind panic notwithstanding, I just can't get enough of it!
My feet feel like they have been assailed by a madman with a razor blade and my family are a distant memory.
So, after a full day of shoving bits of tree through letterboxes across the area I went home for a brief shower, a couple of cups of tea and a bag of chips which tasted like the finest caviar, after which it was down to folding, stuffing and sorting yet more mailings which muggins here might find himself doing alone once more. I have some very kind people who have offered to help but I haven't got my delivery network up and running. I fear that even when such a grand-sounding institution does come into existence I will still find myself applying the plasters to my aching plates.
So this is politics: slog, sweat and expense. And the appeal is...?
Well, that's the problem. Its bloody brilliant being stopped by someone and telling them bashfully that you are the candidate. Luckily in my part of the world people tend - important word, that - to be rather pleasant so there's been little aggro so far. It's a drug and, my aching feet, bags under my eyes and general sense of blind panic notwithstanding, I just can't get enough of it!
Saturday, 9 May 2009
NIGEL FARAGE? NO.
Apparently Nigel Farage, 'leader' of UKIP, says his 'party' of dissolute Daily Mail readers could bring down the government.
Oh dear. No, Mr Farage. Now f*** off to those marginal Tory seats and do your worst but leave the rest of us alone.
Oh dear. No, Mr Farage. Now f*** off to those marginal Tory seats and do your worst but leave the rest of us alone.
GOSH, ISN'T JOANNA SIMPLY SUPER?!
Joanna Lovely is doing a super job with her campaign for the gurkhas, isn't she? Her link with the regiment through her father is clear and she is obviously passionate about the issue of fair treatment for them. She's a super actress and (all together now) a national treasure.
Gosh, I think she'd say.
However, when I take away the Vaseline drenched lens for a second I can't help but find the class warrior in me leaping out with a 'Spanish Inquisition' flourish. May I put on record most firmly that I am no fan of any Labour minister and I think the government has pointed the 12 bore resolutely at its collective size ten clodhopper over this issue but still Ms Lovely's 'mugging' of the minister in front of the febrile media at 4 Millbank was quite simply devious and low.
Of course someone with the wit of a Ken Clarke would have batted her away far more effectively and Phil Woolas is no Ken Clarke. However, the general paucity of talent within the government can't detract from the simple fact that a posh blonde celeb is controlling the political agenda of the country and doing it with a cynicism that the average politician would be roundly pilloried for.
I'm not sure this is good for our political system.
Gosh, I think she'd say.
However, when I take away the Vaseline drenched lens for a second I can't help but find the class warrior in me leaping out with a 'Spanish Inquisition' flourish. May I put on record most firmly that I am no fan of any Labour minister and I think the government has pointed the 12 bore resolutely at its collective size ten clodhopper over this issue but still Ms Lovely's 'mugging' of the minister in front of the febrile media at 4 Millbank was quite simply devious and low.
Of course someone with the wit of a Ken Clarke would have batted her away far more effectively and Phil Woolas is no Ken Clarke. However, the general paucity of talent within the government can't detract from the simple fact that a posh blonde celeb is controlling the political agenda of the country and doing it with a cynicism that the average politician would be roundly pilloried for.
I'm not sure this is good for our political system.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
ER...REALLY, I AM GONNA GET MYSELF ELECTED. IF I SURVIVE THE CAMPAIGN
Blimey, careful what you wish for...I have always wanted to stand seriously for election and when I do the b*ggers expect me to work for it!
I am now the proud owner of a pair of shoes which disintegrated while delivering, so now when I am next cornered by some anorak at conference who tells me about his exploits in the 1973 Exeter Borough by-election, I can return fire with my own equally sad 'shoes' convo.
I now have to find time in the day to write one target and two squeeze letters, plus design a leaflet, although on that last one someone has sent me a wonderful local one which I intend to steal from, lock, stock and pathetic ex-Wimbledon footballer's cliche.
Add to that my new job being paid peanuts (although I don't think I can even afford bar snacks on what I am being paid by the esteemed person in question - no names, no pack drill) to work in an MP's office and offer some assistance in their patch and its getting so as my kids scream when I come into the house as they don't know who the strange man with the bags under his eyes is.
Why are LD MPs so blasted honest?! I could really do with a sleazy salary to rival the average Labour researcher or chinless Tory duffer fresh out of Eton.
Still, seriously, I wouldn't swap the experience for the world...Would you?
I am now the proud owner of a pair of shoes which disintegrated while delivering, so now when I am next cornered by some anorak at conference who tells me about his exploits in the 1973 Exeter Borough by-election, I can return fire with my own equally sad 'shoes' convo.
I now have to find time in the day to write one target and two squeeze letters, plus design a leaflet, although on that last one someone has sent me a wonderful local one which I intend to steal from, lock, stock and pathetic ex-Wimbledon footballer's cliche.
Add to that my new job being paid peanuts (although I don't think I can even afford bar snacks on what I am being paid by the esteemed person in question - no names, no pack drill) to work in an MP's office and offer some assistance in their patch and its getting so as my kids scream when I come into the house as they don't know who the strange man with the bags under his eyes is.
Why are LD MPs so blasted honest?! I could really do with a sleazy salary to rival the average Labour researcher or chinless Tory duffer fresh out of Eton.
Still, seriously, I wouldn't swap the experience for the world...Would you?
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