My fifteen year old granddaughter has her GCSE results – excellent stuff, luv!
Over here, the silence of the beechwoods will be shattered by the attentions of 200 bikers who can’t resist temptation to camp nearby.
But summer has also appeared!
So we’re off for the weekend. Seeya!
The fragrant Valerie Hobson has always been cast as a victim, the ever-loyal wife of the errant politician, John Profumo. And good-time-girl Christine Keeler has been presumed guilty of being a conduit for state secrets between Profumo and Ivanov, a Russian spook.
But soft! See today’s Indy. It was Valerie who allowed Ivanov access to the study where secrets lay open to view.
Fascinating innit, when the evidence is finally revealed.
…..of sparring with unworthy opponents.
What about the disintegration of the Labour movement back home?
The party will soon revert to its grass roots policies – public ownership and the redistribution of wealth – which Bliar abandoned, in favour of personal fame and fortune.
Do we care? Yes, if it means alliances with other madcap parties to name but the SNP.
Let’s face it, most sane voters reject ideologs. Practical politics works better.
No matter if our Caledonian prophet of doom manages to jinx our lads and they snatch defeat from the jaws of Nike, nothing can spoil the memory of 60 all out. A new meaning for down under perhaps. The day Extras top-scored. Enough ducks for a feeding frenzy. Let’s fill our white boots.
If I could see Backside’s face, I know he’d be smiling. ‘Happy happy happy – you can’t take that away from me….’
Help me out here.
Thousands of ‘migrants’ are congregating around ugly Calais, apparently destitute but equipped with wire-cutters and determined to get into the Tunnel to Blighty.
OK so far?
Why? What’s wrong with Spain, Italy, France (etcetera ad nausem) where they entered the fabled EU?
Send answers please to a jobsworth in Brussels who will reply after les vacances, peut-etre.
Mayor Boris has proved his proletarian potential by giving his goodwife a ride behind him on his bike.
But the only acceptable second seat on a bike is the croggy – or for the posh lot, the cross bar. The lady is then safely embraced and close enough for canoodling. Ladies’ bikes are useless for the purpose of course, which explains why modern females ride fellas’ bikes.
My pic shows Boris offering a couple of ladies a ride.
But some news can’t be allowed to pass without comment.
At last a gubmint has found the stones to do what has been crying out for attention for decades.
Supernaturalists use their ‘faith’ to ‘justify’ everything from female genital mutilation to polygamy and the cruel slaughter of animals for food. Frankly I don’t care about their weird practices in general but I care very much when there are innocent victims, either human or animal who/which are given no choice in the matter.
Hurray for commonsense and b*gger the protestors! Yes, you too, rabbi!
More in sadness than in anger, I’m dragging Backside out of the glare of the front bench and joining the rest of the cherished colleagues (most of you in fact!) who also serve by only sitting and wha’ever.
I have deleted all but a a few of my posts too, realising that therein lies no wisdom or wit but hot air enough to fill several of those big’uns.
So kindly do your worst! And IF any mildly interesting posts emerge from the mists, I might drop in and play at gadflies! Tataa.
Boadicea's Chariot 
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