I wear sloppy Joes’. Only one at a time, of course. Nothing wrong with them.
As the weather was even good for rocket launching I decided to give my 1969 Trabant 601 a blast. That Antonine wall needs breached.
Durham is nice, good for the eyes apparently, and a full tank would get me there.
Ahh Durham, home to a place called Barbara Castle, I’ll drink to that. I put my seat belt on and went the distance. Safely, of course.
The Trabi broke down just like a satellite dish. I’m in a bit of trouble here and a bloke that looks like Ilie Nastase is giving me the evil eye.
Stay home. Stay safe. Nuff said.
Not being much of a political animal I steer clear of the circus that is British politics. However, a comment by the current PM, Boris Johnson, comparing Jeremy Corbyn with Stalin made me pause for thought.
Labour propose to introduce a 4 day working week in the next ten years. All good and well but are they imitatating one of the Soviet Dictator’s doctrines.
In 1929 Stalin had a calendar moment and eradicated Saturdays and Sundays from a normal week. And then there were five, as it were. Workers worked four days a week on different rotas and got one day off. That’s one way to boost productivity.
Labour aren’t saying but does this mean, in the near future we must proclaim…
Saturdays no more.
Sundays no more.
M’Dad always flipped wi’ a farthin’ –
An old un, ‘e told us. ‘E knew,
‘Cos it ‘ad old Britannia on one side
And at t’botttom the year twenty-two. Continue reading “The politics of childhood”
Only a couple of weeks ago I read A Legacy of Spies, published last year; as ever with le Carrè, having to concentrate hard on the intricacies of the plot while drooling with appreciation at the vibrancy of his descriptions, both of people and places. And now I have almost finished re-reading Smiley’s People – written 40 years ago and as intriguing as ever. Continue reading “The book is better”
I, I, I must be getting old
There’s a fire and a fury
driven deep into my soul
It’s the helplessness that comes
from being under your control
Roger Taylor, The Unblinking Eye.
Anytime something bad happens the politicians bring out their sympathetic faces and they all read from the same script. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard them gravely say “This is a terrible tragedy.”
I’m racking my brain to think of any other kind of tragedy. A good tragedy? A funny tragedy? A favourable tragedy? Sooner or later some MP will utter “a tragic tragedy”. Can see it coming.
I can’t help thinking I’m an egalitarian. The word seems to connote more or less what I stand for, morally speaking. It cements the aims of all those who want to lift our species out of the life old Hobbes described as natural: ”solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short”. But ever since the Americans crystallised the principle – ‘all men are created equal’ – plenty of gainsayers have ensured that some are more equal than others. They have used pseudo-science, pseudo-religion and pseudo-economics to justify their belief in the subjugation and humiliation of other races and creeds. Not to mention politics where we witness so-called social democrats identifying members of their clubs who have unsuitable views about equality.
Of course the best strategy for my opponents is to deny the principle – which in their book gives them licence to deny their hypocrisy, their dressed-up inhumanity, their sense of innate superiority. Their tribes just play their cards more skilfully, they’ll say; and devil take the hindmost. But I can’t hope St Peter will deal with them in the end; so many of his adherents agree with their flawed conclusions. I just want them to know they can’t fool everyone with their arguments.
Lost a fiver today.
It’s alright, don’t feel sorry for me. It was my own fault. Fell out my pocket. Not got a Clouseau where it went. Like Cato the Younger I took this hit with a resigned Hardy look at the fourth wall and remembered the famous Roman quote by Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis “What’s for you will never go by you.” Though I’m sure it was originally in Latin,
Quid Leatherus testamus numquam Cheerioyou.
What we need to know is whether you’re going to meet our African correspondent in the flesh. And if you do, will you reveal anything to help us guess how real his Chariot persona really is? Intriguing stuff, eh?