You Huns! Accepting defeat with grace ain’t your bag, eh?
Lewis caught up with Nico and passed him on the final circuit but Nico didn’t like it, caused a little prang and kept on driving with a damaged car. The stewards penalised him, not Lewis.
German fans then booed Lewis on the podium.
And today it will be the yellow-clad Aussies’ turn to show decorum on Centre Court when their potty-mouthed hero meets Andy. Will Nick manage it? Cliff-hanging stuff.
Help me out here.
As far as I know, nobody has a good word for Tony Bliar – do they? Think British and foreign gubmints, the British Labour party, the unions, the ‘British establishment’, the Kremlin, the White House, etc. ad nauseam.
So why do the meeja continue to present his BS utterings as news? Who is pulling their strings?
To be clear: no, the UK does not wish too pay him megabucks to negotiate Brexit. No, we do not need him to explain how serious a matter it is.
And frankly, why does he still believe anybody wants to listen to him?
I blame the Vatican.
For every match the players at Wimbledon are issued with two towels. These are the property of the All England Club. Post-match the deal is they are returned to the nearest ball boy. Not so. The players walk off court with them. Stealing in plain sight. The used towels are then given to friends, family or auction. You can never be too wealthy.
I’ve written before on the despicable practice of the players towelling off then hurling their sweat-drenched towels to ball boys between every point, passing on all their germs. I’d now like to chastise their manner when “asking” for the towel; they point at it: fetch. The slave children then serve their masters with this greasy piece of fabric.
Why don’t the players ask the child, nicely, to hand them their towel? Do they think our young are stupid? The bright young things are more multi-lingual than their ancestors were at that age. I’m sure they would know a smattering of Serbo-Croat, a slice of Swiss, a chip of Czech, and, naturally, be faultless at French.
Our ball boys are too nice but it would be good if at the end of the contest they employed their linguistic skills to volley abuse at the robbers. Stop złodziej oddać nam nasze ręczniki kurwa.
Complete this argument:
Some Old Etonian politicians have read PPE
Some politicians are prats
Therefore……
Answers please on spoiled ballot papers.
Troubles rarely come singly, especially for prima donnas like the England football team that got what they deserved yesterday.
May I point out that more than a few of the Chosen will return to their clubs to discover the world has changed since they left for France?
At Chelsea, Italy’s impassioned boss, Conte, takes charge. At Man City, the legendary Guardiola arrives and at Man United, Mourinho pitches up. If some of the Nice failures think Iceland were tough to face, they ain’t seen nuffin yet. The fact is that any quality the Prem League boasts is down to foreign players; the locals just take the benefits – for now.
And in case anybody is feeling smug about Wales, they are going to get a lesson in quality from Belgium very soon. Gareth cannot save them.
It will be an interesting few days, nay months!
“Unlike the truest kind of genius, he did not grow artistically”
These words of critic, John Simon, on the shortcomings of the career of Tennessee Williams could be applied to the musical form that is self-proclaimed as classical. Classical, my baroque left Bechstein pedal.
The classicists are stuck in a time warp. They listen, over and over again, to the same pieces of orchestral music; a blaring maelstrom of noise. And they party like it’s 1799. Honestly, some of the ghastly tunes sound as if they’ve been composed by a deaf man. And the titles are boring New York street numbers: Mozart’s piano concerto no.25, Haydn’s symphony no. 76, Bach’s cantata no. 211, Balfour’s bagpipe quartet no.1872.
Before the ink has dried on the ballot papers, the great unwashed idiot brigade is already getting itself in a lather (but not soap).
‘We only wanted to protest, not to leave.’ ‘We want a second vote.’ ‘The Bleavers lied’. Ad nauseam…
And to cap them all, Cleggover vows to campaign in the next election to reverse the decision to leave. I’m pleased that HM the Queen will have a chance to ask him for three good reasons why.
I’m forgetting, the end of June is traditionally the Silly Season in politics. The poor dears are in need of a few months’ break now, to return with batteries recharged, to create chaos once again.
The former PM of a tiny country the size of Iceland is the head of the European behemoth, whose monstrous stumbling around the social, political and financial worlds has razed the continent’s landscapes and lined the pockets of thousands of petty bureauprats.
Now the UK has dared to advise him where to plant his sceptre. His response? ‘We didn’t like you anyway, it won’t be a friendly break-up, so get on with it right away.’
That, cherished colleagues, is a world-leader speaking! Can he even imagine that most of his member states would prefer an amicable transition, to protect their mutual interests? No, he has never lived and worked in that world. So good luck to him and them.
Tonite, folks, it’s the Viking festival of Midsummer (yes, a bit late but blame the Christian hijackers). But the Sun god is out of sorts, it seems – widespread thunderstorms are expected to disrupt the planned bonfires and booze-ups and continue into the weekend. So the Sun will bounce across the northern horizon unseen by human eye.
And what else do the gods have in store? Spooky.
Boadicea's Chariot 
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