P2P Message

Normal service will be resumed shortly

Time has been a bit of an issue lately – Sorry

Feather Your Nest

Blears hires Formby to sing for her at her bizarre fetish parties

The MPs’ Expenses Scandal refuses to go away. In a rare interview, the Expenses Scandal said “No. I refuse to go away”. Gadzooks, is the world really that wrong? Well, we will tell you it sometimes is. Let us give you the news other weblogs refuse to publish…

The elfin and former Cabinet Minister, Hazel Blears, has been targeted by vandals in Greater Manchester. A gang smashed the windscreen of her Citroen Xsara Picasso and slashed all four tyres while she was out canvassing in Weaste. The Salford MP, who was at the centre of the MPs’ Expenses Scandal, dismissed the idea the attack could be the result of a vendetta, telling the Manchester Evening News it was “teenagers with nothing to do on a hot afternoon“. A hot afternoon in Manchester? Is the little gnome sniffing pixie dust?

We can reveal that Hazel Blears, or “Tinkerbelle of Fairyland” as she insists on being referred to, is purchasing the luxurious “Duck Island” belonging to disgraced Tory MP Sir Peter Viggers. For those of you who have missed the story, let us enlighten you.

Sir Peter Viggers said he felt “humiliated” after his expense claims were published in the Daily Telegraph. The £30,000 claim for gardening costs included the 5ft Stockholm duck house which acts as an island to protect ducks from being attacked by foxes. Whilst we applaud the man’s compassion for ducks, we fail to understand why this cost had to be borne by the Taxpayer. What the hell was he thinking of?

The new Chez Blears

Mr and Mrs Blears were said to be over the moon about their new abode. Mr Blears added “Our old house was a bit cramped, even for us”.

A very happy Mr Blears

Hazel said “We now have room for our entire family, including the dog. The dog used to have to stay outside all night, as he could not fit through the door of our old house”.

Hazel Blears’ old house

“Now we have the room to spread out. Even Grandpa Blears has the space to relax on the vast decking area that surrounds the entire house. I am as happy as a pig in shite” added Ms Blears.

Hazel and Grandpa Blears relaxing at their new summer house

To change the subject entirely, I must now report a very strange incident. Some of you readers out there will remember the 1988 film version of the classic tale of Baron Freiherr von Münchhausen, entitled “The Adventures of Baron Munchausen”.

Münchhausen supposedly told a number of outrageous tall tales about his adventures. According to the stories, as retold by others, the Baron’s astounding feats included riding cannonballs, travelling to the Moon, and escaping from a swamp by pulling himself up by his own hair (or bootstraps, depending on who tells the story).

Anyway, I digress. The point I am trying to make is that if you intend to watch the film, please ensure that you watch it yourself. Do not get a friend to watch it on your behalf. I did this, and was immediately contacted by the authorities, arrested and diagnosed with Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy.

Talley ho, I am off to the Blears. I have been invited for canapés and Pimms.

A Run For Your Money

The banks are at it again. They really are a law unto themselves…The Bank of England recently said that conditions in the financial system are easing, although the banking system is fragile and vulnerable to disruption.

Interestingly, the first two large banks to issue their six monthly results are HSBC and Barclays. They do indeed appear to be frail and vulnerable as they muddle along on their £9 billion collective profit. Heaven knows what the next six months will bring these breadline paupers.

It has to be said; the aforementioned banks did not in fact request or receive state funding during the economic crisis. However, they have benefited from the entire banking system being bailed out in general terms. Without such intervention, these two stalwarts of the banking fraternity would not have had a pot to piss in either.

These impressive results have reanimated the dash for large bonuses. Reading between the lines and extrapolating the data, this should mean that over 22,000 staff working at these two banks alone will be on for bonus enhanced earnings in excess of £250,000 each.

Yet businesses are struggling. Businesses are being starved of funding from their banks. The banks are keeping all the pie. Unless you own a business, you work for a business. Yes, I’m speaking to you! And, if your business collapses, you are out of a job and the bank has lost two sources of revenue – you and the business you worked for. So, I do not know where the banks think this one is heading.

To generate profit, the banks have to lend money and see a return on the money loaned. Without lending the money in the first instance, there are no future profits to be had. A bank then simply becomes a building with money in it. That’s not strictly true, but I won’t go into that now. All I am pointing out here, is that there is a certain “I want my cake and eat it” attitude that is rife in the so called “City”. The only politician speaking any sense regarding the current state of financial affairs is good old Vince Cable – the best Prime Minister the Liberals never had. His voice is a lone beacon of common sense and considered judgment, in these bizarre times.

“Talk to the hand, Vince”

Sir Grenville Palmer of the London Bankers Association is reported to have had an extension built on his Georgian home in Surrey. The extension, made of solid platinum, is said to contain three bedrooms, a library and a “trumping” room. The Trumping Room, a throwback from Georgian England, is where gentleman would retire from dinner and trump to their heart’s content, out of earshot from the ladies. These opulent, but often smelly rooms were the ultimate in sophistication – the navel piercing of their day.

Sir Grenville Palmer: “Because I’m worth it”

 “We now see some balance restored to the pecking order of society” said Sir Grenville. “I intend to employ a small team of dwarves to trim my moustache. You see, people don’t realise that I am an equal opportunities kind of chap. The tabloids only focus on the salacious side of my life. And for the record, my involvement with the slaughtering of nine hundred fluffy kittens in Gloucestershire was never proven. I was in the Cotswolds that day and I have witnesses”. At that, Sir Grenville Palmer blew a plume of cigar smoke into the faces of newspaper reporters and left abruptly, with one swish of his cape, he had gone…

Spare A Copper

“Spare A Copper” – The wartime Ealing Comedy starring George Formby who is hot on the trail of some dastardly fifth columnists and Nazi saboteurs.

Or “Spare a copper Governor?” – The pitiful plea of the destitute in today’s modern Britain. It makes you think…Perhaps we should take a radical approach to solving our economic blues? Maybe mix and match – match and mix. Create chimeras, thump genes together and ram-jar a funnel of chromosome pellets into plasma, mash up and stretch lumps of brain cake. Foreclose on sense and propose new sheets of white writing blocks.

Whatever that meant, we should do it – and do it in a crumb-free environment.

Alistair Darling, George Formby and the Third Man

I want to witness the Rt. Hon. George Formby MP Chancellor of the Exchequer, deliver the budget of his life whilst sporting preposterous black eyebrows. I want to see Alistair Darling leaning on a lamppost at the corner of the street, assuring people that it has “turned out nice again”. I want all short people to wear numbers, not just jockeys. I want Sugar Puffs banned. I want ducks to be paid for quacking. I simply want things to go back to how they were. I want my old cell back.

Sorry, I’m off my tits on drugs. I will try and compose myself.

I was reading that foreign banks might end the mortgage drought. Despite all time low interest rates, it’s not really getting any easier to find a mortgage. Here’s a thought – How about Alistair Darling, I mean George Formby, telling the banks they’ve got two weeks to begin pumping money back into the economy by offering reasonably affordable loans or the taxpayer’s money must be returned instantly? And do it! Send the bailiffs in, if necessary. You know? Like the banks do…

However, the Bank of China has announced it will start lending to British borrowers. Will foreign banks end the drought in finance? What is the Bank of China offering? The Bank of China has announced it will start offering mortgages here in the UK to both residential and buy-to-let borrowers. Apparently, the deals being offered are very attractive, only being beaten by the giant HSBC bank (a global bank, but still essentially a Chinese bank). Bank of China is also launching a buy-to-let loan at 3.5% above base rate, so it is currently 4%. This is likely to prove quite attractive. Is this the beginning of the end for British finance? Do you think the monarch has been offered another role?

Chairman Windsor

It is getting increasingly difficult to think of any area in which we actually specialise now. It is the basic, dare I say, vital services that are of concern to me. Somehow, we seem to have lost control of our water, energy, transport, manufacturing industry and now perhaps banking. Those are pretty big things there in that list. Who am I kidding? As far as things go, those are great sequoia trees with fecking bells on! I could never, ever see France allowing the same to happen to such vital aspects of national infrastructure. Vive la France. Here’s a short list of just some of Britain’s vital industries:

EON owns Powergen (German)
RWE owns Npower (German)
Centrica owns British Gas (German)
EDF (Électricité de France) owns British Nuclear Fuels (French)
London Electricity (French)
Iberdrola owns Scottish Power (Spanish)
HSBC Bank (The Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation)
Tata Steel (Indian)
Corus Steel (Indian)
Santander owns Abbey National and Alliance + Leicester (Spanish)
It goes on…

How do you let your energy companies slip out of national ownership? It beggars belief, it truly does. Dame Margret Thatcher should be wheeled onto the stage and made to explain her privatisation plans all over again. She sold this idea as some sort of universal panacea. She certainly sold something, and by that, I mean everything. The cupboard is bare.

Could you be a professional witch? An estate agent will swap selling houses to live in a cave after winning a £50,000 job as a witch at the Wookey Hole Caves tourist attraction. Carla Calamity, whose real name is Carole Bohanan, won over the judges at her audition for the job of the Wookey Witch. It makes you proud to be British.

How to earn a £1,000 a week in Britain

Turned Out Nice Again

“Turned out nice again” – The catch phrase of a certain George Formby (not to be confused with George Foreman of boxing and lean grilling machine fame). Ah, such optimism from Ealing Studios, and indeed the Met Office, for this is the “barbecue summer”.

The Summer of George?

With our nation’s propensity toward chest puffing, the grandiose predictions for our summers are becoming more and more bizarre. I am becoming a bit of a “weather bore”, every April I inform my friends and family of how it will all pan out, getting my predictions in before the Met Office makes its grand claim. A few years back, there was even speculation that the British grass lawn would become a thing of the past. Our summers were going to be so severe, even humble and hardy grass would not survive its searing temperatures. We were advised to plant more Mediterranean style and even consider growing orange and lemon groves. The British public lapped it up with a spoon; it did cause quite a stir in Scotland. However, I have never been able to square these predictions off, knowing a little about global warming and the Gulf Stream effect; I could never see the logic. It is little understood that as the planet warms, Britain in fact, could become cooler. I won’t go it to that now… Chief Meteorologist, Ewen McCallum, said the wet summers of 2007 and 2008 were highly unlikely to be repeated. He predicted: “This year will be much drier than normal. Get the BBQ out.”

Needless to say, whenever the Met Office forecasts a barbecue summer, you should be rushing to build yourselves large boats – especially if your name happens to be Noah.

Mr McCallum said at the time “After two disappointingly wet summers, the signs are much more promising this year. We can expect times when temperatures will be above 30C, something we hardly saw at all last year.”

And the animals came…two by two

“Have you packed the barbecue?”

I’m not going to get into a theological debate, but this “two by two” notion is a little far fetched, don’t you think? The pairing of animals, one from each gender, to enable each species to procreate and survive the catastrophe, is puzzling on some levels. For instance, what of a pair of ants? Or even a pair of termites? As you are aware, the standard blueprints of these little chaps have no reproductive organs. Banish two ants to the wilderness, away from the colony, and all you will produce is two dead ants.

Listen to this: “I took drugs to win medals” says top athlete Geoff Woad. Shot-putter Woad admits to taking massive doses of steroids – drugs banned in sport – to improve his performance. “He used to act up and pick on me” says his wife, “but now he’s stopped he’s much better, in our sex life and in our general life.” Look at him! Look at Geoff Woad! Jesus, this huge, thatched head, with its earlobes and cannon ball is now considered sane! Geoff Woad is prepared to step back into society and start tossing his orb about again! His head must weigh fifty pounds on its own! Imagine the size of his balls… imagine getting into a fight with the fucker! “I’m going to pull your head off.” “Oh no, please don’t pull my head off.” “I’m going to pull your head off, because I don’t like your head.”

Sadly, Geoff Woad does not appear to exist. However, aficionados of the classic “Withnail and I” will have just had a treat. Those lines were sublimely delivered by a young Richard E Grant with the precision and finesse of pure genius.

Geoff Capes, on the other hand, does exist. One can only assume that he was the template for this fictitious character in the film. Geoff Capes, former professional shot-putter and Britain’s Strongest Man – He went into business with a shop called Geoff’s Capes, which sold only capes. It soon closed. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

“I’m not sick, but I’m not well”

That ex Etonian dandy, Mr David Cameron, made me smile the other day. When Absolute Radio host Christian O’Connell asked him about his views on Twitter, the Tory leader said: “The trouble with Twitter, the instantness of it – too many twits might make a twat.” He had obviously spent some time thinking about some witticism in response to any questions he may ever be asked about Twitter.

I’m no expert, but I do know there is no such word as “instantness” and I do know the meaning of the word “twat”, but then again, I schooled at the other place – And the only reason I am allowing the word to go uncensored on my weblog is that I strongly suspect most moderators do not.

Incidentally, “twat” is from an ancient Viking word and is a vulgar synonym for vagina. It is an extremely offensive word in some quarters of society and totally misunderstood by others, perhaps for its similarity in sound to the innocuous “twit”.

Cameron compounded matters when he said “people were pissed off – sorry, I can’t say that in the morning – angry with politicians“, seemingly more critical of himself for saying the less offensive word.

Cameron’s aides pointed out that “twat” is not a swear word under radio guidelines and said he had apologised immediately for his latter comment.

Attempting to play down the incident, he added: “I was doing a radio interview and I’m sure that people will understand that.” Twat!

I understand that in a preamble to the interview by O’Connell in which he said Cameron’s press secretary, Gabby Bertin, “leapt out of her skin” after the questionable language.

In the exchange between Cameron and Bertin after the interview, Cameron said: “That seemed to go OK” to which Bertin replied “Yeah, apart from the language”. Cameron added “Oh, yeah, pissed, sorry about that, I’m really sorry”… “But” he said “people are pissed off with politicians, which they are. I think that is choice language well used personally, from my point of view”.

Bertin responded to Cameron “No, it was the twat”. David then insisted that it was not a swear word. She went on “It is”.

She privately added “I think he must be posh, where a lot of them don’t think twat is a swear word”.

Cameron on Twatter

Sing As We Go

Once again, Ealing Studios provides me with a title that encapsulates the thoughts of a disturbed mind. Or at least provides a segway into it.

Trouble at t’mill?

Songs, more specifically nursery rhymes, are deeply disturbing when considered in a sober state. I’m certain there are very good explanations and origins of most of our received rhymes, but on face value they are utterly absurd. For example:

Polly put the kettle on,
Polly put the kettle on,
Polly put the kettle on,
We’ll all have tea.
Sukey take it off again,
Sukey take it off again,
Sukey take it off again,
They’ve all gone away.

What the hell can that possibly mean? Is this the ranting of some opium fiend? Were ancient tea rooms the sanctuary of the clinically insane? The plot thickens, for the nursery rhyme is not as ancient as I had first imagined. It was composed and written in 1797. So it’s a mere pup as far as nursery rhymes go. The story has it, that a man wrote and published the lyrics to this nursery rhyme. The origins were based on the man having five children – two boys and three girls. There were constant arguments as the boys wanted to play “soldiers” and the girls wanted to play “house”. If the girls wanted to get rid of their brothers, they would sometimes pretend to start a game of “house” and Polly would put the toy kettle on. As soon as the boys left, Sukey would take it off again. Their father was so amused by this ploy that he set it to words and added the music.

So, in summary, it’s nothing more than a ruse or a distraction for repelling unwanted company or callers. I actually now use this ploy whenever I answer the telephone.

Hello, Pimlico 236…

Ah, the beautiful drawings of Kate Greenaway. As a child, I would study the detail of her pictures in nursery rhyme books for hours.

Here’s another strange fish:

Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer’s wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?

Once again, apparent lunacy. However, the origin of the words to the Three Blind Mice rhyme are, as you would expect, based in history. The “farmer’s wife” refers to the daughter of King Henry VIII, Queen Mary I. Mary was a staunch Catholic and her violent persecution of Protestants led to the nickname of “Bloody Mary”. Not everybody’s favourite drink, but I love a good Bloody Mary. Anyway, the reference to “farmer’s wife” refers to the massive estates which she, and her husband King Philip of Spain, possessed. The “three blind mice” were three noblemen who adhered to the Protestant faith who were convicted of plotting against the Queen – she did not have them dismembered and blinded as inferred in Three Blind Mice – but she did have them burnt at the stake.

Incidentally, another nursery rhyme which features “Bloody Mary” is “Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary…”

Dodgy girl, but nice drink

Of course, this is all a far cry from Gracie Fields in the Ealing comedy (Sing As We Go), where she plays a feisty mill girl trying out various jobs in Blackpool during the summer after her mill is forced to close down. After getting into some hair-raising scrapes, she has an accidental meeting with magnate Sir William Upton, whereupon she is able to start negotiations to restore prosperity and save her colleagues jobs at the mill. They don’t write them like that anymore. Blackpool, with its fine erection in honour of Monsieur Eiffel is again a far cry from Walmington-on-Sea. I mention this because I was reminded of aforementioned town, when I saw the map on the war room walls of direct.gov.uk

“Don’t panic”

I often wish that the Department of Health had read my weblog from the onset, perhaps I should drop them a link (and that’s not a euphemism). Yes that’s right dear reader, it’s Swine Flu again. As you are also aware, we are the best prepared country. Best prepared to accept it, spread it and generally give it a good solid base to work on. Now, apparently, we are shifting the public away from doctor to non-medical staff, who will deal with it “Call Centre” style. The general advice is to telephone these help lines, have your self diagnosed and get a healthy person to collect the purported remedy from a clinic. So, let’s recap. Take one healthy person who has now been in contact with a swine flu victim, and then send them out to infect a whole lot of vulnerably unwell people at the clinic. Thus, ensuring the airborne virus has a damned good foothold for its next batch of chumps. This sounds an awesome idea. You have to be a special kind of idiot to dream up these schemes. This isn’t your regular idiot plan, no sir, this is advanced stuff. This is pure Rampton grade.

The new Minister for Health

Totally changing the subject now, I’m certain my neighbour is wearing my socks. It’s something I feel I will never prove, but I’m watching him. One false move and he’ll be de-Argyled faster than a speeding trolleybus.

Anyone for tea?

The Feminine Touch

Damn you Ealing Studios, but a title is a title, and it’s the theme of today’s weblog.

This missive is definitely a tricky egg. I’ve already alienated my Formula One readership and now I risk losing my female audience if, and I cannot stress that enough, this is read the wrong way. Men are in a bit of a crisis – that’s hardly front page news you’re thinking. They’re in a kind of “damned if they do – damned if they don’t” paradox. It’s the small things that highlight this peculiarity – don’t open a door for a woman and you’re ignorantly rude – open a door for a woman and you’re a patronising throwback from the past. I simply hurl myself out of the nearest window when I see a woman approaching any form of doorway; it’s simpler but very painful.

Ealing Studios: The Feminine Touch

I will make no apologies for being attracted to, and adoring the female of our species. This is not in a patronising way; this is simply base instincts taking over. That’s just the way it works and that’s why we are all here as a species today. If, en masse, one generation had decided to think otherwise, there would be no next generation – simple.

Now, here’s the rub. I am beginning to wonder about the “I want my cake and eat it” philosophy that is permeating our culture. Equal rights for both sexes are not an issue, they were a painfully long time coming, but thankfully they’re with us and here to stay. That is a given!

I can broadly sum up my confusion in two statements: Sheila’s Wheels and Girl Power

These social and iconic entities are wrong on so many levels.

Let’s take Sheila’s Wheels for example. I’m certain that everybody has heard of this insurance phenomenon, solely aimed at a female only audience. It’s very, very pink and very, very girly. It’s also very, very sexist. Yet, I hear no outcry from the lumpen male populous. Trust me, if there was an insurance deal out there called “Bob’s Bollocks – Car insurance for real men”, it would provoke civil unrest. I cannot understand why this insurance company hasn’t been beaten about the head with a rolled up copy of the current equality legislation laws. I am overlooking the fact that they advertise car insurance for women drivers by showing three women standing up in the front seat of a car wearing pink ball gowns. I am also overlooking the adverts’ claim of women being the safer of the two genders when it comes to driving, albeit without having to use a steering wheel like their dumb male counterparts.

Equality in action: Look no hands!

On the Sheila’s Wheels website, they offer things like:

“Handbag cover up to £300, with comprehensive cover”
“Courtesy car when using our repairers, with comprehensive cover”

And here’s the cruncher “Female friendly repairers”. That will be the men, but only special men who have been carefully vetted for their subservient and friendly deference towards their women superiors. You see men are good for certain things, even if it is only the designing, planning, building, repairing, and in some instances buying of the cars. Apart from that, they have very little input and certainly are incapable of dancing and driving simultaneously.

Now “Girl Power”… When did this happen?

The progress of suffrage?

How did a noble fight for equality and suffrage, involving pain and death, end up as this?

From Emmeline Pankhurst to the Spice Girls: Girl Power

Poor Emmeline must be turning in her grave; this was not what she had in mind.  She didn’t break down the barriers of prejudice, chauvinism and bigotry for this. She had high ideals of women accomplishing the heights of human endeavour without fear of restriction. Her intention was never that women should emulate the worst qualities in men – laughing when they fart and taking the drink “Canada Dry” as a personal challenge. The point has been missed entirely.

The Women’s Institute in the 1950s

Today’s Women’s Institute?

Today, we have girls joining the Boy’s Brigade and the Boy Scouts. We never see a queue of boys waiting to join the Brownies or the Girl Guides. We see the concept of the “Gentleman’s Club” forced to open its doors to women, yet we still have a women only W.I. (Women’s Institute). We have “Woman’s Hour” on Radio 4, no mention of a “Man’s Hour”. The Right Honourable Harriet Harman QC MP is also Minister for Women. There is no comparable Ministry for Men (although that is a debatable point I do concede).

And how long does it take the panel on television’s “Loose Women” to get onto the subject of men? Check it out – at least 2 minutes maximum. These emancipated goddesses have their own show and totally blow it within minutes of the show being aired. After a brief introduction of whatever these crones cackle about, they are immediately onto the subject of how to attract a man. They talk about their curves (or lack of them), their boob size, their lingerie… my point is, the conversation goes in one direction only: Men and how to attract one. Come on girls, you have the forum, use it.

Independent women or arm candy?

Interestingly, I was checking out the history of women inventors and scientists. From Sybilla Masters in 1715 through to Ellen Ochoa in 1993, there have been a total of fifteen worthy of note. Yes, that is fifteen!

Whilst female forums and platforms continue with this pandering to a “Barbie” lifestyle, the Paris Hiltons will always outnumber the Marie Curies.

There is one underlying fact that is simply a universal truism – Women are attractive, men are attracted! That’s it. The sooner we simply accept that fact, grow up and accept the way we are hardwired together, the sooner we can all engage in the common pursuit of excellence.

Men have always worn two hats when it comes to the subject of women – one on their head and one between their legs. I am now speaking with the hat on my head and will say that there is nothing sexier than an intellectual woman. However, if there are any women out there, wishing to act like drunken ladettes down my local tavern in Pimlico – I am quite prepared to be disappointed and swap hats.

Where No Vultures Fly

To the outsider, Pimlico seems to be as calm as ever. But the underlying mood is one of dignified panic. Passports are being issued under the counter. Muted whisperings in a Burgundian dialect can be heard at the local patisserie. Yes, it’s Swine Flu fever again…

Is that a flying pig?

As you well know dear reader, Britain is the best prepared country in the world to deal with swine flu. None of your strict Chinese authoritarian quarantine rules here. No sir. That is why outside of Mexico and the United States, we have the highest incidence of swine flu on the planet. In our international news reports we see a group of British foreign exchange students whooping, waving and acting the fool from behind their protective glass screens. Wearing their protective face masks – it’s all a bit of a laugh, a jape to them. The Chinese are taking the possibility of a deadly airborne spreading killer virus infecting one billion of their fellow countrymen rather seriously; they don’t seem to be amused by the prospect.

Interestingly, I have been reading the swine flu advice for high-risk groups, including pregnant women and children, being underlined by the Government ahead of the launch of a new pandemic service. What’s this, a new pandemic service? The old one has been and gone? Let me tell you, the pandemic is already with us, so don’t wait too long to close the stable door.

The Department of Health said separate pieces of guidance were pulled together in a section of the NHS website because it “made sense to clarify existing advice and put it in one place“. What? You mean that isn’t already done? What exactly did they mean by “We are the best prepared country”?

Once again, we are reacting to situations rather than anticipating situations. The former, is the British way. The latter, favoured by others, is known as planning. Ho hum…

A spokeswoman for the Department of Health said it had not yet decided how the vaccines, which are expected to become available from next month, would be prioritised. Next month? Perhaps she should have said that we are going to wait and see how many people collapse and die before we can assess the dangers. Thank God somebody is on the case with all this, that’s all I can say. Anyway, enough ranting about such trifling matters… Instead, I propose a hand-picked team of experts should be created to deal with all national emergencies, and here is my dream team:

Norris, Doris, Boris and Horace

Given a free hand and an unlimited budget, I don’t think you realise what these four could accomplish.

I would love to hear any comments from you readers out there. I am recoiling at the thought of me talking to myself, so go on, and give it a go. It’s easy to do – simply click the “Leave A Comment” link.

Apropos absolutely nothing – Is it just me, or does Isambard Kingdom Brunel look harder than the Kray twins ever did?

Are you looking at me?

The Perfect Flaw

Once again, swine flu seems to be edging its way up the agenda. The casual attitude persists, more “porky pest” than “la grippe porcine”. Calmness in a crisis is one thing, bending over backwards to assist the virus is quite another.

I once read a comment from the MSN business manager Caroline Fry, as she returned from a holiday in Mexico, where she spent four days in one of the most affected areas. Here, she describes the scenes she witnessed and what it feels like living in quarantine.

“We were all over the place, to be honest. We started in Mexico City on Good Friday and we were there for four days. Then we toured round the coast and down to the south. From what I heard while I was there, swine flu had already broken out by then, but they thought it was normal flu, rather than something else. There was nothing in the press about it. We were going to go back to Mexico City for our last day, but we decided not to because there was so much fuss and people said everything was shut and we wouldn’t be able to get into hotels or restaurants.”

So much fuss? Not being able to book into a restaurant or hotels? It is heartbreaking. The damned inconvenience of it all! She, of course, forgets to mention the risk of becoming a harbinger of death upon her return. Hey ho.

Caroline Fry: No room at the inn?

The silly season is upon us. Religious fever has taken root in a rural Irish village after workmen claimed the image of the Virgin Mary appeared in the remains of a felled churchyard tree.

The supposed vision in Rathkeale, Co Limerick, has stumped locals who have come in their hundreds to pray and light candles in the grounds of Holy Mary Parish church.

Rathkeale apparition

Why don’t these people invest in a damned good hologram instead of relying on the usual misshapen vegetable approach of the former “That’s Life” television show? If that is supposed to be the Virgin Mary, I can show them where there’s a forest full.

However, it does not beat Diane Duyser from Florida. She sold a decade-old toasted cheese sandwich said to bear an image of the Virgin Mary. She sold it on the eBay auction website for $28,000. As if any other proof were needed of its divine qualities, she claimed the sandwich has never gone mouldy since she made it 10 years ago.

Diane Duyser and George III - Doppelgangers?

Personally, I was more amazed at the apparent reincarnation of George III, when I first viewed Ms Duyser. Now that truly is a miracle.

Do you remember me telling you of the harrowing tale of Mr Percival Greenwood and his purloined parsnips? Well, I actually bumped into Mr Greenwood in the Teapot, a local tavern. He was remarkably chipper, as he told me of his latest news. One of the parsnips that escaped theft has turned out to be an apparition itself. Yes indeed, one of Mr Greenwood’s parsnips bears a striking resemblance to the Virgin Mary. Apparitions are spreading faster than swine flu. However, everybody is happy. The bounder who took Percival’s parsnips has won first prize at the annual Pimlico Fete. Mr Greenwood has found religion and forgiven the larcenist and I am about to take an evening stroll through Pimlico Gardens.

Percival Greenwood: Life cannot be better

The Dictator

Adolf Hitler, Oswald Mosley, Andy Warhol and Max Mosley, what have all these men got in common? Give up?

The answer is the 78 year old billionaire, Bernie Ecclestone. Pourquoi? I hear you erstwhile Burgundians cry? Well, I will tell you.

The Formula One boss has provoked outrage by reportedly praising Adolf Hitler’s ability “to get things done“. The outgoing head of Formula One’s governing body expressed a preference for “strong leaders” like former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher and Max Mosley.

Mr Ecclestone went on to say “In a lot of ways, terrible to say this I suppose, but apart from the fact that Hitler got taken away and persuaded to do things that I have no idea whether he wanted to do or not, he was in the way that he could command a lot of people, able to get things done… In the end he got lost, so he wasn’t a very good dictator because either he had all these things and knew what was going on and insisted, or he just went along with it . . . so either way he wasn’t a dictator.”

What is it with short people and world domination? I believe it is known as the “Napoleon Complex”. Being tall myself, I have had no need to study in any great depth the psychological conditions that afflict the diminutive, so I might be wrong.

Ecclestone Towers?

Mr Ecclestone said democracy “hasn’t done a lot of good for many countries, including this one“.

He also said the West had been wrong to depose Iraq’s Saddam Hussein, saying: “He was the only one who could control that country.”  Actually, he might have point there.

Labour MP Denis Mac Shane, chairman of the all-party inquiry into anti-Semitism, said: “If Mr Ecclestone seriously thinks Hitler had to be persuaded to kill six million Jews, invade every European country and bomb London then he knows neither history and shows a complete lack of judgment.”

At this point, you are probably wondering where the late Andy Warhol comes in to all this? His connection is purely visual. Personally, I cannot tell them apart and here’s a photo to prove it. One of them is Andy Warhol and the other is Bernie Ecclestone – separated at birth or what?

Ecclestone and Warhol

Bernie Ecclestone admires Max Mosley, whose father was Oswald Mosley (leader of the black shirted British fascist movement), who in turn admired Adolf Hitler. Thus, the connections are complete. Andy Warhol was the red herring, not that there’s anything red about this lot.

I am probably going to alienate myself with the vast majority of my treasured and valued audience now. I am going to state that I have failed to see the entire point of Formula One, the love of Mr Ecclestone’s life. I can understand that a one-off event featuring a race between the fastest cars on the planet around a circuit might have some limited appeal. But, as I understand it, they have a total season of Grand Prix. Whereby, the exact same “set” of drivers races the exact same “set” of cars on a race track. The only variant in all of this is that they do it on a different racetrack each time, in Melbourne, Shanghai, Silverstone, Monte Carlo, you get the drift… It’s like being forced to watch the Williams sisters playing tennis every single week in a different venue. Eventually, it would seem utterly pointless. Besides, I never see the point of a “sport” whereby the only separation between the “winner” and the “loser” can often be a few hundredths of a second. Ho hum…

Anyway, I have been practicing hard for the Tour de France as you will see from this photo of me taken on the second stage of the tournament. I have the honour of the prestigious green jersey today; the yellow jersey continues to elude and is always several hundred kilometres out of reach.

Stefan III of Bordeaux

Let George Do It

Could George do it?

The plot is plausible. The Shadow Fiscal Party Boy, George Osborne, gets aboard the wrong yacht. Doh! He has a few too many pink champagnes with Lord Mandelson and before he knows it, he’s tapping up oligarch Oleg Deripaska for a few squillion roubles – and hey presto, on his return he pays off the UK national debt. Oh, I forgot to mention – and while he was at it, he got the very accommodating (and by now very drunk) Mr Deripaska to trade his yacht for one of our new billion pound Type 45 destroyers. Oleg did of course make up the financial difference, by throwing in the yacht and several hundred million roubles to boot. Everyone wins. George returns a hero and is made an honouree Labour cabinet minister and Oleg the oligarch sails home with one hell of a testosterone fuelled yacht, complete with its own sea to air missile system. “Wait till I show Vladimir” Oleg chuckles.

1 billion pound Type 45 Destroyer vs Oleg’s yacht

When Vladimir sees photos of Oleg’s new pleasure destroyer, he is suitably impressed.

Vladimir Putin is impressed with Oleg Deripaska’s new boy toy

Of course, this is mere Ealing Studios fantasy. I say that whilst scratching my chin.

What we need is the rapid return of old Johnnie boy, that is to say, a bit of John Maynard Keynes. Get rid of the troublesome and divisive policies espoused by the Friedman diehards. I always thought Milton Keynes sat uneasy with itself and then I realised that the entire town’s name is made up of two diametrically opposing ideologies. You’ve got the Milton Friedman lot pulling against the John Maynard Keynes lot. They’ve been bonded all these years like two south poles of a magnet strapped together by an elastic rubber band. Milton Keynes! It’s like having a village in Worcestershire called MarxFrancoville-upon-Severn. It doesn’t sit well.

Let Keynes do it?

What we need is a radical shift to Keynesian Reflationary Theory on an epic scale. A big illness calls for some big medicine. Don’t be shy about nationalising things. For goodness sake, we are putting more money into the railway system whilst it’s in private hands than we ever did when it was state owned. Most of the large private uber sectors are state owned all but in name only now. Go the whole hog. Capitalism has been a naughty boy; it needs its pants pulling down and its ass slapping good and proper.  Did I place this missive under “Humour” again? I must stop doing this. Now, where’s Benson gone? I need a pot of Darjeeling.

The Siege of Pinchgut

Ah, yet another classic Ealing Studios film being employed as the title of the day. To be honest, today’s post was going to be nothing more than a blatant promotion of the new pages that are planned for P2P. What else could one do with a title like “The Siege of Pinchgut”? It doesn’t neatly sidle into any particular topic. However, the fact that today’s post is an isolated promotion does make it a sort of island amid the sea of debate and witticisms. And so, Pinchgut Island it is…

G’day from Pinchgut

OK, on with the promotions. There will be two new features on P2P, one of which is already here:

P2P Essential Viewing

 

This is basically television programmes we all wish were actually available. Well, we at P2P do anyway, so there. The first complete day for BBC1 is already up and running, so take a look. It will be added to, but be patient, this stuff doesn’t write itself.

Zeitgeist

This will be a snapshot of things that are literally of the moment. What is the hottest Palm Court Orchestra around? Where are the trendiest Lyons Tea Rooms? That sort of thing. We will, however, be drawing a line when it comes to those new fangled colour photos. There are some standards to maintain.

Only kidding, or are we? Will it really be reflecting the zeitgeist, or will it just be full of things like this?

Benny Hill and Boris Johnson

Ah, simple comparisons between 1970s risqué comedians and well, basically modern risqué comedians. Sorry Mayor, you likeable old duffer.

You will have to wait and see.

The promotion is now over. Now back to plain old observing the ridiculous. Readers might remember my rant on Swine Flu, posted under the wittily named title of “It’s in the Air”.  No? Well read it – and that’s an order.

Apparently, the latest drinking from the “Crazy Well” fad to befall these sceptred isles beggars belief. Ever heard of “Swine Flu Parties”? Nor I, until it was brought to my attention this morn.

Parents, and I use the term loosely, are eagerly trying to get their children to attend “Swine Flu Parties”. The bizarre rationale behind this latest herd instinct, is that their little pride and joys will develop an immunity to the virus, conveniently overlooking death as one possible consequence. These erstwhile Dr Mengeles should really be made to wear special hats in public, to enable the rest of us to recognise them instantly.

Dr Jarvis, the chairman of the BMA’s public health committee, told the Today programme: “I think parents would want to take into account that the flu – although this particular strain is relatively mild for the most part – is something that will knock people off their feet for a few days and we are seeing appreciable morbidity, severe side-effects and sadly the occasional death. My advice to parents would be to take this into account before taking any child along to a flu party.”

Advice? This man offers advice before embarking on the party idea! Is he quite insane? Stronger language and emphasis is needed here:

He should have said: I hope the parents do realise that they WILL be charged with the murder of their own child. And that sir is a promise not a threat.