Triumph for the West

I really cannot let them get away with this - the idea that NATO and the western world have defeated that nice Colonel Gaddafi with air power which would have achieved nothing without thousands of rebels on the ground all firing off their kalashnikovs into the air. (Where do they get all that ammunition so that they can waste so much of it?  When I was out there I only had ten rounds for my rifle and they were often inspected in case I had been selling them.)  But what riles me is the idea that we are making Libya safe for freedom and demuckracy just as we did in Iraq and Afghanistan.  They might get a little demuckracy by being able to change their governments without bloodshed but they will be subject to the tyranny of the majority who are enslaved by magical superstition - in their case the Islamic religion which allows very little freedom.  Bad luck to the rebels.  I hope that Dave does not get praised for this as he was on holiday during most of the action.

Peaches are still good: 

Gals around here are just like leaches

Play in your orchard and steal your peaches.

I dressed him all up so he could look good,

Now he flirts with all the gals in my neighbourhood;

And now I'm tired of fattening frogs for snakes.



I think Rosetta Howard sang this song. Does anyone know?

Au Revoir to Gaddafi

Oh dear, that nice Colonel Gaddafi seems to have been overwhelmed by a mob of rioting rebels with some air support given by the British taxpayer at a cost of a billion pounds. ( I wonder if this includes depreciation as our poor old airplanes will have to be replaced soon.) I wonder where the Colonel can be. Perhaps he is staying as a guest with his old friend Tony Blair in one of his houses. We have not tried to capitalise on his misfortune but allowed the French, Germans and Italians to do oil deals with the rebels while we wait our turn.  How generous we are when we are broke.  Never mind.  We do not need oil because all our energy will soon be produced by those handsome wind farms even if we cannot afford it.

I think that I am going to give Leonardo (coming soon) a miss.  Somehow he has never excited me and the last time I saw "The Last Supper" it was almost invisible.  All the same he is admired by the critical few.  Actually I much prefer Veronese's version of the same subject covering a whole wall in a room at the Accademia in Venice.  Complete with feasting disciples and monkeys there is also a portrait of the artist leaning against a pillar.  When told by the Inquisition that it was impious and had to be altered he simply changed the name to "The Supper At Emeaus".  What a man.

Google Comes

I once asked Google how I could make an atomic bomb.  Google after all knows everything.  But all I got was a recipe for a cocktail.  Nevertheless Google does know almost everything. There is no need for reference books of any sort - dictionaries, biographies, geography and any other -ography.  All of them are stored in this search engine that has pulverised the opposition and come out on top.  Now all the knowledge that anyone needs is stored in a small computer.  The next step is to develop an implant so that we can all have one and carry it about as a spare brain.  This is not pie in the sky or science fiction; it is almost here.  In this way it will be possible for people to know nothing about anything but at the touch of a button know everything about everything. "Oh brave new world that has such wonders in it"

Dave is watching the Test Match at the Oval.  What a shame that he and the schoolboys are not doing as well as the England team which is building up a big total.  Instead he has troubles abroad - Afghanistan, Iraq, Libya - and at home - riots, unemployment, no growth - that he has not got the guts to tackle.  One thing he is is sure to regret is the recognition of the rebels in Libya.  When that nice Colonel Gaddafi has gone the country will dissolve into anarchy for a time to emerge as yet another Islamic state.  I feel a letter to him is due - after all it is only two years ago that I told him to abjure the fifty per cent rate of income tax and now he is hinking of doing it.  This would require action and Dave does not do action.  So it is bad luck for us all.

Gangways

I am surprised that we have not heard much about Anthony Burgess' book "The Clockwork Orange".  It is now forty years ago that he wrote it, telling of a future when gangs of drugged teenagers roamed the streets indulging in GBH, rape and murder. Stanley Kubrik  made it into a film and then had it withdrawn because he thought it might influence idle youths.  The book itself is brilliantly written in a sort of private language that the central character has invented.  But it was repulsive and I am not sure that I ever finished it.
However we have made a society in which it is impossible not to have gangs of young men in the streets which are much pleasanter than their overpopulated homes - homes that are made horrid because the politicians pay people to have children. And the more they reproduce the more money they get. So it is much more fun for testerone-charged teenagers to be outside with compatible friends, frightening pedestrians and taunting the police force which we are now beginning to believe is corrupt as well as no good at controlling riots.  Further thoughts will follow.

Mentioned in Despatches:
I am greatly pleased to see that the little town of Garyan - forty miles south of Tripoli - is still holding out against the rebels who are trying to kill that nice Colonel Gaddafi.  There it was that I once mixed drinks  as barman in the officers' mess. (The drinks were served by Sudanese waiters.) I was excused boots and parades and lived rather well.  Surely it was one of the cushiest skives in the Middle East Command.  

A Riotous Time

This is no country for old men/ The young all up in arms....or something like that.  Anyway I am too old to bang on about the prevalence of moral relativity or the materialistic society or any other excuse the left can dig up for what is really just deliberate bad behaviour.  But I would likke to say something about the police who are coming in for some flak now.  Whatever that fat fool Prescott might say we do not want more police.  We could actually do with fewer police, more intelligent police, better trained police who will get on with their job which is to protect the public and maintain the rule of law.  Do they spend their time doing too much paperwork?  That is because they are no good at doing paperwork. They should be given secretaries.  The last time I made a statement to a policeman he took it all down in pencil on a small notebook.  Perhaps things have changed a bit.  I certainly hope so.  There is after all nothing to worry about as Dave has promised to start squirting water out of cannons with only twenty four hours notice.  Luckily he is battle hardened and his experience of almost defeating Gaddaffi with expensive bombs will be useful to him. And now I must stop thinking about civil unrest and find something else to brood about.

Downloading  CDs onto my trusty laptop I come across a turrific song called "Barrel House Bessie from Basin Street" What fun Jazz used to be!  Now you can study it at one of our so-called Universities.
Oh, my Gawd!

Cary Grant

Betsy Drake was once married to Cary Grant.  When she was asked if he was gay she replied,"I don't know.  We were too busy fucking for me ever to ask him."  This from the NY Review of Books.

The Interpretation of a Dream:
A strange dream: A parcel was delivered and when I opened it I found only a small square photograph frame.  What can it mean?  Perhaps it is I meant for me to tell me that I am a square with nothing inside me.  Surely not.  What about Sigmund himself?  He certainly had nothing inside him except a load of rubbish, but with his obsession about sex he was probably not square.  I know!  It must be Dave.  He is certainly square as his efforts to appear trendy are just embarassing.  And there is nothing inside him except the next speech on soon forgotten policies. (I have not heard him banging on about the Big Society for ages)  And why is he lolling by a pool in Tuscany?  This is an ideal time for him to tell the members of the Eurozone that they are all mad and they should listen to him.  It has all been an obvious mistake from the start.  But he won't because he is a square with nothing inside him.   

Barbara Pym

The re-issued Barbara Pym novel, "Civil to Strangers" is a delight. Do not read it unless you like a beautifully written English comedy of manners seen from a special slant viewing  a world full of ineffectual men controlled by capable and charming women.  Her reputation declined during her lifetime when she could not find a publisher until she was rediscovered by Philip Larkin and Lord David Sizzle.  But I expect you know all this.  If you don't then you will find all her books on Amazon.

This is a work of welcome escapism from thinking about the follies of our lords and masters who are now all on holiday after their latest attempt to paper over the cracks in the eurozone. Another dismal failure.  Dave and Boy George and little Cleggy are all out of the country. Does it matter? They are no good at anything except projecting images of themselves as "statesmen".  They might as well stay on hols while the financial world crashes around the idiots who voted for them. Help! I am one of them. Back to sleep, perchance not to dream. 

Rain in the Night

Woken by rain which we ought to welcome so will do my best.  Fed up with politics as everything is going wrong and will get worse. Is this a sympton of old age?  But my grandhildren will live to be a hundred with pensions destroyed by inflation.  What a dismal legacy. We must take short views and think happy thoughts.
Virago have reissued an early Barbara Pym novel, 'Civil to Strangers' and it is winging its way towards me while I lie in bed thanks to Amazon. (I have more or less given up Heywood Hill since the new Duke was so nasty to John Saumerez Smith). Elegant comedy of English middle class life, I hope.  (I am not doing well with the Kindle and will be happy to have a book in my lap again)
A good summer for fruit.  Raspberries and strawberries and now really luscious peaches.

The nectarine and curious peach

Into my hands themselves do reach;

Stumbling on melons as I pass,

                                                     Ensnared by flowers, I fall on grass.

There. Now I feel better.

Tuscany again

Small delay in blogging due to computer glitch.  Meanwhile poor Dave can't even get an Italian waitress to carry three cups pf capuccino to his table. No wonder he can't control his cabinet.  As he is nothing but a slick PR man he seeks popularity at all times when if he had any sense he would realise that this the time to get tough with the Lib-Dems who dare not face a General Election.  I should have gone into politics.  It such an easy job with no qualifications required, no medical checks and only the occasional interview to impede progress to the top.  Anyone can do it.

Tune in to Sky Arts 2 tonight to hear Barenboim playing Beethoven.  He is doing this every evening this week ending with the Emperor Concerto on Friday.   I suppose we should thank Rupert M for this marvellous series of programmes. He must have done something good.