Guilty Men

The Centre for Policy Studies which was Maggie's favourite think tank has just published a booklet castigating the "Guilty Men" who have taken us ever closer to the European Union without any regard to the wishes of the public.  A cross party alliance of the arrogant elite who have happily given away so much of our sovereignity, they have consistently lied to achieve their ends.  So the booklet becomes a sort of Rogues' Gallery from Edward Heath of dreadful memory to John Major who just wanted to appear nice.  This was when the idea of us having closer and closer ties to Europe gave the Europhiles  a warm feeling of self satisfaction to show that they had overcome their feelings of patriotism in an effort to form in the end a United States of Europe.
 Poppy Day is coming and I wonder how many of those who fought and died for our country did so because they wanted us to take orders from Brussels.
The easiest way to get a copy of "Guilty Men" is to telephone 020 7222 4488 and ask for Kate Jones who will be happy to oblige.

Following as much as I can bear of the party conferences, I have heard nothing about Europe or the Eurozone.  Thus do we drift ever further from our own ability to make our own laws.  Dave is so busy these days, poncing around on the world stage, that he has almost disappeared from view.  He might have something to say at the Tory conference next week but I doubt it.  This is the time to put the boot in to the Lib-Dems in his cockeyed cabinet and start fulfilling some of his promises on loosening our ties to Europe. Come on, Dave I'm right behind you. 


  

Party Party

What a miserable lot the Lib-Dem coalition partners have turned out to be.  Vince Vicious the Business Secretary whose speech was designed to discourage all inward investment, horrible Huhn who is spending billions on useless wind farms and dangerous Danny Alexander who is right behind Vince in his ludicrous belief that we shall get out of our economic mess by soaking the rich all came together to display their incompetence and naivety.  That was before little Cleggy made a long boring speech which was just a lot of platitudes and cliches strung together for the benefit of an audience of sycophants who gave him a standing ovation.  After that I quite look forward to the Labour Party conference. (Watch for the telltale cloud of tobacco smoke over the Trade Unionists' section)

How wonderfully relaxed on TV was the Russian billionaire who owns the Independent.  So rich that money is of no concern to him. How lucky are those who work for this innocuous paper.  All togther now to the tune of "The Continental" by Irving Berlin:

The Independent, the Independent;

It,s full of bullshit that masquerades as news.

The Independent, the Independent;

It's for people without any views.

War on the Rich

So Dangerous Danny Alexander is recruiting 2,250 tax inspectors to inspect the incomes of the rich.  What a good idea.  But Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? must apply.  He will have to pay them handsomely unless they become corrupted by the riches they encounter in their work.  Clearly he will have to recruit another 2,250 to inspect the inspectors, who should only be allowed to work in pairs.  But due to the high rate of sickness absentees in the Civil Service there will have to be another backup group of 2,250 insepectors so that on any day two can do the actual work wile the third one calls in sick from  the high living necessary to his calling.  Well done, Danny Boy.  You have created employment and spent tasxpayers money that you have not got in any case.  But soaking the rich comes first.

"Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy" turned out out to be two hours of baffling boredom.  Everything was brilliant because we have been told that it is.  When the mole was dug up he said that he fled to Russia for aesthetic reasons.  (Think of Anthony Blunt). But why oh, why cannot anyone in a spy film who enters a room at night time turn on the fucking lights? Answers to this question can be given to me during my morning dip in the Serpentine.

Health and Safety

I can't stop thinking about those miners trapped two hundred feet underground and knowing that they were going to die.  What a dreadful fate.  But why do we still have to send men down mines to bring the coal in the ground to the surface?  Surely we have the technology to devise some sort of robot that will do the job for us.  This is just the sort of research and development that the Government should be sponsoring. The fact is that no one cares about coal any more now that we are all excited by the prospect of scattering useless wind farms all over the country.  And where do the Health and Safety busybodies come into this?  They are the organisation that has stopped firemen from climbing up ladders and a policeman from going to the rescue of a drowning boy.  From their point of view no one should ever go down a mine again and that is all right by me.  We should leave it to machinery and start at once to develop anything we want. 
Nobody wants to go down a mine and I remember my friends in the army - especially the Welsh ones who would sign on forever rather that be demobilized and go home to the villages where the only work was underground. I hope they all lived to a ripe old age.

Come Home Dave

Back home to blogging after what Edith Wharton called, "A Dip in the Country" to find all NATO's weapons and Dave launching cruise missiles which we can't afford to replace have not yet killed that nice Colonel Gaddafi.  Perhaps he has gone to stay with his very dear friend, Nelson Mandela, of whom nil nisi sed bonum (even Dave could translate that).  We need the Colonel alive, forever flitting around the African continent, to keep the Libyans together. We should find him and supply him with the necessities of life - food, water and kalashnikovs.  He could hold out for years.

The "season of mists and mellow fruitfulnes" is truly upon us but I am still looking for plums - there is supposed to be a surplus of them.  Waitrose? No. I want a kindly old farmer by the roadside to sell them to me (he might have damsons as well). Perhaps the old farmer is waiting for a subsidy.  Meanwhile Keats' poem sticks in the mind.  I only hope that his use of the word 'twitter' has not been spoiled.

Hedge crickets sing and now with treble soft

The redbreast whistles from a garden croft

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.   

Dave Marches On

Dave is actually chairing some sort of conference in Paris to sort out the Libyan problem. (We must do our best to keep that nice Colonel Gaddafi alive and free to frighten the people of Libya who are only united by hatred of him.  If he is killed Libya might go the way of Tito's Yugoslavia.)  It would be a good idea if Dave came back to sort out some of the problems that he has at home.  The "cuts" have had no effect on the mounting deficit and he is still borrowing three billion pounds a week to add to the burden of debt we are leaving behind. The Lib-Dems in the cabinet are out of his control and Vince Vicious keeps on popping up with new ideas about taxing the so-called rich.  The really rich will always escape his clutches and any extra burdens will fall on the hard pressed middle earners.

No more blogging for a time while I go away for a couple of weeks.  I leave you with this quotation: "The Erewhonians are a meek and gentle people, easily led by the nose and ready to offer up common sense to the shrine of logic if any philosopher should rise up and convince them that their
institutions are not based on the strictest principles of morality."  (I must pass this on to Iain Duncan Smith whose mad pursuift of social justice will cost us dear.  There is no natural justice (why don't I look like George Clooney?) so why should we need social justice?

Food for thought while I am away.