Sunday, 5 November 2017

The Rolf Harris Care Home for Political Perverts

No longer a subject for political debate, Brexit has now been replaced by Sexit.

Gone are those mind numbing references to getting a ‘Good Deal For Britain, ‘ now replaced by Billy Bunter style remarks like, ‘I never touched her bottom, and when I did, you never saw me!’ What is revealing is how the British Government might be brought to its knees, due to a bit of hanky-panky in the corridors of power.

The definition of unwanted physical contact, and even intrusion into people’s private lives, has changed a lot over the last fifty years. So has the definition of a sexual assault. Depending on their libido, and in their defense, it is hardly surprising that some older men and women are occasionally tempted by a mild flirtatious look, as most young people often are in in bars and clubs. What is important, is to realize that one persons sexual assault, is another’s passionate liaison. It is also important to recognize that one politicians sexual assault, is a journalist or cynical MPs political opportunity.

The Terrible Twins

It has often been said that politics is, ‘Hollywood for ugly people.’ Despite the media’s valiant attempt at glamorizing politics in general, most of the MPs who attend the House of Commons are not swans – as some might imagine themselves to be – but ugly ducklings. When Robert Kilroy Silk left politics, and the aging Dr. David Owen repaired to the other place – together with the speaker TV Topper Betty Boothroyd – most of the remaining chattering and wittering MPs became candidates, for Madam Tussauds Chamber of Horrors.

The Beautiful People

When I was a young man, I used to put my male chums into three categories, in terms of their prowess in chatting up women. Firstly, there were the beautiful people – they just had to stand there, in order to be surrounded by girls – which included pop stars, and footballers. Secondly, there was the ‘chat up merchant,’ or those fortunate enough to come from the Nigel Havers Charm School, who relied on humor and a well practiced repartee.

But finally, there was a breed of Lothario who came from ancient times, who were known as knee fumblers. A pathetic bunch – who acted like half witted schoolboys, or girls most of the time – they simply couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

Knee fumblers could always be heard – secreted away in deserted barns or stables, at country dances – due to excessive squealing, and noisy remonstrations emanating from some darkened enclave. With expletives and noisy remonstrations like –

‘Get your hands off, Tristian, you really are a pervert,’ they were often overheard with amusement, by fellow dancers and revelers alike.

Later the two lovers would immerge, with beaming smiles and red faces, to declare their engagement to all those present. This was how love and marriage, was fostered in the countryside, and almost like a page from a Thomas Hardy novel, was the prospect that most lads had who came from the provinces. But,what about us townees?

Billie Bunter

Well, we were different; more sophisticated for a start – no haystacks in Kensington – and relied on cool moves on the dance floor, and when you could hear someone speak due to the noise, a great line in chat-

“Your teeth are like the stars, do they come out at night?”

I feel sorry for knee fumblers, for that is what most of these political and celebrity alleged felons are, not just because they seem pretty unsophisticated to me, but because they might also be lonely, isolated and unhappy. Rather like many policemen are in crime fiction novels, always away from home and family for most of their time, there must be moments when they misread other peoples intentions, but not exclusively.

What passed for normal sexual behavior in the sixties, does not pass muster today. We all know that, and although some of us don’t care anymore, nevertheless there are those who have never got past the knee fumbling stage in their romantic quests. But, conversely, there are also those who are experts in the old ‘come on!’ Perhaps it would be wise for all of us all to sing-

“Keep your mind on the driving, keep your hands on the wheel, and keep your snoopy eyes on the road up ahead?”

Rather than singing, “God Save the Queen,” because, at least, Her Majesty won’t have to send you to prison!

Tuesday, 31 October 2017

Brinkmanship & Boredom - By Patrick Brigham

The Immortal words of Norman Throades – known fondly as the ‘Bard of Berkshire’ – will forever ring in the ears of present day, and often bewildered Brexiteers. As we patriotically watch the BBC Parliament Channel, at Prime Ministers Question Time, and in order to absorb the reassuring words of dear Theresa. But, how close to reality is it really?

So much like the ‘Theater of The Absurd,’ and in particular ‘Waiting for Godot,’ by Irish playwright Samuel Beckett, one wonders if anything will finally turn up, or are the representatives of our noble nation in fact a bunch of ham actors, and out of work film extras.

Sticking religiously to the script, the familier mantra about ‘getting a good deal,’ still echo’s around the Houses of Parliament, to a crescendo of patriotic and Tory avowal. Almost as though Parliament is trapped in Dr Who’s Tardis, one wonders if the House of Commons is presently floating around in some distant galaxy, or trapped in a deceptive political time warp?

But does the question which Norman Throades quite rightly asks – in his scintillating 19th Century poem – simply relate to political perspectives? Or, to put it in layman’s terms, do our worthy UK political representative actually know what is going on in the real world? Because, having recently watched this program for a whole afternoon, for me at least, the British Parliament can only be described as an entertaining, inward looking mutual admiration society.

Mainly comprising elegant and amusing accusations – followed of course by often inaccurate, but confident rebuttals – the real question is, is the present cabinet running out of dialogue, or are we all running out of patience?

There was a time when the general public was quite rightly regarded as gullible, ignorant if not foolish, and that – for want of any outside propaganda seeping through – what was reported in the British newspapers or announced on TV by pompous cabinet ministers, was both truthful and reassuring. But not so today.

Ever since the referendum, that bloody man Trump, Farage and ‘The Fat Boy of Peckham,’ Boris Johnson, have littered the media with their contempt for the truth. These days we are becoming familier with expressions like alternative facts, fake news, and out of date – or hidden true government statistics – all of which is calculated to disguise the truth.

I often imagine that, somewhere in the middle of the English Channel, there is a giant invisible filter, its sole purpose being to distort, and to turn almost any legitimate EU reportage on its head. Or, an enormous cracked mirror, which only shows the British voter, a warped, and back to front reflection of the truth, where ministers even accuse their opponents of being traitors, if they stand against them in any way. This is hardly democratic, is it?

In a normal society, lies are tolerated, but never truly accepted. And so, I can’t help believing that the present British cabinet, either wants you to believe it’s questionable Brexit propaganda, or may actually believe in it themselves. These days there now seem to be two truths: carefully reported Brussels truth, or heavily filtered and often corrupted Brexit truth. So, perhaps it is high time for a change, and rather like anything which is split, the present UK government obviously needs to be replaced.