Thank you for indulging me these last two weeks, while I told you all about George. I think that it is perhaps time to give him a rest, as he has some jolly important decisions to be made for him, and could do with a nap.
However, I find myself still focussing on politics and have found a new interest in said bed of dung. Hardly a day passes when I am not to be found COLing (cussing out loud) at one form of electric medium or another. Only yesterday you may have observed me, had you been in the vicinity of the A325 at Buck’s Horn Oak, using all sorts of ungentlemanly language at dear old Liz during her little speech. I know that these displays, particularly in public and in Jane Austen Country, are unseemly and serve no purpose other than to stabilise my blood pressure, but it is nice to have a reason to get up in the morning.
I calmed down, and even while watching slimy Dave on the electric television, I thought he did quite well, considering*, I remained tuned in despite drifting in and out of consciousness during old Kaufmann’s ramblings, but finally succumbed to the desire to stave off the grim reaper when Beith tossed in his two penn’orth.
Then I got quite cross again with Boris and the Brian Haw story. For the benefit of those of you of a foreign disposition, I shall briefly tell you something of Brian Haw.
Brian Haw is a loony. He is the sort of fellow most of you would cross the street to avoid. However, for the last eight years or more he has undertaken a protest against the UK’s involvement in war(s) in Iraq and Afghanistan. His protest has been conducted close to parliament. Latterly he has been joined by several more pacificists, hippies some or all of whom may also be loonies, who have formed a small encampment in Parliament Square. Like most of you, I would probably not want Brian and his mates camping in my garden, however sympathetic I may be to his views (although I have allowed Tom to stay at my house on more than one occasion. Call me sentimental). Boris has taken the view that the Square was being damaged.
What is distasteful about this as much as anything is the timing. While his new slimy friend was across the road telling the nation about a new era of politics, in which freedom and fairness was to be at the forefront, Boris instructed Inspector Knacker and his men to clear a demonstration for peace and freedom in a less than sensitive manner.
This morning, (Wednesday 26th) without a trace of irony, we had that prize rectum Gove telling us that in order to eliminate bureaucracy schools could apply to become academies, but in order to do that needed to produce a “business plan”.
Congratulations, Gove, you tit. I thought I had long ago given up all hope of education in this country exciting my passions, geared as it is to produce 4 trillion unemployable business studies and marketing graduates each year. But no, here I am feeling the urge to shout “fuck off” every time I see your hideously deformed visage or listen to words flow through your just-begging-to-be-throttled neck. A school is not a fucking business, you twat. Fuck off.