Happy and glorious

My attention was drawn to an article in the Torygraph this week, reporting that Liz refused to confer the knighthood on Mick Jagger, and got some other parasite to do it. She apparently disapproved of his anti-establishment views (later exemplified by his note of congratulation to Bozza on winning the mayoral election).

This is the woman who, a couple of months ago, entertained members of the “royal” family from Saudi and Swaziland. While, therefore, we might applaud her disapproval of a prancing, self-absorbed, overblown performer who has produced on average one decent song a decade these forty years, we might also question her choice of dinner guests. (Although anyone who has dined with Phil the fascist over the last 60 something years on a regular basis might be considered to have already scraped the bottom of the barrel in question.)

What planet is she on? That is not a rhetorical question, as I can provide the answer: the wrong fucking one. If, on the other hand, the cost of transporting her and her cohorts to Neptune proves to be excessive then what should have happened is that the recent ridiculous display of stupidity on the Thames should have started at Putney, and gone down river, turned left in the North Sea and continued to their new home at Svalbard. I would even be satisfied with her being allowed to buy a bijou bungalow at Bexhill on Sea – “Dunwavin” -  together with whichever of her family she could bear the sight of – Phil, Ann, Pippa Middleton and her arse, Kate Middleton and her arse (William).

I can already hear sounds of dismay and outrage from the brigade of soppy, silly sods who pressed their smelly bodies up against each other to cheer the spectacle of a deranged octogenarian and her throwback kin standing in a boat. “What would we do without her? What about the tourists and the income they bring?” I can hear them asking. These questioners are probably the same dim bunch who read the Daily Mail each morning and are incensed by the vast numbers (7) of illegal immigrants. Can they not see that inviting folk who are dim enough to spend their annual leave gormlessly gawping at a load of old buildings are hardly prize captures? Is the gene pool not already so shallow that the risk of any of these meandering morons breeding while they are over here is not worth taking?

Of course all of this frenzied celebration is beauteous to Slimy Dave and his mates. Heaven only knows what new ways he will find to shaft the underprivileged while they are distracted by the jubilee and the bloody Olympics. Bloody Olympics. I have an idea for the opening ceremony – let’s set up a table in the middle of the athletics arena and have Bozza and Bollocky Coe dine on McDonald’s and Coca Cola until they fucking burst. I would watch that.