Hate Britain

Strange to think but I actually feel a pang of sorrow for Ed Miliband. Well it’s actually more for his Dad but ‘Red’ Ed is implicated in it somehow. Seems like Britain’s favourite brand of toilet tissue, the Daily Mail, has been slurring Ed’s Dad’s name claiming that he hated Britain. Couple of issues here: one, if some newspaper started slating my Dad I’d be pretty pissed off too, and two (makes four, keep up these lines don’t write themselves y’know) us here at _Paul_And_Land_ reckon there’s a bath-tub more people who aren’t so keen on Britain. Let’s have a fumble about in these concepts and see where we end up.

First up, my Dad. Now if I want to call him a grumpy old sod, that’s fine because I know my Dad, I know his ways and yes, he can be a grumpy old sod. But he can also be the most amazing human known to all humankind. He’s my Dad so don’t question his unfounded dislike of Claire Balding, his constant referencing to Doncaster Rovers, his ability to fart theatrically or his taste in polyester because if you do, I’m going to get arsey. Same with young Miliband. I’m going to guess that Dad Miliband had his faults; an unfounded dislike of Claire Balding, constant referencing to Doncaster Rovers, an ability to fart theatrically or poor taste in polyester being possibilities but, yes but, he was still young Miliband’s Dad. Go ahead, young Miliband, kick some arse. Hard.

Now, hating Britain. Well y’see, more people than you can imagine probably hate Britain right now because of what it has become. Masses of people want to come here because it is a place they see as safe, tolerant and caring. And yes, indeedie, there are loads and loads of people who want to ensure that this ‘ere place continues to be safe, tolerant and caring. But they are not politicians. Nor are they policy-makers. Nor are they Circle, Serco, G4S or Richard ‘Sodding’ Branson. Get the picture?

And, in the same way that my Dad has an unfounded dislike of Claire Balding, these people; politicians, policy-makers, the CEOs of Circle, Serco, G4S and Richard ‘Sodding’ Branson, have an unfounded dislike of anything that resembles a caring society, a society that is tolerant and that looks after its young people, its elderly people and its people that struggle with problems. Unless there’s money to be made out of it. And that’s why I hate Britain because our souls have been ripped out of it and have been replaced by the money grubbing bastards who would probably sell their own fathers rather than laugh at their unfounded dislike of Claire Balding, their constant referencing to Doncaster Rovers, their ability to fart theatrically and their poor taste in polyester. Think on, we’re going to fart theatrically in the direction of politicians, policy-makers and the CEOs of Circle, Serco, G4S. With a bit of luck Richard ‘Sodding’ Branson will be overcome by fumes. Tosser.

This is what we need!

Grumpy Bastard

So it’s Sunday and there’s a whole bunch of people walking about.  Waving flags and banners.  Shouting.  Carrying on.  Not that the BBC would tell you as it seems to have slipped through their fingers.  What do we pay these bastards for?  Bruce Forsyth and a bunch of overpaid arse-holes jigging about whilst the country steadily goes to rack and ruin.  More overpaid bastards.  The country is over-run by overpaid bastards and they’re all telling the poor bastards how to run their lives.

So anyroad, all these folks walking about, from one place to another.  That’s going to change the world, ain’t it?  People walking about, some with cameras, some with sandwiches, some with blisters and changing nothing.  That’s the honest truth.  And they’ll all be saying “Vote for the other side and they’ll change everything”.  But they won’t, they all do the same: become overpaid bastards who tell the poor bastards how to run their lives.  Or jig about.

Yeah, it’s Mardy Day in _Paul_And_Land_ and mardiness is abounding.  Don’t expect any change soon.

 

LONELINESS IN TWENTY FIRST CENTURY BRITAIN.

LONELINESS IN TWENTY FIRST CENTURY BRITAIN.

Please read this, it speaks volumes.

Despondency

So there he is, sporting a poor moustache and overalls, the man in the sodding Honda adverts. First he’s cutting the grass or drilling a hole in cheese or something less meaningful. Then he appears on a push-bike which morphs into a moped followed by a motor-cycle. And so it continues until he appears, still clad in overalls and sporting the moustache normally associated with a mature walrus, in a speed-boat. Or something like. And all to the strains of “To dream the impossible dream, to fly the impossible thingie, to go where the brave dare not go”. Indeed. And then, just as Mr Overall’s moustache attempts to depart his top lip, as he rides a C70 into the near distance we get the strap line: The Power of Dreams. Yes, thank you Honda.

“What the blind buggery are you on about this time”, says a small voice at the back of the room. And well it might because, for whatever reason, some people have dreams that do not involve Honda or any other Corporation wishing to make themselves the focus of our attention. Do we really need a high powered motorcycle or a TV the size of a small African republic or the smell of a footballer’s missus to help us achieve our dreams. Frankly, no. A barrel with which to cross oceans, a ready supply of pink wafer biscuits to utilise as a building product, a decent hospital equipped with stomach pumps, heart monitors and other things that keep us ticking over, that’s the stuff of our dreams.

And why not? What is so wrong with such lunacy, why should the Bransons of this world be the only ones to be celebrated for such things? “Ooooh, there’s that Dickie Branson going to moon again”, the Daily Express or any number of other mainstream purveyors of news will holler. “Isn’t he a card?” No, he’s a publicity seeking hippy with dreams of world domination, that’s what Dickie’s about.

But if you can take a moment away from Honda, moustaches, Dickie “Bloody” Branson or all the other celebrity types smelling of rabbit hutches or engine oil or vinegar, then spare a thought for all those others with dreams of barrels and wafer biscuits and decent hospitals. They’re equally justifiable. Honest.

Sharkey and George

Apropos of nothing in particular, there is an episode of Happy Days (the rather hip and trendy hit show from back in the day) in which The Fonz (the rather hip and trendy hit show star from back in the day) leaps over a bemused shark clad only in a leather jacket and swimming trunks. The Fonz (the rather hip and trendy hit show star from back in the day) that is and not the shark (who was not the rather hip and trendy hit show star from back in the day but only a regular shark). This is where we get the famous show business saying: “Don’t put your daughter on the stage, Mrs Worthington”. Or not.

And likewise Music Hall Comedy Starlets: McBride and Dale, have been leaping, salmon-like, over the large, predatory sharky type thingy in Brighton. At some conference. With ITV. Or someone, somewhere. The railings look lovely.

McBride was doing a piece to camera (we know all the words here in _Paul_And_Land_ and cue the action) being interviewed by an interviewer (see, we don’t lie. All the words) when a chap wanders past with a dog. Said chap (rather like the Man from Porlock) had a message to be delivered and he was not to be dissuaded from this task. Dale, the well known political hack and chaperone of well known political toss-bag McBride, was having none of this and quickly disrobed to reveal his alter-ego, Control-Freak. Control-Freak was on his task like a Jack Russell on an ankle, as our hero (clad in a woolly hat) was wrestled to the deck and our hero’s dog barked in support of the woolly hat wearer. Kent Walton was sadly missed.

McBride continued professionally. Or nonchalantly. The right to protest is not his bag (unless it means sending unprofessional e-mail). And thus the professional, political classes jumped the shark. Unless they have a role to play in undermining or in the selling of their latest scribblings, they really don’t give a hoot about the concerns of the real folk, woolly hatted or not.

Maybe we should give their comic book antics a miss. Just a thought.

Leaders Lives

Barely has the paint dried on Country & Western and already people are demanding more.  Are you people quite, quite insane?  Still, who are we to argue with the vagaries of the great North Lincolnshire public.  But now we hear that that some local film-makers are contemplating knocking out a low-budget horror flick.

Where’s Jack Nicholson?

Buoyed up by the horror movie success of recently deceased internationally reknowned starlet Karen Black, our very own horror Liz Redfern is possibly contemplating a part in said production.  And she’s got the winning look has our Liz; the look of fear in her eye, the grinning rictus of death, the badly slept-in hair and only a tea towel for company.  Lizzie baby, get yourself a hat and you’ll be a star.

Hell, who’s the creepy looking woman?

Country & Western

Indeed, yee-haw, as the Country and Western lovers among you would holler.  And who’s this crooning into the microphone all Loretta Lynn?  Show some imagination would you; okay, she’s not dark-haired.  Nor is she a Coal-Miner’s Daughter.  Or particularly talented.  But she’s our own, our very own, put your hands together for the vocal talents of COUNCILLOR LIZ REDFERN!!

A one, two, three, four:

Have they caught my good side?

We can feel the tears welling up.

Shock Tactics

Right on time, the Godfrey Bloom show hits town. Like the Boris Johnson of UKIP, he’s shooting his mouth off and wafting his arms in a show designed to raise hackles. But old Godfrey needs a side kick: this kind of nonsense is too much for one idiot. So, right on cue, Michael Crick of Channel 4 news pops up and questions whether racism exists within UKIP. The response is comedy gold.

It’s pretty bloody obvious that UKIP aren’t racist Michael, they’re nationalists and isolationists which implies something but not full on racism. There may be racists in their number but as an organisation, nah, they ain’t racist. Plain as the nose on your face. And anyway, its still not our cup of tea.

But for his outburst, Godfrey has lost the whip. BIG feckin’ deal, every TV is buzzing wiith the story, every newspaper will cover the story in full colour, Radio 4 will be feigning outrage. Oh, and it’s the UKIP conference, Nigel will be giving his own balls a extra hard lick this morning as he considers Godfrey’s future. The House of Lords?

Well, What a Carry On.

Well it seems like the local Parliamentary chappie is causing a stir again. If he’s not being voted as the eighth worst Tweeter then he’s offending the local news purveyor with his excessive spending on stuff. They may have a point.

Spending a bit of our hard-earned on a few sticks for the office would be all well and good during his first year of tenure and acceptable. After all we can’t have his staffers sitting around on orange boxes, can we. But two years in and shelling out the best part of two grand is a bit much. And justifying the expense by saying it’s all about Elf an’ Safety, well no. It is, to use our favourite phrase, taking the mince. And then we have the somewhat pricey lunch, etc, bills. C’mon fella, stick your finger on the pulse, people aren’t buying all that boloney. Pop to your local supermarket and knock up some sarnies like the rest of us. And if you must have prawns, get a bag of prawn cocktail crisps.

Talking of travel, which we weren’t, if it’s part of your job, then it’s part of your job. But now it seems that the Parliamentary types are using such things as travel and stuff to indicate how utterly saintly they are. “I don’t claim a single penny for travelling around my constituency”, some will cry. As if that makes them a better person. No, it doesn’t, it makes them hypocrites because travelling around their constituencies is a part of their job. In the same way that sending letters is a part of their job.

On the subject of letters: employing the Missus. Not a good idea. But when has that ever got in the way of screwing a few extra quid out of the public. Just because it’s allowed doesn’t mean it’s justifiable. And him, a man of the Church.