Bah. Humbug

Every year there's some horrible Rom-Com I'm forced to endure by some female or other. I find this form repellent in the extreme, and after 2 hours of cloying niceness I go looking for a puppy to kick. I was able to avoid Love Actually in the cinema by the simple dint of sending the chick to get the pop-corn while I bought tickets to Master and Commander. The Subterfuge was only dicovered when the movie actually started. This year it is The Holiday. I thought Love actually was bad, but it had the saving grace of a few good gags and Bill Nighy.

This horrible flick is even more emotionally pornographic than Love Actually, with which it shares several features but none of the good points. Men are judged in this genre only on their fidelity - no other features matter. None of the men had any character depth and were simply things for girls to coo over just in porn women are somthing for men to have sex with. When Jude Law's character admitted to bursting into tears all the time, I could hear the women in the audience go "ahhh". I was nearly sick, but I was even more disgusted with the bit when Cameron Diaz's character Amanda, met Jude Law's children - a revoltingly angelic brace of girls - and she asked him was he D.I.V.O.R.C.E.D. He replied W.I.D.O.W.E.R.

Now this is horribly manipulative of female pleasure centres. Jude Law is a good looking man. His character, Graham is lovably rougueish at first - the ideal holiday fuck (sorry women call these 'romances') - but is also good with children. Now this leaves the problem of demonstrating his fidelity. Remember this is the only charicteristic by which male characters in Rom-Coms are judged. If he's got children, there's another woman with whom he fell out - and that can't be allowed. So the writer cheerfully kills the ex off, which has the added advantage of leaving the man pleasingly vulnerable. This is the only possible justification in Rom-Com land for males to have unattached sex. Women can do it whenever they like because it is 'empowering' or something.

So... The American bit of skirt goes to the pub and gets pissed. Now I don't know how many yanks you've taken on a session, but bless them, they can't drink and yet no mention is made of Amanda spending the evening driving the porcelain bus with Graham holding her hair back, which would be the inevitable result of an american being introduced to British boozing. She gets pissed, but the sole reason is to enable Graham to say something along the lines of "I don't take advantage of pissed girls". Ahhhhh. It's alright for Amanda to take advantage of his inebriation when they first meet though.

Other than this box-ticking excersise, there's no dialogue. There are plenty of montages of people laughing and kissing to music, because creating any character depth takes talent and hard work from the writer, and why bother when you're writing porn for women? No. Simple skipping about in some picture-postcard piece of Jane Austin England with some soft strings in the background will do all the work of an actual script.

Meanwhile in America, the other pair march, with the directness of a panzer division into love with each other via battles with unfaithful exes, which allow them both to confront their emotional demons and "self-respect issues". The sub-plot of getting a nice old codger to have some self respect and go to his benefit concert (quickly arranged on christmas eve?) again is just dull.

So there we are. The plot moves along its two paths, both using the same tricks to make the men attractive and vulnerable and the women stong and empowered, towards the inevitable double date at the end, where the only question which I couldn't answer within the first five minutes was "whose house will it be in?" It's in Graham's - which was inevitable, I suppose as soon as the brats made their appearance.

Cue more soft srings and inexplicable laughter, and they all live happily ever after. Yeurrregh.

The SFO investigation into BAE Systems, at least as far as the Al Yamannah contract with the Saudis goes, has been kicked into the long grass at the Behest of the FCO, MOD and No. 10.

Apart from providing a brilliant investment opportunity (BAE Systems shares rose 5% on the day it was announced) this was unremarkable. Of course it was going to happen. This contract provides the financial viability of the Eurofighter Typhoon project and other weapons systems such as the Challenger MBT.

Now you may say that we could buy systems off the shelf, but there are certain differences between us and the Americans in how we go to war that is reflected in the way our vehicles are designed. Notably the boiling vessel, without which British Troops cease to function. The 120mm rifled gun reflects our use of HESH rounds rather than the Sabot rounds favoured by our NATO allies which preffer the smooth bore gun mounted on the Leopard and the Abrams. All British military vehicles use deisel. Such logistic concerns are not important to Americans who do Logistics bigger and better. Likewise the reliability and reparability. Americans abandon their tanks until after the war. We fix ours on the battlefield.

All this designe speciality cannot be supported by our 100,000 man, 300 tank army. So we have to export, and we're bloody good at it. This also ties shaky allies to us, prevents them fighting us (their kit would ceace to work very quicky) and subsidises our procurement. Obviously, politicos in non-toilet using nations need a bung or two in order to secure such vital contracts.

Who cares?

I am not, by nature a rebel. Indeed I have respect for Authority. So why do I live in constant fear of being found out? Call it paranoia, but every time there's a letter I fear that I've forgotten to pay some tax or other, driven too fast or otherwise fall foul of some bureaucratic box-ticking exercise, which results in a fine. Maybe the mooning at buses ("you can take our trousers but you can't take our freedom") following my Rugby-club piss up at the weekend was caught on CCTV and I'm about to be done for gross indecency. Maybe my tax-return is wrong and I'm going to get hit with a huge bill. I'm reasonably confident that I haven't knowingly done anything bad. I also know that if so minded, agents of the state could probably find some regulation I've broken somewhere.

This is the effect of totalitarianism. Alright, I'm not about to be hauled off to the Gulag, but I live in constant fear of being bankrupted by the state or forced to endure some Kafkaesque nightmare of an endless bureaucratic ordeal - and in certainty of punitive taxation and endless motoring fines.

Meanwhile, as the police have finally tracked me down to deliver a speeding ticket, the scrote who nicked some stuff from my car recently remains at large. As does the shit who stole my mobile phone (in full view of 3 police officers). The burglars who broke into my family home were never apprehended, and the bouncer who gave me a totally unjustified kicking (I've had a few that were justified) was never troubled by the police, who simply laughed at me. No motorist who knocked me off my bike in London was ever dealt with (usually driving unregistered, uninsured cars). In short the police's obsession with the motorist punishes those who actually obey the law. Those who don't register or insure their cars are safe.

I'm left with the suspicion that, because I respect authority, I'm an easy target, and those that take my property are not. Scrotes ignore the criminal justice system, because there's no sanction against them that actually has an effect. I pay my fines. I would attend court. A scrote won't. He's unlikely to go to prison for petty theft and vandalism so effectively gets off Scott-free for his nastiness. "Community service" makes him laugh - he has no job to lose. Scrote - perpetrated crimes are therefore never completely resolved as cases usually get dropped after Wayne or Lee fails to turn up to court for the third time.

Therefore the police, driven by targets deal with the crimes for which they get "a result", ie when the perpetrator co-operates fully. Motoring offences are good in this regard as it doesn't even require the filth to get out of their fucking cars. Policing the chavs is too much like hard work, so they don't bother. Why bother when you can meet your government targets much more easily by inventing "crimes" which could be dealt with by a stern talking to, and ignoring those that need deep preventative police work? Those who actually make life unbearable for the law-abiding are therefore effectively unpoliced.

Commons sense can, under no circumstances be applied. The reason is again, political meddling. Unless everyone gets it by the book, some minority or other will be able to present statistics to the effect that they are victims of "institutional racism". This is the only problem with their operations the police "service" will ever admit to. Have a look at Herts police's website. Endless "hate-crime" pages. Nothing about scrotes nicking stuff and petty vandalism, which let's face it, is what bothers people - of all ethnic groups. If you get mugged, the race of perp and victim is irrelevant. The victim feels violated and the mugger needs to be caught, but he won't be. It's all top-down PC induced thought crime, not the actual nitty-gritty of petty crooks living sordid lives, ruining their area for everyone.

And it is the poor who suffer from this the most.

The police have become an arm of the State more than at any time in the past. New Labour have been successful at putting political placemen at the top of police forces, and this is slowly destroying the public's respect for the boys in blue, and the utter pointlessness of the job destroys police morale. The Police Constables would rather be feeling the collars of crooks and enjoying the support of the respectable majority rather than issuing fines and suffering the loathing they currently induce.

This is before we mention the police's new totally excessive powers of arrest. You can now be arrested for swearing at a pig when they've got you with a speed gun - a section IV public-order offence. I certainly no longer believe that the police have my interests at heart, and it's doubtful whether I'd ever co-operate with them any more than I have to. I just don't trust them any more. There are policemen who actually believe that speeding and is attempted murder. Who think that the petty thieving scrote is the way he is because of "deprivation". Who think harassing the middle class is part of being fair on the poor and deprived. I'm sure there are good cops. I've just not come across one.

This assault on the basically law-abiding British subject has to stop.

I've always had a bit of a soft spot for Banana-face. He supported the middle way on hunting, and he seems like a reasonable man on many issues. He appears knowlegable and intelligent.

According to Iain Dale, he's also hung like a donkey and according to the Daily Hate-Mail, is currently shagging one of the cheeky girls (well done him). My problem with this is not one of morality. The Tories are traditionally the kinky party (Remember the unfortunate Stephen Milligan MP?), and the wierd-beards are stealing our clothes. Without the sexual deviency where will our sleaze come from in the future? Are the Tories to be another bunch of oleagenous new labour money-grubbing shits once they win an election? Clean cocks, unspanked arses, but snouts in the trough just like this bunch of mendacious bastards?

I certainly hope not, so in order to prepare for government, I want to see headlines with Tory MPs indulging in cleveland steamers with multiple ladies of the night. I want photos on the front page of the Sun with a shadow cabinet member dressed as a baby, being spanked by a woman in rubber.

New Labour has its fingers in the till. Other Parties seem to have their cocks in it, which I think is healthier for democracy - at least MPs then fear the press.

I've tried to sum up my anger at and frustration at the police, but others do it so much better.

Two months ago, my girlfriend dropped a birthday cake off in Ely, at a restaurant. As we pulled off, we turned a corner. She was pulling the seat belt across her shoulder, but there was a police check point. We were flagged over. On the spot fine. The copper grinned horribly, enjoying it hugely, as he wrote the ticket out for an "offence" that any self-respecting man would have handled by saying "Put your seat belt on, love".

Where are the police? Preying on the law-abiding. Tax collecting. Ignoring crimes that shatter lives, destroy peace, and get fathers killed and children imprisoned for being stupid young men with testosterone coursing through their veins - but nothing wrong that a clip round the ear wouldn't fix.

Where are the fucking police? Ignoring the yobs, and sitting in a layby on the bypass by the town where I live, right now, with special camera equipment to check for invalid tax disks on passing cars.

And it kills fathers, it ruins lives and it makes us hate them. And we pay their fucking wages.

Go on Read the Whole thing here

Blame the Irish Embassy, or the Portugese wine, or the bar owner. I think the Bishop of southwark's alright.

You may indeed feel sorry for the gentleman who was forced to endure an elderly man throwing his daughter's teddies out of his Mercedes (when confronted he replied "I'm the Bishop of Southwark - it's what I do"). The man in question understandably threw the good bishop onto the pavement in a less than gentle manner

When the Good Bishop awoke - he thought he'd been mugged. No.... just attacked by the Beer Monkey. And it can happen to anyone. I once went out for a quiet pint, and stumbled home dribbling drunk after just 4 pints. 4 pints??? I slept, completely immoveable as only a 15 stone dead-drunk can be by the only bog in the house, apparently waking only to commentate on my friend's motion. I have no recollection at all. Heaven only knows what can happen to a normally abstemious middle aged chap when he falls in with a croud which sit in two sub-sets of humanity not known for their tee-total behaviour (the Irish and Diplomats).

At least our Religious leaders aren't po-faced preachers of damnation urging their flock to wage holy war like some God-Squads I could mention. Maybe because of the fact they can get squiffy from time to time take the pressure off ones mind which can be caused by talking at length to someone who isn't there.

One of the Great Theme tunes. And Erin Gray in Wet-Look Lipstick and spray-on space outfits... nuff said really. Does anyone else think Buck Rogers in the 25th Century is great?

I found this over at John Wilkes. With the appalling abrogation of responsibility that charicterises this governement, it transpires that just as British Subjects can be dragged off to face trial for things as trivial farting on a plane or doing business in the Cayman Islands with Non-US counterparties, with no recipricocity from Uncle Sam - similar arrangements exist with Russia.

Now America has a legal system about as fair and balanced as our own. They are a long standing ally. They speak the same language (after a fashion). But Russia? RUSSIA!?
I mean. What is the fucking FCO playing at? Russian spooks can top a dissident in London, and not be extradited, but if a british businessman greases a few palms - he has to face porridge, Russian-style.

I've blogged about Britain's 'Independent' Nuclear Deterrent before. If there's going to be a bomb, at least one country that plays cricket* has got to have a credible deterrent, and it might as well have the bloody Union Jack on it. So the decision's been made. Good.

The Best thing about this is that it is another issue which demonstrates the sheer futile idiocy of most of the Labour movement. They Hate Trident, good schools, the Army, private enterprise, private property, privacy and excellence wherever it is found. They certainly don't want Britain to be free to act in anything as disgustingly practical as her own interest. They want Trident scrapped, but the grown-ups know best that a nuclear deterrent is an insurance policy against future threats. Despite this, there will be a tantrum in the nursery, perhaps even a good soul-saving rebellion where Zanu-Labour needs Tory votes to get a decision through... The Labour rebels voting with their souls (which are still stuck in the JCR of the provincial polytechnic at which they were 'educated') knowing they have no chance of stopping a decision that has already been made.

"It is a tale, told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing"

There's nothing I like more than watching fat, ugly, ignorant Socialists arguing passionately, wobbling their sweaty dewflaps with absolutely no hope of getting their (for want of a more pejorative term) arguments listened to or enacted. I like watching the anguish and futile anger of their pleas. I love their hopeless plaintive moralising. I like their indignant self-righteous interviews with the press.

And finally, when the rebellion is counted, I like to watch the dawning realisation that their childish, self-indulgent grandstanding has damaged the Labour Party's credibility with the public and only served to make a Conservative majority at the next general election a smidgen more likely.

*Yes. I know. England's abject batting collapse overnight shouldn't be honoured with the term "playing Cricket"

The Bank Of New York is to aquire Mellon Financial. I'm not really interested in this story. I just wanted to write the Headline, and pretend I was covering the City and Finance for "The Sun".

Apparently some Brits down-under are whinging that the word Pom is "deeply racist and offensive".

Are you offended? Neither am I. (I wouldn't drink the flavourless gnats piss though.)

Well "British People against Racial Discrimination" can just fuck right off. We Brits and Auzzies, Kiwis and Saffas - and problably the Yanks as well (thought they're slighly priggish and infra dig) should be allowed to hurl cheerful abuse at each other at sporting occasions. Hang on... That definitely leaves the Yanks out as they only play sports they win at because no-one else plays. Wankers.

So Poms, Jocks, Taffs, Micks, Bread-stealers, sheep-shaggers, voor trekkers and, in the context of the six nations, 'Frogs' and 'Wops' too can hurl national nicknames at each other followed by the words 'arsehole', 'bastard', 'dick-head', 'loser', 'tosser' and possibly 'cunt' too. These words can be preceeded by the words 'cheating', 'whinging', 'lying', fouling, or if aimed at a ref or umpire 'blind'. No real offence is meant and none should be taken.

Why would the Aussies listen to a minor group of sanctimonius kill-joys who want to remove the only thing (pom baiting) which holds the Australian nation together? I certainly wouldn't listen to a group which can't even come up with a memorable acronym when presented with the option to drop the word "people" to become BARD. How about Britons Against the Word POM (BAWP) or Britons Against Slanderous Taunts & Australian Racial Discrimination (BASTARD)?

The same kind of humourless nonce tried to ban 'Spitfire' beer adverts like this because they were offensive to Germans. Eventually the German abasador spoke up. He said he thought they were funny. Because I love 'em, here they are again.

The Australians have a name for joyless pricks like BPARD and whoever writes the Mayor of London Blog - and that is 'Whinging Pommie Bastards'. They're right. I would like to remind Australians, however that the Ashes are a very small trophy. Especially When placed next to 'Bill'. I'd also like to remind the aussies that they don't like it up-em and cry for mummy when it gets a bit rough. There's still fight in this series yet so lets hurl cheerful abuse at each other whislt there's still cricket to be played.