Lest we forget!
With all the chaos and carnage in the Middle East right now, and, the stupidity of a Home Secretary fanning the flames of hatred at home, I thought it timely to retell the story of my Grandad, Albert William Jones.
Albert fought in the First World War in the Palestine campaign taking him from Gallipoli in 1915 through to Constantinople, only returning home in 1919.
During that campaign he fought alongside Australians, Kiwis, Indians, but also alongside Palestinians and Arab irregulars fighting under the command of Lawrence of Arabia. Together they fought the Turks and the Germans.
He broke the law!
He. Broke. The. Law.
in fact, he broke his own law. I don’t care if he was ambushed by a cake or if the party only lasted 10 minutes. He did this when people were dying. He did this when people were isolating. He did this when people could not visit the people who were dying or attend the funerals of those who passed.
And. He. Lied. To. Parliament.
Repeatedly. And not for the first time. And not for the last time.
He. Is. Without. Honour.
He is shameless. He is shameful. He should resign.
He. Must. Go. Now.
It does not matter that there is a war on in Ukraine. The French are holding a Presidential election right now. Churchill replaced Chamberlain in 1940 under the threat of invasion and capitulation.
It does not matter that there is a cost of living crisis at home. One largely the result of his policies I might add.
It matters that he is the first sitting Prime Minister that broke the law. It matters that he is a liar. It matters that he is a buffoon.
All Tories should hang their heads in shame until he stands down or they force him out. Do not forget Partygate. Do not get distracted by the scandal of deporting refugees and migrants to Rwanda. How low can this country sink? As long as Boris stays we are sure to find out!
I was never a fan of Margaret Thatcher or her policies. But in this regard she was correct.
Boris. Must. Go.
And Rishi and Priti and Dominic too.
Let’s bend the knee.
Does President Trump have a 666 tattoo?
We are not even halfway through but the year 2020 has felt pretty apocalyptical so far.
Remember the fires? Remember the floods? Remember the storms? Remember the wars? And, who can forget the Covid-19 pandemic which continues to ravage the world. So many dead and counting.
It is as if the Four Riders are charging across the world as a portent of the Last Judgment or Armageddon. The end of times.
And in the midst of this an American police officer kneels on the throat of George Floyd – a black man suspected of using a counterfeit twenty-dollar bill – until he dies. And now the statues of the oppressors are beginning to fall. Everywhere. Tear them down.
When all of this is over let’s hope we have done the right thing. Let’s hope the wealth has been redistributed fairly. Let’s hope that key workers are rewarded with more than a rainbow-coloured round of applause. Let’s hope that families and friends can come together once again and be stronger than before. Let’s hope we care more for each other and for the planet we share. Let’s hope we are better prepared for the challenges still to come.
Let’s all bend the knee in thought at least.
And, let’s get Trump out……
Lockdown!
“Oooh oooh oooh oooh lockdown!”
Well it’s Day 1 of an enforced staycation – my employer has asked everyone to take at least one week during April. In the middle of the great Covid 19 pandemic of 2020. The deadly virus which has been spread by middle-aged men in Lycra (I always knew they would be the death of me), dog walkers, Aston Villa players and idiots without a sense of personal space or social responsibility.
Thankfully, my family and friends are all safe for the moment and ever may it stay so.
At first many didn’t take it seriously. “It’s only flu”. They clearly hadn’t watched the documentary “Contagion” in which Kate Winslet tracked a similar pandemic from 5G mast to 5G mast across the world until finally succumbing to the virus in an American equivalent of a Nightingale Hospital – The Trump Number One Facebook Hospital.
But now they have wheeled the Queen out, so it must be serious. She is currently self-isolating at Windsor, unwilling to share her stash of monogrammed toilet papyrus and keeping a safe distance from Charles who is at Balmoral. No doubt Madge keeps a shotgun by her side, just in case Andrew and Sarah Ferguson breach their curfew at the Royal Lodge in the castle grounds, in search of pizza and deodorant. Phillip, meanwhile, is keeping his morale up with regular Zoom hangouts with Harry and Meghan and back-to-back episodes of Tiger King on Netflix….
Apart from the initial panic over loo roll, C and I have been coping quite well. Largely thanks to the sterling efforts of Majestic and Virgin Wines home delivery service and back-to-back episodes of Tiger King on Netflix….
We have been socially distancing – no, not from each other – for 3 weeks already. We have been fastidious in our hygiene, washing our hands regularly in our homemade vodka hand sanitizer and eating copious amounts of garlic – which helps with the self-isolating. We haven’t resorted to snorting cocaine (yet) but, to be fair, supplies in these parts are almost as low as those of self-raising flour. Allegedly.
We have cleaned the shed and my office/mancave, painted the gate, pruned the herb garden and prepared a patch for tomatoes and courgettes. My rhubarb is thriving, buoyed by the vibes of positivity and Blitz spirit that I naturally carry with me at all times. And tomorrow we take delivery of a skip, which means that the mess of stuff the previous owners left under the car barn (and which we have contributed to) should be tackled over the rest of the week. I am looking forward to the opportunity of wielding my sledgehammer…..
Recently, I have been suffering “Microsoft Team backdrop envy”, triggered by video conferences with all my colleagues in lockdown around the world. So I have ordered some flat-pack bookcases, which I will strategically position behind me. I will proudly provide insight into my eclectic personality by displaying my history books alongside my Jack Reacher novels, my Marvel comics and my Birmingham Schools Under 11s plastic cricket trophy.
I am worried about my hair. It was already quite long before the lockdown. I am all too quickly morphing from a Paul Hollywood look-alike into a full on Kenny Rogers (RIP) body double. I have taken to wearing a hat while taking our daily constitutional, and not to deter signature hunters.
Keeping all of our devices fully charged has become as necessary as the camp fire in I’m a Celebrity. We seem to have been having more frequent, if virtual, contact with friends and family than usual via numerous social media channels, while I am becoming increasingly adept at Call of Duty Mobile.
It has been a bit of a challenge dragging the parents into the twentieth century (sic) in their use of technology. With only limited success. We have had a few WhatsApp video calls where all we can see is my dad’s ear. And a couple of Messenger video hangouts where we have been looking at the top of their heads, from the nose up. But it is good to be in touch and we are very proud that they have been sticking to the rules of self-isolation. And morale seems relatively high, despite my brother-in-law’s reliance on the Daily Mail as the source of all things Coronavirus…..
It hasn’t become so stressful yet, although I am masking the amount of wine consumption by only taking the empties to the recycling wheelie bin once a week – at 8pm on a Thursday. So, the noise is masked by the clapping of neighbours on their doorsteps rightly paying tribute to the NHS and other key workers.
We are truly blessed to live where we do. We are able to go for an isolated walk from our back door and to chat with our lovely neighbours from a safe distance over various fences. The village is rallying round to ensure the most vulnerable are looked after through various WhatsApp groups and Facebook sites. Our wonderful local farm shops are looking after us with a safe shopping environment for meat, bread and eggs (shout out to thebutchershall.co.uk) and a weekly veg box delivery (shout out to http://www.vgfarmshop.com).
We hope that people do act responsibly and use the open spaces safely and with consideration. It would be so much worse if we went into an even more severe lockdown, with a ban on outdoor exercise. C and I are enjoying our walks up the hill. We noticed that they have now closed all the National Trust car parks. Which begs the question – where have all the Surrey Hills’ doggers gone to?
Seriously though folks, please be sensible. Stay safe and be healthy!
Now wash your hands.
Behind the curtain…..
Well, that was an “interesting” trip.
Heathrow was “quiet” this morning. It seemed that there was a masked ball party imminent to which I had not been invited. The few hardy travellers eyed each other suspiciously and held their breath when coming into proximity with each other. The look of disappointment was palpable as duty free shoppers realised that, even here, the shelves were devoid of hand sanitizer, and there were guards on the toilets searching people on the way out for toilet roll.
My plane to Frankfurt was “quiet”. Boarding the plane was “speedy” due to the fact that there were very few passengers. I have never seen so many empty seats on a plane. It was like a Brexit Party convention. I took my seat in the first row behind business class. The one behind that irritating curtain. The curtain they close lest we spy the free food and booze and riot in the response to the pitiful fare on offer at the back of the plane from M&S Onboard (no cash accepted).
The few hardy travellers once seated risked eye contact with their be-suited companions across the aisle with a look that shouted “well done you for not overreacting to a bit of flu”.
This smugness did not last very long. Not once a chink in the irritating curtain revealed the cabin crew donning face masks and a hostess flew to our row of seats and asked my one fellow hardy traveller and I to ignore the fasten your seatbelt sign and relocate towards the rear of the plane because of “an incident “ at the front.
I relocated. I took solace in a drink of chocolate which was so hot it stripped the skin from the roof of my mouth and a packet of M&S’ Mini Jaffa Cakes, which I’m sure count towards one of your five a day. I sipped my chocolaty napalm while wondering to myself whether the irritating curtain alone could block the transmission of the deadly coronavirus.
I made the mistake of coughing. The guy across the aisle from me spent the rest of the flight leaning away from me and eying me suspiciously out of the corner of his eye. I continued to cough. Just for the fun of it.
Surprisingly the crew did not seem overly concerned about the potential demise of the handful of hardy business class travellers at the front of the plane, shut off from the rest of us behind the life-preserving curtain. I was sure that the decision had already been taken that the rest of us would have to vacate the plane from the rear while business class was quarantined for fourteen days, or at least until the free food and booze ran out.
Surprisingly, panic did not spread through the plane, despite the hasty relocation of myself and a couple of other hardy travellers who had been in close proximity to the curtain, and despite my emergent cough.
I did notice, however, that the queue for the loo at the rear of the plane was unusually long, especially given the small number of passengers on board. And then I realised that the hardy if bladder-challenged travellers were socially excluding (queuing at least one meter apart and, probably holding their breath). And, that the queue was also moving more slowly than usual due to the fact that cabin crew were searching people for toilet roll on the way out.
Thankfully I did overhear one member of crew saying to the other that the “incident” at the front of the plane was a false alarm and that it had just been “the air conditioning “. Hmmmn. We shall see. I am somewhat less reassured by the fact that the cabin crew even on my side of the curtain were also wearing masks. And, they also seemed to be wearing an excessive amount of perfume, which I assume they are washing their hands in now due to the lack of sanitizer.
In fact, when we landed we were all kept in lockdown in our seats due to a “medical incident “. We waited for half an hour until a doctor arrived (suspiciously entering via the rear of the plane) wearing full hazchem gear. Meanwhile, the plane was surrounded by police and a couple of ambulances arrived. Worryingly.
The doctor sat a while with a very sheepish looking guy who had already been given a face mask, and, after filling in a few forms he was declared to be OK and the police and the ambulances left and we were all, thankfully, allowed off the plane.
Once inside the airport there was a queue for the toilet where everyone had rushed to wash their hands. And, a queue on the way out while they searched us for toilet roll.
I’m looking forward to the flight home already.
The Blitz Spirit….
“Daddy what did you do in the Coronavirus War?”
“Well son, once the news broke that migrants don’t wash their hands, we launched a raid on the 24 hour Aldi. Your mother blocked the main aisle with her trolley while I stocked up on Charmin Ultra Soft and spaghetti hoops. We missed out on the hand sanitiser – to be honest we had no idea what aisle it was on – so we improvised with vodka, Fairy Liquid and KY jelly. We self-isolated for a couple of weeks watching back-to-back episodes of Top Gear on Dave wearing our Marigolds, while keeping an eye on the Daily Mail’s Twitter account for updates. Apparently we were just in time because the EU began to blockade all supplies of toilet rolls. “
And so, the “Blitz Spirit” is alive and kicking in post-Brexit Britain. The oldest, poorest, and most vulnerable will suffer disproportionately. And, as in the Blitz I expect there to be significant looting of empty houses as the Middle Class vacates suburbia and takes refuge in their Welsh holiday homes. There will be a black market in Paracetamol and Night Nurse. And, the Deliveroo Driver, equipped with a Mad Max style face mask, will be king.
Whatever happened to Keep Calm and Carry On?
Now, wash your hands!
Taxis scare me
In my experience there are just two types of German taxi drivers.
The first is typically middle-aged to older, both male or female, with long grey hair either swept back (imagine Peter Stringfellow) or sporting a pony tail.
They drive a Mercedes. They drive very, very, very fast and brake very, very hard. They drive along to a heavy metal soundtrack (and occasionally, bizarrely, Strauss) which they play very, very loud.
They scare me.
The second is typically of Turkish or Asian heritage. Male. They drive an old Japanese model which looks as if it has been slept in by a family of raccoons.
They act as if it is the first time they have ever stepped into the car. Or, any car. They look around nervously, trying to locate the pedals, the handbrake, the indicators. They drive very, very, very
slowly and are always lost and confused as to which lane they should be in. They still brake very, very hard. They don’t play the radio because they don’t know how it operates. But, they are always on their phone.
They scare me.
What both have in common is the fact that they lose their ability to speak in English as soon as you attempt to pay with a credit card.
Still, not a good enough reason to Brexit…..
No Career As A Cowboy For Me!
Who knew 7 years ago how close I was to death….
Last weekend, my gracious hosts here during my two-week business trip in the Philippines decided that I should see more of their country than the business district of Manila, the shopping malls of the Greenbelt and the heavily fortified office (although the views from the 38th floor are impressive) and the hotel where every night I would seek oblivion, but find only the patchy sleeplessness which comes with jet lag.
And so, we enjoyed a two hour minibus journey to the south. We fought our way through the streets of the capital and the chaos of Jeepneys, random jaywalkers, street hawkers and some of the worst driving I have witnessed outside of the Italian motorways. We drove alongside shanty towns. We drove alongside affluent suburbs interspersed with corrugated huts. And, we wound our way into a lush countryside strewn with rice paddies, banana trees and the occasional goat.
Off the motorways we…
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Humbug!
That’s it. I can no longer hold my tongue.
At the risk of being one of the first “Liberal Intellectuals” to be put against the wall, by whichever firing squad of whichever party we allow to assume power through our passivity, I must speak.
Whether it is the alt-right stormtroopers first Boris’ Tory Party, the hard-right brownshirts of the Brexit party, or the red-shirted Marxists/Corbynistas of the Labour Party that come for me, I must speak.
Hitler took just six months to dismantle German Parliamentary democracy in 1933. He did this by claiming to be the true and righteous representative of the German Volk (people), by lying to the Head of the German State (Hindenburg), by suspending the democratic powers of the German Parliament (Reichstag) through the Enabling Act, and by enraging the man on the street against the common enemy of the Jew and the Communists. Sound familiar?
It could have happened here in just two months had it not been for the totally legitimate and constitutional intervention of the UK ‘s Supreme Court, which outed Boris’ lie to the Queen over his own Enabling Act – the unlawful Prorogation of Parliament.
Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson (to give him his full name) and his Etonian backers in the ERG are singing to Steve Bannon’s alt-right song book and nearly destroyed the Mother of all Parliaments. Prorogation was an attempted political coup with the aim of muzzling the Sovereign Parliamentary Representatives of the People in order to force through a hard, no deal Brexit.
Praise be for the Separation of Powers and Judicial Oversight.
British and Unionist Politics are fractured, lurching ever further to the Left and the Right, leaving the Silent Majority without a political home and without representation. I must speak.
Three years ago there was a 52% majority in a binary and advisory referendum. An illegally funded Leave Campaign, most likely assisted by Russian hackers and social media bots, blamed all of the woes of the Great British nation upon Johnny Foreigner and (mostly brown skinned) immigrants, and promised the restoration of Empire and a humbug-striped unicorn for everyone.
But there are no unicorns. There is no Empire. And it seems our farming industry and the NHS cannot function without access to migrant labour and skilled medical professionals from the EU and elsewhere.
Not to mention the fact that the EU has been a positive force in Europe and the UK for decades – for peace, human rights, workers’ rights and investment in our most economically depressed regions, such as South Wales and the North East. Immigrants have been significant net contributors to our economy rather than benefit seekers.
The Tories talk about “surrender”, “betrayal”, “treason” and “collusion“ and have positioned Boris as the righteous representative of the people, against a Brexit-blocking Parliament.
They are inciting violence and division as a pretext for invoking emergency powers to force through a no deal Brexit, which will make billions for Boris’ already rich financial backers, while reaping economic devastation on the poorest. And, not least, lead potentially to the dissolution of the United Kingdom; an independent Scotland, an Island of Ireland, a devolved Wales, and a far-right Gilead in the English shires.
And while they are doing this, the far-left -Corbynistas and Marxists – turn our once proud, internationalist Labour Party into an unelectable (hopefully), backward-looking, mockery of a party which would drag us back to the 1970s, when nothing worked and everyone striked. A party of the lowest common denominator, where success, wealth creation and social mobility are derided.
Please do not let this happen. Reclaim the centre ground. Speak out in defence of the Silent Majority. Stand up for Parliament, Sovereignty and the Rule of Law. Stop Boris. Stop Corbyn. And, ideally, stop Brexit.
Middle Man 
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