Happily in the pink myself, feeling tons better; shocked to return home to find that our illustrious Justice Minister has joined a campaign to ban ‘being in the pink’. What is she thinking of? Half the Labour Cabinet is pink.
Is this really what Government has become all about? Jumping on one fast moving news bandwagon after another? Is no one at the helm steering the great ship away from the looming iceberg?
It would appear not. It seems that the Pink Princess Extraordinaire, Lord Mandelson of Foy, First Secretary of State, Lord President of the Council, President of the Board of Trade, and Church Commissioner, Lord Chief Justice, Commander-in-Chief, Lord High Admiral, Master of the Buck Hounds, Groom of the Back Stairs, Archbishop of Titipu, and Lord Mayor, both acting and elect, all rolled into one, and Royal Backside-in-Place on no less than 35 of the 43 committees which order our lives, has retired to her boudoir in a mighty sulk.
Surrounded by her attendants, she whinnies to those paid to listen, that those ‘horrid little men’, Gordon and his Gynophobic Groupies – Ed Balls, Gus O’ Donnell and Charlie Whelan, the Testosterone Trio, are being beastly to her City friends. Mandy and her ‘Darling One’ yearn to return to the spin of the Blair years, sweetness and light, all things sugar and spice. Baubles and Ermine handed out to those who please.
Gordon and his Glowering Gang sit in the opposite corner like rough trade rent boys in Heaven nightclub, intimidating the prancing, preening, prissies that squeal with pleasure every time Mandy deigns to look in their direction, determined that salvation lies in picking the Union’s deep pockets rather than do an honest days work.
Are there no real men left in the civilian world? Or real women? The Army seems to have collared them all; men who get up in the morning and tackle the task ahead with fortitude and resilience, men who would see the towering National Deficit as a challenge they could not wait to get started on, a battle ground to yomp over regardless of its seeming impregnability. Can you imagine Colonel H being diverted from his duty by the need to defend his expenses claim? Or Kate Nesbitt MC complaining that there were no facilities for her to breast feed in the battle ground? General Dannatt found trussed up like a Christmas turkey with an orange in his mouth, and his best sheer nylons over his head, the victim of auto-asphyxiation, when he should have been leading the troops from the front? It is unthinkable.
Ye Gods, what have these French Doctors been prescribing me? A military coup is beginning to sound preferable to life ruled by these high stepping, bottom clenching, faux Hinge and Bracket characters, with their endless whining, their belief that expense accounts are there to meet every conceivable household bill from porn to fancy parasol, accompanied by their fag hags, the humourless harridans who seek to socially engineer every last child in the country into an indebted, dependent, despairing, degenerate.
I must be careful. Whilst I was absent with out leave, the mighty Taw (Don’t worry, I’d never heard of him either, but that link might enable him to permeate outside of his own protected bubble) took me, along with several other Libertarian Party members who happen to run blogs for the amusement of their readers, rather than to promulgate, or indoctrinate with, any particular ideology, to task for not sufficiently illustrating Libertarian ideology in my last five blog posts……..to wit, (total absence of wit, as it happens, but never mind) writing about smoking booths without ever mentioning the harm that passive smoking is alleged to do…If he thinks that I’m calling for a military coup, the poor dear will probably implode!
I am tired of this charade. Tired of the UK being ruled by a Government of bullies, split asunder by a battle between the bigots who shout the rhetorical abuse of a non-existent class war, and fairie Queens who whimper in the corner when thwarted.
All we actually need are a couple of hundred men and women of substance, honour and dignity, who can fill the great offices of State, and get on with the bally job. We don’t need fresh ‘initiatives’, we don’t need a fraction of the legislation foisted upon us, we need real people out there producing real goods that make real money. We need to pay off our debts, cut our expenses to a minimum, shoot the Dissenters.
Let’s give MPs a free rail pass to London once a week, they can have all their votes in parliament on one day, come to that they can vote via their computer keyboard, and tune into Parliament live, as the rest of us have to. The remainder of the time, they can tour their constituencies, with their collecting plate in front of them, like the clergymen of old, finding out what really matters in their area.
I’d like to see Vera Baird personally dependent on her constituents for her salary, collecting it week by week, door to door, regular as clockwork, a modern day tally woman instead of dipping unseen fingers into the Great National Handbag. That might put an end to their fanciful notions.
“Good morning Redcar Man or Woman. Last week I voted to give £150 Million to lactating Mothers in Lethoso, would you like to contribute to my wages?”
” Corus, you say, yeah, shame about that”
I don’t suppose the Army would agree to loan us a couple of hundred of their finest? We could replace them with some shocking pinko wimps who could dally with the Taliban to their hearts content, and lecture Al Qaeda on the dangers of unlicensed sun bed operators. They might even get shot, merciful heaven.