Ah yes, I remember it well

It’s Not Unusual (how many song titles can I cram into one blog?) to remember the first time you did something, saw something or felt something. Recently, I’ve been reminiscing about the first time I didn’t do, see or feel things. Not, as in, didn’t do this but instead did that; no, I mean didn’t do / see / feel anything at all.

Philosophers, and maybe psychologists, would have fun with the idea of doing / seeing / feeling / reminiscing about nothing. Nothing is nothing. Nothing is a strange concept ‘personified’ by, if I can anthropomorphise it, the time before the Big-Bang, which is an oxymoron because time didn’t exist before the Big Bang. Pre-Big-Bang itself didn’t exist. No existence, no time (almost rhymes with No Woman, No Cry).

Striking while the economy’s cool

This blog’s longer than my usual, so make sure you’re sitting comfortably before you begin.

I’ve gone on record since before I was weaned that it’s not right for workers to strike. My opposition is rooted in their impact on the general public – the health hazards of uncollected waste spring to mind. In particular, I remember the 1970s’ strikes and the Labour government awarding huge public-sector pay deals that helped to fuel inflation to over 25 per cent (the rocketing oil price was also a factor). Those hardest hit were already the poorest, and the average couple ended up taking home less money in real terms than they had before inflation took off, so the strikes were counter-productive.

Individuals trump ‘society’

I was working on a blog about trade unions and strikes, but parked it when I read about nine-year-old Olivia Pratt-Korbel. She was shot dead while standing behind mum Cheryl, who was injured, in their terraced home in Kingsheath Avenue in the Dovecot area of Liverpool. Residents say that Kingsheath is a close-knit community where children play together on the street. They describe Olivia and Cheryl as quiet, respectable people.

Allison Bailey knows who her friends aren’t

Cheering news. An employment tribunal has ruled that barrister Allison Bailey was discriminated against by senior colleagues at her chambers over her gender critical views, i.e. the sex of a person is immutable: women cannot become men and vice-versa.

These views are what the silent majority would refer to as ‘common sense’. Cross-dress, have surgery, take hormones all you like but you cannot scientifically change the sex you were born into: female or male. Some people are genuinely convinced they were born with the wrong body and they take various steps to ‘rectify’ this. Assuming they’ve had the necessary advice and support, then they should be allowed to live peaceable lives as they wish and not be discriminated against. Live and let live is what I say. 

Am I bovvered?

My recent Boris-tribute blog drew mixed reactions in the blog comments, other platforms, by email and in person. They were small in number but mega in back-slapping (mine) and arse-kicking (mine again). Boris isn’t the only one with a cohort of bashers. Yay, I have something in common with the man himself!

I’d rather people read my blogs and hated them than didn’t read them, or worse, read them and didn't feel compelled to respond, favourably or no, civilly or no. Indeed, those who responded unfavourably to the Boris blog enticed others to have a read and, within 48 hours of posting, it became my most-read blog ever. What’s the mantra? No publicity is bad publicity? Who knew?!

Some inconvenient truths

You’ve probably guessed from reading my posts that I’m opinionated. And you probably think that I can’t abide others’ opinions. That second sentence is so untrue it would feel at home in the Guardian. What irritates the hecky-thump out of me are opinions based on lies, damned lies, skewed statistics, inconsistency, hypocrisy and an uncritical adherence to Zen-like group-think.

When I come across stuff like that, I feel compelled to counter with at least an alternative 'fact', whether it completely holds water or not. As long as it’s as defensible as, or more so than, the stance I’m criticising, it’s job done. I’ve come across so much tripe in the past few days that I couldn’t possibly write a blog on each topic; instead, here are some soundbites to get you grinning from ear to ear, or foaming at the mouth:

Fishy Rishi is a sprat

This blog, not unexpectedly, is about the Chancellor’s wife, Akshata Murty, declaring non-dom status to avoid paying tax in the UK on her worldwide income. The sub-plot is whether I can forgive her as readily as I have forgiven BoJo almost anything to date, because Akshata’s hubby got furlough done during the height of the pandemic, just as solidly as Bojo got Brexit done.

By way of explanation, a non-dom tax status typically applies to someone who was born overseas, spends much of their time in the UK, but still ‘considers’ (for sentiment or convenience) another country to be their permanent residence or 'domicile'. Citizenship is irrelevant when it comes to non-dom status, because it is possible for a UK citizen, or someone born in the UK, to claim they are a non-dom. In Akshata’s case she was born in India and, while living in the UK at the moment, claims permanent residency elsewhere.

Does this make her a ‘bad’ person, or at least an ‘unfit’ Chancellor’s wife? Does this make Rishi an unfit Chancellor?

Monty Python strikes again

I’ve just read about the scandal at the Shrewsbury and Telford Hospital NHS Trust, where over 200 babies and nine mothers died and others were left with appalling injuries and mental trauma. These statistics undoubtedly understate the true picture nationwide.

I’m not the first person to comment that these mummies, bairns and their families were victims of a Modern Midwifery Mantra that ‘natural childbirth is best’ i.e. you go against Mother Nature at your peril. However, it’s more than a mantra; it’s an obsession – an obsession with an unproven theory, a fad. Worse. It’s a moral crusade to teach the world that health professionals and their cronies know best, and the rest of us are ignorant if not morally bereft. They unquestionably believe that experiencing natural childbirth in all its glories (and goriness?) is best for bonding. Mums and dads don’t know that because they haven’t been on the courses, read the books, aren’t immersed in ‘the culture’ so they won’t understand. Never fear. Midwives are here to rescue the uninitiated. Show them the light. Hand them the Holy Grail.

A week is a long time

Last Sunday, I took umbrage at the Sunday Times for an opinion piece that dismissed me, most of my friends and acquaintances, and thousands of other decent, law-abiding, intelligent, compassionate, conscientious people as Nimbys, because we object to the destruction of farmland, ripping up of trees, blighting of landscapes and spewing of greenhouse gases by building homes (mostly of dubious quality) and roads and warehouses in numbers we don’t need in locations that can’t accommodate them, because the Sunday Times, politicians and planners don’t understand the economics of the housing market, how to level up, nor the symbiotic relationship between all things nature and human wellbeing.

When it comes to long sentences, eat your heart out, Samuel Johnson.

By contrast, this week I’m the newspaper's biggest fan because of an article by Matthew Syed.  

A toad surrounded by snakes

A good friend of mine thinks I left out some important issues from my “In defense of Boris?” blog of a couple of weeks ago.

One of those issues is The Leakers. They’re the real piss-takers.

In defense of Boris?

No. Not exactly.

Even if BoJo didn’t technically break his own law, he broke the spirit of it, approved punishment for ordinary people who attended smaller social gatherings during lockdown, and then lied, lied and lied again, apologising only when there was nowhere else to go. Comparisons with Prince Andrew as being part of ‘the arrogant, entitled elite’ are surely not unkind. A failure of leadership and moral standing if ever there was one.

So that’s the end of this blog then.

Well, not exactly. 

Sex and the City

This post is my raunchiest yet (for me, that’s not difficult) and written for the Girlies. So, Gents, if talk of fashion, make-up, bitching and sex is a real turn-off for you, look away now.

When SATC first hit our screens, I sniffily avoided it. I’d read the hype and decided it was nothing but cheap porn. What persuaded me to get off my prudish high horse and give it a try was the realisation that one of its pivotal characters was Carrie Bradshaw’s love-interest (one of her many, that is) Big, played by Chris Noth.

Be still my beating heart.

BNG - WTF?

I had one of those What The F - - k (WTF) moments recently. In the midst of reading / writing / planning stuff about the (lack of) merits of Biodiversity Net Gain (BNG) and what a con / disappointment / travesty / gamble / meaningless hogwash it is, I suddenly thought about Afghanistan and stopped typing as if the keyboard had vanished. Poof!

The epitome of vulgarity

Watering my whatever-they-ares on the patio yesterday afternoon, I was repeatedly irritated by manhood-substitutes (aka helicopters) returning from Silverstone, where Lewis Hamilton had become the second English sportsman to disgrace his country in a short space of time.

Hypocrisy, holiday blues and home truths

There are two accusations sometimes levelled against me, no matter how politely put or well-meaning, that trigger a toy-throwing episode. One is that I’m a hypocrite; the other is that I don’t know what I’m talking about.

I do admit to lots of other character flaws, so please pick on one of those rather than those I don’t have simply because you haven’t fully understood my words / actions in various contexts. An obvious example of a flaw of mine, you might have guessed, is that I’m intolerant of criticism; more accurately, I’m intolerant of unfounded or unconstructive criticism, but I do tend to split hairs, which is another flaw.

Israel and Palestine – the skinny

I went to the Cambridge Footlights Review, in 1981 I think, which starred students who went by the names of Hugh Laurie, Stephen Fry, Emma Thompson and Tony Slattery. Slattery performed the most wonderful sketch – all Star Wars episodes in 90 seconds. I laughed so much I felt nauseous! On a similar level of ridiculousness, I now try to summarise my take on the Israel-Palestine conflict in about 1300 words. 

Two funerals and a wedding

When Princess Beatrice married her dashing Edoardo last summer, the contrast with the previous showy, lavish, crowd-filled, OTT affairs of sister Eugenie and, before that, cousin Harry was marked but necessary.

The country was in Covid-crisis. Minimal social gatherings were the law. The Royal Family were (are) not above the law. Bea and Ed accepted their selfless roles in wider society and didn’t pull rank. They did their duty by respecting the law and showing solidarity with those who have no rank to pull. To drive the message home, Bea symbolically wore a second-hand frock. (Yeah I know it was still one helluva frock.)  In other words, the British Royal Family showed leadership and grace.

Who am I talking about?

1. Paranoid. Delusional. Malicious. Meghan Markle? Nope. The European Union.

2. Hypocritical. Truculent. Traitorous. Duke of Sussex? Nah. Roy Greenslade.

So much for being principled

I was chuffed to bits last week when my best friend’s teenage daughter signed up to LinkedIn and invited me to connect, her first invitee outside her immediate family.

She’s a grand lass, as we say up north. I’ve known her all her life and she’s kind of a Godchild. Only kind of, not a proper one, because of me and my stupid principles.

Not sure about Hubby’s Xmas

In the greater scheme of things, and compared to many other people’s Xmases this year, I think Hubby’s was ok. Mind you, I haven’t asked him what he thinks about it yet; if I did, him being an accountant and all, he’d probably list the goods and the bads in two adjacent columns and dwell on how much longer the bad column was.

Pre-empting that, here are the bads that I can think of: