The Jockos vote for independence in a matter of days and whilst most of us can only see the positives of a “Yes” vote – no more Scottish football results – the Old Etonian brigade at Westminster are clearly now in panic mode.
Could Rab C really win the day over Big Dave with promises of riches forever and ever?
A “Yes” vote will inevitably start ripples throughout the rest of the UK and there has already been a stirring of the previously failed campaign for a Yorkshire State.
What gives campaigns like these greater force is the clear perception that there exist unfair and growing inequalities across the UK.
London and the South East has been surging ahead of the rest of the UK for decades now as the mix of the economy shifted from manufacturing to services, however blinkered that approach has proven to be.
It is natural then for the regions to consider they are getting a poor deal.
As London spends billions on Crossrail and contemplates HS2 plus airport expansions, up here we still contend with cattle trucks for regional trains and at increased fares to boot.
The Westminster elite – and I include all political parties here – just don’t get this; how could they cocooned as they are in their expensed existences?
Ignore us at your peril though because if the Jockos vote “Yes” rumblings will surely follow and we will nationalise Yorkshire puddings overnight plus withdraw all Yorkshire players from the England cricket team losing any chance of winning back the Ashes.
And if Cameron struggles with the idea of an independent Scotland, Ed Miliband clearly has no idea either suggesting manned border posts may be introduced to scare the Scots into voting “No”.
Come on in all you Roma but bugger off you Jockos. They just don’t get it but if it keeps his old boss Gordon Brown the right side of the wall then what a result!
Cricket Coaches Wanted
Cricket is enjoying a surge in popularity…in Afghanistan! Coaches are in short supply, could this be a new challenge?
Somehow, even the joys of dealing with parents who can’t tell you whether their pride and joy is in the country come match-day or those that see you as simply cheap child-minding – dumping the ADHD kid and racing off to watch Come Dine With Me – don’t seem that bad.
Think I’ll try one more season at the Villas.
Sleazy Sepp Stands Again
Old Sleazy is standing again for the office of FIFA President claiming that his “mission” is as yet unfinished. In layman’s terms this is translated into “mein Gott zer is still lots of booty to cream off yet!”
Meanwhile, as England got off to a winning start to Euro 2016 their next opponents San Marino (where?) lost at home to Lithuania in front of a crowd of 986!
The Hounds of Winter
Another cricket season comes to an end and a long winter beckons. Rained off last Saturday, I had an early warning of what lies ahead for those empty Saturdays.
Sensing several hours of unchecked freedom, Molly had been in the umpire’s ear since we arrived at a soaked Illingworth CC.
“Bit wet out there…duty of care…can’t be getting injured…not good for a fat lad!” which translated meant “come on umps we can be in t’Bear in half an hour and first one’s on me!”
As is always the case on days like these, decisions are not made with any speed as players loiter around considering what else to do if the game is off and the solitary optimist manhandles the super-soaker.
Many of us are just not wired to do anything else on Saturday afternoons from April to September so we don’t welcome the complication of choice.
Eventually I escaped, returning Harry our scorer to his beloved wife and a list of chores longer than he could recall, arriving home to contemplate dinner.
I flicked the TV on only to discover a contender for an early BAFTA award in the category of Biggest Pile of Shit Ever Broadcast.
The programme is called Tumble and is another exercise in dredging up (from a seemingly bottomless pit) people you have never heard of to make complete twats of themselves presumably for our entertainment.
The modern cult of the celebrity is a scourge worse than the bubonic plague and it seems anyone can claim this title however insignificant their contribution to life.
It does not matter if you are clearly as thick as a plank, in fact the dumber the better it seems. Inevitably, in modern Britain there is a long queue of candidates.
Early celebrity TV was relatively docile; Big Brother just involved locking them away from the public for a few weeks so that wasn’t a bad idea in truth.
But producers have cottoned onto the public’s boredom here so have countered this by offering the opportunity not for humiliation but now bodily harm.
So we have lamebrain wannabes, desperate for a full colour spread in Hello and a free dental job, prepared to hurl themselves off diving boards or attempt to become gymnasts.
And the public sit there open-mouthed with their Dominos’ Family Feasts, KFC Big Buckets and gallons of Coke every Saturday night like the great unwashed of Rome demanding carnage, spitting from the safety of their interest-free DFS sofas.
Of course we have the judges as well, another bunch of self-loving morons trotting out the usual banalities and inanities to howls and shrieks from the studio audience.
This is utter shit and clear evidence that we have reached a point where we need a blackout period starting with Saturday nights or an outbreak of Ebola at the BBC.
If they cannot spend our licence fee other than throwing money at crap like this then we should simply close them down.
Knocked Up Again
So here we go again it’s royal baby fever and six months of headline news every time the delectable Kate farts. Royal “commentators” and “experts” will be crawling out of the woodwork to spout bollocks.
My sincere best wishes that you drop as quick as you can dear!
The AGM
All organisations up and down the land endure some form of AGM – Annual General Meeting – as a smokescreen to the outside world that all is well whatever chaos exists behind the scenes.
Ours was last Sunday and the annual challenge to get 15 able bodies – forget the requirement to be of sound mind – in attendance to nod and ney when prompted was met by a whisker.
The opening address was read by President Haigh Jong Un from his Book of Uplifting Speeches 1975-2013 as he reviewed the season almost gone and ended with his trademark address of “we’ve had it!”
Declaring the end to loutish drunken behaviour in Critics’s Corner – at least until next April – he banished the perpetrators to a winter of exile from the great stadium and prayed for their survival.
Next up was club Chairman Molly, woken up with a nudge in the ribs, who also read last year’s speech as he slipped a secretive nip of whisky ahead of the afternoon friendly fixture.
Chairman “Ee Life’s Grand” Molly thanked the Ladies several times for their sterling efforts and especially wife Carol for once again allowing him out for a tipple in the name of cricket.
Moving on with rapidity so as not to allow any hard and sneaky questions from the only man half wake – the eagle-eyed Bob Underwood – we reached the climactic pleasures of the Treasurer’s Report as eyes squinted hard at the minute figures.
A detailed analysis was avoided as the Treasurer looked up to find the other 14 with heads tilted backwards in seats, tongues lolling out and a peaceful gaze over faces.
Just before we all nodded off it was time for the Hon Sec to wrap things up having been dragged from her bed still clutching last night’s bottle of Rose.
With her customary insight and lucidity she summed up by saying “An’ I’ve got now’t to say an all!“.
So in 14 minutes we were done without any need to explain the much feared concept of gross profit margin; to those of you that escaped once again it’s not all that painful after all.
Burglar Proof
According to a Home Office survey smartphones are the most likely to be stolen with the iPhone 5, 5C, 5S and 4S the most targeted followed by the Blackberry 9790.
Amazingly my Nokia did not feature on any list as the proceeds from crime of this type could not get a field mouse high. Come join the revolution…get one before it’s too late!
Never Give Up?
How nice that this dream couple finally found each other.
Makes your heart skip a beat and that I am sure is exactly what she is thinking with old Fat Boy here…and soon please!
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