Channel 4’s Dispatches (The British Property Boom) gave another insight this week into the madness of the property market from it’s epicentre of London.
The property pictured failed to reach it’s reserve price at auction with the top bid only reaching £245k; at that point Snow White (can I say that?) presumably withdrew her bid.
The programme disclosed that 75% of all new homes in central London were being bought by foreign investors pushing prices into outer space. The knock-on effect of all this undoubtedly clean money coming in from the Far East and Eastern Europe is calamitous for ordinary people.
Co-incidentally I read a fascinating piece in this month’s GQ expanding on London’s recent surge in general. And, not surprisingly, it is not all milk and honey.
Despite it’s buffoon of a Lord Mayor advocating independence and sod the rest of the UK, in a survey by RightMove the top ten worst places to live in the UK were all in London.
Not a problem for Boris and his chums up there in the clouds.
So whilst Cameron and the hapless Clegg were busy with photo shoots for new tunnels under old rocks, everyday folk in the capital started another week wondering how to live where they were born. Almost 40% of “Londoners” were born overseas according to GQ.
The programme makers then got brave venturing out of the M25, presumably seeking Ebola suits as they exited to explore the impact on the North.
The developers featured had that mad-eyed look of another gold rush – how memories fade so quick – espousing the benefits of pushing North with their wads of cash to buy us all out of our dark satanic penthouses.
All booms end with a bust but this one may end up with a ghost town called London if this form of social cleansing continues. How does a city reliant upon minimum wage employees survive if they can’t afford to actually get to work?
One woman of Chinese origin (can I say that too…?) making a living selling to foreign investors simply shrugged her coiffured hair and intimated that those that could not afford to live in London should not!
Of course, in China if they want you to move out they simply send the JCB’s round. Have a velly nice day!
Back ‘Oop North
Great news this week that the bid to save the Bradford Odeon can push ahead. There is a long way to go of course but congratulations to all involved so far.
Black Friday
Human behaviour at it’s most depraved was on show last week; it was indeed a black Friday. All over the world there were fights over giant TVs between grim looking people. God forbid they ever find anything important to fight about.
Reading some of the messages posted on the local rag’s comments board – which normally disallows any discussion about anything remotely of colour – reflected life as we know it in modern Britain.
Should call it National Chav Day. 40″ TV for a kids bedroom! priority EH!
Probably the first time most of these drongos have been out of bed before lunchtime in years !!!!”
…how could you embarrass yourself so much to leave your home in a leopard skin onesie – hopeless!!
Can you imagine the Westfield next year? Indoor shopping, they’ll be chavs in boxer shorts, I can just see it
The Operations manager at the main Kirkgate Shopping Centre in Bradford was quoted saying “It’s one of the American phenomenons that has caught on here!”
It led me to wonder why we would want to take a lead from a nation that brought us Big Macs, George W Bush and shoots kids?
Greed at the top, Greed at the bottom, Ashes to ashes, Dust to dust.
Phil Hughes
The tragic and accidental death of this fine young cricketer has been rightly mourned across the globe. Predictably there has been some chatter about legislating against the “bouncer” which is an insult to the memory of Phil Hughes.
There is risk associated with all forms of daily life and all we can do is try to limit the most obvious. You could play cricket with a tennis ball and there would still be risk.
Those of us that love this unique game have all experienced some level of fear as we waited for the fast bowler to begin his run, charging in with a 5 & 1/2 ounce red bullet. There are odd occasions when a warm feeling in your pants is evident.
Years ago we had drawn lofty opposition in the cup and they had a fast bowler who had been destroying far better teams than us that summer. We watched as this guy went through more warm-ups than a champion boxer, his black skin glistening in the sun, biceps to die for.
Shutty and I opened the batting, walking to the wicket like condemned men, too nervous to even punch gloves as is the modern way. Having lost the toss, Shutty had to take the first delivery and took his guard squeezing a nervous fart out audible to most.
I tried a weak smile at the non-striker’s end offering a “good afternoon” to the fearsome sight who now had the new ball in his giant hands.
Flicking it from hand to hand like a marble, he stared back with bulging mad eyes and I swear his pectorals expanded; suddenly I wanted my mum.
Somehow, Shutty managed to fend the first ball off his nose end and it flew into the outfield. As we ran past each other I shouted “two…please!”
Back came the reply of “***k off!” as Shutty almost slowed to a walk having found the safety of the non-striker’s end. We survived that day to fight another.
Phil Hughes was a champion cricketer with a skill-set and levels of courage far above any club cricketer like Shutty & I. None of us would want this awful accident to change anything and all cricketers would wish the unlucky young bowler our warmest thoughts.
The final words are from that Australian legend, Richie Benaud, a champion man himself.
“A boy just beginning…25 years of age…baggy green number 408. His father’s best mate…son, brother, fighter, friend…inspiration. Phillip Hughes, forever rest in peace, son.”
Cheers!
“Just what I always wanted” my Gran used to say, unwrapping her umpteenth tub of talcum powder each Christmas. Perhaps the greed demonstrated by Black Friday should make us all realise that the simple things are the best.
Along the same lines I was thinking about the best present I’ve had in years – a box set of Cheers – which has reunited me with classic characters like Sam Malone and the rest.
Cheers comes from a golden period of sit-com writing unfettered by political correctness. With over 200 episodes to enjoy I confess to having an addiction, currently running at three episodes a day.
One of the real strengths of the writing is that Cheers can deal with issues like race, homophobia and sexism often by exposing these subjects without resorting to lecturing us, more so enabling us to laugh.
High quality writing allows us to see our prejudices exposed, stripped back and ultimately baseless. Done in a way that we can also laugh at ourselves is far more potent than the limitations of PC.
Maybe we should all try to find the funny side a bit more often.
Big Al’s Corner
My sincere thanks to all who have supported my itch-fest during Movember with the total raised (including pledges) to date in excess of £400. The Just Giving page remains open for now.
I finally rid myself of the facial fanny courtesy of a wet shave at Gents Qtr in Baildon and what a wonderful experience that was; ladies buy your bloke one for Xmas we all love a smooth….(no! Ed)
Honestly, I felt like Al Capone and all it lacked was the shoe shine boy. Music from the 1930’s (my era before anybody else says that too), very smart salon and a beer if you wish: what’s not to like?
Big Al now has a decision whether to shave or take up George Galloway’s offer as his double should he get re-elected next May. Only this way might anybody in Bradford West ever see their MP.
All he has to do is practice the mad-eyed stare…a few more pints should do it.
“Risible!” as dear old George is keen to spout.
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