A Genetic Flaw?
A friend of mine teaches cycling proficiency in primary schools helping kids in and around Leeds; although the aim of the classes is simply to give some basic early years instruction rather than searching for the next great Olympian, everybody, including Sir Bradley, has to start somewhere. Last week she had her bike stolen whilst teaching, not by a modern day Raffles type unpicking her lock and sneaking off under cover of darkness, but by a thug who knocked her off the bike with a motorbike and brazenly took off with the cycle in full view of the shocked kids.
It turns out that the thief was the father of one of the 9 year olds benefiting from the classes but worse still, that the child actually assisted his drug dealer dad to steal the bike. Now you might share my belief that, when it comes to physical activity, most kids are cosseted, idle layabouts but this seemed to be taking it a bit too far to avoid a bit of PE; what happened to the old excuse of “I’ve forgot my kit Miss!”?
Hold on, it gets even worse: even though Plod knows who took it they can’t (or won’t) do anything unless they find him in possession; how many drug dealers do you see whizzing around the streets in their lycra, speed or no speed? The bike actually turned up a few days later on eBay – the modern day thief’s pawn shop – but when my friend advised Plod again she was told they could (or would) do nothing. The reality is that it will now be almost untraceable and justice fails again.
Doubtless the crook is on benefits paid by you and I. It’s also a fair bet that he does not declare the additional income from his thieving as a taxable gain, just as it is reasonable to assume that the 9 year old is also likely to inherit the family “business”. So what hope for a kid like this at such an early stage in life? A teacher friend of mine expressed a view years ago that she could spot the genetic fault lines early enough to selectively sterilise certain members of her classes saving society a fortune in the future.
For his own benefit I would whisk this young lad away in the dead of the night and ensure he can never ever breed; they do it to animals and they seem a lot more worthy of our compassion. And if there are any bleeding heart human rights luvvies out there that find this suggestion offensive, what rights does my friend have now that she has a new bike to find and pay for? Some people don’t deserve rights because they are simply sub human…there…that feels much better!
Front Foot Forward
There’s a famous quote attributed to an American visitor to London who questioned a sporting contest lasting up to five days, that could have almost half the combatants sat in the dressing room at any one time and may well end up with no defining result. Given the frenetic pace of life these days you might think me insane to state that, the way England “blocked” their way to a series saving draw on the final day of the Third Test in Auckland, was a supreme team effort. Nil-nil and the crowd went wild.
Down and out – like so many times before – this current England team seem to have a greater stomach for the fight – unlike so many times before. At the start of the final day they were seemingly doomed despite the media groomed soundbites spouting from coaches and players alike. Could they save it…did we believe them…not in a lifetime! And yet they did and I would have watched a darn site more of it had Sky not brought back The Drone to the commentary box.
With main anchormen David Gower and Nasser Hussain missing from Sky’s coverage of this tour, out came old Bob Willis again to make you wonder if this really is the best they have. True the nature of the batting required by Bell, Root, Prior and Broad was hardly exciting but The Drone just tipped me over the edge, into a catatonic state. Reaching for the radio and the impressive newcomer, Ed Smith, was not an option given the frustrating time delay. Still, should I ever have trouble sleeping ever again I now have the cure. Please retire him again soon to the Pro 40 league commentary box and get somebody worth listening to.
Want Some Guns?
Wars are indisputably good for big business; first of all lots of expensive equipment is needed which we are very good at making and selling; then there’s lots of new infrastructure projects required to be built after the carnage. And so our politicians are dabbling once again as we nip out the back door quietly from Afghanistan, confident that a drug addicted army and police force will protect a corrupt, western funded administration all in the name of democracy.
That its taken some two years and over 70,000 lost lives to stir our political leaders into considering arming parts of the Syrian resistance forces may make you wonder why so long. You might also have thought that our experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan (film and book rights owned by T.Blair & G.Bush) would have caused some cause for caution where nation building was being touted again. However, here we go again, talking of arming people we know little about up to the eyeballs, just because Al Qaeda appear on the horizon, blindly hoping we pick the right horse.
With the Assads probably all packed up and ready to go now with their billions squirrelled away in secret bank accounts, what a good idea to flood the place with lots of guns and ammunitions so that those left can now shoot the place completely to bits. Experience has shown that what we end up with in the likes of Afghanistan, Eqypt and Iraq is little better than before just in different hands. Promises of shiny democracies rarely occur despite what George and Tony promised us on the last two trips. Sadly, the only legacy seems to be of lives lost and wasted.
I Smell An Election
It may be a couple of years yet but the party machines are cranking up the rhetoric. With the Government clearly still clueless as to how to kick start the economy and the opposition suffering permanent memory loss, given 13 years of staggering ineptitude, they all desperately need another topic to cling to and what better than immigration to whip up the masses. Especially as one-trick pony UKIP has them panicking almost comically.
Aiming simultaneously at Sun reader and Sun reader’s intellectual superior, Daily Mail reader (longer words), by jumping on the bandwagon of fear that next year we will be swamped by hoardes of Bulgarians and Romanians, Cameron, Miliband and even Clappy Cleggy are now talking tough.
Not in living memory can I remember any measured, rational debate about the subject of immigration; mere mention and its out with the R word as all who dare are denounced racist. We are a small island with around sixty million people which means we are roughly four times as densely populated as France and Germany and yet they still pour in (if you believe what you read), enabled by lax controls and protected by an army of human rights lawyers paid for by you and I. Our system tolerates the work shy so generously we have to import labour to do the jobs our idle indigenous population see beneath them, in a country where we issue degrees for nail painting.
Don’t blame those who genuinely come to seek work here if good old Great Britain will welcome them with open arms; what would you do in their position? Had we cured the problem of the long term idle then there would have been little need for mass immigration. Now we have an under-current of tensions simmering because “they got our jobs”, even though we don’t really want to do them.
So now Cameron is going to get tough (not again?) with a pursing of the lips and a flick of his quiff – well shiver me timbers – and it will be over the edge for any that fall foul of the new laws. That is, of course, unless they can employ the same army of lawyers to keep fiddling the public purse as good old Abu Qatada. Here he is, still living it up on the UK, one finger constantly raised at you and I, whilst his legal team rack up the fees and the Home Secretary’s knickers twist ever tighter.
If you do want a good read, see below for an admittedly opposite end of the argument, which suggests that pouring hot tar down my nice Ukrainian window cleaner’s ladders next time he visits may be a touch unreasonable. Who do you believe…who do you trust?
Competition Winner
The only reply to last weeks competition came from my mate Shutty who confirmed that sex was better than cricket at least during October till March. The loser was long suffering wife Jayne who continues to have to sleep with Shutty.
My Right is to Look Like Jordan
And finally! This week’s contender for Tear Your Hair Out Story has to be that of the single mother of two from Leeds, who convinced a presumably highly educated board of clinicians at the local cash strapped NHS Trust to cough up almost five grand…for a new pair of tits.
Now, thanks to the tits on the board, she can pursue her dream of a showing off her tits to the millions of tits who read the Daily Tits, sorry Mr Murdoch, The Sun. And all because she was “depressed” before and presumably exercised her human right to be happy. Well love, I get depressed too, mostly at five past one on a Saturday afternoon in summer after my wickets have been splattered and I realise again that I am borderline useless…cry me a river…and pass me my five grand?
Happy Easter
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