How Politics Works

I’m not somebody who you could class as actively interested in politics (in fact, the phrase ‘couldn’t give a shiny shite’ is oft-quoted regarding my political views). In fairness, I’ve only been a tax-paying fully-employed member of society during the latest Labour government, but having listened to the to-ing and fro-ing between them and the Tories over the years, it’s clear that no matter who’s in power, my life will barely change on a day-to-day level, if at all.

That said, I have picked up a lot of information about the complication machinations of politics and government, and with your permission, I’ll lay them out in my own inimitable style (i.e. with a liberal use of childish swear words and knob gags)

GOVERNMENT POLICIES
The mainstay of government seems to be policies, laws and the like. What with the credit crunch and society crumbling around our ears, barely a day goes by without Labour coming up with a new scheme or initiative. This is how it works:

Labour Minister: “Yeah, so in relation to the ongoing issue what we’re currently debating, our course of action would be to X, Y and Z, with a ban on A and a public enquiry on B”

Tory Shadow Minister: “Nah. It’s bollocks, that. We’d do it in exactly the opposite way, despite it appearing that their way is the only sensible way to proceed”

Lib Dem Person: “Can I have a biscuit?”

PRIME MINISTER'S QUESTIONS
This is a weekly opportunity for David Cameron to have a right old pop at Gordon Brown, while each side’s front bench cronies nod and laugh along despite the put-downs and word play being at best piss-poor. This is interspersed with a load of fat, drunk back-benchers in identical grey suits roaring and waving pieces of paper at predetermined intervals.

Cameron: “I put it to the Right Honourable Gentleman that not only has he failed in his policy to rid society of such-and-such, but he is also a skunk-breathed crap hound”

TORY ROAR OF APPROVAL WITH PAPER-WAVING

Brown: “I don’t think so”

DERISORY LAUGHTER FROM COLLEAGUES

Cameron: “All I’m asking is that my Right Honourable colleague admits he made a mistake”

Brown: “Er, doubtful”

Cameron: "Your mother"

Brown: "Don't make me come over there"

MORE ROARING

Speaker: “Knock it off, the pair of you”

Brown: “He started it”

Speaker: “I don’t care who started it, I’ll bang your bloody heads together in a minute. Do we have any questions from you non-important MP’s at the back”

Non-important MP: “Yes, I wonder if the Right Honourable Leader might consider the plight of Mrs. Ethel Pavestone, who lives more that a quarter mile from her nearest post box and can’t send her pools coupon in a timely manner”

Brown: “I’m afraid I don’t have the details of this particular case to hand, but I ensure my Right Honourable colleague that I’ll look into it in due course. I’ll just make a note of it on my imaginary typewriter”

Clegg: “Can I have a go at being in charge? Go on, I’ll be dead careful”

And you wonder why we’re in such trouble…

I hope he just said "CHEW the fat"...

This story about the new over-the-counter slimming drug had me interested on the way home tonight. The product is called Orlistat, and is basically the latest in tub reduction technology.

On the radio, they had a health expert on. Usually these are dry, well-spoken chaps who reel out a series of statistics and easy-on-the-ear facts before saying "of course, there's no substitute for eating healthily and doing a bit of exercise, you fat bastards". Or words to that effect.

I expected that to happen (apart from the swearing) but instead was treated to the following sentence:

"Well, essentially the drug prevents your body from absorbing fat, so you poo out the fat"

A few seconds went past before my subconscious alerted me to what I'd just heard and I pricked my ears up. I was not disappointed.

Apparently, this is exactly what happens. The fat isn't ingested so it heads south to Pantstown, often coming out at unexpected times with explosive results. I was absolutely pissing myself laughing at stories such as shite with the consistency of oil spurting from one young lady after a bus journey became a bit...well...vibratey.

Another chap told of his horror at his orange stools, again oily, which were damn near impossible to shift from the bog. An absolute comedy joy.

The presenter made the valid point that orange permanent turd was a price worth paying for today's fashion- and weight-conscious youth, so no amount of preparing them for the inevitable 'disruptions' would make much difference. Put simply, no matter how painful and unpleasant, if it makes you thin, you're quids in (possible promotional quote there, market types).

As the interview ended, the two presenters discussed the issue, and one asked rhetorically what people would go through in their plight to become thin.

In this case, a few pairs of pants I would have thought...

I need a hero...with a quality name

“We don’t need another hero” squawked bow-legged quasi-man Tina Turner on the track of the same name. Unfortunately, Welsh hairspray fan and former roofer Bonnie Tyler barked “I’m holding out for a hero”, so now I don’t know what to think.

What I do know is, when you’re in bother, be it physical, financial or fire-related, you want someone with the balls and rescue skills to pile in and dig you out of the shit. Not necessarily some muscle-bound goon clad in lycra, sporting a name with an animal in it (Goatman, Weaslewoman, etc), but someone who nonetheless knows what to do in times of peril.

In my humble opinion, it’s great to be rescued, but it’s even better to be rescued by someone with a quality name.

Step forward Captain Chesley Sullenberger III

That’s a name, that. If you didn’t know, CCS III was the pilot who successfully landed his Airbus in the Hudson River when it suffered simultaneous birdstrike to 2 engines and gave up on the old flying lark. His quick thinking and decisive action undoubtedly saved the lives of over 150 people. Looking at the overhead map, the river takes up a tiny percentage of the Manhattan floor space, so landing a jet in there is akin to threading a needle with boxing gloves. Thank the lord we had old Sully at the controls.

Now, don’t get me wrong. There are almost certainly loads of pilots out there perfectly capable of carrying out a similar manoeuvre and saving 150-odd lives, but there’s something about the name Captain Chesley Sullenberger III that makes you think “Yeah, he’s the kind of man I want in charge of this plane. If the shit hits the fan (or birds hit the engine), he’ll know what to do”.

So sorry to all the Tony Jones’ and Len Smiths out there, but your names are rubbish. If you want people to take you seriously, get your moniker changed to something more daring and sexy before it’s too late. That said, if you’re a wiener who’d rather see 153 people plunge to their icy death, leave it as it is. It’s your call.

Yours,

Handsome B. Wonderful

The greatest lyric of all time

Being a fan of music from all genres (apart from R'n'B and anything on Channel U) I recently took it upon myself to find the greatest song lyrics in the history of music. I scoured all corners of the musical spectrum, analysing and digesting every lyric in every song on every album ever produced, carefully noting the subtle nuances and visual imagery conjoured up by a myriad different musical wordsmiths.

Having gathered these lyrics I then tabulated them and began the painstaking process of ranking them, with a intention of finding the greatest lyrics ever committed to paper. I have spent the last ten years meticulously working through a mountain of material to draw a credible conclusion.

Interestingly, the result flies in the face of traditional music awards such as the Mercury, inthat the greatest lyric is in fact the one held closest to the hearts of the vast majority of the Earth's population. I could be forgiven for being upset that all these years of research have ended up with the most obvious result imaginable, but one read-through of this genius transcript is enough to calm even my most aggressive thoughts.

I'm talking of course of Zig and Zag's seminal masterpiece "Dem girls", and for the first time these beautiful and heart-rending lyrics have been published for the world's eyes to absorb. Read on, but make sure you have a tissue ready...

This is the Zagamuffin calling planet Earth
Ziggy Man and Zagamuffin are in the house in full effect, that's right
Zig and Zag stylee

They all love me, they all love me, dem girls dem girls they all love me
They all love me, they all love me, dem girls dem girls they all love me

Me fluffy, me purple, me lover alien
Me go by the name of the Zagamuffin
Toasting, toasting, 1, 2, 3
I'm toasting y'all in a dancer stylee

Winding and reeling and pumping and jumping
Mash up the place in a slow motion
Give us the sound of a rumbling bass
Gonna waste the place, in your face!

Naughty naughty in a dancehall style
Wiggle your body girl, wiggle me while
Me all love rubbing, me am a rich man
Me dreadlock boss is the Ziggy Man

They call me Zagamuffin cos it is my name
With a rub-a-dub stylee it's bringing me fame
On a ragga tip, you know respect is due
Cos I'm a wicked alien lover and I'm after you

Boom boom, the drums go boom
They shake it, they rock it, the room goes boom
Mix it up and mix it hot
Wiggle them hips, girl, wiggle that bot

Bing bong, the bells done chime
You're my ding dong, gonna make you mine
I'm a heartbreaker, a bodyshaker
You put the sky in my skyscraper

They all love it when I do it to the left
They all love it when I do it to the right
They all love it when I do it to the left
They all love it when I do it to the right
They all love it when I do it to the left
They all love it when I do it to the right
They all love it when I do it to the left
Zig and Zag, booyaka all night!

They all love me, they all love me, dem girls dem girls they all love me (to fade)

Makes you weep, doesn't it...

Schmedit Schmunch More Like

A Happy New Year and all that jazz (I try not to get too bogged down in pleasantries at this time of year).

I don't know if you've heard, but there's been some kind of crunch on credit recently. I've had a scout round the papers and news channels but there's no mention of it anywhere. Obviously, I'm joking (with hilarious results). Not an hour goes by when some company which has been rubbish for 15 years finally decides enough's enough and lurches to its inevitable doom like the Poseidon, from the well-known diaster film "Titanic". MFI, Woolworths and now some middle-class plate outlet have all carked it recently, with thousands of relatively unskilled workers being belched back into an already bloated employment market. It's genuinely sad and worrying for those people and I hope they manage to find some way of making ends meet in the meantime.

However (and I know I'll be incurring the wrath of at least half a million of my readership here), it's had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever.

In fact, scratch that. If anything, I've positively benefitted from the recent economic downturn.

Before you start viciously assaulting me with a rolled-up P45, let me explain. About 6 months ago I was doing my usual online banking and I noticed that due to excessive going out and ill-informed DVD and Wii game purchases, I was skint, despite there being another 10 days until pay day. I had a bit of a panic, went through my statement line for line and determined the only course of action would be to tighten the old belt and stop making daft purchases. By November I was more or less back on a even keel and have started spunking my brass away on TV series I'll never watch again. Phew.

By now the Mrs had sold her house and had moved in with me, meaning she was saving X amount per month on non-mortgage payments, plus no bills or council tax, etc. That money has come in very nicely feathering our nest with a new carpet and assorted electronics, but I'm still paying the lion's share of the bills. All is well, you might say. The thing is, in an attempt to motivate spending, VAT has been cut, and fuel prices have also begun to return to normal, meaning I'm actually saving money for the same amount of expenditure as last year. I find it absolutely bizarre that in these times of fiscal dog turd I'm richer than I've ever been before. Apart from the odd bit of spending from the Mrs here and there I'm still living off my own earnings, yet doing better each month that this time last year.

Now, I'm not trying to gloat or set myself up for some 90's-style begging letters here. My point is that everywhere you look we're hearing about how we'll all be feeling the pinch and how Christmas would be a financial nightmare and how spiralling energy costs would see us all out of pocket, but my example proves that's a load of old horseradish, surely? Not for a minute am I suggesting that there aren't potentially millions of people suffering out there, but if I can go from being on the bones of my arse to being relatively well-off in the space of a few months thanks to a bit of careful planning, clearly it isn't as bad as it seems.

I know there are a million variables and counter arguments to my logic, but it's about time somebody said "Hold on a minute, Peston. It's not all doom and gloom out there. In fact, some spawny beggars (including yours truly) are actually doing alright out of the old Crunch Le Credite, so wind your neck in and stop being so sensationalist". Or summat.

Despite the monetary nay-sayers telling us the end is nigh, there will eventually be an end to the downturn. After years of unprecedented growth it was bound to happen, and avoiding the politics of the situation it appears Brown and Darling are on the right track to sorting it out. I hope everybody who has lost their job or is feeling the pinch is looked after and eventually helped back to their feet, but stop trying
to tell us that everyone in Britain is under the thumb of financial struggle. It simply isn't true.

Don't suppose you've got 10p for bus fare have you, squire...