Cheers!

Well, I've seen them... we've all seen them; probably seen, heard and more than likely smelt them. So we know what he's talking about, don't we? And, much as we'd hate to ever find ourselves on the same side of that vast, vast divide as Camoron and his cronies, we can sort of see where he's coming from. Or, as I find is increasingly the case, where he pretends to be coming from. 

Thing is, though, I can also fairly vividly recall having actually been one of them, admittedly not for more than a good few years now. The argument's not that dissimilar to the one that split the nation's loyalties, regarding smoking; that is to contend that, if it weren't for the socially inept behaviour of the confrontational, vociferous (and offending) minority, we all might well be able to carry on much as before.

Thanks to Thiophene_Guy

But this particular minority are particularly loud, particularly unpleasant, frequently inconsiderate and occasionally (but increasingly) given to acts of violence. For my own part I can honestly claim never, in my day, to have sought out such confrontation, most certainly never acts of violence, never to have indulged in acts of senseless destruction, and always to have been able to find my own way home, even if it wasn't later entirely clear as to how I might have achieved this. Such were my early encounters with the topical drug that is alcohol. 

As a student, whole hours were occasionally lost. Perhaps, way back then, the early part of the evenings had seemed to be going well enough, but then things occasionally became rather hazy and, by the following day vast chunks of the festivities seemed to have been mysteriously espunged from my memories. Just the hangover remained, that and the curious mixture of sympathy and accusation that often prevailed at that time.

Thanks to roeyahram

Please be clear, that I don't wish to paint myself as some sort of public liability, although I'm guessing that there were those who might rightfully have been less than thrilled at any consequent antics. In my defence, I think that I can honestly write that these miscalculations- because that's what they invariably were- can be numbered upon the fingers of two hands. I can also claim never to have taken a single 'sickie,' as a consequence of such overindulgence; that is to say that I always, but always, turned up for work the next day. Whether I was functioning at brim-full capacity I seriously doubt, but I was always there, in deflated body if not always entirely in shining spirit. 

If Camoron and his buddies from the Bullingdon Club were ever to drift onto those foreign shores, where honesty still prevails, they might also, themselves, be more prepared to confess to far more in the manner of self-indulgent moments of drunken abandon. Instead, they choose to continue to judge and malign the vast working majority- alcohol consumption has become merely the latest subject in a long, long line- from way up in their ivory towers of superiority, mind-blowing privilege and entirely unaffected luxury.

I should confess that now I'm of a different generation things do seem to have moved on at pace. I recognise that an abscess of drunken younger males might well be something to avoid, that even certain well-practised individuals might be driven to chance their arm, should any excuse for confrontation present itself, that screamed abuse and the sounds of something or someone under duress are no longer things that one should necessarily opt to investigate alone, at say eleven-thirty of an evening. The British Nation has moved on, to distressingly accurately reflect the social values, or lack thereof, that the nation actually espouses. And, lest I haven't made myself clear on this point, that is to say that, ' individuals, even certain entire neighbourhoods, might be deemed irrelevant in the drive to maximise shareholder profits.'

Thanks to Lee Carson

Perhaps, in part due to wealthy Uncle Tony's covert deals with the drinks industry, some of 'our' city streets now possess designated no-go-zones, that will mysteriously assume precedence later into the evenings. Often, it would appear, it is the curious alchemy of football and alcohol that seem, 'most efficiently', to fuel the worst excesses.

Either way, as a consequence of this unfortunate growing trend, several of us may have welcomed any form of parliamentary investigation into some sort of solution to the escalating mayhem. But really we should have known better than to expect anything short of yet another excuse to hike the profits. One might well be forgiven for wondering how much Camoron's tax hike is going to affect the price of a nice bottle of Krug or Dom Perignon, a bottle of one of the top vintage ports(?) Should the breeze shift round to the south-east I believe that I can already detect the faint whiff of more illicitly distilled alcohol, drifting across the rooftops. I wonder where I might be able to purchase this more affordable brand? 

So, just a thought, Mr Camoron, how about an alternative approach to this one-of-oh-so-many of the nation's current ills? How about giving those not at the dizzying top of society, those not drunk upon celebrity status, a tiny stake in the 'society' that they are being constantly harangued for not contributing more fully towards? How about not force-feeding the un-empowered a highly restrictive diet of the latest social-engineering thoughts of some entirely-cushioned multi-millionaire?

How about not regurgitating to the nation only the latest thoughts upon how these multi-millionaires would like 'best' to restructure 'our' country, to best suit the tiny minority of mega-haves? How about spending a little more time listening to some alternative views to those who seek entirely to richly incentivise only those already drunk upon wealth and privilege, whilst always tightening the belts of the apparently not-hard-working-enough ordinary citizen? How about not attempting to organise every last molecule of the UK, according to what best suits the profit, profit, profit (and yet again) share holders?

And, whilst we're on the subject, how about aspiring towards a really free press, rather than waffling on about, "the integrity of the," not really, "free press"? Maybe working towards the goal of a media that might best avail the population of some economic and other pertinent facts, that might best enable them to more fully engage in the (currently bankrupt) 'democratic' process? Thus enabling the disaffected to begin establishing a tiny stake in 'our' society. A press that might, counter to the wishes of its current millionaire owners, actually inform the population? Whatever next?

Thanks to tomylees

So finally, returning to the initial subject of alcohol, attempting to tortuously complete another lengthy circuit, I would claim seldom to drink beyond lightly these days- my appraisal, not that of the GP- but when I was fully employed within the public sector I was frequently driven to consume alcohol with something of a vengeance, invariably in order to help to numb the constant blame and sniping criticisms from a long line of 'almost perfect' appointed government-here-today-gone-tomorrow-secretaries of state. And, lest this should ever have been deemed insufficient to the causes of 'driving up standards', the resultant full-and-damning weight of the 'free' press, seeping, in due course, poisonously into the daily observations of one's family and friends- "integrity of the free press" indeed? The numbed years seemed curiously preferable to opening a vein and, as I have already made clear, never but a day lost to the ravages of my ambrosia of choice. 

Now merely an outsider- t'was never really otherwise- I would suggest that, if Camoron's attacks upon the blameless public sector are to continue to rain down with such unchecked ferocity, alcohol be made available on prescription. 

Alternatively, 'we' might continue with the current tools of choice; that would be lies upon lies upon lies upon lies... It's almost like a sentence that Uncle Maurits Escher might have written.        

Priceless Piping.

Priceless, brilliant, perfect, irreplaceable, fantastic, sublime, exquisite, a gem, the best ever!

Given the frequency of such terms, spewing daily into the world, care of 'our' media network, my contention is that the superlative and many of its closer cousins are vastly overused. This being almost to the point of redundancy or abuse even. I've typed 'contention' but really, given that the most likely recipient for such unworthy praise is invariably a Premier League footballer or someone randomly selected from a spiralling list of (so termed) celebrities, it's really far more than a contention, it's a fact, albeit an extremely sad one.

Incidentally, for those who might still be harbouring any residual doubt, for 'Premier League', try substituting the more scientifically accurate title of 'First Division'. Because that's what 'Premier League' actually means. Of course it does, as in 'at the front' or 'top' or 'fastest', 'not behind another', first! How can 'first' possibly also apply as a label for third? Whatever next?

My current cycling qualifies for none of the above. Perhaps 'better', when current efforts are compared to earlier outings, but even such vagaries as 'better' might only apply in this very specific instance. I claim nothing, in terms of competitive comparisons for my cycling, except that I do invariably get to where I'm aiming.

Priceless, by Sergey Yeliseev

During 2012 I've cycled somewhere in the region of 1,600 miles. Not a fantastic distance when you average it out over the entire year. Still, it keeps me happy(ish).

Having not been out on the bike for a month or so, almost entirely as a consequence of falling temperatures and the various forms of precipitation available to those of us living in the UK, I was eager to reconnect with this interest, as soon as I'd acquired a pair of gloves capable of combatting the occupational hazards of frostbite. And somewhat limited road testing would seen to suggest that this modest goal has finally been achieved.

So, 1,600 miles, mostly devoted to trundling along back lanes in the general region of North Norfolk. Lots of rain, a bit of sunshine, much wind, more than enough mud for a lifetime, and a fair selection of interesting regional wildlife. For example, on balance, I'd guess that the Common Buzzard features on more trips than not. Probably the largest kettle of such would be a helical tower of seven, seen around late September, early October; always well worth pausing to marvel at. There can be more to cycling than simply getting from A to B in the shortest possible duration.

Thus far, and excepting specific coffee stops, Monday the 10th December would probably have to feature as the most notable wildlife-worthy day to date. More, I'd be prepared to argue that several of the terms eagerly dismissed at the start of this passage realistically do still apply here. Certainly 'priceless,' 'sublime,' 'exquisite' and most definitely 'irreplaceable.' Neither would I be alone in describing Monday's observations as absolute 'gems.'  

Perhaps something meteorological may have transpired, to cause such a proliferation during my short cycling absence, something to which I am not yet privy. Either way, I strongly feel these observations to be, at the very least, highly noteworthy. A total of sixteen observed Bullfinches, at thirteen separate sites! And, should this not mean a great deal to you, allow me to place these sightings into some sort of context. At least sixteen Bullfinches in a solitary day (approximately 40 miles) would almost seem to tally with the number seen during the entirety of the rest of 2012 (approximately 1,560 miles).

A real gem, care of Sergey Yeliseev

Further more, for those amongst you who do not know of the charming Bullfinch, a relatively small British bird, about the size of a House Sparrow, I should mention that, during the winter months this bird tends towards gregarious. That is to say that, like other members of the finch family, it tends to seek out others of its kind- 'birds of a feather...' and all that stuff. So observations made from a moving bike, invariably alerted by the bird's rather plaintive piping call, or the uncommon sight of a white rump in retreating flight, might not always reveal precisely how many birds there are present.

Even during the more territorial spring or summer months Bullfinch sightings tend to be of pairs or small family groups. In the winter months parties of five or six are still not uncommon, except to put this into the context that Bullfinches generally in the UK are fast becoming almost a rarity. So I am reporting that, in a single day, during a forty mile cycle I have encountered upwards of sixteen Bullfinches, of which only six were observed to be with another, so an estimate of conceivably as many as forty birds would not be that outrageous. Of Bullfinches, that's a lot!

And again, exquisite, by Sergey Yeliseev

Beautiful and relatively easy to identify, once seen not that easy to mistake for another bird. Males in particular present as one of the most delightful birds that one might still be fortunate enough to encounter in a UK garden, but only if (and maybe) one lives adjacent to areas of suitable habitat. The male is almost unmistakable, with its deep pink and copious breast and jet black cap, the female being somewhat more muted. But both possess the really obvious white rump that may almost instantly allow one to discount nearly all other smallish birds.

Perched upon a bike, as I was, wheeling along relatively quiet country lanes, it was frequently the surprisingly far carrying and plaintive piping that first alerted my attentions. Thus I am able to also report that despite the remarkable swell in (my) recent Bullfinch sightings I have, so far this year, yet to encounter any of the larger and more nasal-sounding northern race of this bird.

And yes, they really are priceless. Once gone science will instantly confirm that they are also irreplaceable. Isn't it refreshing to read of such a notable swell in the numbers of Bullfinches? Long may this slight apparent recovery last.

Isn't it also refreshing to see such terms as, irreplaceable, a gem and priceless used in their correct context?

Children in Need

Children in Need? Of course they are- some of them- how could they not be, what with all of this austerity malarky? In fact there is much to support the contention that many of those most in need have, in effect and/or by default, been specifically targeted to shoulder far more than their 'fair share' of the current political austerity cuts. That is to say that they are thus far more likely to be in need as a direct consequence of current government policies. Enter, stage right, cuddly Terry Wogan!

It really doesn't take a genius to deduce that the more deeply divided a 'society' the more manoeuvrability there will be, at the bottom end, for all sorts of exploitation, from the driving down of the minimum wage in the resultant burgeoning black market economy, right through to various forms of child abuse for financial gain. Honestly, this resultant situation really isn't open to serious contention. If the truth be told, it's actually the free-market's usual response to tougher times.

Thanks to BabyBare11

Just as the ruling elite's response to any reportage of such might be to play down the significance of these issues, or to attempt to somehow undermine the credibility or scale of the problem. Much as George Osborne might continue to refer to the tax-avoiding wealthy as, "those hard working families," whom he doesn't want to, "penalise," with the nation's tax arrangements, just before he finds yet another means by which to overtax the rest of us.

There are those, more observant amongst us, who might even regard the current austerity measures, far far more worryingly, as a convenient subterfuge for the ushering in of a very much more corporate state. That would be the privatisation of huge sections of the NHS, creeping corporate sponsorship of education, the pandemic sweep of the multinational companies, the subtle undermining of all manner of employment or disability rights, that sort of thing, just in case you hadn't yet picked up on the signs.

Thank you University of Exeter

So yes, of course there will be children in need, just as there are elderly residents in need, just as there are seriously ill patients in need, just as there are supposedly 'fully employed' and 'legitimately' tax-paying families still, and increasingly, in need. One might never actually hear the words spoken, "It's the price worth paying, for the changes we wish to pursue," but current actions on the part of 'our' coalition government cannot possibly have completely obscured this begging-to-be-addressed issue.    

Thus it's well done again to Children in Need, is it? Something approaching £27 million raised at the last count, and who amongst us can deny that much of this might indeed enable all manner of much-needed work in the cause to ensue? But then, rather less popularly voiced, is it not also possible that all of that fun and fanfare of the big day is perhaps also masking several hugely-urgent but curiously never seen-to-be-asked questions? For example, 'Do all of those famous faces, all of those humorous sketches, does all of that marketable music, all of that glitz in any way exacerbate the problems that the whole affair attempts or purports to address?'

Thanks also to yksin

My contention is that a vastly divided state is a sure-fire way of creating many of the problems that Children in Need professes to be attempting solve. And we are very much a divided state, accelerating as I write ever further in that divided direction. No longer are we the 'aspiring to achieve better' state, more the 'aspiring to have absolutely everything' conglomerate of corporations and, again, it doesn't take a genius to surmise that if some of 'us' are aspiring to have absolutely everything then most of us will be left with vastly less.

Following this trail of thought for a while longer, allow me to draw to your attention the vast wealth that many of those most vociferously supporting Children in Need have accrued in this finite world. In Sir Terry Wogan's case some of that wealth-accruing has even been achieved care of Children in Need. Although it is not clear (to me) whether this is still the case, for many years, in the cause of hosting this worthy-charitable cause, Sir Terry was the beneficiary of a not insubstantial fee of around £10,000 per annual event.

Thank you University of Exeter

Supporting my contention that he has insidiously over-accrued, Sir Terry, I believe, upon first being confronted with this long-and-conveniently-obscured fact, claimed not to have spotted the change to his current bank balance. Easily done Tezz, easily done! Just the other day I found myself the unexpected beneficiary of several grand. It's happened to most of us at some time or other, I shouldn't wonder.

I believe that the iconic Gary Barlow also put in an appearance on the big day, although I have to admit that I was otherwise engaged at the time, so was unable to witness the grand spectacle. In Gary's case- or is it Sir Gary, I forget?- no fee was involved and I don't suppose he gave a moment's thought to the incidental publicity that his seldom-seen face received. Time given freely in the cause! But, another thought occurs, did the actual time given cancel out the taxes avoided; those avoided taxes that have, contra-aspirationally driven yet another small wedge between the have-a-lots and the have-rather-lesses?

Having not watched the night's charity fundraising I'm perhaps not in the best position to scatter such thoughts but, 'Were we operating in a fair and progressive tax society, just how much of that £27 million might have been raised, more appropriately and quietly, by those performing so publicly for the cause?'

I'm guessing that various PR teams would have been strongly advising against such blatant hypocrisy, so I'll assume that at no point during the evening did any important bod from Starbucks, Amazon, Google, or perhaps some mysterious tory donor, appear with one of those big cardboard cheques, for a seemingly large sum of money. You know, one of those self-publicity cheques that are always going to be (stage) wowed and applauded, yet are also always going to be worth immensely less than the accrued benefits of living/operating in such an unequally-taxed society.

Finally, thanks to prawnpie

So, go on, tell me that I'm wrong, or that I've missed the point. Better still, tell me that we have to continue to pursue these vastly divided 'society' policies, in order to prevent the multinational crooks from taking their businesses elsewhere.

Much better all round if we just bow down and accept the fact that we're going to have to increasingly compete with the third world, in so far as working market practices go.

At least that way we can all look forward to many more years of Children in Need, catering as a bizarre result for a growing number of children in need, brought about as a direct cause of the growing unequal division of wealth. The perfect example of a self-fulfilling prophesy!

Geometry

The circle, such a perfect shape, don't you think? Admittedly it doesn't tesselate, but then maybe that's because it's such a stand-alone shape. Try and tesselate the circle and you'll still end up with an aesthetically very pleasing pattern. Gaze up into that endless and remorseless vacuum that is our universe and almost everything that you're likely to see appears as a circle- the two-dimensional representation of the sphere- and anything that isn't yet will be eventually. The laws of physics have decreed it to be so. The sun, the moon...

We should count ourselves fortunate indeed, then, that it is the 'perfect' Circle that is now charged with bringing certain other forces to bear, upon our NHS. Circle! Who wouldn't want to think of the NHS in such perfect terms?

Type "Circle" into your choice of search engine and you might expect, at the very least, to find images that strive towards such perfect symmetry, sites that allude to something magnificently aspirational.

Beautiful! Thanks Esparta

Alas, the very first site that my search has revealed unashamedly uses the word "corporate" upon its home page. Now my head is corrupted with terms like, "square the circle." Read on and the subterfuge and consequent slide, swiftly away from perfection, will send your head spinning too. Spinning, contradictorily, further from the perfect circle. "Circle" and "corporate" do not sit comfortably together!

Circle have been charged with the 'safe-handling' and 'care' of Hinchingbrooke Hospital in Cambridgeshire. They are aiming to make £300,000,000 in savings during the ten years of their tenure. And if they don't, or should they happen to run up an 'unexpected' overdraft, it's important, isn't it, that nobody 'at the top' should be left out of pocket. 'Happily' there will still be at least a choice few at Hinchingbrooke Hospital who won't yet be needing to watch their backs, or their salaries.

CEO Ali Parsa claims that Circle will be able to break even by 2013. That would be the same Ali Parsa who was Executive Director of Goldman Sachs's European Banking Investment Team.  And that would be the same Goldman Sachs that, last year, paid only £4.1 million in corporate (that ugly word again) taxes, on pre-tax profits of £1.92 billion.

Let's just place those two figures side by side, shall we? Just so that we can better compare the two:
£4,100,000      
£1,920,000,000
That's just over 0.2% in taxes. Yes please! I would imagine that most of us would be happy to sign up to that sort of deal.

Also exquisite, Fillmore Photography

So- still thematically- just to round things off for you, Ali Parsa pocketed £169,000 in 2011; Lord alone knows by just how much this sum will have rocketed in 2012, CEOs generally tending to have developed a convenient immunity to the usual restraints of austerity. Presumably most of this somewhat overgenerous sum will have found its way into the man's overly-copious pockets, via the tax payers. Hinchingbrooke's savings will have to be carefully targeted, so as not to impinge upon Mr Ali's cut.

'Care' of Circle, Hinchingbrooke Hospital is now operating upon something akin to corporate business lines. One can only wonder as to the tax affairs of such a place and those of its board of directors. Will Ali again be able to sort it so that the top brass are to be taxed at 0.2%?

A logo with a circular theme is surely just aching to materialise. Something to do with "cutting corners with the nation's health," I should imagine. Any ideas?

The Unspoken.

Everything is almost indistinguishable, visually every bit as sharp, audibly just as crisp, so exactly how does this unspoken phenomenon manifest itself? Or perhaps, more pertinently, to which purpose did this otherwise undetectable screen first elect to descend?

Challenge me to provide concrete evidence, simply for its mere existence and, every time, I'll draw a complete blank. "Have faith!" I might be tempted to retort, if I am left with any inclination whatsoever to respond.

That isn't to say that the required evidence cannot be unearthed- locked away as it is in our tiny gene pools, secreted within those mysterious chemical imbalances and under-performing neurotransmitters. But buried it is, and deeply enough to suit those who might wish to to deny, or conveniently relegate, its immense significance. Enough manoeuvre for the overindulged art of denied culpability then; indeed who amongst us might have the required computer printout of our own mind's chemical imbalances conveniently to hand?  

It was there again the other day, tangible enough, one might mistakenly have assumed, to afford a full and yet mysterious protection from vehicular impact, should its muffling accompaniment transpire to impair my usually fully-adequate road sense. Muffled and yet nothing is hazy; it doesn't actually prevent or seriously impair conversation- other than, seriously, any inclination towards such- nor tactile experience. Yet still I am here, encased within, and everything else is there, just outside.

Thank you, Jason A. Samfield

Defying inclination, I might speak, express myself almost as fully as at any other time, be observed to continue much as before. In any physical sense it is a barrier to nothing, except that I might be less driven to relate to those beyond its perimeter. So, is it even there? Were I pressed could I locate it?

Whilst weaving a pathway through the busy city crowds I have sometimes perceived it to be something akin to a fully multi-sensationally-transparent screen, perhaps located just a few metres outside of my being. Yet this has, in no way whatsoever, clarified the issue. Should another happen to wander inside my boundary they would, by necessity, be closer and yet still be very much outside of the screen. Should I so choose, I might easily make physical contact with any 'outsider' and yet, even during such a contact, we would remain firmly upon either side of this indeterminate boundary; I entrapped within, the other obliviously without.

I know that I am not and yet it is almost as if I am, in some sense, invisible. Should I elect to- desire, at such times remains entirely outside of my sphere of relevance- I might sit and observe the other world, inexplicably unnoticed, perhaps then almost invisible.

And lest this ultra-vague attempt at clarification should chance to (appear to) illuminate the topic, allow me, please, to waft a further belt of blanket cumulostratus before your powers of perception. This being that, upon meeting up with my adorable daughter, which I did upon that day- ever a warmly-anchoring and welcome occurrence- that she was able to slip effortlessly inside and to thereupon rupture this invisible barrier, affording almost instant and fuller access to a wider world. Once again to be readmitted to the world beyond!

Conjured with impeccable stealth from the very aether, an hour-and-a-half later, no longer residing within that protective aura, separated once again from my talisman, the screen had again returned.

And thanks to atmtx

It does not, not for me, descend like the alliterative black cloud, nor does it prevent my actual ability to rise from my bed, nor, I would argue, my ability to appear to fully function. It does, on the other hand, seriously impair any desire or compunction to do or partake of any of these things and, by association, anything and virtually everything else. And yet still, in so many societal senses, it does not exist at all.

The point at which I first slipped seamlessly behind life's double-glazed unit, this place from whence I might continue, far more remotely, to observe life's comings and goings, remains, by design, a well-cocealled secret. That I might, never have forewarning of its approach seems to have very much fashioned who I am. And this much I know to be true, regardless of whether those on the outside acknowledge the existence of such a phenomenon or not. Further, it does not console me to believe that I am not quite so alone as my perceptions would often suggest.

Thank you, very much, geoftheref

Might there be something peculiar to this life in the Western World, that has brought about such a rise in the effective emotional withdrawal of so many? This is a thought which is never far from the forefront of my thinking during such isolated times, perhaps something about the values we choose to hold dear and maybe about those that we choose not to value at all?

Another question which crossed my mind recently was that, once the chaos and the debris and the bodies have been tidied away, once Hurricane Sandy has had its shout, who will be reaping the financial rewards? Clearly it won't be the poor souls who have returned to find much of what they once owned scattered to the four horizons. But, in this world of share-holding, where fatal disease can be and is perceived as a nice little earner, where the push to 'invest' in our once great NHS is currently gaining pace, we can be certain that somewhere, perhaps more quietly celebrated, there will be stock market gains, and champaign corks a-popping!

A similar thought crossed my mind as I first watched the twin towers crumble in to the dust.

The King is Dead, Long Live the King!

So, as if 'our' democracy wasn't already responsive, nay perfect, enough, now we are to be encouraged to vote upon the 'appointment' of Police Commissioners. Well- short pause for breath and reality check- it's just fine-tuned democratic process, upon fine-tuned democratic process, upon further fine-tuned democratic process, isn't it? Finally- current crippling recession excepted- we have surely arrived at the very gateway to a virtual Nirvana upon this Earth.

Time to celebrate, we might consider... or just might there be something covertly party-pooperish afoot? On the surface- I'm referring to a surface here that's so 'immeasurably' thin as to almost defy quantum physics, rather less than a tremblingly fragile meniscus of an already fragile meniscus- the image of 'our' country that 'our' lords and masters would like to present to the unthinking wider world is one of a strongly united nation, collectively shouldering up to its financial responsibilities; 'united we stand,' that type of thing.

Honestly? If this is indeed the case- the reality, as opposed to the presentation- then we certainly must have arrived at the aforementioned gates, all pulling together, safe in the knowledge that those whom we have 'elected' to best carry forth our bidding are striving, often late into the nights, to best represent that one, collective nation. Therefore when, perchance, the representer and the representee should chance to converse, one would expect both sides to be referencing to the same technical manual. I honestly can't see how anyone could have serious issues with anything written thus far, indeed this is much the sort of thing that dear ol' Dave and the vertibrately-challenged Nick are, in essence, still insisting.

Which is why I would like to suggest that Andrew Mitchell's recent and teeny-tiny difference of opinion with a member of the constabulary requires significantly greater analysis than Uncle Dave is insisting, or currently trying to insist.

Thank you,
spacecookypk

As the situation, at this juncture, stands there are those who would like to present the now well-documented spat between Andrew and PC as something of an honesty conundrum, a simple who dunnit scenario. But, back on Planet Earth- where Nirvana is sadly, currently regarded as rather more of an anti-inspiration- for anyone who may still have dealings with either their MP or their local constabulary, the issue may well present as a conundrum, but only in so far as in that neither side generally presents as being anything approaching entirely trustworthy. Thus, instead of, 'who could possibly be lying?' the puzzle becomes more, 'who could possibly be telling the truth?'

Without any form of apparent supportive evidence we could, here, be left with no alternative other than to draw the 'obvious' conclusion, of 'unproven.' Frustrating indeed! So, allow me, if you will, licence to speculate beyond this 'apparent' lack of evidence.

Gleaning character-witness type evidence from the wider parliamentary club, I'm prepared to jump in here and argue that it is infinitely more likely that it is the reputedly petulant Andrew who has been somewhat more cavalier with the truth, thus lying. Further, and sighting more instances of such class-based reaction than one could shake a stick at, I would venture to suggest that the vast majority of the politically-tuned-in public have already drawn similar conclusions.

It's not as if the police are anywhere near as close to the top of the honesty tree as one should be permitted to expect, within an open and honest democracy. Cite The Hillsborough Enquiry, cite the issues surrounding the suicide of Fiona and Francecca Pilkington, cite recent and ongoing troubles at Elm Hill in Norwich, cite any number of domestic incidences where 'your' local police force have, and will continue to, misinform(ed) you and the wider public about either what is happening or what the police are currently doing in order to address the situation. Make no mistakes, if 'your' local Commissioner can be quoted as saying that, "Problems are being robustly dealt with," which you know not to be the case (because you live there every day), of if he can be quoted as having said that, "The family were overreacting," before the self same family self immolates, then this is, regardless of how any later enquiry couches it, lying.

Not outstandingly powerful evidence in support of the constabulary is it, but, should you choose to weigh up this contention, against the overwhelming evidence of obscene levels of self-serving and egocentric behaviour amongst 'our' MPs, then the most convincing scenario becomes, well, almost half-convincing... maybe.

Thanks to vic.bergmann

The alleged lying of Andrew Mitchell, and let's face it both sides cannot possibly be telling the truth, I'm going to jump in and suggest, is not here even remotely the most pertinent issue. Experience should, long ago, have taught us that lying in the guise of an 'aspiring' MP (or PM) is now almost a given. Site Tony Blair's slight of hand with the WMD truth, Nick Clegg's pretence at spinal integrity, Gordon Brown's whoops-adaisy with the best part of the nation's pensions, virtually anything that JC (Jeremy Hunt) has ever uttered, any number of MPs angry at the questioning of their 'right' to accumulate numerous properties at the tax payer's expense (an issue, incidentally, which still has not fully been addressed), the list really is almost endless. Perhaps a very simple conversion chart of 'scale of potential personal gain' weighed-up against 'size of attempted lie' might serve us well here.

The ultimate, and thus most pertinent, consideration has to be just how very poorly represented we currently are, by those we have 'elected' so to to do. And, as evidenced by Andrew's 'alleged' (but safely to be considered as 'actual') outburst, can we not easily gauge exactly how lowly we, the vast majority of the electorate, feature, in terms of absolute and currently-practised disposability? We are merely, and I quote, "Plebs."

Just how is it even possible that a political party that has traditionally and consistently represented the interests of so few, at the expense of so many, might have gained enough votes to yet again be set in charge?

What with the even-handed nature of 'our' 'free' press, the 'fair' and 'equal' access to the quiet and private ear of 'our' MP, the vested interests of those who own and control the means of news distribution, the duplicitous betrayal of its 'supporters' by New Labour; for heaven's sake what could possibly have gone wrong?

So, why to vote for 'your' Police Commissioner, or not?

On the one hand actually voting for a Commissioner might, in the wrong kind of manipulative hands, be regarded as condoning of any future political party allegiance that might develop, should 'minor' adjustments later be regarded as 'beneficial' or 'desirable'. It might, in the convenient eyes of a non-impartial news media, and at certain levels, be regarded as a tacit acceptance of a collaborative responsibility for future, questionable, decisions that are to made by the 'elected' Commissioner. "You can always vote again, in another (is it?) four years," has long since become a mantra of so many modern day apologists, for the current woeful system- don't lose your right to vote! Amongst the growing numbers of disenfranchised voters, "Don't vote, it only encourages them," would, perhaps, appear to bear greater pertinence.

On the other hand ..................................................................................
.............................. nope... absolutely nothing springs to mind...

Having, perhaps for many years, been subjected to the regularly updated national or local news, via your particular 'choice' of provider, you may have puzzled, as have I, over the suddenly amassed ranks of available police officers, should any government-endorsed event require policing, whilst also wondering as to the same police force's yawning absence, when each evening many of your local streets routinely revert to feral. Should this scenario apply to your local patch you may well be tempted, come the day of the  big vote, to endorse the candidate with the least well-budgeted promises. That would be the candidate who might, 'most convincingly promise' to redress this growing imbalance.

But, be warned that public sector spending is increasingly regarded, especially by this government, as a societal cancer, a pernicious tumour that is hindering the 'long-overdue' private impetus that will 'far more efficiently' address these issues. In no way should this be seen as an open invite for the city jollies to quickly feast upon the dying carcass of the public sector. So, when casting your vote, you may be tempted, motivated by desperation, to endorse the most courageous liar.

In conclusion then, should the question not, more openly, be phrased as, "Which candidate would you rather have, lying to you, on 'your' government's behalf?"

Democracy is dead. Long live democracy.  

Something Lost, Nothing Gained.

As soon as I got home I withdrew, quietly to the summer house. Well, the weather was somewhat more amenable than it has been for most of the summer; thus there was warmth to be gleaned.

The smell of sunshine-warmed pinewood, suffused with that of recently prepared coffee, the early autumn light and a good book- currently enjoying 'The Death of Eli Gold, by David Baddiel- maybe just sufficient to distract me from the dull throbbing in my right cheek. Plump cushions upon the old favourite armchair, actually somewhat older than me, a family heirloom if you please.

Thing is, I've just had two teeth extracted and the careful array of targeted pain-killing injections has slowly been deserting me. I'm a tad reluctant to pop a convenient paracetamol, guardian at the gateway to the temple as it were. But, conversely, neither am I prepared to battle pointlessly with an altogether avoidable growing discomfort, if things should get too heavy. An agnostic standing firm, at the temple gates, whatever next? We'll just have to see...

Thanks to dental ben

I'll sup the miraculous liquid through clenched teeth, as I attempt to keep this blood-soaked gauze in place. Let's just hope that the ever-invasive hint of iron doesn't taint the flavour too much. Maybe, with good fortune and an element of luck, Mr Baddiel's carefully crafted words will prove worthy of the task afforded them.

I wouldn't want you to conjure up an image of an old and toothless wisp of a thing. If it weren't for the fact that the bleeding seems to flow with an ever increased urgency, during any sort of physical activity, I'd probably be out for a spin on the bike. One day lost to circumstances beyond my control, I think I can afford that...

What I do find to be increasingly beyond me, however, is the cost of such treatment; an extraction, thus an avoidance of pain, forty-eight quid, if you please. It's not like I'm having my gums botoxed, is it? Apparently the NHS would even have stretched to a more general sedative, my dentist 'reassured' me, should the anxiety have transpired to be too overwhelming. But I didn't fancy the prospects of staggering 'drunkenly', from dentist to coffee-provider, before slurring my excuses to the proprietor, then falling asleep in the corner, blood dribbling down my shirt. Not dignified, don't you think?

And again, to dental ben

Apparently, if eating- always a more appealing option than starvation, I have found- becomes a problem I can always opt for an insert. 'Sadly' this degree of follow-up 'care' falls far beyond the scant remit of 'our' NHS. Two thousand quid, for those with the means. "I'll get back to you on that one," I mumbled, still mopping the spit and blood from my chin.

Dentistry, we are led to believe, is still perched, teetering uncertainly at the peripheries of a crumbling NHS? I wonder what plans for its future, young Jeremy has. Fingers crossed, maybe having inexplicably avoided a prison sentence for his blatant corruption of due democratic process, this time he'll be in a more benevolent and generous mood.

Take care of 'our' little jewel, won't you JC?  




      

Sorry

I have a confession to make. I've made the most dreadful mistake! It's been haunting me for quite a while now and I feel that it is time to stand up and to properly address the issue, before it completely overwhelms me, causing my char-blackened soul to shrivel within, until I become nothing but a hollowed-out and pointless husk. Obviously I won't be occupying any less physical space, but look into my eyes and you'll be able to sense the betrayal; it'll be slowly leaking out to colour grey all that I touch.

In my defence I should like to point out that, even at the time of the afore-alluded-to mistake, I was probably deluding myself; it'd been another tough day 'at the office' and my mind really wasn't 'up to the job'. Suddenly, completely out of the blue, the ultimate prize seemed to loom before me and I was completely dazzled, corrupted almost! I took my eye off the ball, so to speak, and when I looked down again somebody had stolen the ball, moved the match to another venue, bribed the referee, blown the final whistle and ploughed up the pitch. Another Tesco, I should imagine...

Thanks to Liberal Democrats

It was then, back at that, pre pledge, time that I felt I'd arrived at some sort of deal, certainly a contractual obligation. Of course, looking back now, the deal was obviously far too good to have been true, but, at the time, I honestly felt committed to it. I duly signed upon the dotted line, almost literally, and, for as long as I could bear to look at my own reflection of a morning, I stuck with it.

Well, you should, shouldn't you? What sort of future world, for the next generation, would we be endorsing if nobody could be entrusted to tell the truth, if nobody could ever be taken at their word? Imagine!

With hindsight I now recognise that I should never have made such a pledge. It's certainly the  type of pledge that I shall never make again. And, by addressing it via this blog, I'm hoping to draw a line under the whole sorry issue and to move on with my life.

You see, I voted for Nick's Liberal Democrats and, in return, Nick pledged not to raise tuition fees.

Obviously, this is now recognised as a mistake on both sides of the deal, so if I can just have back my vote, then Nick, you can carry on selling your deflated husk of a soul, and we need both say no more about it

..?

..?

..?

..?

Thanks to Liberal Democrats

But, we can't can we? That's the thing, isn't it Nick? I, along with tens (or hundreds?) of thousands of other voters, 'democratically' selected you and your bods, largely attracted by, amongst other allusions to a fairer society, your impassioned commitment not to raise tuition fees.

Otherwise, you wouldn't be where you currently are, misrepresenting current Tory austerity measures as having no alternative, continuing to delude yourself that you operate under even the most infinitesimally minute political mandate. Rather you'd, more than likely, be teetering upon the precipice of 'lost in the annuls of political oblivion'.

For myself, observing your desperate evasiveness from a safe distance, this kind of role- that of political oblivion- seems far more aptly suited to your capabilities; so should you, at any time soon, require some sort of reference, please feel free to ask. I've had time to reflect upon my misguided pledge, learned from my mistakes, and, fully enlightened, I'll be more than happy to oblige.

Lies, damned lies and pledges...

A Penny For Your Thoughts

Legs propped-up upon the cushion of choice, placed there for optimum comfort, I supped at my early morning decaffeinated beverage, singeing lips. Health dictates that I don't overdo the caffein, and being somewhat addicted to coffee I invariably prefer to savour that particular small concession rather later in the day.

At my side, perched upon a small occasional table and not yet fully consumed, nestling alongside a half-read novel, sat a far healthier breakfast option than any that is ever likely have been advertised upon the vast array of alternative, more-commercial, TV channels- sugar, also in later life, having become a growing issue. The BBC was 'dutifully' 'updating' me with the latest 'news'- seldom a spotless start to the new day- ever more of a duty than a pleasure.

Much better, Moyan_Brenn

As my early-morning brain set about the task of gearing up for the day ahead it would probably be fair to write that much of what was being broadcast was drifting randomly across my consciousness, rather than in any way efficiently filing itself away for later easy-access reference. The BBC News Team had opted to share, with the viewer, the thoughts of one Stephen Birch, of Bierce Technical Services. If, at some point, the nature of the man's work had been revealed to the viewer, I confess that I must have missed it. I really didn't know the man 'from Adam', yet I felt 'certain', or more I hoped, that there would be thoughts, opinions or expertise, secreted somewhere amongst his ponderous words.

However, it very soon occurred to me that such was not going to be the case. No doubt one can quickly avail oneself of the 'user-friendly' version of the technical nature of Bierce's talents, or the degree of support that such Services might afford, if one chooses to Google the company. But for my part, in so far as Bierce Technical Services are concerned, I have opted to remain comfortably in the darkness. There is only so much information that one 'needs' and I have decided that Bierce Technical Services are currently entirely superfluous to my requirements. Maybe, at some point in the indeterminate future, circumstances shall dictate that I regard them differently, who can say?

As I have already made clear, I know nothing, almost nothing, about the man. He may well be a wonderful individual, the perfect father, a technical genius of some kind; I really don't know. I know his stated name, that of his company or employer- I think the former, for reasons that might soon become apparent- and, most significant to this blog entry, that he is one man, one adult male. Just the one!

Stephen- I hope that he won't mind if I here adopt the less formal approach- was sharing his views regarding what 'our' government 'needs' to do in order to attract 'the voter'. Already slightly irritated- it's so easily done these days- I persevered. The message was a short one, not unduly arduous upon the brain, not too demanding of one's precious time. I even partially rewound the short news item, in order to ensure that I caught the man's name, along with that of his company.

What Stephen actually had to say is almost, if not entirely, irrelevant to my imminent point. This point being that he was, and remains, one man; one man, shackled to just the single vote. One vote that is not any more nor less significant than your's or mine. Nor is it of greater significance than that lorry driver's, nor that lady's at the supermarket checkout, nor that street busker's. So, just in case you're not up to speed yet, my thought is this, "Why place far greater import upon what this one man might consider politically pertinent than that of any other individual?"

Lest you should think it relevant, and honestly, it absolutely isn't, Stephen was expressing an opinion that the government 'needed' to adopt an even more business-friendly approach to its methodology, that they (The Coalition) needed to listen even more closely to what businesses wanted.

A short while later, during an altogether-presented-as-different-and-unrelated-news-item (you be the judge) the never-comforting voice of one Ed Balls was to be heard, very much in appeasement to entirely the same ilk of business-friendly 'wishes'. Obviously 'our' Ed didn't refer directly, or even obliquely, to the earlier, and 'unrelated' news item; the opinion of Ed was an altogether separate 'newsworthy' item. Or so we were being permitted to believe.

Thanks to tantrum_dan

I certainly can't quote dear Ed- a rewind was absolutely out of the question- but, let it suffice to be written that, he pushed his face at the camera and gushed 'positively' about 'a need' to nurture all of those business-friendly policies. Apparently, it would seem that we have moved on apace from those Government-getting-too-close-to-business days, those days that, in one highly significant way, helped to bring about the current global monetary meltdown; oh, and the absolute disillusionment of the electorate with the machinations of New Labour. That's you, that is, Balls! Some of us do possess memories.

I know that we're constantly being told that voting is our 'inalienable right', indeed that it's really virtually an obligation, that the universal vote has been fiercely fought for and that the right to use it (that vote) needs to be rigorously defended. "If you don't vote, then what right have you got to criticise the system we end up with?" I know the arguments, I've heard them and taken part in some of them, many, many times. Really, dozens if not hundreds of times.

And I also know this; that in a Feudal Britain the ordinary citizen didn't tend to bring about a great deal, in the manner of positive changes to 'The System', by queuing in order to place an orderly cross in a box and then waiting patiently for things to kick in. I'm sure that if one of Britain's feudal masters had thought of such a system, as a means of appeasing the unsettled peasants, way back when, voting would have caught on during Medieval Times.

Feudal, that's as in absolute control, exercised by the landed and privileged very-few, over the less-fortunate very-many. You know, the sort of absolute power that might, for example, enable a widely-known-about injustice to perpetuate, despite anyone and everyone who is even remotely interested being able to immediately identify and recognise this injustice.

Thanks to industriarts

The now twenty-three-years-past Hillsborough Tragedy could be said to fit comfortably into this category; that is in so far as it can sit 'comfortably' anywhere. A national state in which huge numbers of police officers can be seen to almost 'openly' collude in a massive cover-up. Many of the facts of the case are, as of now, even more widely available, and have been reported in far greater detail than I intend so to do here, the ninety-six deaths, the one-hundred-and-sixteen police-altered statements, the inexplicable Coroner's cut-off time for 'acceptable' evidence and the unanswerable question regarding just how many of the nearly one-hundred deaths that might have been avoided.

Much of this awful event was actually televised, thousands of eye-witnesses lived through this tragedy, and yet the nationally reported and peddled 'version of events' persisted for nearly a quarter of a century. If this isn't symptomatic of a state that falls alarmingly short of democratically accountable then perhaps someone could explain to me exactly what it is symptomatic of. No wonder the political 'elite' are lining up to disown the original 'verdict', hoping to put a great deal of distance between themselves and anyone finally judged to be even remotely culpable.

The Sun 'newspaper', a paper that, despite its atrocious history, still regularly holds sway over the political 'opinions' of numerous British adults, brazenly addressed the findings of the Hillsborough Enquiry with the banner headline of "The Real Truth." And, while it would be unfair of us, even in judgement of a paper of The Sun's lowly calibre, to blame those currently in charge, for something that happened a quarter of a century ago, to see this newspaper attempting to lead the charge against the, now official, injustice must still, for so many of us, feel desperately uncomfortable.

I am sure, I cannot be alone in sensing a less than unreserved remorse, from a paper that chooses to allude so very, very closely to its original headline verdict of "The Truth." The Sun newspaper of twenty-three years ago, elected for political expediency over honest reporting, much as it so often does today. And despite its uncomfortable show of pretended progress there is just too much evidence to the contrary to suggest any real move towards the largely uncharted realms of honest reporting. I wouldn't doubt for a moment that The Sun has learned a lesson, but I would doubt, with every fibre of my being, that it's the very same lesson learned as the one presented.

Instead I would guess that, in future, we might all have to dig that little bit harder, to unearth the next major Sun subterfuge; that is at least until its editors feel that the dust has safely settled.

In the good ol' US of A the Republican Tea Party- such a benign-sounding name, don't you think?- appear to be less concerned with such subtleties. Recent voting law changes in this Land of the Free, driven largely by Tea Party Republicans- even typing these words curiously leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth- require photo identification before US citizens will be allowed to vote. Although all US states have not yet adopted this 'rigourous defence against voter fraud' it is estimated that perhaps 11,000,000 US citizens are currently thus being denied access to due democratic process.

It obviously hasn't slipped the mind of certain Republicans that those without passports and/or driving licenses, that would be the necessary photo-ID, tend to number amongst the elderly, ethnic minorities and the poorer citizens. And, as a general rule of thumb, the less-well-off tend not to endorse the policies of billionaires who are seeking to push through ever more blatant regulations, or lack thereof, to concentrate all power and wealth in the hands of fewer and fewer people. And, oh so often, what's happening in the USA today is a bit of a pointer to the route that the UK will, at some time, be looking to tread.

So, just to finally draw all of those cunningly, widely scattered earlier-mentioned-points together- an internationally scaled-up dot-to-dot, if you like- permit me please to summarise thus. My contention being that, inexplicably still dissatisfied with a state of almost absolute power, there is much evidence to suggest that the uber-wealthy-and-landed elite have grown tired of a state of 'almost' and are now looking to consolidate further. Recognising the cachet of the word 'Democracy' upon the CV, yet also the bothersome practical issue of having to suppress any genuine moves towards such a 'messy' state of affairs, the dark underbelly, operating somewhere that is barely short of a coup, is becoming ever more blatant in its thrust towards a modern day feudal-type system.

Perfect, from @Doug88888

Short of abolishing general elections, misdirection of political thought and denial of contrary thought are really the only means by which the wolf of modern-day feudalism is able to slip 'stealthily' within the skin of the summarily slaughtered democratic lamb. Just a thought!

Is that the kettle I hear boiling?

While You Were Sleeping

Don't get me wrong, I really loved watching a great deal of the Olympic and Paralympic coverage. Like so many I prized my elderly frame from its familiar haunt, camped in front of the TV, and added my own particular decibels to the final moments of Mo Farah's incredible 10,000m triumph, at the end of a memorable night for British athletics. And then, only the blink of an eye later, seemingly during the very same uninterrupted broadcast, I marvelled to watch Johnny Peacock complete the 100m in a time that most fully-able-bodied athletes could only dream of. Amazing!

In the light of Andy Murray's even more recent achievements in the US of A, one can also assume that some of these sporting feats are already beginning to inspire higher things. "Inspire a generation," isn't that what they said?

Obviously we will want to celebrate the incredible successes of our athletes, to applaud the almost superhuman feats that have kept us enthralled for the whole summer- not forgetting the thousands of helpers who gave their time for free- and to prepare ourselves for whatever comes next.

So, ever one to appease the popular vote, let's allow that warn glow of satisfaction to nestle in the pit of our stomach for a moment, rub the glittery sleep from our eyes and, once more, awake!

Many thanks to Medicinemansam

Because it's also important to place such brilliance into some sort of context, and I'm not referring to "The Legacy" that's even now gearing-up in the wings, to wave its distracting arms in the air and prolong the dream; I'm referring to that other world, the one that never really went away, as much as we would have loved it so to do. Party-pooper, I may well be, but I'm writing about the bigger, realer world, the one beyond the entertaining world of sport, the one of bankers' bonuses, MPs' expenses, tabloid phone-hacking. Remember?

To take a less nationalistic view, a more cynical view if you like- something to which I have become surprisingly adept- one might even be forgiven for thinking that there are some individuals out there who have seen these sporting events as something of a convenient smokescreen, and not just a sporting spectacle. So allow me, if you will, to just wave this tea-towel about a bit, to see if we can't waft some of that smoke towards a conveniently-left-ajar window, and afford ourselves a less smoky view of the world.

It was with just such a clearer vision that I recently sought to avail myself of some of that 'Inspiration', that of which we've heard so much of late. A lifelong cricket fan, I thought I'd give the home test series against South Africa a go. Home series, please note! But, alas, no 'Inspiration' to be had there; the whole series had been packed off to Sky TV, for subscription viewing only- the kind of 'Inspiration' for which one has to pay through the nose, obviously.

And thanks to MartinaYach

Cricket's absolutely my thing, but I'll give all manner of other sports a go (football and motor'sport' obviously excluded), so why not watch 'our' number one tennis player battle his way, hopefully, towards his first Open Title; I'll settle for some of that, I consoled myself. I realise, of course, that so many of you are already well ahead here, but for those that aren't I should point out that The US Masters tennis tournament was also found to be entirely the preserve of Sky TV. Where to look for that "Inspiration" with which to motivate" a Generation", I mused.

Maybe, if you're mind-numbingly naive, you're thinking, "But, surely these deals had already been agreed and signed." If you believe this to be so- but it really isn't the case- keep your eye firmly upon next summer's cricket schedule; let's see if the much heralded 'Inspiration' outweighs the corporate interests, shall we? It was 'your' Government who chose, and chose again, not to ring-fence these 'Inspirational' sports.

Oh, and are we still selling off school playing fields to the highest commercial interests, Mr Gove? Just a passing thought.

And, should you lull yourself into thinking, "Well, I suppose, when all is said and done, it's only a few sports," you'd be oh so alarmingly wrong. Permit me please, to draw your attention away from the now pending Olympic Legacy, and back towards the rather more pressing concerns of 'our' NHS. Let's just take a quick glance at what's been happening there, whilst we've been asleep, shall we?

Should you be a tad less healthy, a tad less privately-health-covered than so many of 'our' athletes, you might just have wondered exactly when it was that your GP 'seamlessly' slipped into the accountant's chair. You might have wondered, or worried passionately, about your GP's or Consultant's growing concern for the cost of your much-needed medicine or operation, the alarming drift towards the, "Let's just keep an eye on things for a while, shall we?" approach. Is your GP, like mine, tending to adopt a somewhat more cost-conscious attitude towards your ailments? Ever wondered who your GP is ultimately far more answerable to, than his or her patients?

Also, thanks toThe Library of Congress

Purely in the interests of retaining an even-handed approach to this crisis, it would be grossly unfair to brand all doctors as having slipped easily, and without protest, into this role. I can't even offer any support for the sort of contention that most have. I'm sure, as with many of 'our' deteriorating 'services' that there are many, within the NHS, fighting the valiant fight, either covertly or, more brazenly, really sticking their necks out for a cause that is right and just. But, on the other hand, experience and circumstance has certainly introduced me to more than a smattering of those who aren't.  

Thanks to Misters Blair, Brown, Major and Cameron and their respective bods, quite regardless of who might have been pulling the strings, 'our' NHS is now over £300,000,000,000 in debt to private interests, through that 'wonderful' scheme, the Private Finance Initiative, whereby disingenuous private companies heavily invest in the NHS, in order to recoup a life-long profit from the British taxpayer. Never has the short hop from scheme to scheming been made more simple. Let's not forget that Blair is now one of the world's richest individuals and that Brown, Major (this is where it all started, back in 1992) and Cameron are all unlikely to ever become paupers. I think it would be more than safe to assume that they all recognise(d) that private companies were always going to place profits and shareholders before other considerations. And that is, effectively, what you, dear reader, have become, 'an other consideration'. Naturally, in this instance, there's been a great deal less emphasis upon the actual consideration.

So, 'While You Were Sleeping' Private Finance Initiatives have stealthily, and with the aid of consecutive UK PMs, managed to almost completely hijack 'our' NHS. And, if you, for one more sleepy moment, might have thought that this is where the damage might stop, just take a peek at who's now been entrusted with the NHS. If you somehow managed to conspire to miss the end of the BSkyB-Leveson enquiry, you're almost certainly wondering why JC isn't currently serving some sort of prison sentence, instead of being 'entrusted' with having a bit of a play with 'our' NHS.

Finally, thanks to Centophobia

There are currently 118 PFI-National Health Service 'contracts' crippling what remains of 'our' NHS. If your NHS 'Trust', being one such victim, finally collapses under the huge burden of debt that PFI has thrust upon it, you'll find it very little consolation to know that it won't have been the first. And should your MP choose to deflect your just indignation with disingenuous claims of "unprecedented or unforeseen circumstances" you might wonder why the lying so-and-so never saw fit to more publicly question the liberal cloaking of all of these deals, behind 'commercial confidentiality' clauses.

Seeking to 'save' 'your' NHS with 'much-needed' private funds, but always behind permanently closed and locked doors; all in 'your' interests, you understand. Somewhere in that contract, that 'commercially confidential' contract, you can assure yourself that the private investor will have been safeguarded. Phew, so at least the private investors and their shareholders won't be losing out, care of you, the taxpayer.

And finally, the absolute highlight of either Olympic spectacle? For me, it simply had to be when George Osborne was booed at the Paralympics Medal Ceremony. It wasn't disrespectful to the athletes or the organisers, as some public spin-doctor wrote; it was far more the slightly reassuring sign that, despite all of those locked doors, all of that dizzying spin, all of those mirrors, all of that smoke, there were still many in the crowds who still saw Osborne for what he will forever remain.

Common decency prevents me from further elaboration.