A Narrative of Royal Exceptionalism.

As determinedly as we chattered on, excitedly about Olympic progress, the successes, the disappointments, the grand spectacle, future medal projections, has it not begun to feel as if we are suspended within a glistening bubble of denial? The curtains are drawing back, the stage is set, a 'return to normality' stands in wait, awash with golden light! But surely, the hail upon the theatre roof doesn't normally sound quite so loud. Maybe, this time, the cast will have to work better at their projection?

Chisel-fisted, Sir Keir appears not to have noticed that the formerly more resplendent marble is now to be found only upon the floor, about his feet, sand upon the breeze! His efforts perfectly embody nothing more than an absence of hope. Rumour would have it that he 'plans' to create a whispering echo chamber... really it is silence, but not of the golden kind. Maybe he had tumbleweed in mind but those in the wings, such as Jess Phillips, do not possess such structural integrity... or worth. How many books is it now, Jess? 'Everything you need to know about politics: my life as an MP.' 'Everything?' Really? And just 'you, is it?'

So- excepting the theatrically inept- with the backdrop of undeniable climate change thundering about our ears, we tune out the white noise of Keir et al. Full circle (almost) the UK steps blindly into the Petri dish of herd immunity. With the poise of a First World War General Sajid Javid rules a neat black line through the economic casualties, abandoned to a hasty MSM historical rewrite. Oh, and a somewhat premature death!

And so, in the usual rambling manner, on to our 'theme,' which this time seeks to address the underlying narrative that has and continues to run through our nation much like the worst of aggressive of cancers. The 'narrative,' the means by which a story, factual or otherwise, may be told- if we can't narrate then how will our story, reconfigured by others, unfold? So, I seek here to delve beneath the surface, to explore the world of the 'narrative'- a curious mixture of truth, both shared and omitted, and fabrication, and thereby to ponder, ostensibly, the abuse to which the 'narrative' may be subjected. Nowhere is this essential to dignity and survival better understood than in the Occupied Lands of Palestine and by the oppressed peoples that live there. Although I was not permitted to speak this truth whilst inside the Labour Party- another worrisome abuse of the 'narrative'- or to openly speculate as to why this was so, here I may also observe the alarming power that is afforded to 'the political lobby,' factions thereof. As an outsider, I'm seeking to highlight where ongoing abuses of the 'narrative' open-up and then close-down debate, who may speak and who may be silenced, or shackled, noting the power often afforded to the Israeli Lobby, that the Jewish Chronicle, for example, is so often referenced and yet its countless legal payouts are not, how figures like Little Philip Schofield, antiques novice Fiona Bruce, numbers bod Rachael Riley et al may be news headlines when supportive of or compliment to the 'narrative' yet, should their angry words fall foul of the public or the law courts then... nothing!

Care of a remnant democratic process, we learn that the Royal Household- symbol of all that is holy and good- has the sort of back door into parliament the likes of which we mere mortals may not even dream about! North of the border, where government suddenly appears to operate with rather less integrity than has been formally presented, we discover that a 'tiny' clause in UK democratic process looks set to further hasten our planetary demise. 'Crown Consent,' curiously hidden from public scrutiny, permits Her Royal Highness far greater access to parliamentary procedure than panto baddie, Black Rod pretends. The Guardian newspaper has learned of 67 instances, whereupon Scotland's largest landowner may continue with symbolic planetary rape to its royal-blue heart's content! In short, it has been learned that the nation's Royals have now, approaching seventy times, sought to exempt themselves from national measures that might otherwise benefit its citizens, environmental issues, climate concerns, such like. The manner in which this information has come to light suggests that Royal evasion of the UK's meagre planetary conservation measures has been procured via 'persuasion' of Scottish Government but, given the urgency of our plight, we are left to surely conclude that it is far more likely that feudalism continues unchecked with its jolly rein! Quelle surprise! hardly covers it.

Sticking, for the moment, with the Royals because our next port of call also touches upon this esteemed family's social standing and value-hierarchy, on to William, who recently appeared to have reclaimed something of the high ground when he spoke out so passionately about mental health and well-being. Undoubtedly the topic is one of utmost urgency and scale! Those like Piers Morgan may wish to pick at the scab's raw edges but few can seriously question the need for the UK and other more affluent nations to address the festering sore that is its nation's mental wellbeing, or more so the lack thereof.

At the Royal nod our journos compliantly grasped the issue as if it had always been at the forefront of their thoughts. MPs embraced the topic as if with genuine intent, although most subtly wishing to deflect away from requisite 'adequate funding.' Celebs, as is their wont, jostled for airtime! Please accept that, for the purposes of this short jotting, I have necessarily truncated the spread of reportage. Please note also, for the purposes of contextualisation, that it must be noted that, formally, the MSM trend has been to downplay decades of spiralling self-harm and suicides across many sections of our disparate society. Whatever else, maybe William has helped to tip the balance towards greater discussion.

Even so, William's role, I am going to suggest, has employed more than a significant slice of subterfuge. Key to this 'slice' is the UK's heavy reliance upon property ownership and, more specifically, landlordship. As one of the UK's more wealthy landlords it is most unlikely that the Royals will wish to shine too bright a light upon issues of insecure tenure. In their corporate role, and with the well-honed voice of the landlord, it has never really been within the journos remit to do so. As a workplace of numerous major investors in this practice neither has it featured unmolested within the Commons. Thus the trend continues to be, 'more houses for landlord investment,' absolutely, 'secure and affordable social tenancies,' absolutely not!

Think it, say it, shout it, and often, from the rooftops! 'We could greatly improve the nation's mental wellbeing through the creation of affordable homes, and via secure affordable tenancies!' Instead, our landlord classes seem to be increasingly impressed with the stacked shoeboxes Asian model.

For those paying closer attention, specifically when it seemed likely that a democratic party might for once actually come to serve in The Commons, or (even briefly) within the shores of The United States, we should understand that proper access to the 'narrative' is of paramount importance, more so to those who wish to replace 'inconvenient' fact with confected fiction. Behind a media smokescreen of weaponised anti-Semitism the UK narrative has now effectively been wrest free from democratic control, perhaps more so than at any time in living memory, bobbing weakly in the US slipstream. It is of absolutely no coincidence that Israeli Government, operating now as an unashamedly apartheid state, is also shown to hold far more than its fair share of influence within those two foreign shores. Searching through non-corporate news we can ascertain that Israel is very much a nation which 'demonstrably' operates a very violent grasp upon the narrative. Further more, and care of organisations such as AIPAC and the Jewish Chronicle, the nation demonstrates a fanatical obsession with the wider perspective! Join those dots, Mr Peston, go on Ms Kuennsberg, Commons retweeters par excellence! Pretend to be actual journalists for a short stint! Taste the freedom!

Which brings us 'neatly' round to two perfect examples of the awfulness of the 'controlled narrative,' where it does not best serve, in actuality, even the commentator. Both examples demonstrate a highly distasteful consequence of the abuse of the narrative. And both serve to highlight the sorry state of affairs that occurs, all too frequently, within a media that is neither properly accountable nor, in any manner, beneficial to a healthy democracy. First, we should take a peek into the life of Times 'journo' Giles Corren, demonstrably the least talented of his set!

Mr Corren was very recently given to post a particularly unpleasant comment about the infinitely superior Dawn Foster. Now Dawn, having recently sadly died as a consequence of a long-standing illness, was unable to reply. Mr Corren stated that he was glad that she had died, I believe he even went so far as to type, 'HA HA HA!' Dawn's perceived 'crime' was to have accurately noted that Mr Corren's easy ride to prominence has been by virtue of having a funnier, cleverer, more talented father. Fair point! No doubt, most individuals who are even aware of his 'work' will have swiftly concurred. No debate! In many respects, given the awful quagmire that is so much of social media, (almost) neither is his ill-choice of words- that is to say 'worthy of debate.' So, my point is more the issue of an initial reluctance on the part of the MSM to confront Mr Corren's comments, or even to acknowledge his ill-conceived words.

When Giles's comment duly drew greater attention, as G.C. had intended, from individuals more appreciative of former top journalist Dawn Foster's work, some of whom then decided to demonstrate their distaste for G.C.'s commentary upon his property, that was the point at which our glorious MSM- feeding frenzy primed- chose to respond. Up until that moment their ranks had effectively closed upon the 'crime,' typically reluctant to crawl to the defence of one deceased left-winger at the expense of a fellow corporateist right-winger. Party to the narrative is also the selective absence of reporting- I believe it's termed, 'unplatforming.' The practice has become routine within the inner echelons of the UK's MSM; it's an act of the utmost verbal contortion that the term has been so swiftly weaponised and added to the UK's MSM arsenal.

My second offering of misplaced self-worth, cloaked within that trusty halo of 'assumed narrative,' comes to light care of one Chris Bryant MP. Mr Bryant, shielding behind the misnomer of 'Labour' MP, I would argue, demonstrated an altogether greater incidence of arrogance borne of assumed narrative control. Posting entirely as one of Starmer's vacuous anti-socialist operatives, Mr Bryant was hoping to spread the anti-democratic net ever wider by 'commenting' upon Peru's newly elected President Castillo. Using all of that New Labour integrity that he'd accumulated, Mr Bryant pretended concern that the Peruvian people should have to choose from two such discreditable candidates, lumping the new president together with a proven and documented criminal. Again, to contextualise the situation, I should here point out that Peruvian President Pedro Castillo is a trade unionist, looking to improve the lot of the working electorate in his country, the defeated presidential candidate having been the corrupt daughter of the corrupt former president, one Keiko Fujimori. It must be hoped that the Fujimori family can now be brought to justice, so that the immense scale of their corruption may be more widely known about.

In the ensuing 'conversation,' Mr Bryant, clearly having overlooked the fact that Chile's Salvador Allende was a twice democratically elected socialist, boasted about his own South American credentials and connections. In current UK political mode, perhaps, Mr Bryant again assumed an absence of accurate historical recall on the part of any recipient to his commentary. It was therefore doubly unfortunate that there remains clear record of Mr Chris Bryant palling up to Colombian mass-assassin Alvaro Uribe, thus reminding the readers of yet more obscene UK overseas military involvement, care of international war criminal Tony Blair. Empty vessel Bryant proceeded to draw fire from those who, unfortunately for him, fully recollected New Labour involvement with Mario Montoya, various Colombian death squads and the consequent mass disappearances of Colombian citizens. Good business was it, eh Mr Bryant?

Imagine, for a moment, how 'our' non-accountable MSM would have exploited such information if it had happened under a democratic-socialist government! Compare and contrast the vacuum that has accompanied Mr Bryant's abuse of the assumed narrative. I would bet that Mr Bryant's latest 'unfortunate' tirade remains unknown to the vast majority of UK citizens.

Contrastingly, and at the other end of the moral divide, Labour MP Dawn Butler has just played out the consequences of having almost no control of the narrative, despite demonstrating an absolute grasp and control of the truth. On the 22nd July 2021 Dawn Butler MP stood in the Commons to call out (mis)serving PM Johnson's appalling grasp upon honesty. Dawn revisited and listed many of PM Johnson's well-documented lies- all of which can be verified- yet she was then told to retract or to nullify her words, according to current parliamentary protocols. Thus, concerned citizens of the UK have been 'treated' to the bizarre spectacle of Prime Ministerial repeated lies, whereby thousands of its citizens have had lives cut short, being prioritised over absolute truth! Thus, the corruption of the narrative can now be observed to be so extreme as to no longer require even the most basic of disguises. At which point contemplation as to quite which spin on reality is playing out in the skulls of those such as Baron Austin of Dudley, Dame Margaret Hodge, Baron Mann- please note, all flowery 'Barons' and 'Dames' no less (no more!)- evades all credibility! That an ice-cream producer (Ben and Jerry's), albeit an anti-Semitic one in the 'minds' of those listed above, might illicit a more positive reaction than the entire Opposition Front Bench surely belies belief! Such is the current abuse of Palestinian rights within the Occupied Territories that even the Guardian newspaper finds itself politically compromised.

Of course, honest and open reporting of the actual facts lies heavily dependant upon the freedom of the journalist so to do. Here we must recall the oft-echoed narrative of 'the UK's 'free' press, and then juxtapose this with that same term's implied message of 'freedom to honestly report' and we should take note of the discrepancies. Peter Oborne is a long-time 'journalist' who in the past has worked for several highly dubious publications- The Spectator, the Daily Mail, the Daily Telegraph- where the living was 'comfortable,' yet he has latterly opted to cut himself adrift in the far more honourable pursuit of actual journalism in order to seek out actual truths! Peter's leap from comfortable dishonour and into that of a more precarious honesty is not unheard of yet runs somewhat against the grain. He often talks about having been driven, in large part, through his disillusionment with successive Conservative Government refusal to either acknowledge or to call out Israeli war crimes against an occupied Palestinian People. Maybe he has found honesty to be rather liberating because his latest book offering- 'The Assault on Truth'- has sought to stitch together the lie-athon that is Boris Johnson's life (or rather 'lief'). Where the publication has even been acknowledged, in amongst the pages of selective reporting and half-truths, of the UK's sorry MSM, Peter Oborne is referred to as a man who has "kept all of the receipts." The label is used to imply bitterness or grudge-bearing intent, but should instead be read by those seeking the higher ground as 'speaking truth to power.'

So, control of the narrative is increasingly seen as an essential in modern-day politics and those governments who have more ravenously grasped this 'inconvenience,' and with the greater zeal, can be observed to have gained significantly the upper hand in their share of regional or global power. Yet any positive parallels that may be drawn between this control and honour should be seen to be effectively non-existent! Observe and note that those journalists who are most frequently afforded any role in conveying the chosen narrative may now, quite openly, be identified as amongst the profession's most compromised individuals- Chomsky explained it most eloquently to a bemused Andrew Marr, over twenty years ago, way back on 14th February 1996.

The recent horrifying IPCC report, on the ongoing climate crisis, drawing the most direct parallels yet between an elitist greed and runaway global warming, is currently still just too hot for moulding to the 'desired' narrative, yet we should be in no doubt that selected script writers are hard at work to that effect, behind the scenes, soon to be back in the driving seat, narrating us headlong into that shared catastrophic finale! Step into the breach antiques novice Fiona Bruce, to head the Newsnight response, field the questions for the BBC. As the situation's quite so dire why not- over the heads of thousands of scientific minds- see what Boris's dad has to say? The foundations are already laid! Deep inhale, hold it, wait to see how Patel's Mercenary Police Force are instructed to take on Extinction Rebellion's, BLM's or any other such organisation's next protest. In which context, it should be noted also that the UK's largest Press Office by far is that of the UK's Police Force. No Officers on hand to deal with spiralling burglaries but just try and organise a peaceful vigil for a woman who's just been murdered by one of those Officers! Surely this can't be one and the same Police Force!, you query No wonder they need all those Press 'Moguls!'

If all of this has seemed a touch over dramatic perhaps we should take check and feed in also a little positive info? It's only a rumour though. So, keep it under the old hat! I hear from a thoroughly reliable source at the Spectator, or was it the Telegraph, the Mail? Anyway, whatever. Everybody's favourite hippy icon, Sir Richard Branson, space explorer and purveyor of environmental insightfulness, is whispered to have had this great idea for those final gasping breaths. The twenty-four carat platinum grin of the great God himself, beaming down from the globe's largest ever cloud projection, mouthing a cheery goodbye! Warmed me, just a little... Waste of precious resources, my derriere!

'Win the Future,' WTF!

The Great Divide

I can still vividly recall the the final moments in the life of Karl Wallenda, when he tried to cross that Great Divide in San Juan, Puerto Rico. There came a time when the onslaught became just too much. Overwhelmed, he slowly sat down and slipped from this life and into the great unknown. It was March 22nd 1978 and the divide was then just under 91.5 metres!

Thirty-five years later, it came down to his great grandson to attempt to symbolise a truer crossing of the Great Divide! In sight of 'Utopian' unparallelled inequality, he took his life in his hands and veritably sprinted towards his goal! The Great Divide had grown to 426 metres.

Had the act not been merely a futile gesture, it might well have taken place over The Grand Canyon itself. Instead, Nik Wallenda's feat was demoted to the Little Colorado River Gorge in Navajo National Park. Global leaders had sought to prevent Nik from unveiling the true scale of things. He managed the 426m on the 23rd June 2013.

Analogically writing Sir Michael Wilshaw, at the behest of his puppet-masters, would have been perched upon the far edge, frantically attempting to whip up those angry winds.


The Grand Divide, Duncan Rawlinson

Back in the real world Sir Michael was recently busily condemning the UK's school populations to further lifetimes of underachievement. Sir Michael's words? We, "should be worried about a growing divide..." How closely the billowing arrogance of Sir Michael came to alluding to the truer picture. In his latest round of considered undermining he swiftly swept the mere mortal teachers off the table with a dismissive right forearm, preferring to dig his pearlies into high school management, citing the fact that 56 more schools have been placed in special measures than was the case one year ago. He also 'named and shamed' thirteen local authorities, where he disingenuously 'pointed out' that, "parents will rightly worry about poor performance." It seems that nothing in education is above criticism.

Except, of course, that it is! Assuming that he really is attempting to trace this 'monumental failure' right back to its roots, Sir Michael has naturally forgotten to point his pudgy little finger in precisely the right direction. Perhaps in his red haze of indignation, perhaps as a nod to further self-interest, perhaps following a hidden agenda of immense yet secreted scale, he pointedly refused to accept his own role in this stated failure, or that of a number of particularly spiteful former Education Ministers.


Exquisite, Mark Chadwick

Sir Michael chooses to note, perhaps, where the teacher fails to motivate the pupils but... well, I'm sure you get the drift. Appointed then, we might speculate, to assist with widening rather than healing the rift.

History's pages are bursting with dictators and liars and zealots but, in these times of optimised communication, one is left to ponder a world, or a nation, whereby such people continue to rule the roost. It would almost appear that modernity has mustered only the means by which the Grand Divide might continue to broaden its shoulders, rather than to challenge such abuse. The trickle has ceased to do just that...

... to trickle, as we were once falsely promised, down to the ''less-deserving echelons. Perhaps some form of capillary-monetary-action is afoot, whereby the trickle has finally found a means of defying gravity altogether.

How dire must things be if the IMF itself is prepared to cite inequality- the Great Divide- as a drag on economic growth? Obviously this cannot be seen as any sort of insight, more likely a concern that uber-greed might somehow harm even the uber-greedy- twisted logic or what? But, let's stick with it, shall we, the differing views of coprophagic government and those of one of monetarism's many barbed tools, the IMF?

The International Monetary Fund has picked through the data and concluded that those countries operating with smaller income differentials had expanded their economies more effectively. Thus- setting aside the valid issue that continued sustainable growth is neither universally beneficial, nor sustainable- we find that, even by its own flawed logic, the capitalist world is stalling. Clearly this has merely consolidated the case for working people, yet so bad have things become that we have lurched and juddered to a state of affairs whereby even society's new-age deities are finally peripherally 'affected'- to boot purchasing power at the other end is just too weak to sustain the current growth in inequality. All the same, I'm prepared to predict continued denial for the foreseeable future. One wonders, 'What will that 'nice' Mr Osborne have to say about it all?'


Exactly! NASA's Marshall Space...

Where accelerating inequality is actively sought, as in the UK, the rise in food-bank-and-its -ilk usage has tripled in the last year. "A price worth paying," spat from the mouths of the Champions of Inequality, here is beyond beginning to sound strained. Even were we prepared to regard 'our' politicians as well-intentioned- which I would strongly urge against- we must finally recognise that they are having to battle hard to just pretend that they think otherwise.

So, the perverse position appears to be one of accepting the rise in food-bank usage, whilst appearing to take an opposing stance. Thus we currently have feather-nesting politicians 'stating' that the rise in food-bank usage is merely a consequence of the proliferation in food-banks, whilst continuing to entertain the 'need' for yet further public sector/welfare cuts. Whilst all the evidence implies that if the trickle actually trickled Mr Tony and his ilk would surely have long since ceased accruing at quite such an astronomical rate.

As suggested in recent posts, Sir Bob Geldof would more likely dint Africa's problems if he were instead to devote his half-a-day-a-year to addressing inequality, rather than to asking the minions to dig deep yet again. Except, of course, that Bob also has his own vested interests to first consider.

Standing, as we are- most of us!- at the 'wrong' precipice of the vast and craggy Great Divide, armed also now with the concern that drug-resistant superbugs may well be set to reap annually a further 10 million by 2050, we might afford ourselves a moment to marvel at the stark beauty of it all, the pristine arid perfection of the chasm. The merest concept of bridging the eighteen miles with a suitable cable may instantly be recognised as a feat far beyond the globe's greatest civil engineers. If the air is clear, the haze minimal, we might even steal a furtive peak at those ivory edifices of otherworldly resplendence. Oh, what might have been achieved, if only? And, should the breeze slip round to the east, we might just strain our ears. Carried upon the Divide's lazy thermals, the ghosted sound of Champagne corks may just tease our senses. The antibiotics may yet hold the answer.

91.5 metres to 18 miles in 36 years, allegorically, as well as mathematically perfect!    

My Enemy's Enemy

The beating heart of the Aspiration Nation.

     

A bally spiffing time being had by all. Simply marvellous, everything said and done. Another cork- Veuve Clicquot- shaved the chandelier. Clegg scampered off in search of the offending item, dustpan flapping about like a mutilated appendage.

     

"Crumbs! Dash it, Johnson! Watch the bloody crystal, why don't you." Even Benyon was in relatively good spirits, but the old dog obviously still had half an eye on the fixtures and fittings. No doubt anxious to keep the place looking spick and span for the lovely Emma.

     

Champers a popping, ideas a bubbling! But, the man was not going to be best pleased if anything untoward happened to that crystal. Man never seems completely relaxed, unless he'd just bagged a brace of buzzards or some such. Can't say that I blame him awfully, being  just a tad jittery. Damn things don't come cheap, you know. Especially what with all of that expenses balderdash blowing up in our faces.  Jolly poor show, that. Gallagher needs his bloody arse tanning, if you ask me, happy to administer. 

     

IDS remained adamant, quietly fuming at the slow pace of Welfare Reform. Eager to exploit the British free press, separate the strivers from the shirkers. "If those wheelchair shirkers can find their damned ways to Westminster they can bloody well steer themselves to a place of work. Seriously, one never hears Pickles complaining about mobility issues..."

Thank you,peter pearson

Pickles guffawed, leaned in and cut himself another generous portion of the Battenberg; proceeded to ease it down with his umpteenth measure of Port. Nobody was counting! We were, as previously stated, 'all in this together.'

    

JC was still still bleating on about the virtues of a Sky Monopoly, easily dazzled by the frightfully massive potential for advertising revenue. Walker and Hester had heard it all before, already edging towards the money. 

     

"No point crying over spilt milk, JC." Truth be told, I'm not entirely convinced that he's yet fully relinquished the reins.

     

Simpers smiled benignly from his corner; to the untrained eye he appeared to be listening but, like any top city bod, obsessed with his Times crossword, we all knew he was away with the expenses again. A vacant King Edward, maybe; bespectacled eyes set, as ever, on maximising those zeros. Broadbent and Clarke gazed on as if reviewing the produce.

Thank you also,HM Treasury

"My good fellow, it's not a bloody competition," Osborne chided. Common knowledge, Simpson almost legendary in The House; all hail the celebrated King of the Claims!

     

Walker and Hester finally content, tracking Osborne, like flies around... well, you get the idea. One has to hope the bounders won't be permitted to settle on the tucker. See to it you oik, Clegg!

     

Gove drained his glass, gleefully accepted a refill, mumbled something about incorporating 'expenses claims' into the next round of 'long-overdue' National Curriculum changes. "Keep those upstart teachers on the back foot." Dacre raised an approving eyebrow. 

    

"Steady on, man! Dashed useful for the Etonians, why not, but for the bloody whippersnapper plebs?" Mitchell's short fuse was already afizzing. Even Simpson glanced up, assuming, briefly, the approximation of a sprouting Maris Piper, magnified pupils swimming like confused tropical fish in an aquarium.

 
Many thanks to johnmuk

"Academies, academies, academies, man! Drive up those corporate investments, Gove. For heaven's sake, old boy, don't miss this gravy train, will you?" 

     

"Have a quiet word with Willetts, why don't you. Man's been  packaging university-influence off to industry at breathtaking speed. Sponsors, PFI; carve the joint while it's still warm, I say, while Osborne's still got the economy pinned down. Investment opportunities are never going to look this good again." Well, somebody had to state the blindingly obvious. The banking twins were entirely mesmerised, still hanging on Osborne's every word.

      

Willetts stood sentinel in the doorway, suitably smug. Large port glinting in the late afternoon light, more than a touch too vulturine, if you ask me. Dacre and Mohan were smiling benignly, at some recently dispatched wisdom, eagerly putting Levison to bed no doubt. Watch the loose cannon, Willetts, have to hope Dacre's ready to jump back on board, bloody daft rouge phase worked out of his system. 

     

Osborne curled his lip, that otherworldly look that he's so exquisitely mastered, blood-drained face, gleaming like a winter moon. Inseparable bankers were still gazing up into the lunar light. There simply has to be a 'Twilight' role, just perfect for the old sod. Honestly, if we weren't simply the best of Bullingdon 'buddies' I jolly well doubt that I'd trust him with the economy. Almost got his fingers burned with all that Libor kerfuffle too. Had to close ranks pretty damn swift then, nip the rumours in the bud, as t'were. Note to self; a quiet word with Walker.

     

Benyon rounded on Osborne, somewhat too mantis like, guided him towards the Beluga caviar, flies still in tow. Another plate of crackers ready to the fore. IDS, armed with fork, intercepted the entourage, deposited an oily black wedge onto a cracker, popped the entirety into his mouth.

  
Thank you, Department for Communities and Local Government
   

"Absolutely, Osborne, old man, we're almost spoilt for choice. Quite literally bags of overseas interest, don't you know. Trouble is, those bloody lefties at The Guardian have got this poppycock into their befuddled heads that the forests represent some sort of National Heritage. Would you bloody believe it?"

     

"Buggeration, Benyon, you're not the one that the crowds are booing? It's poor old Osborne standing there. Man can't keep the economy pinned down indefinitely. Leftie press are bound to sniff a rat and gatecrash the party sooner or later." Johnson was waving his arms about like some sort of crazed beast. "Clegg, old boy, see to this port stain, why don't you, before Benyon starts to get jittery again?"

     

Clegg scuttled off to the kitchen, post swift; obedient little puppy. Who bloody well invited him, anyway? Apparently said I'd take another peek at his job description but, really, I'd sooner gouge out my own eyes with the caviar fork, if I could wrest it away from Osborne and the circling flies. 

     

Simpers was reanimated, one could see that he was agitated. Gove and JC were rounding on the irksome issue of the NHS yet again. Even Pickles paused, mid-mouthful. Thing is, JC's got a damn good point; if we don't busy ourselves with the sell offs soon the carcass of the ruddy thing's still going to be out there, undermining the entrepreneurs, for another God-only-knows how many years. And I'd so promised Margaret that I'd finally dispatch the beast, poor old bird. 

     

"Grossly oversubscribed, if I'm honest. Who in their right mind wouldn't want a slice of that cake?" JC was almost beside himself with excitement; familiar glazed stare and vacant grin plastered on. "A simply splendid, market-forces-free source of endless profit, don't you see?"

 
Thanks to StripeyAnne
    

'If I'm honest,' well I had to stifle a chuckle. "You're not there to be honest, you old coot. You're there to package the frightful thing off to our 'friends' in industry, mush, mush!"

     

"Damn fool! No ballsing this one up, JC," Johnson laughed. "No stumbling blindly down that Archer-Aitken route either, old boy. If I see another confounded 'Tory falls from grace' story in the book shops..." Every bit the bumbling hooray, the man was already edging towards the vintage port. 

     

Damnedest thing, really, but I could've sworn that somebody had surreptitiously dumped a sack of spuds on the choice Chesterton, in the corner. But blinked and there he was again, Simpers and his bloody expenses forms, not a sack of spuds at all. Every bit the Proud King Edward, returned to his throne.

     

"Somebody sort Simpers out with a slice or two of that Kobe beef," Nothing horsie here, kept Broadbent's lot well away from the catering gig.  Interesting to hear what the Tesco twins made of the spread; Different world to refuelling the plebs, what ho!

     

"Another bottle of Veuve Clicquot, Osborne, what do you say?" Christ alone knows where Pickles puts the stuff. He'd already drained another flute. 

And thanks to bisgovuk
     

"Clegg, Clegg! Anyone seen bloody Clegg?" Really, what is the point of that man? 

     

"Golly, sorry Mr Cameron, sir. Phone call!" Handed me the damn thing like it might explode in his obsequious little face.Buggeration, be easier to train one of the hounds.    

     

"Speak, man, speak!  Who the Devil is it?" Avert those sad, puppy-dog eyes, you bothersome little oik, and grow  a spine, why don't you? "Well?"

     

"I'm afraid it's that bloody Blair again, Mr Cameron, sir, Tony! Something about Windrush wanting to cash in on the NHS free-for-all."

     

"Thank you, I'll take this in the study. Run along now!"

     

Dacre and Mohan conjured notepads from the aether. Willetts face was like thunder. 

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.        

Synchronicity.

So just how is that 'Big 'ol Society' coming along, Dave? Still on track, is it? Lord alone knows that some of us are doing our bit. After all, we're all in this together, aren't we? Just like a perfectly choreographed dance, I would imagine, precision synchronicity!

More for my own reassurances, that things were progressing satisfactorily, than for any other reason, I decided to conduct my own, limited, survey. Not as easy as I first thought! Absolutely fraught with problems, it was. First and foremost, in a depressingly long list of hurdles, was the obvious one; that nobody seemed to be absolutely certain as to what it was that our Dave was alluding to. Obviously this abstract concept can't be overly concerned with sharing, can it, I thought? A multi-propertied millionaire talking about an aspiration towards a more sharing society, to a population who are becoming increasing concerned about getting food on the table, paying utilities bills or hanging on to their one solitary home; I didn't think so!

A second hurdle was that, given the hazy nature of things, it was almost inevitable, I assumed, that some less-scrupulous individuals would see fit to interpret the amorphous term, 'Big Society', in vastly 'different' ways to that in which it was, I had thought, being sold to us. Factor in the consequent, self-serving, publicity that some 'participants' will be seeking, and then compare this to the modest anonymity sought by many of those who will probably be doing the most and you can begin to appreciate the scale of the problem with which I expected to be faced. Further skewing the issue here were my own health and family commitments, for which I most humbly apologise.

Thanks to slynkycat.

My early hopes had been to create a 'comprehensive' survey, based upon the 'Big Society' undertakings, or absence thereof, of at least thirty, randomly selected citizens. Thus, my severly truncated efforts, based upon the 'work' of just the five individuals, was of considerable disappointment to me.

But whilst it would be fair to point out that the consequent results may not be fully representative, I absolutely maintain that they are still well worth a second look.

For further clarification I feel that I should attempt to loosely explain the elected criteria for my survey. I endeavoured, during my research, to ensure especially two things. The first being that sample individuals were entirely randomly selected, from across the whole population of the UK, in so far as this was possible, and the second being that any unearthed 'Big Society' contributions were to be undertaken entirely at the behest of the person- not, say, a P.R. consultant or such like- and carried out entirely for the benefits of the wider community, rather than for any personal gains. Let's be honest, most of us will be able to appreciate the vast opportunity that exists here for the personal betterment of many self-publicists. It has become abundantly clear that  there is no depth to which certain individuals will not stoop?

Thanks to Mr Greenjeans.

Of note here: my 'whole' society may not be quite as inclusive as the ideal of a whole society. Think, therefore, more of the 'whole' world from which the 'world's' most handsome man was selected, or the 'world's' most beautiful woman, should you accidentally happen to read a copy of OK Magazine, before using it correctly and then flushing it away.

All my sample individuals were painstakingly selected through a personally devised process, not greatly dissimilar to sticking a pin in a map. Space alone has prevented me from further elaboration of my, somewhat extensive, methods.

So, on to the pertinent details. My random 'pins' had eventually arrived at five characters. Sadly my first female candidate was quickly found to be working illegally, without a valid work permit and for a wage easily below the legal minimum, thus 'selfishly' depriving others of the opportunity to acquire gainful employment. I immediately felt obliged to report the lady to the immigration department, declining well-remunerated bids for 'the story' from two of our 'highly esteemed' national tabloids. The councillor, for whom the lady regularly cleaned, was understandably shocked to be acquainted with the full facts, 'politely' requesting that damaging details were not to be exploited, later backing this up with a far more curt legal package.

My second subject, one David Scholey, seems to have approached the 'Big Society' role with purely 'egalitarian' ideals, helping to clear dangerous part of our planet from unnecessary hazards- where conceivably, 'hard-working' British families might fall prey to savage mishap. David, at great personal expense and placing himself in severe danger, was able to bravely destroy a fully-maned lion, armed only with a high velocity rifle, an armoured vehicle and a full retinue of protecting underlings. Well done indeed, David, I seriously doubt whether anyone could have hoped for an alternative ending.

Thanks to slynkycat.

My third sample individual, whilst nowhere near as 'brave' as the previous, is currently battling determinedly to ensure that the nation's heritage (specifically Roald Dahl's writing shed) is not to be further depleted. And I think that we can all appreciate precisely how easily this sort of wholesale butchery is often permitted to slip through the safety nets, during these times of global recession. Do you know, I think that I could be persuaded that certain less-scrupulous characters may even regard these times of austerity as cashing-in opportunities.

Anyway, my third sample subject was one Sophie Dahl, another 'cash-strapped' individual, struggling to make ends meet under difficult circumstances. And, before you jump in with more of that judgemental stuff that I've been reading in our outrageously 'left-wing' press, I feel it is only fair to point out that wealth and poverty, in the 21st century, are very much relative things. We may, from our single, dilapidated home, judge Sophie to be 'having a laugh', but who amongst us can appreciate the immense cost of maintaining homes on several continents, probably also footing the upkeep of some sort of gigantic yacht somewhere or other, maybe a fleet of chauffeur-driven vehicles, a globally flamboyant lifestyle and lord alone knows what other expensive (but highly necessary) oddities? Well done to Sophie Dahl, for recognising where the foundations of a successful 'Big Society' reside.

Thanks to Big Grey Mare.

A fourth sample- no I, too had never before heard of this woman- was one Sue Rabbitt Roff, a social scientist, no less. Sue had already been devoting decades of her life to all manner of social issues that might affect the smooth running of the larger society. However, it is the manner in which she has ingeniously tried to help the less wealthy to climb from that mire of debt that has, apparently, most impressed the wider public, and finally brought her 'selfless' efforts into the public eye. Sue has devoted much time to finding the means, by which less fortunate souls might be able to quickly write off some of their mounting debts.

What could be more simple than giving up a space-cluttering vital organ. I'm sure that I recall reading that George Osbourne, Wayne Rooney, Prince Philip and numerous other public figures have also, at some time or other, been driven to selling off important parts of their bodies in order to make ends meet, so why shouldn't we too be able to access this probably-once-in-a-life-time opportunity? Thanks Sue, the 'Big Society' acknowledges your sacrifice. In absoultely no way, should this be seen as a cynical means of 'putting the concept out there', on behalf of several far darker individuals, with their inhuman vested interests half-geared-up and ready to start the harvesting.

Thanks to spike55151.

Finally- and really, what are the chances of this?- the pin came down, metaphorically writing, on Eric Pickles. My first thought was that this might be some other Eric Pickles, but no. My second thought was that I should really give someone else a chance to shine, but when I soon unearthed proof of the lengths to which this man is prepared to go, in order to help others, I simply felt compelled to give my own personal thanks, in the form of this congratulatory passage, to this 'selfless paragon of virtue'.

Thanks to Ollie Crafoord.

Eric Pickles, it has to be written, has fought tirelessly on behalf of nearly 620,000 British citizens, of which I am almost certain he cannot be one. Incredibly, this is almost 1% of the whole country. Well done David Scholey,  Sue Rabbitt Roff and Sophie Dahl, but please step aside and marvel at the efforts of dear Mr Pickles.

His work, thankfully at long last gathering certain admirers, is devoted entirely to ensuring that 'cash-strapped' individuals will soon be able to keep a tiny bit more of their 'hard-earned' money, thus hopefully ensuring that these  'unfortunates' may not be driven to wrapping themselves in old blankets in order to stave off the freezing winter temperatures in their own homes. It is to be hoped that this long-overdue change to our unjust tax system will also soon put a nutritious and warm meal into the deserving bellies of these forgotten souls.

I may not have fully appreciated the aspirations towards a 'Big Society' at the outset of my research, but please count me solidly in the supporting camp now. Go, Dave, go! 'Big Society', I'm your new number one fan!