Wednesday, December 17, 2014

The Brand Backlash (Or How I Learned Never To Criticise The Liberal Elite)

Earlier this week, a freelance IT contractor currently working at RBS published a tongue in cheek "open letter" to Russell Brand on their blog. The recurring comedic theme was that the closure of the building precipitated by Brand and his camera crew's unscheduled visit had resulted in his lunch going cold.

Within the blog, the writer points out that Brand's grandstanding and theatrics were unlikely to achieve anything as he didn't have an appointment, and therefore was never going to get into the building uninvited. It also accuses Brand of being confrontational both with building security and those stranded outside by his antics. It examines the taxpayer investment in the banks during the financial crisis. 

At no point does it attempt to defend RBS or any other bank. It makes clear that the writer is not an employee of RBS, right from the very outset, and that what follows is not intended to be any sort of statement from the bank itself, the banking industry or bankers.

On the whole, it's a pretty well-written, lighthearted piece. You can read it here:

After it hit the internet, the blog went viral. Lots of people sharing it online, having a giggle at the concept and the content.

Well today came the backlash.

Driven on by some high-profile Guardianistas - for whom Brand seems to have acquired some sort of Messiah status of late - the writer has been attacked as variously a banker, an employee of RBS and a symptom of all that's wrong with Britain today, the rich complaining about being inconvenienced by those campaigning for social justice.

Accuracy seems to have taken a back seat to the need to protect Brand's reputation as some sort of crusader for the poor. This is a man whose appetite for equality has seemingly enjoyed some kind of Lazarusesque recovery, the kind of man who turns up to a masked protest and takes his mask off so the press can find - and of course, record for posterity - his presence.

He is, what we in sporting circles like to call, a bandwaggoner. The sort of person ripe for a bit of a satirical sideswipe. That his fans/acolytes feel so threatened at any criticism of him that they need to unleash their attack dogs on a blog is in equal part nauseating and bemusing. Whatever they expect to achieve as a result, it only leaves one set of people coming out of this looking like arrogant, petty little crybabies. Them.

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Three Shades of Blue

When I was growing up and starting to become politically active, you had a choice. You could either vote Labour if you had a conscience, vote Conservative if you thought you were alright and didn't give a shit about anyone else, or vote Liberal if you wanted to waste your vote.

That was the way it was. The poor voted Labour, everyone else voted Conservative.

Then it all changed. The Conservatives imploded over just how shitty they could be to the plebs, and left the door open for one Anthony Charles Lynton Blair.

Blair was never your typical Labour politician. A middle-class kid, with a public school education and an Oxford graduate not shy of discussing his faith, Blair was parachuted into a safe seat in the former coalfield town of Sedgefield.

Under his leadership, Labour shifted away from the left of British politics towards the centre ground. He moved away from the traditional links with the unions, and targeted the middle-class with a social conscience who had become disaffected with the Tories.

Middle England became the battleground on which elections would be fought, and as a result the target audience the political parties needed to appeal to. With their own core support pretty secure in traditional areas and pretty much guaranteed to vote for them, parties could focus their policies on the middle classes.

So you get where we are today. Ed Miliband has announced the headlines of what will form Labour's 2015 election manifesto. In summary, it's pretty much the same as the Tories are doing at the moment, except slightly less of it and not as quickly.

More pay freezes. More cuts to public services. No plans to raise funds through taxing the super-rich. It's a blue budget, dressed up in a red overcoat. Her Majesty's Opposition are now so interchangeable with the government that you could swap them over and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

So there's your choice for 2015. You can have cuts, in some form or another, to public services. You can have more food banks. You can have more of the rich getting richer, and the poor getting screwed. If you're not middle-class, middle-income Middle England, neither the Tories nor Labour care about you. The LibDems are the equivalent of flushing your vote down the toilet, and don't even get me started on the bigotry that is UKIP.

You want my advice? If you're in Scotland, vote SNP. If you're in Wales, vote Plaid Cymru. The rest of you, vote Green. At least that way you'll get someone promoting a genuine alternative to the three shades of blue the major parties are offering.

Monday, November 24, 2014

Charity Begins With Whom?

Let me get this one out there from the start. I have no problem with charity. In its purest form, it's a noble, altruistic act of giving which improves the lives of others and the emotional well-being of those who provide it.

But - and let's face it, you knew there was going to be one.

It's charity season here in the UK. The annual "Children In Need" telethon has just raised £32m for worthy causes both in the UK and abroad. On top of that, another version of the Band Aid project has been wheeled out to raise funds for the Ebola relief effort in west Africa.

What do these things have in common? In short, they consist of very well off people trying to guilt the less well off into giving a percentage of their income, in many cases to fund projects and services that should be provided by governments or international non-governmental organisations anyway.

I'm sure there are celebrities and people in the public eye who donate cash and goods freely and willingly to charities anonymously, without wanting to appear to be taking credit or showing off. I'm sure they are out there, being genuinely altruistic.

However, I'm also willing to bet that a substantial number of those who get involved in exercises like Children In Need and Band Aid do so on the basis of donating absolutely nothing other than their time.

See, time is supposedly a valuable concept when it comes from celebrities. Because a minor celebrity gave up an afternoon of snorting coke off the penis of a shemale prostitute, you should feel morally and ethically obliged to buy a copy of a song you don't want. It'll make him or her feel better next time they dodge the odd million in tax with some phoney scheme or other.

Indeed, as Sir Bob of Geldof has been encouraging us to do, we should download multiple copies of the same song. Lots of them. Even though you can't stand it and would rather carve your own ears off with a spork than listen to it for the hundredth time. You should do this, because it's the "right" thing to do.

You shouldn't question that two of the driving forces behind Band Aid - Bob Geldof and Bono - are reported to have dodged millions of pounds in tax in their native Ireland with the use of aggressive avoidance schemes. Money that could either have been used to deliver much needed services domestically or as part of Ireland's overseas aid budget.

You shouldn't question that some singer takes the opportunity to boast about turning up to record a song for absolutely no fee every time they are interviewed on Sunday Brunch or Loose Women, clanging some enormous name drops into the process. They've given their "time" to charity, and you - and those Africans bleeding out of every orifice - should be bloody grateful and support them unstintingly.

In effect, these celebrities are chugging you through the medium of television and music. They're standing in front of you with a clipboard in the street and attempting to guilt trip you into signing up, while at the same time being happy to take their commission in screen time or kudos.

So the next time you see one of Little Mix, or some berk from TOWIE posing in front of a gaggle of starving orphans, pick up the phone and donate. But do it direct to the DEC Appeal, or Oxfam, or Shelter or one of the other dozens of well known charities that support needy causes across the world for the other 51 weeks a year when celebrities are off doing whatever it is their day job is.

Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Writer's Block

Writer's block
It's such a shock
To find that words have left you
No last bon mot
Before they go
Just off to somewhere new

Alas, alack
Must win them back
You strive all night and day
But without them here
To frame your thoughts
If you did, what would you say?

Plenty of fish
You tell yourself
Some other words will come
To fill the space
Those left behind
And be your lifelong chum

No verse
No rhyme, no dialogue
No ballad, prose or sonnet
Your mind
A shiny supercar
With nowt under the bonnet

A void
A space, an empty room
A great big yawning chasm
You look around
For answers, but
It seems nobody has 'em

So you sit
Reduced to shrugs
And plaintive facial expressions
Chalk one up
To writer's block
As it teaches you a lesson

Thursday, August 21, 2014

The Black Dog

He followed me home again today
He's waiting at the gate
He knows I'll have to leave some time
He knows he holds my fate

I watch him, sitting, staring in
I hope he'll go away
I know he'll sit there waiting though
I've seen the ending to this play

We play these roles every day
We've both learned our part
We've got our lines, no need to learn
We know them off by heart

I tell him I don't need him here
He says he cannot leave
I tell him that I want him gone
He says I need him to breathe

So there he sits, faithful hound
Fangs nipping at my mind
Maybe one day my mood will change
And I'll leave him behind.

Until that time, he'll be right here
Claws stuck in my back
His shadow cast over my soul
That dog of darkest black

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Check One-Two

A little something what I wrote, inspired by the #FeelingNuts campaign

See for more details on how you can ensure good testicular health. Please ensure you have the testicle owner's permission before conducting any checks.

If you care about your goolies
There's no need to feel foolish
Don't sit around and worry 'bout your plight
Don't get yourself in a pickle
Check the shape of your testicle
And see your GP if it isn't right

Be sure to tell your chums
To have a quick check of their plums
Nobody's going to think you look a chump
Don't be all shy and girly
Make sure you catch it early
That's the best way to deal with any lump

So check them while you tweet
Or while you wait to eat
There's no time like the present, trust your guts
You can never be too keen
Make it part of your routine
There's so much to be gained from feeling nuts.

Monday, August 11, 2014

The Twitter Crush

They might be beautiful, or smart
Or you could find them witty
They are on another continent
Or even in your city

Your heart goes all a-flutter
When you look at their avi
Whether on the bus, sat at home
Or tweeting on the lavvy

Feel your breathing get more shallow
With every @, DM or mention
You try to think what you can say
Just to get their attention

But it's hard to find the right words
Within the space you've got
And what if you declare your love
Only to find they love you not?

You might come over needy
They might think of you as silly
So instead you revert back to type
And make a joke about a willy

If you take a minute to read this
Just ponder, for a few
What if the Twitter Crush you have
Has a Twitter Crush on you?


Wednesday, July 02, 2014

Facebook To The Future

Voiceover: The year is 2020. Mark Zuckerberg’s drones have brought the internet to the developing world, with mixed results. Meanwhile, in a cave outside Kandahar…

Scene: Three men are sat in a semi-circle, in traditional Arab dress.

Man 1: Alright, quiet down. Gentlemen…

Man 2: And ladies… (all laugh)

Man 1: Every time you do that, every time it cracks me up. Gentlemen, time to call this quarterly meeting of the Al Qaeda management committee to order. Point 1 on the agenda…

(Sound of electronic music from a video game in the background, everyone looks at one man on his smartphone)

Man 1: Ahmed!! What have we said about turning off phones during meetings?

Man 3: Sorry. I’m just addicted to this Capitalism Crush Martyrs.

Man 1: Put it away. Right, point 1 on the agenda. The failure of our attack on the Olympics. Saeed, what do you have to say for yourself?

Man 2: I don’t understand it. Everything was planned down the finest detail. We even put it on Facebook so everyone knew what was happening. Got a like from the NSA too.

Man 1: Any learning points to take away?

Man 2: Just the one really. Don’t forget about clocks going forward when setting timers. Tick, tock, boom. Poor Omid.

Man 1: Right, point 2. The attack on our last base. Any clues on how they knew where we were?

Man 3: Hang on, just let me update my Foursquare. Yes! I’m mayor of this cave now, suckers.

Man 1: That does it. (Reaches behind him and grabs a rifle)

Man 2: What are you doing?

Man 1: I’m going to sit outside this cave until I see one of those bloody drones, and I’m taking Facebook down. For good.

Man 3: Hang on, before you go. (Man 2 and Man 3 sprawl in front of Man 1, pulling faces and taking a selfie)

Man 2: SMILE!!!!!

My Most British Things

To the tune of “My Favourite Things” from The Sound of Music

Consulting detectives who say “elementary”
Knowing your place and deferring to gentry
Laughing at jokes that make you want to cringe
These are a few of the most British things

Tea at the Ritz and a Gregg’s Cornish pasty
LibDems being weak and Tories being nasty
Teaching pointless dates of old Queens and Kings
These are a few of the most British things

Shakespeare’s Globe and Geilgud at the Old Vic
Right wing newspapers being xenophobic
Paying your gas bill by pawning your bling
These are a few of the most British things

When Cameron talks, about values
Really makes me sad
Then I remember he’ll be gone next year

And things just don’t seem so bad....

Tube Strike News

Voiceover:     We interrupt our usual programming to bring you this special report…

Anchor:          As the strike by London Underground staff reaches its second hour, news is coming in of the hardships being endured by commuters. Our reporters around the capital have been chauffeur-driven out to bring you these updates. First, we go over to Brian at Warren Street

Brian:             Thank you Kate. A slow start to the morning rush hour here at Warren Street, as the mole people are forced to emerge blinking into the daylight. Extra security has been put in place in case the Morlocks and Chuds take advantage of the deserted tunnels to launch an attack on us surface dwellers. Now over to Jill at Euston, who is so close I can virtually reach out and touch her. Jill…

Jill:                  Thank you Brian. Chaos here just a few minutes ago, as a pedestrian stepped out from the station onto the pavement and immediately froze with his eyes in a downward position, expecting it to carry him to his destination. Too afraid to make eye contact several hundred of his fellow passengers joined in, blocking off access to the station…

Anchor:          Sorry Jill, I’m going to have to stop you there. Drama at South Kensington, so let’s go see what our reporter there can tell us…

Dave:              Thank you Kate. It appears we’ve had our first tube strike baby, born right on the platform here. As I speak, the crowds are holding him up to the light in scenes reminiscent of The Lion King. Details are patchy at this time, but I understand the child has been named “Not Bloody Boris Johnson That’s For Sure”, and the mother may not have even been pregnant when she began queuing for her train.

Anchor:          Thank you Dave. Incredible scenes, I’m sure you’ll agree. Of course it’s not just the Underground that has been affected, with the impact also being felt on the road network. Angela is on The Embankment for us. Angela…

Angela:          Thank you Kate. Traffic has been brought to an absolute standstill here, after a woman appeared to stage a daring hijack on a UPS van. I understand the driver had pulled up behind a bus which was stationary at this stop, when the woman – more familiar with tube travel – mistook his van for the second carriage and climbed in through the passenger door. She refused to leave the van until police with a loud hailer told her she had arrived at Temple station, and to take all her belongings with her. Kate. 

Anchor:          The reduced Underground service has of course put extra pressure on London buses. Transport for London rules would normally prevent us from reporting live, but we have managed to sneak Bob onto the network from where he has sent us this report. This may contain images of poor people, which some of you might find distressing.

Bob:                It’s hard for most of us to envisage what these poor bus users go through on a daily basis, but today their numbers have been swelled by outsiders forced here by the greedy union barons.

Our journey began at first light, although for some it did not begin at all as they failed to work out which side of the road to stand or which of the many magic obelisks the bus would stop at. So disoriented were some that they attempted to cross the Thames on foot. Most remembered to use the bridges provided but others disappeared from view beneath the murky water.

At times we faced lengthy pauses, as our driver attempted to check the documents of those trying to board. I lost count of the number of times prospective passengers slapped their Oyster Card onto his face in an attempt to find the correct method to gain one of the few remaining seats.

During one such delay, a woman sympathetic to our plight ran to the windows, passing bacon sandwiches to grasping hands before waving us a tearful goodbye as we lurched briefly back into motion.

It’s impossible to say when, or even if, we can expect to reach our eventual destination. Please tell my wife and children that I love them. This is Bob Hall for BBC News, somewhere on Marylebone High Street.

Anchor:          Harrowing, harrowing scenes there. Although not from Harrow, obviously. We will continue to keep you up to date with developments as they, errr… develop. In the meantime, please remember to heed the advice of Transport for London and the police and not to travel unless your journey is absolutely necessary, or you’re a reporter for a rolling news channel. Goodnight.

Saturday, May 24, 2014


The voice that bids farewell
Each sinew to prepare
Plans they can never tell
Where only heroes dare

The vessels to their fate
Like brothers with their peers
Deep, close their eyes and wait
Charge towards their deepest fears

The ringing in their head
The day still just begun
Hanging on by a thread
The battle to be won

On further up the beach
The dark thoughts from their mind
The Lord, their souls to keep
For those they leave behind

Sunday, April 20, 2014

David Cameron's Easter Sermon

In a change to Easter Sunday tradition, rather than the Pope's message from the Vatican we bring you David Cameron's sermon direct from his holiday home in Lanzarote.

“And I did say, bring unto me your work-shy, your scroungers and your genuinely disabled, that I may tar them all with the same brush and stop their benefits.

Suffer the little children, that St Michael of Gove may send them all to free schools, where they will be taught a curriculum that will be of no use to them, as there are no jobs when they leave.

I did cast the money lenders out of the temple, and tell them to go forth and return with bigger envelopes if they wanted my protection.

For blessed are the donors, that they may set the agenda and dictate the scriptures.

And the saviour was laid in the manger, for his mother was under 25 and therefore not entitled to Housing Benefits.

My father’s house has many rooms, paid for by avoiding the tax collectors. If your house has many rooms, then your benefits shall be cut until you leave.

And thou shalt love thy neighbour, unless you believe them to be an illegal immigrant or benefit thief, in which case thou shalt dob them in.

So blessed are the poor, that we strive to create more of them.

For mine is the kingdom, the power of the Tory. Forever and ever. Amen.

Now fetch the nets, I'll show that bloody jellyfish who's in charge..."

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Oh Mr Miliband!

(to the tune of the old music hall standard “Oh, Mr Porter”)

Oh Mr Miliband, what am I to do?
I wanted Grosmann’s pasta sauce, but they only have Ragu
It’s a middle-class crisis, that we’re all going through
Oh Mr Miliband what would your David do?

Oh Mr Miliband, won’t you tell me please?
When will you show us how to fix the country on its knees?
Instead of banging on about machines in bookies shops
Oh Mr Miliband I could slap you round the chops

Oh Mr Miliband, Campbell says that you won’t win
He says you’ll need a deal with Clegg or you’ll be in the bin
Maybe it’s time for you to try and step it up a bit
Cos if you can’t see off Cameron then you really must be sh…

Oh Mr Miliband, you’re losing core support
You’re happy to throw it all away without a second thought
Focus on the many, instead of the wealthy few
Remember Mr Miliband… we’re not all middle class like you.

Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Science: The Cure for Racism


Probably the most pointless and ridiculous of all the bigotries, given it is based on nothing more than the passing of genetic material from parents to their children.

Unlike homophobes, racists can't even fall back onto some sort of sacred religious text to justify why they need to hate a particular section of society.

Much has been said, and no doubt will continue to be, about how to combat racism through sociological measures. More integration, a better of understanding of other cultures, that kind of thing.

Bear with me, here comes the science part. The number of atoms in the observable universe is estimated to be at least 1078

For those unfamiliar with scientific notation of large numbers, that's 10 multiplied by itself 78 times. It's a very, very big number.

These atoms have been around for billions of years. since the beginning of the universe. They've been bonding into molecules that make up everything that is in us, around us and is us. Those molecules break apart as things decay or are destroyed, and their component atoms go off looking for another dance partner to bond with and make some more molecules.

You are comprised entirely of atoms, formed into different molecules and compounds. The number of atoms in the average human body is estimated to be 1027.

In other words. another very, very big number.

The atoms that make up you, haven't always made up people. You've got a lot of carbon and hydrogen atoms in you, for example. These crop up in things like sugar cane and oil. You've also got a need for calcium, which you'll find in things as different as chalk and cheese.

So there is a very, very small chance that the atoms that make up you are ones that have always been in other people. You are statistically certain to contain some atoms that were once a tree, or a hippopotamus, or a block of Edam.

Who knows where those atoms have been? Even the ones that might have been other people at some point in time come with no guarantee of being from people of the same race as you.

Now how silly do your claims of racial or ethnic purity look? How different are you to the Asian fella down the street, or the white bloke you see shouting anti-fascist slogans at you from behind a police line? You're both made of atoms. Who knows, at some point some of your atoms might have been bound with theirs in the same molecule.

You want to combat racism? Teach kids where they come from and what they are made of. Let them see just how stupid it is to consider someone with a different skin colour or a different ethnic origin to be worth less than they are.

On an atomic level at least, we're all the same and we're all different.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Commercial Break

“Is your party sinking without trace? Are you out of your depth? Why not get things back afloat with the new UKIP Karaoke Classics. Contains all your favourite tunes, like…”

Don’t blame it on the rainfall
Don’t blame it on the flood plain
Don’t blame it on the cutbacks
Blame it on the gayers!

“Or this party anthem…”

Men Marrying Men
Why we’re flooded, men marrying men
To God it’s an offence
White, white, white or white
Same sex marriage just ain’t right!

“So to get your party on the right track, make sure you pick up UKIP Karaoke Classics!”

We’re drowning in the rain
We’re drowning in the rain
Now the gays are marrying we’re
Drowning again!

“UKIP Karaoke Classics isn’t available in any shops. It’s only available from polling stations for the low, low price of your dignity. Get yours now, before they disappear!”

Friday, January 03, 2014


As Britain cowers under the attack of a deadly storm, the Daily Mail can reveal how it has:
  • KILLED this weekend's sandcastle contest at Fowey
  • WASHED UP some old pallets that fell overboard from a trawler
  • SMASHED the record for media hyperbole set by the last storm
While the mainstream political parties bury their heads in all the sand left in our streets by the killer storm from Hell, we have been speaking to the UKIP MEP for Cornwall, Charles Foaming-Gripe. He told us:

"There is no doubt where the blame for these terrible events lies. It cannot be just a coincidence that no sooner do 7 million Bulgarians and Romanians arrive in Britain, than the country begins to sink into the sea. It's simple physics. There are too many of them here growing fat off our benefits system and taking the decent, hard-working, honest, decent, hard-working British people down with them."

One resident of Looe, too afraid to be named in case of reprisals by left-wing immigrant sympathisers told us:

"It's terrible. All the local shops have been closed. People are having to move out of their houses here and back into their London flats. It was never like this before the immigrants. The sea always knew where it belonged. Now everything just seems to think it can come to this country and take whatever it wants.

We've built a wicker man and found a townie to sacrifice in order to appease the Gods, but everything is so wet we can't get a fire started."


How the right pair of galoshes can transform your teenage daughter into a wet little sex kitten