Rod Liddle

I watched this thinking it would be hilariously bad, but ended up quite liking it; especially the line, near the end, ‘it’s not British, it’s brutish’. Ok it ain’t T S Eliot. But then the wizened old chap would sit oddly at the Guardian. (‘In the room the women come and go, talking of George Monbiot’).

I have tried very hard to become an afficianado of pornography, seeing as it is by far the most popular pastime in the world. Also, it annoys a lot of people that I don’t like, so I feel I should put my money where my mouth is, so to speak. But the trouble is, the scenarios never quite rattle my cage. I find myself despising the men involved, and disliking the women, before even the cap has been removed from the lubricant. This is an impediment to full enjoyment, feeling averse to the grunting, smug male half-wits and the unnaturally supplicant — and usually tattooed — ladies. I sometimes wonder if I would be better off with something involving animals, as at least I’d feel simpatico to one half of the coupling.

My best mate revealed to me that his bicycle was wrecked. I asked if he would be buying a new one. He said yes, via the government’s Cycle To Work scheme. What the hell’s wrong with Halfords, I thought silently to myself. Apparently the government will let you pay for a bike tax and NI free, and in instalments. Did you know that? Why am I paying for my friend to have a new bike through my taxes? Why am I subsidising the process whereby a perfectly decent human being is transformed into an arrogant, self-righteous, lycra-clad sociopath with homicidal intent towards people like me, ie pedestrians? At the very least they should make those who take advantage of the scheme carry organ donor cards. We’d clear up kidney disease within a week.

Was Jane Austen really the best idea the women could come up with? Furious campaigning from feminists has resulted in the rather mimsy authoress being chosen to adorn the back of our new ten quid notes. There’s another woman, of course, on the other side – the Queen. But as she’s an inbred fascist agent of imperialism, she doesn’t really count as a proper woman, apparently. My own suggestion – Mary Seacole, the partly black lady who helped out a bit in the Crimean War – fell on deaf ears. But it’s not too late to change. And if not Mary, how about someone who represents modern British womanhood in the 21st century – Kerry Katona, say, or Victoria Beckham? Or the wonderful Claire Balding?

I wonder how many illegal immigrants who’ve seen the government’s imprecations for them to leave the country have done exactly that? Seen the van driving around with its placard and thought: ‘That’s really tugged at my conscience, that has. I shall take myself, and family, to Gatwick Airport immediately. I am sorry to have been such a burden.’ More to the point, I wonder how many are able to understand a single word of it? I suppose a pictogram of a Romanian with an accordion being roughed up by the old bill, followed by a picture of an aeroplane heading for Bucharest, would have offended the sensibilities of the Conservatives’ coalition partners even more.

Driving along in the car on a pleasant evening earlier this week, I was happily humming along to the toe-tapping sounds of the sadly defunct deathcore  stalwarts Anal Prolapse, when my wife leaned over and turned the CD player off and the radio on. Those smug and portentous pips sounded. ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I asked, outraged. ‘I want to know if she’s had it or not,’ my wife replied. ‘If who’s had what?’ ‘Kate. The baby.’ ‘Why?’ There was no answer to the why, from my wife or, it seems, the rest of the country.

I wonder what possessed the jury in the Trayvon Martin case to return two not guilty verdicts when they knew the trouble it would cause. One never ceases to wonder at the self-importance, the narcissism, of those people who always believe they know better than the rest. An important section of the American population — perpetually outraged black civil rights leaders and their faux-left-wing whitey hangers-on — had been absolutely clear about the case: George Zimmerman, the ghastly white neighbourhood watch person, was guilty of the murder of Trayvon Martin — and not just murder, but racially aggravated murder at that. The jury knew this and yet knowingly and wilfully acquitted Zimmerman.

Someone alert the World Wildlife Fund and Sir David Attenborough. Yet another indigenous British creature is facing extinction, its ranks denuded to almost nothing by arrogant human behaviour. In particular the arrogant behaviour of women. Yes, this is the sad story of pubic lice - a familiar tale of wilful  habitat destruction. Researchers say the lice are dying out as a consequence of the modern trend for women to have all the hair ripped out of the area surrounding their front bottoms, leaving nowhere for the poor creatures to hide. They cling on in only a handful of strongholds – probably South Yorkshire, parts of Essex and of course Wales.