Rod Liddle

What, to your mind, constitutes a ‘hate crime’? I’ve been wondering about this since reading the comments of Paul Marshall, of the Cumbria CID. What, to your mind, constitutes a ‘hate crime’? I’ve been wondering about this since reading the comments of Paul Marshall, of the Cumbria CID. Paul had been expressing his great satisfaction that a shaven-headed lumpenprole idiot called Andrew Ryan had been sentenced to 70 days in prison for burning a copy of the Koran in public. Speaking in the manner of a Premier League football club manager, Marshall said: ‘Today’s result shows how seriously we take hate crime.’ And he added: ‘The incident was highly unusual for Cumbria in that we have such low levels of hate crime in the county.

The right-wing historian Niall Ferguson is very handsome, isn’t he? If I were a woman, or a homosexual, I would certainly set my cap at him; I would let him order for me in restaurants and handle me brusquely in the bedroom as he revealed to me the full tumescent glory of his ‘killer app’, as he would undoubtedly put it. The right-wing historian Niall Ferguson is very handsome, isn’t he? If I were a woman, or a homosexual, I would certainly set my cap at him; I would let him order for me in restaurants and handle me brusquely in the bedroom as he revealed to me the full tumescent glory of his ‘killer app’, as he would undoubtedly put it.

Are women to blame for almost everything, as the Minister of State for Universities and Science, David Willetts, seems to think? I would not lightly discount the possibility; they can, after all, be terribly trying. They are certainly to blame for most of the bad things which have happened in my life, if you discount me as a causal factor (which you do if you are me, if you get my drift). Not only that but there seem to be more of them around at the moment, in bars and restaurants, on our television screens, driving cars all over the place or arguing interminably with cashpoint machines as the queue behind them stretches way down the high street.

‘When I’m rushing on my run, And I feel just like Jesus’ son And I guess but I just don’t know, And I guess but I just don’t know.’ Lou Reed Would we be happier, do you think, if we all took large quantities of heroin? It would take the edge off some of the misery, I suppose. A house guest of mine once left the room to ‘jack up’ — as I believe the act is known — just as The X Factor came on the television. I remember thinking at the time — well, fair enough, mate. There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to dull the misery of The X Factor and it’s no use groping for the remote control when there are avid women in the room. Sometimes heroin seems a perfectly reasonable solution.

Ah, first The Arab League and now The Guardian. There was a piece by Jonathan Freedland earlier this week about why the military action against Gaddafi has recently exceeded its original remit and – sadly, for the world - he could no longer support it. During the article, he danced on the head of a pin for several hundred words, pausing only to quote from the leftish and clever human rights lawyer Phillipe Sands about the present illegality of action. How awful to have these people on your side during a conflict, those of who you stupid or forgetful enough to have wanted a conflict.

At last I have managed to get my five year old daughter to like Coca Cola. Previously she drank only still water, milk or apple juice. I think she found the fizziness of cola disconcerting - but at last commonsense has prevailed, helped by a little peer pressure from her brothers. Now she loves the drink. Next I shall try her on cream soda, if anyone still makes the stuff. What treats she has in store. I had a cola the other day, I think a Coca Cola or it may have been Pepsi, either way, the one which comes in that rather cute retro bottle. It struck me again that it is a brilliant product, a work of genius – the flavour. They have tried over the years poncing it up with sutble hints of lemon, lime, or vanilla, or less subtle hints of cherry.

Actually, it’s a good question. How long is a piece of string? I’ve often wondered, and I’ve seen some string in my time. The problem is, they were all of different lengths, these bits of string, some long, some shorter. I suppose the mean length of string I’ve come across would be about nine inches, disregarding whole balls of string, obviously. Having worked this out perhaps I could be co-opted into whatever government department is running the war against Libya, as they do not know how long a piece of string is. Actually, it’s a good question. How long is a piece of string? I’ve often wondered, and I’ve seen some string in my time. The problem is, they were all of different lengths, these bits of string, some long, some shorter.

Great news for the nuclear industry and indeed for the world: George Monbiot has “altered” his stance on nuclear power and is now in favour of it, rather than being non-committal. In a magnificently self-regarding piece for the Grauniad yesterday he pointed out what most of the rest of us have been arguing for years – that nuclear power is a lot safer (and greener) than almost all other forms of energy production, including bloody wind turbines. It took an earthquake and a tsunami to convince him of this. He has not yet, sadly, reached the conclusion that wind turbines are about as much use as Anne Frank’s drum kit. Give it time. There are a few lessons to be learned from Japan, mind – the obvious ones, I suppose.

I thought it would take at least three days for these new allies – France, UK, US – to lose the support of the Arab League, upon whose agreement this latest fatuous adventure was predicated. But it took rather less than that; about five minutes after the first Tomahawk had been fired, in fact. Tomorrow, when a missile crashes into a mosque, or a hospital, or a school, we will once again have the enmity and fury of the Arab world turned directly upon us, and with some justification. And yet again there is not the slightest evidence that the Libyans opposed to Gaddafi are any more civilised and amenable than the deranged old bastard himself. What a filthy mess it is. I thought we might have learned a lesson or two, but nope, not a chance.

Is this the end for the British National Party? I know that sentence reads like one of those headlines in the Daily Mail to which the answer is always no, like ‘Do tramps give you cancer?’ But things are nonetheless looking a little grim for that doughty and loveable band of white supremacists who, the whining left kept telling us, were poised to sweep all before them, like Guderian’s elite XIX Corp at the Battle of Wyzna. Is this the end for the British National Party? I know that sentence reads like one of those headlines in the Daily Mail to which the answer is always no, like ‘Do tramps give you cancer?

Any suggestions as to what I can do about my mother-in-law? She’s an “End-Time” Christian and with the advent of 24 hour news and social networking sites telling us stuff we would never have heard about before or not got too worked up about – shoals of dead fish in Alabama, frogs raining from the skies in Cambodia, Japanese nuclear reactors blowing up and so on – insists that all of this “has been written” and that Christ will soon come to take her up to her rightful place while the rest of us are consumed in an inferno.