31 January, 2013


Niestety, nie mówię po polsku

I apologize for the paucity of high-quality bigotry, ineffable vileness and general downright unrighteous filth on this blog in recent weeks.  In part this reflects the simple fact that even us retired baby-boomers have to deal with the real, off-line world from time to time.  I mean, look, I've got this offensively large index-linked final-salary company pension and a duty to deploy it in support of the British economy through unbridled expenditure on, er, Chinese consumer durables sold by assorted effnick saleswallahs with an entertainingly unpredictable command of English, and with after-sales support provided by some geezer in Bangalore with an implausibly English forename and neither an understanding of the product nor useful access to the vendor's internal systems.

It's not as easy at it sounds, you know.  It takes it out of you, and the reinvigorating powers of Russian lager served by Lithuanian bar "associates" can only do so much.

The other reason I've been quiet is general gobsmackitude.  I really must stop reading CiF.  It's like those naughty psychotropic chemicals: you know you shouldn't but, well, just once more, eh?

Yesterday was a lulu.

Romanians aren't about to 'invade' Britain
– so stop the negative campaign

we were told.  I have to admit I didn't read the article; just skimmed the title and the standfirst

Britain's image in Romania is positive, but the EU's lifting of
labour restrictions is unlikely to lead to mass immigration

and then plunged straight into the bear pit below the line.  I gather that we shouldn't worry about a massive influx of Romanian and Bulgarian immigrants after the rules change at the end of the year.  Only ten will come in total: a brain surgeon, three ATM-skimmers and six self-employed Big Issue vendors.

Not only that, we really should stop whingeing about the Poles.  Did you not know that Polish airmen won the second war on our behalf while the English sat around drinking tea?  (Funny, I thought it was the Indian infantry that won it for us, but there you go.)  And how did we repay the Poles for their selfless sacrifice?   By failing to prevent the postwar Soviet invasion of Eastern Europe, that's what.  So we owe the Poles bigtime.  Anything they want, really.

Makes you proud, innit.  A small island nation that, so we are repeatedly told, doesn't really exist, is responsible for all of the world's evil.  Such dogged, determined nastiness, the willingness to go out there, to overcome all adversity in order to ruthlessly fuck the entire world.  Now that, my friends, is an achievement to make a man puff out his chest in thoroughly deserved pride.

But it don't half leave yer gob feeling well and truly smacked.  I mean, Richard Rodney Bennett, innit?

05 January, 2013


Pedantry corner

From The Bolton News

From the Oxford English Dictionary
affect n.

5b. Psychol.(and Psychiatry) A feeling or subjective experience accompanying a thought or action or occurring in response to a stimulus; an emotion, a mood. In later use also (usu. as a mass noun): the outward display of emotion or mood, as manifested by facial expression, posture, gestures, tone of voice, etc.

I suppose the attack may have had the effect of affecting the boys' affect, but perhaps I am being too kind.

Maybe I'm getting old, but this kind of illiteracy in supposedly professional journalists effects considerable disappointment.


A song for England, eh?

The BBC World Service's regular arts magazine proggie, The Strand, is filling up its copious airtime by calling on listeners to nominate their country's song, ie some piece of music which in the listener's opinion captures the spirit or character of their home country.

And sure enough, some geezer in Nairobi facebooks in a nomination for "Jambo Bwana" to represent Kenya.

To show willing and offer encouragement, presentoose Harriet Gilbert puts forward a song which in her view captures the spirit of England.  I wonder what that might be, I thought, the words "Blue" and "Mink" coming unaccountably to mind as Harriet praises England as the crossroads of the world, the happy blend of many cultures.

And sure enough, a snatch of "Melting Pot" follows.

Well, I guess we do have "coffee-coloured people by the score", Hattie darling, but Gordelpus.

Mind you I don't think they'd get away with
Curly Latin kinkies
Mixed with yellow Chinkees
 these days.  Naughty.

Come back Bidisha Nosurname, all is — more or less — forgiven.

Update 2013-01-08

"Curly Latin kinkies".  Hmm.  "Curly black and kinkies" more like.  Tharr'll learn me not to cut and paste from song lyric sites, innit.

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