Showing posts with label Queen's Speech. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Queen's Speech. Show all posts

Thursday, 5 June 2014

Ho ho ho, it's magic!

Today’s hilarious yet hideous reality is the unedifying Queen’s speech in which the coalition promised to do loads of stuff they will never do and Ed Miliband’s response tried to suggest he had the first clue about the disaffection of the voters with politics and politicians. He used all the right words, most of them in the right order, then destroyed the illusion of temporary sanity by neatly listing Labour’s ersatz, listening-to-the-people response. A housing bill, an immigration bill a minimum wage bill… a bill for this, a bill for that, an energy bill, a lack-of-energy bill, a duck bill, a platypus bill, a bill for bloody everything.

For pity’s sake Ed, we are drowning in bills; for some of us our entire life is spent either working to pay our own bills or to pay the tax to pay you lot to dream up ‘those’ bills. We may as well just burn most of our wages for all the good they bring us. But I don’t expect Ed or his ilk to ever understand this; Justine probably does the paperwork in their household anyway, or maybe they have an accountant; doesn’t everybody? Tony Blair may have holed Labour's empty vessel with the outright lie of unfulfilled ‘education, education, education’ but the millipede wants to go further still and brave the stormy seas on a raft of legislation, legislation, legislation!

Fortunately, yer Uncle Batsby has his spies out and about with their ears to the ground and I can reveal that, like the BBC, ‘I have learned’ the following important rumours: Worried about your weight? Worry no more, because Labour’s new Gravity Bill will reset the dysfunctional ‘mass’ market. By capping the kilograms nobody need weigh any more than their ideal weight ever again. The obesity crisis solved by a waft of His Celestial Majesty’s magic philanthropy stick. But why stop with simply altering the laws of physics?

Replace the tedious and convoluted legal system, so tortuous and verbose that all it does is make rich men of the worst lawyers, with a law and order bill containing a statement banning all crime. I wonder that nobody thought about it before. Starving? Make starving illegal; job done. Similarly, why declare war on want when you can just pass a bill declaring want a crime in itself? Legislate for longevity, life, love and loveliness and all will be well, says Magic Ed… from his lofty perch atop the magic toadstool, waggling his limp little wand, down among the faeries in the bosky glades of Dingley Dell.

What is wrong with these people, who pretend to feel our pain even as they recline on soft, downy cushions, the powerful opiates of the money-morphine isolating their nervous systems entirely from the world of human pain and suffering? I don’t want my politicians to empathise – or worse, pretend to empathise – I want them to actually do something. I want them clean and sober, up off their arses and leading. I genuinely don’t need to believe they are my friends and every time one of them lays a metaphorical hand on my shoulder and tells me she cares, all I can sense is the unadulterated whiff of hypocritical bullshit.

Magic Miliband

But hey, look on the good side: today is the Newark by-election! And whatever happens between UKIP and the Conservatives, Ed’s lot are in for a thumping and could well end up disappearing in a puff of smoke. Abraca-fucking-dabra.

Thursday, 9 May 2013

The Queen’s Debrief

Dear Diary.

Had to open that dreadful place today. All those bloody Eton boys are supposed to be my loyal subjects but, looking around me, I wouldn’t trust a single one of them as a cloakroom attendant so I kept my crown securely on my head the whole time and clung onto my purse with a vice-like grip. I’ve had plenty of practice ever since I caught bloody Charles trying it on – he had his day at Caernarfon and he can sodding-well wait his turn.

I’m an old lady and I shouldn’t have to put up with this charade. Opening Parliament? Don’t be ridiculous, we have a man with a bunch of keys for that. And anyway, it’s not our Parliament any more – the EU will do away with it as soon as they think they can do it without a fuss and sell it off for flats. Maybe I should give Charles a go with the crown after all? It might be his only chance.

Anyway, it was the usual dreary guff: taxes, or was it taxis? I get them confused because I have people for that sort of thing. I read in the papers every now and then about how I pay tax then get paid from tax and then they tax me on it and to be honest it does one’s head in. I was just reading from a script really but I do remember a few bits. It seems like they are planning on putting up the pension, which is a nice. It can be hard to get by, especially heating that place of mine.

But how can they do it? I’m no economist but even I can see that trying to increase pensions at the same time as taking many people out of taxation can only end in tears. Especially as they are talking about spending yet more millions on promoting the European Union. Am I having a flashback? Didn’t they do all that in 1975 when they spent all that money on all that doom-mongering propaganda? That was a depressing time. I do hope that nice Mr Farage can jolly us all up – Philip likes the cut of his jib.

Now, the bit about cutting red tape amused me no end. Amateurs, all of them; if you want to know about cutting red tapes, I’m your girl. I’ve cut more red tape in my life than you will ever know, young Cameron. I’ve cut miles of the stuff and all around the world, too. Philip nodded off during that bit – he’s still a bit miffed that he never gets to use the scissors.

But I had to nudge him awake when we got to the immigration bits; he’s always been very keen on that sort of thing and he’s a bit concerned that this new lot want to curb it. Phil thinks it’s marvellous they’re letting all these people in. After years of flying all over the bloody planet, he says, it will be nice if all he has to do is take a stroll down The Mall to be surrounded by hordes of unintelligible brown people.
  
Hang on to your wallet Phil! 

Anyway, that’s all over for another year. I’m getting a bit tired of it all if I’m honest with myself. Sixty sodding times I've done it. What was it Daddy used to say? Oh yes. F-f-f-fuck this for a game of s-s-s-soldiers!