Oilseed Rape

Before anybody gets the wrong end of my stick – you know what crappy readers we breed in the UK – let me state that rape is wrong. So put away your instinctive repulsion and hatred and read on. Louise Mensch is quite right. But so (dons armour) is George Galloway. They’re both right. A bit.

Where do babies come from? I think you get them free if you grow up on certain estates – they have helpful local facilitators who will readily get you pregnant if you can’t manage it on your own. The deposit is a few bottles of counterfeit booze, a few happy pills and a bit of peer pressure and the balance is taken care of by the state. 

If you watch any wildlife programme you will see the familiar routines. The males circle the grazing herd, often in small marauding packs, waiting their chance to pick off the weaker members. Sex is often peremptory and frequently violent, but is shrugged off as part of the circle of life. Consent is a given unless firmly and physically revoked. It's the same on the wildlife programmes.

We like to think, as civilised humans, that we dance to a more choreographed and sensitive etiquette but, at heart, we are little different and some of you owe your existence to an act that in some interpretations might be described as rape. Retrospective withdrawal of consent, otherwise known as sobering up, has had devastating consequences for all involved, especially the men.

Louise Mensch refers to ‘had it coming’ rape, as if there was no such thing. She should spend more time watching the city streets on Friday night, or David Attenborough documentaries – same thing. To expect that drunken, loutish youths, high on various substances and flouting every other behavioural convention will restrain themselves once encouraged is a triumph of hopeful thinking over human nature. In young, ill-educated male culture, rape is part of the language; they even listen to rape music. 

Before you think I’m somehow sticking up for George Galloway (as a man I do realise I’m not allowed any actual opinion on this subject) I should point out that my contempt for the odious little worm has no bounds. Yet in his annoying and repulsive loathsome manner he was stating the nature of reality, as opposed to the way we wish it were.  So what's it to be, Galloway or Mensch; G or M? Or maybe both => GM.

Be careful what you wish for...

Because help is at hand. Professor Julian Savulescu thinks we can genetically engineer for a brighter, more intelligent and less violent future. If he is right then the foul spectre of rape will disappear from our vocabulary, along with the dwindling population; then Louise Mensch and George Galloway can hold forth about eugenics instead.

The Human Race

So, last night’s BBC Question Time was a hoot. Baroness Warsi ably swinging the handbag for the Conservatives against the feebly flapping hands of Labour’s plain old Miss Cooper (double-entendre intended), who had the temerity to engage in a tit-for-tat battle over the respective performances of this and the last government.

When the last administration was under Gordon Brown’s leadership, the best you can do is apologise, surely? But maybe she has something in her arsenal, something to deploy to land a knockout blow? Wait for it, wait for it… here it comes… And there it is, the emotive but tired and ultimately meaningless statistic that the 5% reduction in top rate tax means a £40,000 tax rebate for somebody earning a million pounds a year.

Meaningless? Of course it is. Is that the only thing Labour has? It must be; it’s the only thing I ever hear from them. Again and again and again. Steal from the rich to feed the poor. It won’t work and you should really read this excellent article to see why. Squeezing the rich is an utterly futile exercise which demonstrates that those who propose it really don’t understand either money, or human motivation.

Everybody should pay their share, of course, but nobody should be taxed at a higher rate in return for their industry or their good fortune. It’s called the human race and at a million squids per annum I would most definitely be winning (or at least I’d be through to the play-offs). Trying to take my prize off me is envious and stupid and anyway, you’d have to catch me first. And I’m winning, remember?

Which gets me on to the other big race, the 2012 Bahrain Grand Prix. I have no idea what’s happening. I don’t care. I don’t follow the sport and I have no real interest in whatever the Bahrainistas are up to, but I do know that it will make not one iota of difference to the prosperity of Britain whether the race goes ahead or not. For all the bleating and whining hot air that whooshed out of George Galloway's lying, hypocritical gob I'm sure that not a single B'rainie of influence lost a moment's sleep.

 You see, the Grand Prix is about rich people. And rich people really don’t care what you or I think about them. If we think too hard and get cross about them being rich they’ll just move – to Bahrain perhaps – and then we’ll never see another penny of their tax money again. Who will pay for everything then?

A long time in politics

Wow, what a week it's been and what a sorry reflection on the 'grate' British public.

• Last summer's riots were blamed on anybody but the rioters themselves.
• The Tories got caught in a Blairesque cash-for-favours affair.
• Francis Maude idiotically scared stupid sheeple into panic buying fuel, causing utter chaos.
• In the absence of any real policy the opposition counter-attack on George Osborne's budget amounted to nothing more of substance than pasties. 
• Then, when their attention was focused on being photographed in pie shops, Bradfordistan voted in their very own artificial Ayatollah in the form of preening narcissist 'Gorgeous' George Galloway, sycophant to Islamic tyrants the world over.
• And to cap it all, a fool in York sets herself on fire by decanting petrol while cooking on gas.

How in the world will we spot the spoofs, come April First?

Well, all this confirms what I've long suspected. You, the British public, in common with people the globe over, are basically quite, quite stupid. (Not the ones reading this, obviously) You put showboating before logic; you vote for personality rather than ability and you will probably jump to the rhythmic click of my fingers and the hypnotic tone of my voice if I feed you enough of the right kind of chocolate biscuits.

"How many biscuits?" you incisively ask, "And how much chocolate?" you demand to know. And, of course, now I've got you. While Newsnight debates the level of sugary, biscuity bribe that will get your vote, I've had my henchmen peek into your shallow souls and count up your worth. We'll be having your principles melted down for our gain even as the chocolate melts in your mouth. That's politics.

Gosh, how cynical, you gasp. Do I really see the human race, populated almost entirely by slack-jawed, entitlement-focused, undeserving yokels?

Yes. Yes I do. I said so, right from the start: It all started here.[link to first ever Batsby blog]

Now, be off with you, peasants, while I get on with my reign... and my weekend. (PS: Have a nice day!)

The Sultan of Swing

As the week ends forget pastygate. And you might want to consider stockpiling petrol for an entirely different reason, for a new threat to the nation’s sanity has emerged. ‘Gorgeous’ George Galloway is the new Ayatollah of Bradfordistan, once a proud, northern mill town, now a burgeoning suburb of Karachi.

Galloway said, 'By the grace of God we have won the most sensational victory in British political history'. The madness of King George knows no bounds and no doubt fatwahs and favours will soon be issuing forth as he sits in Gadaffi-like splendour, eating dates in his big tent in Bradford’s Green Square. He may even invite his arch enemy Tony Blair for a photo opportunity. For George has cast off his sins and adopted the one true faith, the faith turned to by many another beleaguered pugilist. George has adopted the faith of ‘hismam’, righteous self-worship in the name of publicity.

The former Marxist, communist, head-the-ball and out-and-out swivel-eyed lunatic has benefited – according to the losing Labour faction – from a drop in support for the conservatives. It’s not their week, I know, but even I can’t imagine a former Conservative supporter switching sides to an unconvincing, cat-imitating, Big Brother reject. No, there has to be another reason for the high apparent reversal of voter apathy.

Maybe George’s kitty-cat tongue has had a workout licking all those stamps for the not-at-all-suspiciously large postal ballot? And who was that agile, yet stocky, burka-clad figure seen dashing from booth to booth in a last minute voting frenzy; one photographic ID, yet thousands of identities? (It’s a local custom) 

We may never know, but one thing is for certain. Bradford is no longer a British city that has simply lost its identity. It will forever be known as a city that has lost its mind and gone stark, staring mad. Respect? George Galloway? My arse!

But the government must look to their laurels. The entirely avoidable disasters of the last week are nothing compared to this travesty. One thing's for sure - if this can happen, anything can happen. Remember, every household in the land now has a can of petrol standing by. Man the barricades, the infidel is at the gates.

PS: For every ethnic, religious or historical inaccuracy in this article I offer no apology whatsoever. It's my blog and I can write what I like for comic effect. 

PPS: So there.