Having managed to get to the end of her sparsely attended Davos speech needing neither cough lozenges nor double-sided gaffa tape, Mrs May now returns to the UK to re-proffer a warm welcome to tiny-hands-pussy-grabbing Trump. This, in the same breath as she very publically, and quite rightly, condemns the groping of female hostesses at the ironically named Presidents’ Club charity dinner. With that moniker you could almost be forgiven for thinking this was an instruction as opposed to an act of isolated incidence.
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With regards to the ‘peace sells’ post, several of you have commented that the only thing you’re going to do is leave a basic last will & testament and let them fight over everything else. Fair enough, though we’re often told that there’s nothing more natural than a parent’s desire to want to ensure a modicum of security for their offspring and ease their way through this wicked wide world. However, recent data from the Resolution Foundation highlights what’s really going on with our inheritances.
From arms & drugs, to self-righteously paying for your passage to the pearly gates with a lifetime of good deeds, death has always been a money spinner and right now, it’s hot. Once merely the inevitable end to your days on this planet where, if you were lucky, a few pals raised a glass to your distant memory, death has now become a rite of instagrammable passage that must be planned, personalised, celebrated and executed to, well, within an inch of its life.
Many of you will recall JR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy where one ring of power was able to rule all others, enabling it to ensure its bidding alone was done. Well, applying this logic to Apple’s iPhone it becomes clear this is the one device of power that ensures its bidding alone is done. More than a billion have been sold since its launch a decade ago and it’s not only the bestselling mobile phone in history, it’s also the bestselling camera, music-player, computer and video screen. The iPhone is almost without peer as the ultimate product of capitalism.
Who else can recall Mrs May promising to build a “country that works for every one of us and not just the privileged few”? Eighteen months on and it would appear that, following the resignation, en-masse, of the board of the Social Mobility Commission, and the departure of her spunky education minister, Justine Greening, Mother Theresa’s memory is failing her a little.
As a loyal and respectful lifetime royalist I thought I’d share with you Morwenna Ferrier’s Guardian scoop where she managed to gain access to Meghan Markle’s personal diary for the month of December. It quite brought a tear to my eye.
Like many of you I have certain celluloid guilty pleasures, films you just have to watch when they’re on TV irrespective of how many times you’ve actually seen them. T’other night one was on, I Robot, where an uber-intelligent man-made machine goes off the rails to dramatic effect and it got me thinking. It slowly dawned on me that many column inches in the new year’s press appear to have been dedicated to the burgeoning topic of Artificial Intelligence with driverless cars, killer drones, automated shopping malls and robotic surgeons being all the rage. In short, 2018 has been dubbed the year of the robot.
The passing of another year always brings out the slightly rueful and melancholic in me. Being on this planet two score and fifteen has hopefully imparted something that may occasionally be mistaken for wisdom and here are some musings I’ve collected en-route.
I have a couple of new-year confessions to make. Firstly, I’ve never understood the rules to ‘Mornington Crescent’ and secondly, I’ve no idea where the labour party stand on Brexit. And, perhaps more to the point, I don’t think they do either. That’s to the latter not necessarily the former although, in the true spirit of Brexit, I rule nothing in and nothing out. Labour MPs have been silent and inconspicuous at best and ambiguous and contradictory at worst. Hard, soft, light or none, who knows? Humprey Lyttelton will be spinning in his grave.
OK, OK, OK, enough already. Chris Froome. Regular readers will already know what I’m going to say as it’ll come as no surprise that I still haven’t quite got over his unwarranted ‘La Toussuire’ attack on Sir Wiggo of Bradley! Chris Froome is a ruthless, opportunistic, self-centred so-and-so. Born in Kenya, these traits reared their ugly heads again as he ditched his country of birth in the blink of a lottery-funded British Olympic eye and adopted Brailsford’s ‘marginal gain’ mentality at all costs.