Hooray for politics

Those politicians, eh? Nobody could ever claim they're not good value for money - they might be absolutely balls at running the country but what would we do for entertainment without them? £60 grand a year has to be a bargain - it'd probably cost that to hire Peter Kay for a single evening.

My mirth on this occasion is directed towards Tony Blair's latest stroke of metaphorical genius. In an outburst that was faintly reminscent of Kevin Keegan at his peak, he called David Cameron a "lightweight" (not, one presumes, in the alcoholic sense - we all know what Tory parties are like), and said that he would have to face Gordon Brown, a "Labour heavyweight".

"However much he dances around the ring beforehand he will come in reach of a big clunking fist and, you know what, he'll be out on his feet, carried out of the ring."

All of which got me thinking. What would happen if they did indeed engage in the noble art of fisticuffs? There are certain factors to take into account (without meaning to sound like a family law statute):

1. Gordon is Scottish, Dave isn't. Now, my national pride would never allow me to accept that Scottish people are harder than the English, but they do tend to keep in practice, getting drunk and merrily having fights with everyone in a 5-mile radius.
2. Gordon went to a comprehensive in Fife and then to Edinburgh University, while Dave went to Eton and then to Oxford. While his background may have made Dave adept at the art of towel-flicking, Gordon is likely to have learnt the ancient art of the Glasgow kiss (look it up). It's not looking good for Dave.
3. But fate, disapproving of uneven contests, stepped in when Gordon was a student, blinding him in his left eye. His resultant lack of depth perception could prove a handicap.

All of which actually suggests that Blair's metaphor was rather apt. Gordon will be standing in the corner, unable to judge where the hell Dave is and so resorting to swinging his fists at random; Dave will be prancing round him with a rolled-up towel, and it's anyone's guess what could happen.

Is it too late to suggest the contest for Children in Need tonight?

Family law - why?

Just why?

Why do we have this mind-numbing series of statutory provisions, listing 37 thousand factors that a court must take into account before it can decide whether or not to blow its nose? Admittedly, it's not just family law that shows this trend, but that's the subject that I'm trying to avoid doing by writing this, so it shall bear the brunt of my wrath.

Everyone who's ever studied law knows that everything turns out much more interesting when Parliament buggers off and leaves the courts to get on with things. MPs, by definition, are dull people. If they were interesting, they'd be barristers.

If a court comes up against a thorny problem that it can't resolve according to the existing law, its usual response is to invent some fiendishly clever mechanism of avoiding the rule and getting the result they want. It might be completely insane or have more holes than the Pope, but it's a bloody sight more interesting than another five thousand page statute setting out in minute detail what should happen in every circumstance that could possible occur, in this universe or any other, ever.

So, in summary. Courts good, politicians bad. And don't do family law.

Enforcing Animal Welfare - Nature's Revenge

Breathe a sigh of relief - I'm not going on endlessly about hunting again. Instead, I am responding to an article I saw on the BBC News website, entitled "Blazing mouse sets fire to house." Awed by the genius of the rhyme, I investigated further, wondering if some mouse, inspired presumably by the lyrics of a Blazing Squad musical event, had managed to get its paws on a pack of matches and a can of petrol and was gleefully setting fire to every house it could find in a spree of rodent arson.

But no! In fact, I discovered that it wasn't the mouse's fault at all. Some bastard American had found this poor creature in his home, and wanted to be rid of it. Fair enough - I wouldn't want to share my home with a mouse either. Any normal person would put down some kind of humane trap and then release it into the wild. Job done.

But, being stupid, he didn't do that. Instead, he decided the best course of action would be to BURN the mouse by lobbing it onto a bonfire in his garden. Understandably, the mouse took a dim view of this, and so, while burning, ran back into the house and proceeded to spread the flames so that the house burnt down.

Serves you right, Luciano Mares. If that is your real name.

The moral of the story is that, although the American people have finally worked out how to satisfactorily operate a voting machine (see the result of the mid-term elections), they are still irretrievably dim. The world goes on turning.

The Hunting Season is underway!!

Apparently.

Cue lots of people riding around the countryside in ridiculous clothes, speaking in tongues (they have an entire language of their own) and shooting anything that moves. It turns out that, under the new law, they are entitled to flush a fox out from its earth with dogs, as long as they then shoot it (in the face, presumably) instead of letting them tear it limb from limb. So that's alright then.

I never used to care much about hunting. If people get a thrill out of pretending to be 19th century cavalry soldiers, riding around like tits while carrying a rifle, so be it, said I. But now I have a fierce loathing of fox hunting. What's changed?

Well, the truth is, I've been watching a few episodes of The Animals of Farthing Wood on YouTube. The exciting adventures of a miscellaneous group of animals each named after their species has led me inexorably to the conclusion that foxes, in particular, are legendary, and dogs and people are evil. Any one of those foxes that they are flushing out could be Fox, Vixen, or even any of their children, whom I will not name here lest anyone start to doubt my strategic use of the word "few" above.

It's a tragedy.

The Blog Returns! (Again)

Yes, it's true - once again I have been too lazy to post a blog for months, so then feel a need to make a big hoohah about getting my backside in gear and writing one. I've already had more comebacks than Mike Tyson, and more false endings than The Return of the King. Long may it continue.

Not only that, but it is now on Facebook for the first time. Wonders never cease.

I was watching Prime Minister's Questions yesterday (doesn't everyone) when I saw the moment that everyone's been talking about. The Speaker made an arbitrary ruling, the dough-faced public school tosspot challenged him, and all Hell broke loose. What particularly struck me, though, was the sheer uselessness of Michael Martin in the role of Speaker. He spent about five minutes trying to actually get out the word "Order" and then ineffectually brayed it repeatedly while the MPs all hurled insults at each other. It occurred to me - isn't it time for a new Speaker? And then I realised that I knew the ideal candidate.

Samuel L Jackson.

If Samuel L Jackson stood up to speak, you can bet your life that there'd be no interrupting - everyone would be cowering in their chairs, whimpering gently. If he needed to demand silence, instead of the traditional "Order" he could simply draw a pistol from his jacket and fire it into the ceiling, or, failing that, wade out into the morass of politicians and start stomping them one at a time. Instead of referring to people as "The Honourable Gentleman", he could use the more succinct "Bitch".

"I've told you before, Cameron. Now sit yo' punk ass down and shut your mouth before I come down there and rearrange your motherfucking face!"