Mine...

So, the rescue of the Chilean Miners is underway and handled in a customarily sensitive fashion by Sky News who spent most of last night reminding us that 'of course, it could all still go wrong', in the same way that they implied that the Raoul Moat standoff could turn into Infernal Affairs at any moment. Fortunately it transpired that after much banging and testing, the Fenix was finally put into use hauling forth the miners from their earthy prison. (Of course Murdoch ruined this too by placing a counter on the screen which stood at '0 out of 33 miners' for a good 6 hours or so).

On a similarly bleak note, today is also Margaret Thatcher's birthday. Interestingly that fateful day also signifies what could be the first major crack to appear in the Coalition, as it transpired that the Lib Dem's pre-election promise to abolish tuition fees turned out to be bollocks. Quite how 'abolition' turned into 'raised to an unlimited amount', I'm still not entirely sure. Poor old Cable is seemingly being scapegoated in a manner not seen since the 1930s and it surely cannot be long until he realises that Clegg has not only hoodwinked the public but his own party as well.

Still, it's the Apprentice tonight. So it's not all bad...

Be A Good Sport...

Yesterday I hit a new low as a football fan. My beloved team was the victim of what is known (appallingly) in the trade as a 'cupset' as they lost to lower league opposition with an alarming display of profligacy and indolence in front of goal, spurning several hat loads of chances and going out with a whimper in a penalty shootout.

Life as a fan is never easy (unless you support Manchester United or Chelsea, in which case it's more comparable with being an Eton-educated Oxbridge graduate and wondering whether you might just be able to get into a position of power in the current government). You suffer appalling lows as your ragtag collection of overpaid mercenaries show no passion or desire and then you reach ecstatic highs as your heroes show tremendous heart to set up a plucky win against a team funded by an entire Arab country. It's never boring. Heartbreaking, infuriating, coronary-inducing, but never boring.

The season as a whole has been dire, commensurate with the state of Delhi's Commonwealth Games, really - shit flowing through the halls and a bridge collapsing (alright... even I don't really know what that last bit means). Mostly, the point is that there's a fine line between just keeping things interesting and forcing supporters to the brink of despair. The Commonwealth Games organisers are 'confident' that everything will be sorted out. Albeit a confidence not shared by the numerous big name athletes that have pulled out, the general public or even the organisers' spouses (probably). The footbridge collapse yesterday could not have come at a worse time, just as losing to Brentford on penalties could not have come at a worse time (although that would be true at any time). Just when the Delhi organisers needed to prove that they could get it together and deliver a memorable games they were given a ludicrous accident that certainly made it 'memorable', just not for the reasons that everyone had been hoping for.

Fingers crossed that by December the halls won't be flooded with excrement and a serviceable bridge (with no concerns over structural integrity) will have been erected.

The only positive? At least I'm not Titus Bramble.

(For non-sports fans he's a calamitous defender... and now a rapist... apparently)


Today's blog was brought to you by the letter 'P' for Ped Mcpartland and the tweet that started it all...

News, What News...

There's an appalling lack of bloggable news today. The Guardian website offers live-text for the Lib Dem conference and London Fashion week, pictorials of Oktoberfest and a video about tigers being capable of mating in the mountains of Bhutan. None of which can particularly be anatomised in 500 to 1000 words of ideally witty prose.

So, what to talk about, if not Clegg's Faustian pact, overflowing litre steins of Export Juergenbrau, ridiculous clothes and nobbing tigers? Well, not a lot really... erm... did you all have nice weekends? I made several thoroughly underappreciated jokes on Twitter (perhaps future civilisations will look back on them and deem them worthy of laughter) and embarked on attempting to drown myself in even more writing projects (a grand total of 2 sitcoms, 1 full length play, 3 one-act plays, 1 graphic novel, 1 radio drama, 2 short films at last census).

Sometimes life and the news outdo themselves and contrive to serve up a story about a dangerous mental winning a Mid-Term Primary or bear getting trapped in a car, yet today there is no such luck. We were given a list of people who earn more than Cameron by Auntie Beeb (in the Public Sector, not just in life in general) and top of the pile sat Sir Jock Stirrup, awarded a meaty £288, 700 a year, presumably for being the only MoD chief to actually be a fictional character from a Monty Python sketch.

In sports news, while diving to catch a well-hit Afridi 6 (admirable commitment), a MCC member of managed to stack it into some substantial metalwork. All in good fun, eh? Otherwise they wouldn't show the replays, right? Wrong! He looked as though he'd lost a fight with a grizzly and grinned at the TV cameras as his bloodied face was dabbed with a friend's hanky, clearly dying inside. The lesson here? Never try. Particularly if TV cameras are involved.

Caption Competition the First...

Right, not enough time to think of/record/edit/upload a proper FriPic this week, so instead here's a wee caption competition (the Pope has become inescapable). (No idea how this will work... tell your friends, I guess)

What could perchance being going on here, followers?

Not the Pope o' Clock News...

Right, I'm staying true to my new philosophy and not going to say anything about the Pope or the protestors or anything. After all, I'm not a Jeremy Vine phone-in...

So, here's a list of minor news stories to stop you all from breaking the precepts outlined last week.

1. Yoga Bear - A female brown bear in Finland was captured on film doing a number of Yoga streches and positions in easily the most charming story you will see all week and boasts the greatest number of 'Yogi Bear' puns outside of the 1960s or inventor of the television John Logie Baird. My favourite line from the article is 'These are not beginners' postures. Yogi bear is definitely an advanced practitioner'. (Most of the credit for this story goes to Nat Luurtsema, who posted a link to the pictures yesterday.
2. News of the World Paywall - Not content with simply making up their own news, every public figure's least favourite redtop is to follow Murdoch's example and charge readers for their online content. Presumably they just needed more money for hidden cameras or Ricky Hatton lookalikes or something... ahem...
3. Bruce Dickinson Lands Top Airline Job - Iron Maiden singer and qualified airline pilot (I love that opening to a sentence) Bruce Dickinson has been named Marketing Director of Gatwick-based charter airline Astraeus. Favourite line from this one? "In a demanding industry he is a man who can cope with pressure," Monnery said, "whether as a 757 captain or in front of 50,000 Iron Maiden fans, or senior airline and aviation managers."
4. And Finally...
   

Where's the Beef... Oh She's Wearing It...

Apparently some people have only just noticed that Lady Gaga is off the wall mental. To cut a long story short, the diminutive songstress turned up to MTV VMAs (which, to be fair has a track record for this sort of thing with, only last year, Kanye's God Complex becoming just too powerful to allow Taylor Swift to accept an award in peace) in a dress made out of meat.

Meat, of course, being the primary tailoring material for centuries... oh, hang on, no it isn't. You don't wear raw meat to an awards ceremony, you mentalist, this isn't a Tom Green film. Naturally PETA have blown their motherflipping top over this. Now, I must confess that I don't subscribe to the vegan thing, I don't have superpowers (we all love referential comedy...), but even I can tell that wearing a meat dress is a pretty stupid idea. Not least because it's highly unappealing to look at and I can only imagine that feeling the cold flesh of mutilated animal against your skin isn't the most pleasant sensation in the world.

Now, no-one would expect Lady Gaga to turn up in something normal (which ironically would actually be a much more effective and impactful statement), hell, next time she might just cut her losses and turn up wearing a hollowed out deer, however I can't help but feel that perhaps she could have considered maybe silk or, if you simply must go down the food route, tapioca or something.

Also, pretty much all her songs sound the same. A fact highlighted particularly well by any montages of her songs performed on dreadful TV talent shows. I mean they're catchy, but not to my taste really... and they all sound the same. This is in no way a personal attack on Ms. Gaga (I'm now refusing to use her honorific title), in fact I remember reading a brilliantly insightful and frank interview by Caitlin Moran that displayed Gaga as personable, self-deprecating and very human indeed, however I don't understand why she couldn't have popped into Tesco, say, and bought a cheap and cheerful little number not hacked and stitched from the flesh of a sentient being.

NewsRamble...

Here I tackle the sensitive issues of major news stories with little or none of the levels of maturity or insight that you'd expect or even actually desire from topical blogging...

Anyone for Pétanque...?

Unlikely sports comeback news now. I'm reliably informed that pétanque is very much now the summer game of choice, whether you're one of those trendy, slim actress-y types in hats or even a trendy, slim actor-y type with your own belt. Fancy chucking a ball into a collection of balls aiming to hit a tiny ball? Then pétanque is very much the game for you. What?... Pétanque, it's French and obviously very classy...?... Fancy chucking boules into a collection of boules aiming to hit a very tiny boule? Non?

And just when you thought this assertion couldn't be any more from the pages of Sugar Ape magazine, Olly Dixon of London synthpop group Filthy Dukes recently co-founded the East London Pétanque Association, staging "guerilla pétanque" events at selected summer festivals. I know I say this a lot but THE MEDIA HAS EATEN ITSELF blah, blah, blah HELL IN A HANDBASKET.

Hayward Ho...

Well, happy axe news emerged this week with the revelation that head of BP and walking PR Mr. Magoo Tony Hayward would be leaving his post. Sadly this also means that he'll be able to collect a no doubt sizeable pension for mainly fucking up a large section of the Louisiana coast.

This is the man who, fresh in the wake of the disaster, said "nobody wants this to be over more than me. I want my life back". Really, Tony? You know who else want their lives back? The residents of the Gulf of Mexico... oh and all the pelicans and ducks that you covered in your godawful, crude slop, but something tells me that they can't all go to a yacht race and then receive a bung to leave a job that they frankly should have been fired from to 'get their lives back'.

Here are a few of the candidates for the top job at BP-

Mssrs. P & B Chuckle

Mssrs. S Laurel & O Hardy

Mr. B Keaton

All of whom are vastly experienced at royally cocking up almost everything they do and would be very much a like-for-like replacement for the outgoing Hayward. But of course, it's not all male candidates. Similarly qualified are:

Ms. K Woodburn

Ms. A McKenzie

Who are eminently experienced in cleaning up other people's fucking mess. Ooh burn.




And Finally....
The Answer to the puzzler in last week's 'Still Got the News...' was that they were all true. A bit of a trick question you might say, but then the media is pretty much beyond parody these days and enough of the papers already make up their stories *cough, cough* Daily Star *cough* without me adding to the mire of nonsense.

Still Got the News...

Ok, seeing as very little of blog-inspiring importance seems to be happening, we're going to play a little game. I'm going to give you a selection of headlines and synopses of news stories and you have to decided which ones you think are legit and which ones are simply imaginative fabrications from my brainbox.

'Transvestite Had Sex With Dog at English Heritage Castle'
The cross-dressing man, wearing a black dress, mounted the pet in the dry moat of the almost aptly named Pendennis Castle after it had chased him out of sight of its female owner. A spokesman for English Heritage is quoted as saying "this is a very rare incident".

'Mears Hired by Police in Moat Hunt'
News has reached us that Northumbria Police used overgrown public-schoolboy and semi-fictional, forest-dwelling 'survivalist' Ray Mears in the hunt for gunman Raoul Moat. Supposedly, Mears tracked the killer after Moat's campsite was found abandoned, all the while teaching some handy fire-starting and shelter-building tips to the officers.

'Failed Britain's Got Talent Singer Sues Simon (Cowell)'
A rejected act from Britain's Got Talent in the process for suing Simon Cowell for around £2.5 million. Emma Amelia Pearl Czikai started legal proceedings, arguing that she was humiliated and degraded by the judging panel. Cowell's rather watertight defense is believed to be "What the fuck did Czikai think was the point of the show?!"
In other BGT news, there is no resolution as yet as to whether the format will be pulled after a discrepancy regarding the Trade Description Act...

Annnnnnnd... GO!

You've Got A Friend...

So, I was leafing through the Guardian (mostly the G2 and Sport) as usual this morning searching for something to blog about (yup, it's one of those days again) and happened across this article by the excellent Tim Dowling about renting a friend. As one might imagine, being a unsuccessful comedian and blogger doesn't pay particularly well, so the idea of renting myself out for companionship without having to perform sexual favours for a client is a rather appealing one.

Here are some of my qualities:

• Good sense of humour - Particularly with regard to my own jokes.
• Not so good-looking that I'll show you up, but also not so ugly that you'll be ashamed to be seen with me - Sort of fair to middlin'.
• Vast and eclectic musical tastes - Can discuss comfortably all periods of music from Early, Baroque Classical and Romantic, to Rock, Blues, Jazz, Soul, New Wave and Indie. NO HIP HOP. (Can't stress that last one enough)
• Experienced actor - So it'll seem like I'm enjoying your company, even if I'm really not.
• Bad at the whole 'eating out' spiel - Coffee or pub is fine though. Don't bother with a fancy restaurant or something like that... it'll be embarrassing for all involved.
  
• Accomplished guitar and piano skills - (While no extra fee is demanded for serenading, a donation is appreciated...)
• Owner of no less than 4 pairs of shoes - Basically equipped for any situation.
  
• Decidedly average at most sports - If that's your cup of tea.
  
• Knowledgeable about many periods of history - Useful for broadening your horizons or simply engaging in a heated debate (preferably shouted in a public area).
• Once gave a presentation (in German) about the proposed accession of Turkey to the EU.
  

So, if all that floats your boat, a very reasonable, sliding payscale according to your social status is offered. If you're interested (and, hey, why wouldn't you be... don't answer that), then contact me here.

Friday Pictorial the Twenty First: Fox

Here we are, Twenty First Pictorial Fox, you could say (if you wanted, your choice really). Here's a no doubt sensitive and insightful channel Five documentary to look out for.



Fun Fact: Stripes is only the second ever guest star in a Friday Pictorial. (Alright, so 'fun' might have been a strong word...)

Ooh, before I forget, this is a prologue to a longer sketch by me and Tommy Isaac, so hopefully you'll get to see the full feature sometime in the future.

Topical Sketch...

While thrilled by the news that human remains found in the area dating from 780,000 years ago had revised archaeological theories on the subject of prehistoric Britain, Norfolk Tourist Board were beginning to wonder if their new poster might be sending out the wrong impression...

Friday Pictorial the Twentieth: International Men of Mystery...

Well, we've already discussed my favourite story of the week and here's a FriPic dedicated to that. Join outspoken political commentator Benn Gleck for his take on the scandal.

Tinker, Tailor, Solider, Real Estate Agent...

This is Anna Chapman. She's a spy... bollocks, I mean, she's an online real-estate magnate with a Master's in economics. Forget the spy thing... oh, alright, she is a spy. A spy for the Russkies.

Along with some middle-aged families and and a South American journalist, Chapman was (supposedly) planted by Moscow to infiltrate the policymaking circles of the US and send intel back to the Kremlin.

This is my favourite new story of the week. Essentially we are now living in a Len Deighton or John le Carre novel, in which the Russians have sneakily assimilated themselves into positions of power within America. If only Alec Guiness' George Smiley were here to see it all.

Unsurprisingly, Chapman has become the pin-up of this furore, presumably because people don't expect real life covert ops to look like that. But surely she should have some implausible moniker like Pussy Galore, Xenia Onatopp or Tits McGee? Well, yes, if this old world of ours was a touch more interesting, instead of a slow and painful march through encroaching bureaucracy to the grave, then she probably could have gone to Deed Poll and called herself Dr. Holly Goodhead. At least this kind of fun story is a step in the right direction.

Mature editorial comments that I've already spotted whilst trawling the web for material, include 'I'd let her spy on me any day' and 'they didn't look like that in the Cold War...'. Good to see that the media are dealing with this with the maturity required to deal with a potential 'diplomatic incident'. But it could all be brouhaha... alright, so Chapman's facing 20 years imprisonment for spying and money-laundering, but apart from that it could all be brouhaha, right?

Well, not necessarily. The Americans seem to be taking things pretty bloody seriously and what might seem like a ripping yarn of femme fatales and deep cover spying to us, constitutes a breach of trust and compromises the integrity of the highest echelons of the American governmental system.

But hey, at least it's keeping things lively.

To finish, a neat little Steve Bell from today's Guardian.

A Quick One, While I'm Away...

Ok, so I have lots of points to make and not really all that much time to make it in. That said, any kind of pseudo-cultural, cynical blog seems a bit trite and insignificant after yesterday's tragedy in Cumbria. For what they're worth, Or So I Thought...'s condolences are offered to all affected. Terrible loss of life and only 3 weeks or so into the rule of the Coalition. Now, I'm not saying that this is Cameron's fault, but in many ways, this is Cameron's fault...

Anyway, that's enough walking the razor's edge of taste for one blog. Moving swiftly on, Junior Apprentice continued its crash course through the corridors of busines, this time stopping at art dealing. Again, I find the best way to watch this (as with Eurovision) is with friends... alright, not real, actual, fleshy people who are in the room, but witty E-people delivering 140 character character assassinations (I'm not sure if that was actually quite clever or just clumsy syntax). Well, things opened with the usual hive of Tim 'I'm secretly 31, but shh, don't tell anyone' Ankers theories and we all agreed that he was in no way a 17 year old. Arjun was wearing a suit several sizes too big for him (one of Tim's? As several theorised...), whether he was staring in the Bollywood remake of Bugsy Malone, we'll never know (though I suspect the application will be in the post should he be fired at some point). Most of the attention was suitably garnered by mega-cow Zoe who decided that she was Charles Saatchi all of a sudden. What was it her parents did again? Oh, that's right, they're artists, aren't they. As she reminded us every five fucking minutes. That said, it was very difficult to distinguish between her obvious bullshitting and, say, Tim's. There were just as many. 'Ooh, nice use of space' and 'you're taking me on a journey's.

Tim had been operating with the other blonde one as his secretary (hopefully avoiding the usual trappings of the boss/secretary relationship as he would no doubt end up on a register...) and was looking particularly louche in the back of the mini cab. Zoe had once again been sucking off Clifford the Big Red Dog/Po/Iron Man (delete as appropriate) as her mouth was a lurid red, like some bollocks-spouting life ring. It seemed to work for her as she got the pick of the artists. Kirsty's infallible Scottish charm clearly not triumphing this time... ahem...

In the sale room, Zoe decided to steal everyone's customers and tell them about how she knew so much about art. Clearly one of those people who goes on a reality show so that they can end up presenting a feature about home decor on This Morning. Arjun, the sly dog, had picked up a few ladies on the quiet and had promptly sold them in excess of £2,500 worth of modern tat... sorry modern art, don't know what happened to my keyboard there... Tim decided to push people, who weren't having any of it, until a restaurant owner managed to flog him £1000 worth of photographs (no qualms there, that's pretty much art).

So what did everyone think come the end of the task? Well Zoe said that she had 'no idea how the others would turn on her' as she was 'very strong in that task'. No idea? Hahahaha. As the legendary Bernard Black (on whom I appear to have based most of my life) don't make me get sick into my own scorn. Have you never met you, Zoe? You're a teensy bit bitchy, of course they're going to turn on you. 'Delusional as well as self-obsessed and dressed like someone Arjun is about to pimp to Tim' was Simon Best's (friend of this blog) verdict on Zoe and I couldn't put it better myself.

As it happened, it was Tim's team left to face the music. "Tim, is it going to be Ankers away?" said Lord Sugar, who'd clearly been hoping that Tim lost so he could make that excellent pun. Nope, it was going to be Hannah away, because she was the most qualified. Remember Hibah? No? Well, she was fired for the same thing. That's how it works.

Finally, nemesis update. The best way I can think to frame this is that he's one of those guys that people seem to like and you appear to be the only one who can see that he's the king of all cunts. I have a lot of sympathy for Frank Grimes in The Simpsons, because, from a purely objective point of view, Homer is a bit of a bumbling, offensive loon and it's only natural that Grimes would question how he seemed to be so popular and why no-one could see his obvious flaws. I suppose, like all the things, the principle of nemeses is purely subjective... expect for this nemesis is actually a complete, mind-bogglingly punchable, marauding fucknut. Fact. That is all.

Diversification...

No, I'm not a farm, but it would seem that diversification was something that took up this weekend. (Don't hate me for it, I'm simply trying all avenues to make a living before Cameron takes all my money/job prospects).

Essentially, it involved uploading all of the (non-copyright infringing - sorry Lambing Live, you're just for this blog) videos to the brand spanking new Youtube channel and thanks to you folks out there I'm the 85th most viewed comedian on Youtube today and the 58th most subscribed to this week (with a massive 4 subscribers...).

Next came the leap of faith, the election video uploaded to Funny or Die, where it holds a pretty tasty 91% funny rating (which I know is mostly down to you lovely people who read this or follow me on Twitter). So here are a few simpler ways to enjoy the previous Friday Pictorials (should you want to, I imagine once is enough for some of them...) .

Anyhow, that's just a bit of shameless self-promotion, what I actually came here to talk about, if you'll let me get a word in edgeways, was the issue of the new 55% majority required to dissolve parliament (no, not taking a vat of sulphuric acid to Bootsie Collins and George Clinton, but calling an election), something that the Con-Dems call 'fixed-term parliament'. This struck me as odd, as only the coalition is capable of dissolving parliament, meaning that they can be in power for as long as they want. 'Democracy', don't you just love it(?) My first thought on this was that it seeked to make the other parties powerless and obsolescent (if not obsolete) in the way the notorious Enabling Act of the Nazi government. Naturally I don't propose that the Con-Dems are on par with the Nazis, it was simply what flagged up in my head after first hearing about this '55%' majority business. It was surely blatant disregard for both the constitution and the electorate.

I feel somewhat vindicated in my feelings after reading Charlie Brooker's column in today's Guardian in which he bemoans the coalition for not being the hateful Tory government that would have at least allowed us to mourn instead of this... thing, whatever it is. In the column he too makes reference to the Enabling Act, albeit in exaggerated jest with a brief caveat. That said, at least the thought must have crossed his mind, so I can't be completely crazy, can I?

Alright, I can...

Alright, I am...

Back in Time...

This is no fun Huey Lewis and the News song, this is what likely faces us in the immediate future. It's frighteningly appropriate that last night's Heston Blumenthal feast was 80s themed, because that's pretty much where we headed again. To borrow a theme from Supernatural, yesterday Clegg said 'yes' to Lucifer and we are now ConDem-ned as a country.

"What's the problem?" You may say. "You voted for this." But that's just it. We didn't. 64% of the electorate didn't vote for Cameron and certainly none of the Liberal voters that I know put down their x with the expectation that we would be handing the keys to ShamCam. We didn't vote for Cable's fiscal policy so that Osborne can be let loose in the treasury like a hyperactive child in a sweet shop. It seems as though the wool has been well and truly pulled over our eyes as a nation. We voted Clegg and got Cameron. The Lib Dems protest that the decision was preferable to the stigma attached to 'propping up' the ailing Labour government, but this isn't about 'stigma' or personal damned popularity. We had one simple aim, to keep a dangerous, pudge-faced toff out of Number 10 and we failed.

When details were released of simultaneous talks with Labour, the right wing press practically fell over itself calling the Lib Dems untrustworthy, Adam Boulton stopped seconds short of a cerebral aneurysm, Nick Robinson saw his masterplan momentarily falter. Hours later they were handing them junior cabinet roles. There were claims over the Labour talks that the Lib Dems were turning Judas, but rather it is what has happened that feels like the betrayal. The selling out on policies on electoral reform and ideology for simply immediate power. It's cheap, it won't work and it feels very wrong indeed.

In a speech in the early hours of this morning Clegg promised a diverse government and one need only cast an eye across the cabinet posts to see the diversity of this new government - Liam Fox, George Osborne, William Hague, murmurings of Ian Duncan Smith and Michael Howard. About as fucking diverse as they come: middle aged, white, male right wing politicians. This is indeed a betrayal and a number of Lib Dem voters have defected to Labour in the wake of it. I am not surprised in the least. The worst part is that we voted for the Lib Dems... we voted for what has just happened, but we didn't know it and they have the gall to call it democracy.

All I can hope for is for some of the more left leaning Liberals - the Cables of the party- to see that this isn't that way. No electoral reform means that this weak coalition won't last and the Lib Dems will struggle to get back into a position of stability in the future. If the commitments to the core ideologies and electoral reform hadn't been traded for the magic beans of government positions, it could have been a very different story indeed. Instead we will wake up in Tory Britain to see Pudge-Face and his trophy wife smirking in front of the infamous black door.

It's going to be a long and painful four years, but I'll be here for you. Maybe if we all stick together we can actually try and effect some real change in this world.

Hang tough, followers. We're not beaten down just yet.

The Legacy...

Well, we could be literally hours away from going to Hell in a hand cart and despite that most news outlets seem to have devoted a proportion of their airtime to the discussion of that all important phrase for former PMs- the legacy and attempting to shit all over it.

"What is Brown's legacy?" They ask - cue media bitching and everyone talking over each other. Fortunately thanks to the internet, no-one can talk over me so here's the definitive Or So I Thought... view of the legacy. Essentially Brown was one of the unluckiest power figures in history, taking charge at a time when the entire world decided to turn into a massive political shitstorm for 3 years or so. I should make clear now that I'm not an apologist for Brown, but here was a man, a pioneer of New Labour, a man who lost an eye in a tragic rugby accident and was fortunate not to lose the other a few years later, a man whose first few weeks of office saw a flaming terrorist kicked in the testicles by a drunk Glaswegian, whose holiday was cut short by Foot and Mouth.

Now I'm not here to deny that the man has made mistakes, even he's admitted the error of the 10p tax debacle and more recently the massively blown out of proportion 'bigotgate'. If anything I liked the man more for what he said. It was typical of the hack media to jump on his back, pretending that they're somehow different, that Cameron doesn't have to wipe his hands on an aide after meeting and greeting his 'friends' in Plymouth, as if Clegg doesn't moan about the general lying of the electorate after the televised debates. We are none of us perfect. If Pitt the Younger or Gladstone had been forced to muddle through the sheer bog of crap that Brown had to, I doubt they would have come out smelling of roses either. Perhaps the legacy should be a hard, old-school fiscal politician who managed to reign in what seemed a near unassailable Tory lead in the polls to prevent a majority Cameron government and fell on his sword to stay true to his moral compass.

So now we are stuck, waiting to see if the world will end, it could do. An argument foisted upon me seemingly constantly is that the Tories won the election. While they did recieve the most votes, their percentage of vote share was one of the lowest in the history of the Conservatives, not to mention that they didn't achieve the majority. It strikes me that in the 10,000 metres, if all three competitors die before the finish then there are no winners, no medals are awarded to anyone. Perhaps the real winner here is the Green Party for overcoming the preposterous electoral system to gain their first seat in the Commons.

Political rant over and out.

It's the End of the World As We Know It...

Well, here we are, a country in turmoil. With no government, Gordon stepping down, both Nick Robinson and Kay Burley still inexplicably employed and a horrible likelihood of ending up CONDEM-ned, it seems suitably demoralising that I don't have much of a blog for today. Sometimes I have to do real things too, you know how it is. Also Twitter's been playing up again, cheeky so-and-so that it is.

Basically, on this black day for humanity the less said the better... probably. Never mind, maybe something amusing and newsworthy will happen tomorrow like Ken Clarke punching a pregnant woman outside Morrisons (I don't condone this) or Gordon Brown releasing an album of Jackson Browne covers (it's in the name, you see)... could happen.