Ed Lines

WOW, the poison dwarfette has got her tartan knickers in a twist, running round like a headless chicken demanding a second independence referendum for Scotland.

Calm down dear, calm down. At this rate you’ll scream yourself out of a job with your mad histrionics.

(And I do think someone should check if wee Nicola Krankie’s been taking her Prozac. She’ll do herself a damage one of these days).

With my equal opportunities hat on, woman or not someone should do the vile little crone a mischief, because nothing of this latest tantrum has anything to do with the well being of the Scottish people. Nothing whatsoever.

Underpinning every fibre of wee Krankie’s being is her hatred of the English and her own increasingly marginalised power base.

The passing of the Brexit bill into law this week put her on the endangered list, which is why she’s desperate to get a second referendum before the Scots wake up to the political reality sweeping the EU.

A strong, independent UK, once unshackled from the yoke of Brussels, looks ever more likely by the day.

It would sink the Scottish Nationalists because sooner or later their supporters will see they have no influence in Westminster while suddenly being dependent on our goodwill to keep funding them above the rest of the UK.

Their free prescriptions and university education would be immediately under threat. We should end that disparity anyway, but the best prospects for a UK and not EU-tethered Scotland  would be to vote in more Labour and Tory MPs.

Krankie talks desperately about Scotland remaining in the EU even though they’ve said, unequivocally, they don’t qualify and wouldn’t take them anyway? Why would they when the Scottish economy is a basket case?

Oil prices are on the floor, and as fond as Eurocrats may be of smoked kippers and malt whisky, that’s not going to bail out the broken economies of Greece, Italy, Portugal, France – yes France – and Spain.

Scotland has four times more trade with England than the entire EU, but with rebel MPs and the Lords now falling into line on Brexit, wee Krankie’s being backed into a corner.

In five years, with the UK (including Scotland) a thriving player on the world stage and with the EU in a spiralling economic crisis, the SNP will just be yesterday’s protest vote. The little ginger parasite will be a footnote of history.

That’s why she’s happy to risk a civil war now, whatever it costs her countrymen and women – ego and hatred.

She’d rather sink under the dictatorial governance of Brussels than prosper while riding London’s coattails. A pathetic, selfish little woman.

 

IT’S a good job the driverless cars of the future (see below) aren’t modelled on politicians because you’d never get anywhere.

U-turn after u-turn – you’d never get to work! I can’t believe how spineless the Government have been over the self-employed NI increases, how quickly they’ve collapsed in a heap. Grow a pair, Theresa!

If every policy lasts all of 10 minutes before it’s shelved because of the predictable howls of protest we’ll never get anything done. This smacks of the people’s voice being taken rather too seriously. Just govern, will you.

 

I TOLD a big, fat porkie pie last week – I insinuated that Kirklees Police have perfected their mass impersonations of the Invisible Man where local towns and neighbourhoods are concerned.

I take it all back. Intrepid Plods literally hot-footed it to Ravensthorpe last week, determined to nail the social carbuncles plaguing everyone at the Diamond Wood Community Academy (Ravensthorpe CofE School, as was).

To celebrate International Women’s Day, officers were apparently busy not massaging crime statistics for once, but massaging the feet of pupils’ mums. I kid you not – and I’d have loved to see the look on those mums’ faces underneath their niqabs.

Sorry to say I can’t yet confirm that said Plods have thrown on the sick with athlete’s foot, or filed for early redundo owing to the bad backs they got figuratively kiss ar…, sorry, kissing feet.

PS: Just a thought – I take it they were female officers.

 

DRIVERLESS cars were the talk of the Westminster town this week, with the House of Lords of all institutions worrying about ‘drivers’ falling asleep at whatever passes for a wheel.

The House of Lords complaining about people falling asleep on the job? They earn £350 a day just for nodding off on their comfy red leather benches and waking up occasionally to try thwart the democratic will of the British public. Cheeky sods.

Apparently in stringent tests driverless cars have racked up 220 million miles with just one fatality, which is far, far safer than the actual driver stats of one death for every 90 million miles driven.

We’re not told if the bloke who died was injecting heroin when he should have been indicating to turn left, or had a seizure when he couldn’t get the terminally annoying Chris Evans off the radio.

I was surprised to learn that some VW Golfs are already fitted with automatic emergency braking systems, but it seems they’ve been involved in 45 per cent fewer insurance claims. I’m not sure you can argue with that.

I’d be happy to give it a go, mostly because too many of the people I’m a regular passenger of fill me with all the confidence of a football coach getting a thumbs-up from the chairman.

There would be a couple of conditions to meet first however.

I’m assuming this ‘machine’ comes with a voice to tell you what it’s doing. As such, can mine be Lewis Hamilton or James Hunt?

I would really have a problem with a Nicola Sturgeon or Jo Brand telling me what’s what in my own car.

In fact no offence girls, but I don’t want my car computer sending texts and putting lipstick on when it should be flipping vees and one fingered salutes at idiots in white vans.

And that’s another point – road rage.

If compucar is going to sign up for the full monty, I want Robocop or Arnie’s Terminator crouching in the back seats, ready to spring out and beat the living wotsits out of anyone cutting me off –  which happens about three times a day on my regular commute.

Driverless cars? I’d say it’s the future.

 

IF I asked you what Yoruba, Igbo, Telugo, Hmong and Chichewa were, would you have the faintest? Baddies from the next Star Wars film perhaps? Dishes at a new curry house?

Nope. I’ll put you out of your misery. They are the languages of tribes from Nigeria, Ghana, India, pan-Asia and southern Africa. They are also just five among the startling 104 languages you can translate the website for Ravensthorpe CofE School (Diamond Wood Academy – see above) into at the click of a mouse.

I know we have a cultural and ethnic mix in our local schools, but 105 lingos? Really? I think they’ve got all the bases covered there, with knobs on. Talk about future-proofing.

I’m pretty sure this is a service Google (or someone) provides and hasn’t been a Kirklees-funded project of some highly paid apparitchik for the past three years, so I’m really not knocking anyone here. I was seriously impressed.

Watu nzuri sana (‘Very good folks’, in Swahili).

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