MY DARLING daughter arrived at university in a roundabout fashion (and no, I don’t mean she got off the bus at the wrong stop).
She did a vocational diploma instead of A-levels and worked in nursery care for a year before deciding she wanted more than that.
She’s doing a degree tailored to the career she wants in education and we’re very proud of her. I wish a lot more young people who go to uni just for the sake of it took that approach.
Living until last month in a house with Yours Truly, plus a brother studying history and philosophy, and having fully engaged in her first general election plus the EU referendum, she knows opinionated hot air and BS when she hears it.
That made her response last week to my inquiry about how lectures were going very interesting.
In short, she said, some tutors found it difficult to relate anything without an accompanying attack on “those b***ard Tories with their cuts and interfering elitism” blah, blah, blah. I think you get the picture.
She was neither brainwashed nor annoyed, she just saw their carping for what it is. Good girl.
This week has seen sad – I would say tragic – confirmation of just how dangerous, deluded and actually treacherous the British educational establishment really is.
I know I’m often guilty of generalising, but actually, I’m not sure that I am on this occasion.
Tory MP Chris Heaton-Harris is a passionate Brexit supporter which, the last time I looked, didn’t quite make him either Hermann Goering or that nasty Harvey Weinstein.
No, because judging by the venomous hatred heaped on him by our educational establishment, he’s much, much worse.
His sin? He had the audacity to politely inquire of universities if they were teaching anything in regard to Brexit and the content of any such syllabus.
He wasn’t telling them what to teach. Not criticising. Just inquiring.
You’d think he’d asked them all to send him a suitcase full of female undergraduates’ underwear (and if he’d included male plus transgender grundies in his request, they might even have complied. Well, maybe if he was a Corbynite Labour MP...)
Heaton-Harris is considered quite a cerebral chap with a keen interest in the European politics, who as an MP we expect to be informed on topical issues. And he asked a simple question. That’s all.
Lord Patten of Barnes – ex MP Chris Patten, now living it large as chancellor of Oxford University – branded it “absolutely disgraceful” and “offensive and idiotic Leninism” (which I really didn’t get, considering he’s a Tory and it’s the universities stuffed with commies).
The MP was accused of instituting a “McCarthy-like witchhunt” – the senator who persecuted suspected American communists in the 50s, which at least would be ideologically appropriate if it was at all accurate.
Alistair Jarvis, chief executive of Universities UK, called it “an alarming attempt to censor or challenge academic freedom”.
No it wasn’t. And their remarks are neither accurate, appropriate nor anything other than stark proof of how politically warped our universities are.
In fact that kind of over-reaction suggests how much these people have to hide. Boy, but the MP clearly touched a nerve.
And what makes my heart sink even lower is that not only did his fellow MPs turn on him – led by the insipid Jo Johnson, younger brother of Boris who is probably brighter, but has the backbone of a newt – but they got to him. Heaton-Harris retracted, apologised.
For crying out loud, apologise for what? He asked a question is all, but pathetically he didn’t even have the guts to stand by that, the big wuss.
Society is in a perilous place when a simple question can put you in fear of your livelihood and even your safety.
THE PROBLEM about the hundreds of vanquished ISIS jihadis heading back to the UK has met with mixed reactions.
I’m fully with Tory MP Rory Stewart who suggested killing them all would be preferable. Good job he qualified it by saying that should be in Syria or Iraq, not Savile Town or Tower Hamlets, which might have landed him in mildly hot water.
Sadly, a complete berk called Max Hill QC carries far more weight than MP Stewart in these matters. Hill is our “anti-terror czar” tasked with reviewing how we legally combat terrorism, appointed by Theresa May’s hapless lapdog Amber Rudd.
This week Hill came out against tougher laws to tackle hate preachers, who presumably would like their returning brethren to fulfil their death wishes here on our streets.
The week before Hill spoke against jailing these fleeing jihadis, suggesting that many were just “naive”. Sure, Max – they all just need a big hug and a love from us, to make everything better. No-one’s ever tried that before...
Max Hill should invite them all to doss down at his place until he’s talked some sense into them. He could even do his own “naive” test by dressing in an orange jump suit and leaving the carving knives out. Mind you, if that ended in tears, it would just be our fault for not loving the poor sausages enough.
YOU must think I make half the stuff on this page up sometimes, as far-fetched as things can sound.
There’s no need to, given how much fodder the UK’s institutional clowns keep shovelling our way.
I wish my old pal and exemplar of what a great community copper can be, PC Colin Sykes, had still been pounding the Dewsbury town centre beat last week.
I’d have had him on the front page if he’d joined in the police’s Anti-Slavery Day campaign, when officers painted their finger nails, apparently to symbolise the fact that many nail bars are staffed by young women considered modern slaves.
Their campaign was called ‘Let’s Nail It’. Wow. I wonder how much one lucky PR firm got paid to come up with that belter. And I suspect Colin would have told his right-on inspector where to shove his bottle of non-chip Azure Blue varnish.
I neither denigrate nor deny the fact that slavery is a very real problem, mostly thanks to the last Labour government’s open-door immigration policy.
We have no idea who’s here, and Theresa May might as well have opened a nail bar in Westminster for all the good she did tackling the problem as Home Secretary.
But, and with respect, can I suggest that if you’re going to be any kind of slave, sitting filing and painting fingernails knocks lumps out of working 70 hours in a bed factory, or being forced to let half a dozen sweaty and sordid old men essentially rape you every day.
But no, that’s what modern policing has become – a pathetic exercise in gesture politics.
I mean, why put coppers on the street finding out which local villains are up to no good, when you need an equality manager tasked with making sure the right proportion of transgender bobbies/ bobbettes are fully trained in their rights to throw on the sick, before cashing in their full pension at an age when most of us have another 15 years of graft to look forward to?
Modern day slavery? People who don’t have a gilt-edged public sector pension know all about that.