OF ALL the people I could least imagine having a beer with, Tory toff Jacob Rees-Mogg and Labour idiot Diane Abbott would be very near the top. I found myself very much in sympathy with both this week however.
Asked on TV about his views on gay marriage and abortion, the devout Rees-Mogg was admirably, disarmingly honest.
Predictably the ‘liberal’ mob came out howling, as if he’d called for unwed mothers to be locked up in Irish convents and homosexuals burned at the stake.
As is his way – and why he’d get my vote for Prime Minister – he shrugged and raised an ever so slightly disdainful eyebrow. How refreshing, an honest, modest politician with values, even if many of them are somewhat Victorian in nature.
Rees-Mogg was subject to that interrogation and the lynch mob because he is a white, Christian male of honest character. An easy target, despite the fact he espouses no personal animus towards people who make those decisions or live those lifestyles.
It is not, and should not, be an issue, but it is made one because that is the hating society we have created.
Next up was Diane Abbott, a politician of little intelligence and even less virtue, who told a TV interviewer that the vile abuse she regularly receives included being called “a nigger bitch”.
No asterisks there, you’ll notice. Why should there be? It is reported speech, of critical import. Ms Abbott may well have been trying to shock, but as the victim of that abuse, it is her right to.
And so of course, Good Morning Britain’s producers censored her. They bleeped the ‘n’ word out. They couldn’t possibly offend viewers over their cornflakes – when in fact they were cynically making their treatment of the word the story.
A couple of months ago on the show Piers Morgan got into a playground slanging match with anti-Islam campaigner Tommy Robinson when the guest brandished a copy of the Koran.
You’d think someone might have asked Robinson why he was taking a Koran onto the set, wouldn’t you? Why became clear a few hours later when Morgan was all over social media boasting about it being their most-watched show.
That’s the bottom line for TV’s equivalents of the trolls abusing Diane Abbott.
I SAY bottom line, pun intended, because how Channel 4 gets away with their Friday night programme Naked Attraction, I have no idea.
I am no-one’s idea of a prude, let’s get that straight. Indeed, public nudity is not an altogether unknown acquaintance, albeit one of decades long past.
If you’re not familiar, at 10pm this ‘dating’ game involves men and women (in all variations thereof) selecting from six members of the same or opposite sex, based on the attraction of their todgers, lady gardens, bums and boobs.
Now, I hope you can laugh at my artful description of what is a base and gratuitous exercise in titillation.
It’s after the watershed, I know. But as someone whose late mother was twice as virtuous as Mary the mother of Christ (two kids but I swear she never had ‘knowledge’ of a man), I couldn’t help but being properly offended.
People’s elderly mums and grans – and at 10pm even many children – shouldn’t flick a channel and find something like that poking them in the eye.
I may well be getting old and crusty, but please.
I WONDER if the French airline pilot who refused to rescue British victims of Hurricane Irma rang the Elysee Palace or even Brussels before abandoning them to their fate last week?
Maybe it was simple, age-hold anti-British sentiment. They still haven’t got over Agincourt, you know. Don’t ever expect gratitude for us twice saving France from German jackboots.
You can’t imagine a British pilot doing the same back, could you? And if that sounds overly jingoistic, I’m happy with it.
I’m sure last summer’s Remain voters are feeling pretty ‘told you so’ smug right now.
A hard or soft Brexit feels as much of a guess as a hard or soft boiled egg – when you’ve no timer and forgot when the pan came to the boil.
I like my eggy soldiers. I don’t think I’ll be metaphorically getting them when this Brexit pantomime finally plays out.
David Cameron’s warning of financial, social and economic armageddon on June 24th was so much hot air, just like the Leavers’ £350m a week for the NHS. I still see Remainers whining “where’s the £350 million”? The answer is that it was only ever £200m nett (the Leavers’ biggest mistake) but as to where the cash is? In Brussels, snowflakes. We’re still paying it.
We shouldn’t be. It’s time to call time on the charade the Eurocrats are playing. David Davis should pick up the phone to Michel Barnier and Jean-Claude Juncker and call their bluff. The deceit and the deliberate obstruction of the EU ‘negotiators’ says everything about why those smug Remainers need the smile wiping from their face, the sooner the better.
Every positive or imaginative proposal the UK contributes is slapped down, treated with disdain and topped with personal insults. Hard or soft boiled egg? Juncker’s placemen will keep topping up the boiling water until we either surrender, or their delaying tactics buys enough time for UK political dissent to bring down this shaky coalition government.
The EU dictators have no intention – none whatsoever – of allowing a sensible, mutually-beneficial Brexit to be delivered.
Their only priority is setting an example to other potential dissenters. Brexit cannot be allowed to succeed, Britain must be punished. This really is a war without bombs and bullets.
And if it costs EU businesses and industries financially, so what? The EU Commission brooks no debate. It is in the business of creating a monstrous oligarchy.
Are you aware of what’s happening between Brussels and Poland? The EU has told the Poles what laws they can and can’t pass, and threatened to “punish” the country unless it comes to heel.
EU President Juncker was busy this week cementing his throne, telling the 27 member states the Eurozone would be forced down non-members’ throats, that there would be more centralisation – more power to Brussels, to Juncker and friends. The EU wants to run everything from national economies to law and order.
Juncker even called for a ‘good riddance’ party to celebrate the day the UK finally leaves. Not surprising I suppose, from a renowned drunk, but infantile nonetheless.
Far from having the humility to learn from Brexit and mend their dictatorial ways, they are turning it into a greater power grab.
Leave them to it, say I. Pick up the phone Mr Davis, tell them where to shove their threats and lies, and cancel the direct debit.
How wet does your leg have to get before you realise you’re peeing into the wind?
MY SON is busy sending off CVs and job applications right now, one of which involved a position with a well-known charity with very left-wing leanings.
He read me some of the questions, which were a wild and wonderful variety on the theme of ‘Are you male, female, transgender, gender binary (whatever that is when it’s at home dressing up) … were you born male, female and have you ‘reassigned’? Etc, etc.
“I’ve no chance dad,” he sighed. “Straight, white bloke. Not a prayer.”
You’d like to think the world will eventually turn full circle to the point where we’re recognised as victims of minority prejudice, but these gender Nazis won’t be happy till they’ve emasculated every last one of us.
And when the last sperm cell withers on the vine (so to speak) and humankind perishes, you know who’ll be to blame, don’t you? That’s right. Straight, white men.