DO YOU know what I like about Donald Trump (apart from the self-deprecating charm, the orange perma-tan and the Ryder Cup-level golf abilities obviously)? Really, truly, hand on heartily, I hear you ask – is there something I actually like about The Don?
There is, strangely – his imagination.
Oh sure, like most people I would be terrified about such a narcissistic egomaniac having his finger on the nuclear button if there was something I, we, or anyone could do about it. But there isn’t, so we might as well jog on with our ordinary lives, making the best of each day as it comes.
If one day we breathe in, there’s a blinding flash, and we never get to breathe out, it will probably be Don, Xi Jinping, Kim Jong-Un and mad Vlad Putin all calling each other’s nuclear bluff.
But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, shall we, and consider old Trumpton’s vivid imagination?
Last week the President of the USA said, quite seriously, that he wanted to buy Greenland from its ‘owners’ Denmark. It’s well known that he has an eye for business as much as he has for the ladies – not to mention grasping hands – but he certainly didn’t impress the rather attractive Danish Prime Minister Mette Fredriksen, who promptly gave Donnie a proper verbal slapdown.
“Greenland is not for sale,” trumpeted Ms Fredriksen, adding “Greenland is not Danish, Greenland belongs to Greenland.”
Taken somewhat aback, the President cancelled a trip to Denmark. No-one has yet revealed if he’s re-routing to Greenland’s capital ‘city’ Nuuk – it has a population smaller than Heckmondwike – but he clearly doesn’t like taking no for answer.
As wild and wonderful as the planet’s largest island may be, Greenland is hardly Disneyland, with the highest suicide rate on earth plus high rates of unemployment, alcoholism and HIV/Aids.
And while everyone clearly owns a fishing rod (90% of its exports are fish), there’s no one doing much about its vast mineral resources – because there’s no one there to excavate the underground riches. Dewsbury has a bigger population than all of Greenland. And that’s clearly what Trump has his beady, opportunistic eye on.
I doubt anything will come of all this but if the President’s imagination is still running wild can I suggest an alternative purchase, one that could solve any temporary No Deal Brexit headaches for the UK and offer a win-win all round?
Scotland. Buy Scotland, Donald. Somewhere inhabited by depressive, disease-ridden alcoholics? That’s Glasgow bang to rights! If the price is right we’ll throw in the fishing and North Sea oil rights – and you can build all the golf courses you want!
Well, the Sweaties (Sweaty-socks = Jocks) want away from we English and the EU won’t touch Nicola Sturgeon and the SNP’s basket-case economy with a barge pole. And speaking of wee Krankie – hey Don, she’s no looker so you might want to save yourself the charm offensive. Just wave some dollar bills and her knicker elastic will go twang all by itself.
I’m wasted in this job, I tell you.
AH YES – the good old ‘No Deal’ Brexit. What makes no sense at all is why anyone is still talking about it.
Parliament – including all those passionate Remainers now soiling themselves in desperation to sabotage our departure – rejected Theresa May’s Withdrawal Bill three times. It’s dead as a Dodo so move on to where BoJo is pleading with Brussels to talk sense. But no, they’re the ones now insisting all that’s left is No Deal. Either we surrender completely – as per May’s scheme – or we walk. What’s left to discuss?
Lots, it transpires. If you read the weekend’s mischievously leaked Yellowhammer ‘No Deal armageddon’ scaremongering and you know your history, you’d sense echoes of 1940 at play.
For today’s treasonous Philip Hammond, read the appeasing wartime Foreign Secretary Lord Halifax who peddled his own version of Yellowhammer. He wanted to do a ‘deal’ with Berlin (ie, surrender) predicting we’d be overwhelmed by the Nazis and would be betrayed by 5th columnists at home – and we’re seeing plenty of them today! Halifax was crushed by the force of Churchill’s pride, prose and personality and we know how that ended.
The leaked Yellowhammer report predicted No Deal chaos at the Channel ports on November 1, but I prefer the word of Port of Calais chief Jean-Marc Puissesseau who totally rubbished that idea, adding, “there are certain people in the UK who are whipping up this catastrophism for their own reasons. C’est la bullshit.”
I like that man.
More bullshine abounded from Comrade Corbyn, trying to sell himself as the leader of a ‘national unity’ government. Corbyn, a man who is despised by most of his own Parliamentary party and swathes of his own traditional voters? A ‘unity’ PM?
A man who despises Britain and all of its wealth creators, leading a ‘national unity’ government? What a brass neck! I swear, if you didn’t laugh at the idea of a lifelong EU-hater finagling a way to keep us in the EU, you’d cry.
Still, if I can leave you with one rose-tinted view of the whole sorry affair, there is one happy ending story of a self-governing nation that left the EU (EEC as was) successfully and didn’t sink into the waves – Greenland!
I WAS chained (not literally) to my desk in Batley yesterday (Thursday) afternoon, so I couldn’t attend Huddersfield Magistrates Court, where I would have paid good money to witness the discomfit of my old adversary, that ‘colourful’ Dewsbury businessman Terry Zaman (pictured).
Fresh from being struck off as a director of his various ‘interesting’ companies – he simply transferred directorial responsibility to family members, so it’s business as usual – Zaman was due to appear in court on various waste dumping offences, alongside his son Yusuf.
Despite being struck off over nearly £600,000 of unauthorised cash payments and owing the VAT-man £300,000, Zaman appears to be as busy as ever. I’d heard he’d been up to something in Eastborough involving old mills in Pepper Royd Street – the site of one of the offences he’s been charged with.
No doubt there will be plenty of Labour Party worthies who have so benefited from Zaman’s munificence over the years, to stand as character witnesses for him.
We hope to have a full report next week.
MENTION of me being chained to the desk and clearly I’m bucking the Batley trend, judging by the results of an ‘adult’ website survey.
I imagine your average robust Batley bloke will be bristling with manly pride at the town finishing 725th (out of 725) British towns that purchase ... ahem ... ‘bedroom accoutrements’.
“Our lass dunt need nowt but me and mi beer belly!” I can picture him proclaiming, although what said ‘lass’ thinks probably speaks greater volumes as she watches him whisking the pancake batter with a bright pink vibrating ‘utensil’.
“What’s tha doing keeping t’whisk in thi knicker drawer, our lass?”
Dewsbury’s lotharios needn’t exactly strut with pride in 698th place, but I imagine property prices in Cleck-heaton might rocket at news of their sexily swaggering into 232nd. The little devils...
I always thought Mirfield was this area’s swinging hot spot, but surprisingly it doesn’t get a mention (I suspect it was lumped in with Dewsbury thus providing the statistical ballast which spared the town sharing last place with its Batley cousins).