Debris

This blog consists of short comments on the ever fading glories of England. It does not relate to other members of the UK, Scotland, Wales and the loosely affiliated Northern Ireland. Ah England nation of drunks, sluts, debtors and fools. We sail around in circles for the Captain has no charts, The sails they are in tatters as we head for foreign parts, The Captain gets his orders from the masters of misrule*, We're sailing off the coast of France on board the ship of fools. * The USA

Friday, March 09, 2007

* Picked up a copy of the Guardian, couldn't resist, what with a tory foot-in-mouth and policeman punches black epileptic they must have been in seventh heaven. I was not disappointed as both stories got plenty of column inches. I can't remember much about the details as the Guardian has that effect on me. It's always fun when everybody can stand up and point and shout racist. I think the general gist was the tories haven't changed, nasty bastards.
I have no comment on the police incident as that will unwrap quite nicely over the coming days.
The tory frontbencher should have known better, that sort of comment should be kept within the armed farces where they understand about these things. Training sergeants yelling abuse at squaddies is a well worn army tradition. The second comment about black squaddies using racism as an excuse probably sounds badly in the ears of the general public, but anyone who has had any dealings with squaddies knows they will use any excuse they can. 'Sergeant, I cannot tell a lie I was absent without leave'
is not a phrase you are going to hear. Skiving is an even older army tradition.
I guess the squaddies will be having a good laugh over this one.

* Dishing the dirt on intellectuals. I've just read the lowdown on Earnest Hemingway. Now Hemingway doesn't immediately leap to mind when someone says 'Intellectual' but who am I to argue. Basically he was an alcoholic of heroic proportions. He was a incredibly active philanderer and told alot of porky pies. Which is probably down to the drink and the fact that he made up stories for a living. He was also incredibly accident prone which I guess is down to the drink. He once shot himself in the leg while trying to gaff a shark which got my admiration. He had a liking for lowlifes, drink again. The author suggests he blew his own cranium off when he realised he couldn't write publishable books anymore. My guess is like many alcoholics he woke up and realised it was 'GroundHog' day again, same day, same repetitions of conversation and unlike the Al Murray character got out of the loop with two barrels of a shot gun.

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