Dearly beloved… We are gathered here today…
What’s the point of PMQ’s? The only reason I can see for having these two clowns on tv is so that I can take the piss about Boris’ hair. This man is the leader of the UK and Northern Ireland. Does his latest girlfriend allow him to leave the house of a morning looking like a fucking scarecrow?
So, up to the northeast with Anna in Durham, Anna…
Thank you, Mr Speaker.
Starmer asks a question to which you just know Boris will answer with a comment about how much money the government has put into this or that, while inserting a vague Greek myth reference. Starmer will then again ask a question similar to the first, to which Boris will uhm and ahh his way through another oblique response. He described himself today as a creature of the local council system..a creature indeed.
My local Labour party read this blog! I received a phone call asking if I’d like to rejoin the party from a young man with principles. He said he had read about my thoughts on Mr Starmer and was concerned that if people are outside of the party, they can’t reform it. He has a good point. As much as I’d like a new party to challenge the Labour party, this isn’t going to happen overnight. People like serial party jumper Chukka Umunna have tried this and failed. So to rejoin and attempt to subvert from within! I told the caller I’d consider it and as I was passing on my address, he mentioned that his girlfriend likes reading the blog as well. There’s two fans, anyway. I have a few readers per day, relatively speaking, but not so many followers, so if you aren’t one yourself take a look at the follow me link and you may win something!
Today my application form arrived, it’s here on the desk besides the computer. We’ll see. I’m still friendly with the people on my CLP. And I do miss conference. I met the wonderfully sexy Laura Pidcock at the last one I attended, although since the people of Consett and Lanchester have elected a Tory in her place. That’s ex-steel-making Consett. Words fail me.
But..but.. Starmer, man… a human rights lawyer who only last month told all Labour MP’s to abstain on the so-called SpyCops bill, which allows the police to basically do what they want and face no consequences.
Hymn number 23, Tell Me The Old Old Story
I had no idea that wrestling was still a thing, the pseudo sport that is the WWE or whatever it’s being called these days. This week has been the first of this year I’ve not been able to run due to snow coverage, but I still took a walk of the eight miles. In front of me at a crossing were two small boys, discussing the events of the latest episode of the faked extravaganza. I can’t fault the athleticism of the participants. On attending my first basketball game I was amazed that some quite large men could move so quickly, so with the wresting I would imagine the live event would be the same as long as you are close to the ring. If not then you may as well watch it at home.
The boys were talking about some wrestler or other, but the name meant nothing to me. I know the obvious ones from the past, the one that tears his shirt, that bloke with the makeup, somebody with a snake…see, I’m really on top of it! I can see why small boys get into it, there are heroes and baddies and a storyline. It’s the adults that a-whoop and a-holler that I don’t get. You do know it isn’t real, don’t you? The athleticism is real, the rest, come on, you DO know? The female version looks horrific. They’re only there as eye-candy for the drooling types that may attend such events.
One of the girls at my infants school was some relation of the British Bulldog, and got him to visit the school on our sportsday when I was about 7. I’ve just looked him up and see that he died in 2002. The steroids will do that to you. He looked enormous and lifted four of us on each arm at the same time. The boys in particular were enthralled. He was there from 9 in the morning until home-time, and seemed interested in what was going on. He gave a talk on how he became so big in both size and being known all over the world, allowed photographs to be taken, autographs to be signed, and sat amongst us wee children at lunchtime. I’ve experienced less interested “celebrities” at charity events. Our teacher, the ever-funny Mr. Jackson, who was a 100 metres runner with the local club, challenged him to a race. He lost by metres to this big wrestler. It was only years later when I was visiting and looking at the pictures on the wall of famous visitors, (himself, Tony Blair, George Micheal, (my doing) Alan Shearer amongst others), that it was explained that the whole thing had been a setup, “Daveyboy’s” manager and the WWF insisting that he was allowed to win for the cameras of the parents, at an insignificant primary school in a small village in County Durham. Image is everything, but then I remember the day, and isn’t that the point?
Hymn number 62, He Lifted Me
More fakery now, beginning with a psychic. One of them must have thought, aha, she’s letting all sorts of information escape onto the page, lets see if we can extort some cash. An email I received through the blog is asking if I need, not “would like”, but need, a reading. I can’t say in my 31 years I’ve ever needed a reading. As a free starter, she offered me the information which I’ve freely committed to the blog, Dad was from Manchester, Mum was from Belfast.. is it that easy to fool people? I write the blog, I know what I’ve written, and although my memory is that of a poorly goldfish, I can re-read.
Ellie has some slight belief in this sort of thing, her nani being regarded as some sort of seer amongst the Indian community. “One time, (you can tell an Ellie story by the prefix “one time”), one time, I was going to visit nani and she opened the door just as I arrived. How strange is that? And she knew Anna’s name before she even met her.” From what I’ve heard Ellie, I was the only girl you ever talked about. So no, the Indian mysticism and I are strangers. The only proof of her powers I’ve ever witnessed was her placing another plate of her wonderful food in front of me without me asking. Mind you, Ellie often knows what I’m thinking, her intuition as to when I need a cuppa is uncanny!
I have junk email protection from my internet provider but some still slips through..double glazing, (can’t, it’s a listed building), home insurance, (got it), car insurance, (don’t need it), penis enlargement (sigh) ..and a FREE psychic reading! “Madame Bella. Call this number to experience your future!” Can a phonecall let you experience your future? I can predict YOUR future, Bella. You’ll be receiving a call from a tall, mysterious blonde woman, asking about this and that and maybe the other. She’ll definitely be asking about her parents names. And the name of their house. And which newspaper dad read. Be prepared.
I see the fakers such as the Long Island Medium are still going. Has nobody asked them about the pandemic yet?
There are a lot of scams going on at the moment, by text and phone and email. Amongst the benefits of not owning a mobile, (and I can hear the screams as people read that phrase), is that I don’t receive such scams. I have the occasional one on my house phone, and depending on what I’m doing at the time I can string them along. Their records show I’ve had a car crash recently/my internet could be faster/my Amazon account has been hacked…there’s an hours entertainment!
I went to the Methodist service this morning, and I can confirm that the cakes are lush.
Ite Missa est.
May your god go with you.