Respect to the Westminster massive…..

Africa? That can wait….

Global Warming? On the back burner…

Cash for Honours? In the back pocket ….

Constitutional reform? Talk to the hand before I put a cap in yo’ ass….

For today, the Westminster massive wuzz out on the streets getting down and dirty with the kids on sink estates, you kay, innit. ‘Gun culture’ was the buzz, news crooze, pr pimps, cardboard cut-out party honchos invadin’ any commooni-ee centa they could eyeball was the reality, wannit.

‘Funk Master Tone’ was in the North West, pressing the flesh, groovin the moovin and respectin the turf. The Funksta went into a one to one with a young white Turk, a young black dude, a couple of commooni-ee leedazz and the Chief Plod from the Manchestarr Constaboolaree…. As per usual, Tone’s croo made sure all commooni’ee profile meet ‘n’ greet boxes had been ticked.

‘Call me Dude Dave’, dressed in a cool 2 piece street-cred pinstripe single breaster and over-easy patent leather basketball sneakers was mixing it up with a few rappers. Hoody met Hooray Henry as Dave heard how mean the streets were, how hard the life was and how expensive real street cred sneakers were….

The ‘Mingin Old Dog’ from the Libbin Croo wuzz in a gym somewhere on the wrong side of the tracks. All around him, the brothers were workin out. The Mingsta looked flusta’d – a PR pimp wuzz eyeballin a photo opportooni-ee with a bench press, several hundred pounds of weights and a pair of borrowed tracky bottoms…. The Ming was outta there soona than you could say ‘Pass the smelling salts"…

And so they left. Gun crime got the chin-rubbing, concerned furrow-foreheaded ‘I feel your pain’ treatment from the three great frauds from the Westminster cabal. Back they went, digital piccies in the bag, press releases written up and posted to friendly media moguls. Job done!….. And so ends another day of blather and lather from Tone, Dave and Ming – and what will tomorrow bring? Who knows? The PR pimps haven’t had their morning meetings yet…

Magna Carta – a right good read…..

I watched Melvyn Bragg’s ’12 books that changed the world’ programme yesterday. That ace medieval paperback, ‘The Magna Carta’ by John Plantagenet (ghost written by Baron Robert Fitzwalter) was being featured. Melvyn, resplendent in white fluffy gloves, reverentially fingered a signed copy of the great tome at Salisbury Cathedral.

Quiff-boy Bragg, rightly enthused about what a great piece of work this was – The Magna Carta, the very first document ever to enshrine the basic rights of the individual in law. Imagine that. The very first ever, ever, ever – and as Bragg correctly informed us, it was an English achievement. Not British, or European, but English…..

This great document of England, for so long buried by our Brit-centred conniving establishment into a distant memory of inconsequential waste paper is the pivotal moment of documented freedom. Countries all over the world have used it as a basis for their own bill of rights…. Including the United Nations human rights charter….

But what I didn’t know was that the 5th amendment of the U.S. Declaration of Independence was taken virtually line for line verbatim from Magna Carta….

It’s just amazing isn’t it? In any other country, the Magna Carta, this defining episode in human history would be celebrated and enshrined in the consciousness of its people. Magna Carta Day, swearing on the Magna Carta, Order of the Magna Carta – but not here, not in the UK – and especially not in England. If it is mentioned at all, it is spuriously and ignorantly absorbed into a British identity.

I asked my kids – all 4 of them have gone through the state education system, None of them were taught anything about Magna Carta, 2 of them have never even heard of it…..

The tragedy is, I wasn’t at all surprised at their replies…..

Anglo Saxon King Albert found in Geordieland….

Today, English Heritage are unveiling some newly found claimants to the Anglo Saxon throne of England. One is 70 year old Albert Turnbull from Gateshead – and who knows, if Harold Godwinson had won the Battle of Hastings, we might now be bending our knees to King Albert and family – rather than a Hanovarian…

It’s a great ‘what if’ isn’t it? Who knows, there could be Anglo Saxon blue bloods all over the place working in B&Q, Tesco and the bloke who works down the chip shop might not be just Elvis, he could be Prince Elvis of Wessex and all England…I asked Alfreda if she thought I had any royal Anglo Saxon blood coursing through my veins….

She didn’t think so, although she reckoned I looked a bit like Henry VIII in his really fat-arsed arsey period…

She’d better be careful, if I ever do get to become King, she’ll be the first into the Tower….

Pope Tony Blair the Innocent meets a babe…..

(or Cowboy meets Indian)....
Yesterday, after Prime Minister’s Question Time, the immaculate omnipotence that is Tony Blair had a one-to-one with Indian cultural attaché, celeb big brother winner and Bollywood superstar, Shilpa Shetty at the mother of parliaments.

Shilpa approached on bended knee, kissed the Papal ring and was granted a 15-minute slot of awesomeness with the great one……

And when you think about it, how amazing is it that she got to see him at all? Tony’s so damn busy isn’t he? Tony just doesn’t have any time to see anyone at any time – ever. He’s too busy saving the world, saving the country, saving his miserable party, saving his miserable skin….

After all, Reg Keys and the rest of the relatives of the British Service dead in Iraq have, for the past 3 years been vainly trying to meet up with him without any success whatsoever. They’d like to talk to him about how their loved ones had paid the ultimate price for Tony’s brave words by donating their lives to a flawed cause.

Also, the relatives of wounded British Service personnel have been vainly trying to get him to visit a service hospital to talk to soldiers wounded in Iraq - without any success whatsoever. They have paid for Tony’s brave words with the donation of the odd limb, brain injury or half gallon of blood for a flawed cause.

Tony’s just too busy to see you guys – OK!

Reg Keys, if I were you, I’d apply to go on the next edition of celeb big brother (Oh, and be sure to mention that Jade Goody doesn’t like you)….

Shock, horror, Scots MPs found twiddling thumbs!

According to this report from The Scotsman, Scottish MPs are a bit short of work nowadays. Well, it’s hardly a surprise, no one in Scotland bothers to ask them about education, health, transport and planning issues anymore… And you can only rearrange your files, straighten your pencil case and fill in your bloated travel expense forms so many times can’t you?

All the work they used to do for their constituents is now gate-keepered by the MSPs and the Scottish Executive. Their only function at Westminster seems to be shoving their nosey boats into English education, health, transport and planning business…..

It is clear that Scottish MPs don’t have enough to do. Maybe they should do a bit of moonlighting, some mini-cabbing maybe….. or selling the odd insurance policy….. or double glazing…… or, I don't know, maybe, possibly, they could stand for election as an MSP at Holyrood in their own country?

Welcome to Advertisybowl XLI…

Good grief, what the bloody hell do the Yanks see in American Football? I stayed up until 2 in the morning last night to watch as much as I could of the Superbowl – beaming live, straight into my front room from Florida, the sunshine state….….

It absolutely pissed down all through the game. Goddam stair rods, cats and dogs mingled freely with horse liniment, testosterone and cocaine dust. Consequently, the ball (or Goddam bar of Goddam soap as the locals call it) was just impossible to control. I couldn’t make up my mind if I was watching a 5 hour programme of adverts, occasionally interrupted by a shot of a steroid-stuffed line-backer dropping the Goddam ball – or the other way round.

It was all very confusing, the rules seemed to be made up as they went along….. I haven’t a clue who won, but I suspect the advertising space sellers were having a bit of a whoopy-do somewhere on the Strip….….

The pre match entertainment was a bit weird. Some ex-player was being interviewed saying the Superbowl was the biggest Goddam sporting occasion on Earth. (Has he never heard of the World Cup – or even the European Champion’s League Final, or even the FA Cup Final, or even the Beezer Homes Division 2 Knockout Challenge Trophy?)

Billy Joel sang the Star Spangled Banner (music composed by an Englishman incidentally). There, in the rain, the 500 players and 800 baseball capped coaches that made this spectacle what it is suffered collective bottom lip wobble. Those big, big beefy men, comedically bound from head to toe in spandex and metal were united by rivers of tears. The camera panned out to the crowd, they too were crying for America. What with the rain and the tears and the rain and more rain, were we looking at a flood risk?

I gazed on, breathing heavily, coughing, gulping. But I couldn’t stop twin trickles, then floods of salty water meandering down my cynical cheeks.

Yes, Billy Joel really was that crap......