IDLE

The Pietersen Massive

2009-07-13T12:59:00.004+01:00

I saw Kevin Pietersen's first innings in test cricket at Lord's in 2005, and was lucky enough to witness his astonishing 158 at the Oval at the death of the series, once Shane Warne had dropped him (and the Ashes) at first slip. I want him to succeed, and I won't begrudge him the wonga and the fame that goes with it.

Had England lost the Cardiff test match, it would have been Pietersen's fault. Yes, I know it's eleven against eleven, and all that. But KP (he's a nut) is the most talented member of the side and very good batsmen, once they have played themselves in, are responsible for scoring a significant proportion of the runs, particularly on a flat pitch against a bowling attack that does not include Warne or McGrath or Murali.

Pietersen threw it all away. As ever, afterwards, he explained himself along the lines of "It's the way I play", which roughly translated means "I am the best batsman in England and you can't afford to drop me".

He was interviewed about the Ashes last week, and cast his mind back to his debut at Lord's in 2005, and the match that followed it:

"I was made for that moment," he says. "The bigger the occasion, the greater the pressure, the more I love it. We knew how big that series was, we knew we were making history. I loved that. I wasn't scared by the Ashes at all. Loved it."

Hmmm. That's Pietersen for you. You'll find, if you listen to his interviews, that quite a lot of things are huge, or massive, or history-making. He likes to associate himself with such things.

Michael Henderson of the Telegraph is a good sort, just as knowledgable about classical music and Broadway as he is about cricket ("what do they know of cricket, who only cricket know?"). He takes up his sword against KP, and leaves him, as Zorro would, with his fancy clothes in tatters:

One man wore the dunce's hat. Having thrown his wicket away on the first afternoon, caught off his helmet essaying a senseless sweep, the Durban Opportunist found another startling way to get out yesterday: bowled neck and crop as he left the ball.
He did not just leave it. Heavens, no. The Fulham Narcissist never does anything by halves. He left it in the extravagant manner of an Elizabethan courtier in ruff collar and cross-garters bending the knee to Gloriana. Ben Hilfenhaus, the bowler, could hardly believe his eyes. These crazy Poms, he must have thought. They take their bats all the way to the crease, and then they don't use them.

If Pietersen wishes to be great (not as in 'great knock, KP' - I mean as a Great Cricketer), he needs to study others who have been awarded the mantle. I could give him a list to be getting on with, but actually he spent several hours watching a masterclass from Ponting on Thursday and Friday, from only a few metres away. Look and learn, you preening johnny. Here's Hendo again:

Why is he not loved? Because he is not one of us, and it shows. The best teams are forged by people who know not only what they are playing for, but also who they are playing for. You could see that identification with Australian cricket in the resolute batting of North and Haddin, players who have been called up late in their careers (North is 30 later this month, Haddin 31), and who know what traditions they represent.
For Australian cricketers tradition is an ever-replenishing resource, like water. To an interloper like Kevin Pietersen, whose overriding ambition is to be rich and famous, the word may have no resonance at all. There is a problem here. Huge. Massive.

The Weather Forecast

2009-07-10T10:04:00.006+01:00

The Spectator, even under the dodgy editorship of Matthew "Ronnie" d'Ancona, is still one of the few publications prepared to splash "Relax: Global Warming is a Myth" all over its cover.

The article, written by the shy and retiring James Delingpole, is an interview with Prof Ian Plimer, an Australian geologist who calls a spade a bloody shovel, and knows how to use it.

He has written the counter-argument to Gore and Stern. Needless to say, his publishers (his previous book had been a bestseller) were too chicken to touch this one, and he ended up using an Outback family firm, who thankfully have seen their sensible decision rewarded with a book on its sixth print run already. Buy it!

The idle policy on Gaia is pretty straightforward - in favour of responsible consumption and sustainable practices, against alarmists and proselytizers, and my antennae shake like palm trees in a hurricane when governments start framing huge tax programmes based upon the Need to Save the Earth.

My instinct is that Prof Plimer is a good 'un. He'd beat Al Gore in an arm wrestle and he'd beat him hands down intellectually and evidence-based on the great Global Warming Con Trick.

Does he really believe his message will ever get through? Plimer smiles. ‘If you’d asked any scientist or doctor 30 years ago where stomach ulcers come from, they would all have given the same answer: obviously it comes from the acid brought on by too much stress. All of them apart from two scientists who were pilloried for their crazy, whacko theory that it was caused by a bacteria. In 2005 they won the Nobel prize. The “consensus” was wrong.’

Randy Live

2009-07-09T19:13:00.001+01:00

Here's Randy singing that song in the last-but-one post. Well, kinda singing, anyway.

Scarcely Missed

2009-07-07T23:14:00.006+01:00

Allen Klein picked July 4 to pop his clogs. By all accounts he was a sonofabitch. But I guess if you manage to sign yourself into 20% of the earnings of the Stones, then the Beatles, you are some kind of successful sonafabitch. He certainly wasn't on the Stones' Christmas Card list.

This picture tells the Beatles story quite well. Lennon did the deal that McCartney didn't want, and guess who else was involved? Yep, that great 'artist' and beauty, Yoko Ono.

Neil McCormick writes a good blog obit of him as well. This is how it starts:

Last week, I was talking to an acquaintance of mine, a rock critic who also writes obituaries (which is perhaps not such an unusual career combination, given the low life expectancy of most rock stars). I asked whether he prepares his obituaries in advance. “Only Allen Klein’s”, he replied. “I hate that man so much, it gives me pleasure to write his obituary.”

And this is how it ends:

Discussing his reputation, Klein once remarked: “Artists fuck groupies, I fuck the artists.” Perhaps that’s what should be written on his headstone.

A Few Words In Defence of America

2009-07-05T19:48:00.009+01:00

A number of the blogs I enjoy reading have doffed their caps in the direction of America this weekend. Blue Eyes, for instance, the Tuscan and Thud. Also, The Speccie talking about the declaration of independence.

Any praise for the United States normally flushes out quite a lot of dissenting voices, some of whom make good points. Perspective is needed - provided on this occasion by the great (and I mean great) Randy Newman, as intelligent and wry a lyricist as they've got over there. This was his take on the situation towards the bitter end of the Dubya presidency. (From Harps & Angels, 2008) If you want to hear it, (or anything else you don't own) register for free with Spotify.com He sounds a bit gloomy at the end, but I know he doesn't mean it. Just a lefty artist needing a Democrat revival. He's fine now, I'm sure.

A Few Words In Defense of Our Country

I’d like to say a few words in defense of our country
Whose people aren’t bad nor are they mean
Now the leaders we have
While they’re the worst that we’ve had
Are hardly the worst this poor world has seen

Let’s turn history’s pages, shall we?
Take the Caesars for example
Why within the first few of them they were sleeping with their sister
Stashing little boys in swimming pools and burning down the City
And one of ‘em, one of 'em appointed his own horse Consul of the Empire
That’s like vice president or something.
That’s not a very good example, is it?

But wait, here’s one, the Spanish Inquisition
They put people in a terrible position
I don’t even like to think about it
Well, sometimes I like to think about it

Just a few words in defense of our country
Whose time at the top could be coming to an end
Now we don’t want their love
And respect at this point is pretty much out of the question
But in times like these we sure could use a friend.

Hitler. Stalin. Men who need no introduction. King Leopold of Belgium.
That’s right. Everyone thinks he’s so great
Well he owned The Congo. He tore it up too.
He took the diamonds, he took the gold, he took the silver
Know what he left them with? Malaria

A President once said, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself"
Now it seems like we’re supposed to be afraid
It’s patriotic in fact and color coded. And what are we supposed to be afraid of?
Why, of being afraid. That’s what terror means, doesn’t it?
That’s what it used to mean.

You know it pisses me off a little that this Supreme Court is gonna outlive me
A couple of young Italian fellas and a brother on the Court now too.
But I defy you, anywhere in the world to find me two Italians as tightass as the two Italians we got
And as for the brother: well, Pluto’s not a planet anymore either.

The end of an empire is messy at best
And this empire is ending like all the rest
Like the Spanish Armada adrift on the sea
We’re adrift in the land of the brave and the home of the free
Goodbye. Goodbye. Goodbye.

Ten Out of Ten

2009-07-03T10:36:00.004+01:00

I'd say it was unimprovable. The usual guff will be written by the usual culprits, much of it ending up in Pseud's Corner at Private Eye, but I will say this:

It was a wonderful, warm-hearted evening, from a happy band (happy? Damon Albarn was gob-smacked that they could "do nothing for ten years and return to this").

There must have been twenty thousand people there, on a hot afternoon but beautiful balmy evening, bouncing to the hard rocking stuff and pouring their hearts out to the ballads. Tender went on forever (literally - I heard a gang still singing the chorus as they got off the Portsmouth train at Guildford at about midnight) and the other highpoints were To The End, This is a Low, and a great final encore, The Universal. A proper all-round band, Blur.

The idle daughter just loved it. A memorable night.

Summer in the City

2009-07-02T12:23:00.008+01:00

It's all going to be a bit of a Blur: Hyde Park from 4pm with the elder idle girl, culminating in a Britpop singalong to the best band of the 90s. But the heat, the heat.........

Hot town, summer in the city
Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty
Been down, isn't it a pity
Doesn't seem to be a shadow in the city
All around, people looking half dead
Walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match head
But at night it's a different world
Go out and find a girl
Come-on come-on and dance all night
Despite the heat it'll be alright
And babe, don't you know it's a pity
That the days can't be like the nights
In the summer, in the city
In the summer, in the city

Was there ever a finer pop song to get you in the mood for a steamy gig?

No Change, Then

2009-07-01T09:49:00.007+01:00

Before Gorbals Mick spoke to the Commons on 18 May, I speculated that he would leave his post and "will be offered ennoblement and a seat in the House of Lords. Why? Because all previous Speakers have. In other words, this becomes an entitlement, just like having Douglas Hogg's dovecote cleaned at public expense"

The post was called How to Spot if Anything Has Changed. I went on:

"What, exactly, might Michael Martin offer the Lords? Has he any knowledge, ability, or experience to impart? I suggest not. He never held ministerial office, he never introduced thoughtful or worthwhile legislation, he is not known to have shown individual talent at all. The only noteworthy thing about him is that he became Speaker of the House of Commons. He is deemed to be the worst Speaker of modern times, and the first for 300 years to face a vote of no confidence.
There is, in short, no possible justification for raising him to the peerage. To do so would be to treat the electorate with contempt. "Change" is the watchword now, and the Speaker will doubtless use the word several times in his statement today. But if he ends up ennobled, we'll know that nothing, really, has changed at all."

Well, Martin has got his ermine despite official warnings that he wasn't worth it, and will follow Glenys Kinnock, who took her seat yesterday, in an upper chamber stuffed to the rafters with placemen and sycophants of Blair and Brown. Meanwhile, his replacement in the Commons, the ghastly Bercow, seems to have a temper problem and is already seen to be settling old scores.

It's a rum old world, isn't it? On the back of the most public and humiliating scandal in Parliament's history, one stupid, greedy and incompetent man gets ennobled, and is replaced by a man of no principle or integrity whatsoever, a practical joke played upon the Tories by the bovine Labour backbenchers, as part of the scorched earth policy Brown seems intent upon before he is dismissed by Mandelson or the electors - whichever comes first.

Balls-Out Attack

2009-06-30T13:46:00.006+01:00

A spat has developed between Ed Balls and Fraser Nelson of the Spectator. Many might find it astonishingly boring and un-newsworthy, but not me. It started here and then really got going here.

It tells us the following:

1. Balls is in on the bare-faced lie idea with Brown. Darling is clearly not, and is most uncomfortable with this whole charade. But Ed is still indistinguishable from Brown.

2. Balls monitors the blogs, and calls up the authors. He has time for all this, whilst putting out the fires in his own ministry and attending inner-cabal meetings at Number 10. FOUR calls chasing the Editor of the Speccie! This man is a Cabinet Minister. Jeeesus.

3. For a clever man, Balls is prepared to go to astonishing lengths of intellectual dishonesty. His attempt to weasel his way out of the 'lie' charge by claiming he was discussing debt ratios, and then accusing the clear-speaking Nelson of being 'economically illiterate', is beneath contempt.

Bragging Rights

2009-06-29T19:00:00.005+01:00

Because everyone thought that the ball would beat the fieldsman easily and go for four, no one had their camera ready. Okay, there weren't any proper cameramen there, but there should have been.

The batsman from the Greater Lurgashall XI had slashed at a quick ball of full length outside off stump, and had got a thick outside edge on it; instead of disappearing to the backward point boundary, it gave the very slightest encouragement to the fielder at third man. That fielder being Idle, you understand.

Showing startling acceleration for a fourteen stone lad not far short of 50, your correspondent headed along the boundary, reckoning that the further the ball had to travel, the greater the (outside) chance of intercepting it. The ball had never gained very much height, but was still comfortably airborne, and what had started as an attempt to field the leather orb suddenly became, at best, a 100-1 shot of catching it.

It has become an irritating custom in the modern-day game for someone to shout "catch it!" when the ball leaves the bat and does not immediately go to ground. However, idle plays his cricket with a) gentlemen; and b) people who do not expect their colleagues to pull off feats of athleticism in the field. So instead there was silence, even from the large crowd of WAGs and children. They all thought it a lost cause, maybe a six, probably a four.

What happened next? you ask; I shall tell you. Somehow, instinctively, idle turned a thundering, vertical rotund frame into a graceful horizontal one. The closest picture I can find on google images is the one posted above, who is a nameless Kiwi. I do not actually remember getting off the deck, indeed I am surprised that there was any muscle memory in the idle chassis capable of creating such a manoeuvre.

I did not see the last two feet of travel of the ball into my right palm, but it hit the sweet spot perfectly, and stuck true. The reconnection of the idle torso and terra firma might easily have caused dislodgement, let alone a small earth tremor in the Rother Valley, but I landed comfortably, despite the sun-baked turf and the velocity of the episode. I lay there, quite still, for a second, but cocked my wrist upwards to signal the completion of the catch.

A roar went up and the three nearest members of the Greater Milland XI started sprinting towards me uttering banshee noises, with every intention, it seemed to me, of knocking me to the ground and burying me, not unlike those who play that most loathsome of sports, soccer. So I did the intelligent thing and sped off around the boundary. Luckily I was moving away from the crowd at the pavilion, or it might have looked like an immodest victory lap. Eventually I jettisoned the ball towards the wickie and accepted the high-fives and manly claps-around-the-shoulders of my teammates, who had calmed down very slightly. All present declared it the finest and most unlikely catch they could remember seeing in a match.

There are two golden rules in ballgames: first, keep your eye on the ball; second, never give up. This, it seems to me, is a metaphor for life itself. I shall apply it to my employment situation, and beome idle no more.

Except for this blog, of course.

Random

2009-06-27T12:32:00.011+01:00

1. A "Rock Dinosaur" is a musician who was very good (or very well known) at least thirty years ago, and who still can do the business now on a big enough stage. It helps if you look like a dinosaur, in the manner of a Keith Richards or an Alice Cooper.

I watched the great Neil Young's gig at Glastonbury last night, and it strikes me that he is now the equal of Keef on dinosaur looks. And the endless Keep on Rocking in the Free World (I think there were 5 fake endings, each time suddenly bursting into another raucus chorus), was just fab. I'm sorry I'm not going to see him live this summer. I walked the idle dog to After the Gold Rush this morning. Pleasure.

2. Guido flags up yet another Gordon-plays-Father-Christmas lunacy. Read Delingpole's piece on the Waxman-Markey climate change bill going through Congress as well. Completely fucking batty. I had a long chat with a member of Parliament yesterday, and I asked him if he had ever seen Gordon behaving in a normal manner privately. He said not; he said the impression the public has of Brown is as close to the real thing as it is possible to get. Remember that the next time JK Rowling tells you he is the life and soul of the party and a kind sensitive loving type behind the 'unfair' media image.

3. Teenage sporting hero and shagger extraordinaire Boris Becker was giving his thoughts to the adoring spinster Sue Barker on the telly just now. It struck me, not just what a nice chap he is (I have long thought so), but that he might be my favourite German. Or am I overlooking some other candidates? Surely there is a long list of boxheads, sausage-noshers, Boche and krauts that spring to mind. Who else might qualify?

While you ponder Neil Young, imminent global disaster and Boris' fellow Germans, I am off to play cricket in this Mediterranean heat.

Ebony and Ivory

2009-06-25T23:53:00.004+01:00

So, farewell then, Michael Jackson

"Don't stop 'til you get enough", you sang

The rest of us were shouting "Enough!" years ago

But you obviously didn't hear us

Freedom

2009-06-24T06:14:00.006+01:00

Freedom to practice your religion the way the mullahs say you should? Or freedom to feel the sun on your face and the breeze on your body? It's a tricky one, isn't it?

No it isn't. There are plenty enough countries in the world where medieval attitudes persist, and folk who want to emigrate there can go right ahead. Western Europe has its liberties to protect, and when the waters are muddied by the age-old religious freedoms debate, it is ALWAYS right to come down on the side of the individual rather than an institution or group.

Sarkozy is right to ban the burqa, and James Delingpole is right to compare Sarkozy's attitude to the wishy washy liberal guff of Obama. Delingpole fires from the hip:

Almost every idea that ever came out of France has been bad for America, from the structuralist philosophical gibberish which has poisoned US academe to the grotesquely over-regulated tax and spend socialism which is now ruining the US economy. But if there’s one area where the French do get it SO right it’s in their uncompromising approach to Islam.

President Sarkozy once again showed the way yesterday when in a presidential address to France’s two houses of parliament, he said the burqa is not welcome in his country and should be banned.

As he rightly went on to say the full-body garment which makes women in Afghanistan look like a cross between a prison cell and a walking tent is “not a sign of religion” but a “sign of subservience.” He added: “We cannot have in our country women who are prisoners behind netting, cut off from all social ife, deprived of identity.”

Compare and contrast, the appalling cultural appeasement of President Obama’s speech in Cairo on June 4 when he boasted that the United States prized freedom of religion and would not “tell people what to wear.” And there was I thinking it was the French who were supposed to be the surrender monkeys, not the Americans.

Was there ever greater proof that, where the great clash of civilisations is concerned, President Obama is turning out to be the Islamists’ useful idiot par excellence?

Does Barack Hussein Obama really not understand that supposed “freedom” he is granting US Muslim women to wear the veil is in fact the most surefire way of guaranteeing their continued subservience to their men folk and their failure to integrate with the broader society?

A Berk Who Will Not Be Cowed

2009-06-22T21:14:00.007+01:00

Heaven knows one shouldn't criticise a politician for being ambitious. But when Steve Richards said on the news just now that he had taken a call from John Bercow immediately after the 2005 election, asking for a meeting somewhere private, where he advised Richards that he wished to become Speaker, it became clear that Bercow's re-election as the member for Buckingham was not about representing his constituents at Westminster so much as representing himself on the greasy pole towards High Office.

You may say that the Speakership does not represent High Office, but an antique position of no real power; you may say that no one ever got to the Speaker's chair without planning and preparation; you may say that he is an improvement on the last Speaker. Nevertheless, his performance this evening, from the moment when, sat all agape on the Tory benches, he learned of his victory, to his poor, halting, somewhat smug and patronising victory speech, he struck me as less than credible. He speaks poorly, which is only forgivable if what is said is worthwhile - rather, he seemed clichéd and shallow.

The length of Bercow's first term is in the gift of Mandelson - when he withdraws support for Brown, an election will surely follow quickly. Bercow has until that election to convince Tories that he is worth his place, won as it was with the vote of the rump of the Labour party. But his Tory colleagues see him for what he is, which is a schemer and a greaser, and it is likely that the swathe of incoming Tory MPs at the next election will be broadly of like mind.

I decided against illustrating this post with a picture of the man.

It's Gotta Be Widders

2009-06-22T09:37:00.008+01:00

She may have the most annoying voice in Westminster (well, second perhaps, after Patricia Hewitt); she may have the dress sense of a Bulgarian; she may have the body of an East German saloon car and a set of teeth like a cemetery; she may even have bigotted views on hunting and rural pest control, but she is idle's choice for Speaker.

Why? Because she promises to resign at the next general election.

There is no public confidence in this Parliament, and rightly so. Many are retiring next year, many have been forced to go, and many more will be chucked out, having been found out as worthless, dishonest also-rans in a discredited ruling party. These are not the people to elect a new Speaker who may be in the chair for fifteen or twenty years.

So it's time to hold one's nose and vote Widders.

UPDATE 10.39: "Tories threaten to expel new Speaker after election" Political Editor of Evening Standard. They are worried that it's Beckett or Bercow. Well, you know to avoid such a situation.....

UPDATE 2 18.55 Well, it won't be Widders; My guess is that Young beats Bercow by a narrow margin, and we are spared the awful little greaser camping it up in uniform. Will Sir George Young, who strikes me as a Whig, if elected, restore the wig to the Speaker's head?

Fisking McBust's Guardian Interview

2009-06-20T10:49:00.011+01:00

From The Guardian:

Gordon Brown: I could walk away from this tomorrow

Gordon Brown has admitted that he has been "hurt" by the personal attacks on him during the failed attempt to oust him this month (the truth can hurt, can't it?), and said that he might move to teaching after he leaves office. (You have got to be bloody joking! This from a man who admits in the same interview he has no communication skills. Perhaps he meant as a lecturer in neo-classical endogenous growth theory, etc).

Speaking to the Guardian in his first interview since the attempted coup by Labour backbenchers, the prime minister made an unprecedentedly frank (true, he has never been frank or honest with the electorate before) series of observations on his time in office, reflecting that the recent weeks have been the worst of his political life. (When your chickens come home to roost and shit all over you, this happens, mate).

"To be honest, you could walk away from all of this tomorrow," he said (All right, you bastard, we'll take you at your word - Fuck Off). "I'm not interested in what accompanies being in power. I wouldn't worry if I never returned to all those places - Downing Street, Chequers (I think we all know that your enjoyment of power has nothing to do with the real estate, you disingenuous creep - it's about social engineering and envy and spite)... And it would probably be good for my children." (Poor bastards. Best thing for them would be to get packed off to boarding school pronto, under assumed identities).

What an utter wanker this man is. Certifiably insane. Later in the interview:

"Brown insisted that Labour under his leadership could win the next election, for two reasons: that the action the government had taken on the economy and MPs' expenses would start to bear fruit; and that the Tories had admitted that they would make deep cuts in public spending."
Hold on - he is suggesting that reform of MPs' expenses is a tricky job, only he can do it, but it will take time, presumably a year before it "starts to bear fruit". The man's a babbling idiot - anyone, ANYONE could sort out the expenses mess in days:
1. Write a set of draconian rules
2. Publish every expense online within 30 days
3. Reserve the sanction of expulsion without pay and criminal charges for miscreants
How hard is that?

His second reason is based upon a lie of breathtaking audacity, that Labour will not cut (or has not already stated through the Budget that they will do so). Polls already show quite clearly that he is not believed on this point by the great majority of voters.

My suggestion three weeks ago that Brown is the Susan Boyle of politics is becoming painfully accurate.

Section him!

Quality Street

2009-06-19T10:08:00.003+01:00

Captions, or a discussion about hats, perhaps? Idle is off to play cricket for the day, before evening racing at Goodwood.

Twelve Frightened Men

2009-06-18T10:06:00.004+01:00

The Court of Appeal has ruled that a criminal trial can take place in front of a judge without a jury for the first time in England and Wales.
The Lord Chief Justice, Lord Judge, made legal history by agreeing to allow the trial to be heard by a judge alone.
The case concerns four men accused of an armed robbery at Heathrow Airport in February 2004. This will be the fourth trial concerning the alleged crime.
The judge made the ruling following concerns of alleged jury "tampering". (BBC)

This is momentous news, which will not, I suspect, get the coverage it deserves - all the evidence is that the British have become ignorant and apathetic about the Laws of England, most of which sprout forth from Brussels, and all of which seem to be subject to the interpretation of the European Courts of this and that.

My attitude is that if the guilty bastards (oops), or their friends and families, have abused the ancient jury system three times already, they can hardly complain with the decision of Judge Judge. But I wonder if this sets a dangerous precedent for the future, and I wonder if, when they are found guilty, this lot will not have a fairly straightforward case to take to the European Court of Human Rights.

Two Dubyas

2009-06-17T17:34:00.006+01:00

I have not been able to think of anything to say for two days. I think this might have something to do with Royal Ascot, which consumes me. I backed a winner at 3-1 and a placed horse each way at 20-1 yesterday, which was nice. There were also two losing bets who each came 4th. Today, I followed the evidence from yesterday that the vulgar American's horses had travelled well and were in sparky form. He's called Wade Webley or somesuch (and yes, his colours DO have a big WW on them, also on the horse's blinkers). His second horse duly romped home at 7-1. Also nice. Another each-way bet came 4th today, but we can overlook that.

I don't mean to be beastly about the yank; it can only be a good thing that Ascot is attracting international stars consistently. And he can do what he likes with his racing colours, even if they are a touch egotistical. You can spot a chap who is first-time-out in a morning suit, though.

They certainly know about raw speed, the Americans. Both horses have been ridden balls-out from the starting stalls, with no subtlety required from the jockey. There are another four running over the next three days. Wade's son Randy (I'm guessing here) was interviewed by Clare Balding and let's just say that he was not exactly shy about predicting a treble with Yogaroo in the first race tomorrow. It's shortening in the betting even as I write.

David and Goliath, George and the Dragon

2009-06-15T13:30:00.007+01:00

David doesn't want to take on Goliath, and George is being a bit wet about mounting his horse and taking his lance in hand to deal with that pesky dragon.

But Andrew went on the Today programme and was refreshingly honest / unwittingly candid / a bonehead (pick any one from three), and blurted out some home truths about spending. The cat, if it was a cat, was let out of the bag, had it ever been in one. What it did, however, was to let Ed start frothing about CUTS!! (always, in labourspeak, said loudly in capital letters and followed by exclamation marks).

I'm all for them, of course. I have always considered most government spending to be, logically, half as efficient as private spending, and the more of the latter we can do, at the expense of the former, the better. Small efficient government is a worthy ambition not just in the current circumstances, but all circumstances.

So George had to say something. And he has. There will be commentary about truthfulness and bravery, all of which will be guff. Any conservative worth his salt should always be able to articulate this argument, and should not be overly sensitive about his timing.

All this new found good sense comes with a catch, of course. Or two catches, much the bigger of which is the NHS (the smaller being Overseas Aid, or Post Empire White Guilt - a topic for another day). It seems as though we should look forward, at least for the next six years, to an even bigger NHS, consuming yet more money, employing yet more people. There will be suggestions that the middlest of the middle managers might be downsized, or shed, like so much cellulite as the patient's fitness regime takes hold. I doubt it. I would say that we need to have a debate about this, but of course it will result in the Holy Cow remaining Holy. Holier, even, than thou.

So what should happen instead is that the Tories must kick the habit, and do the hard work of coming up with a sensible alternative to our current arrangements. It may be ironic that it could happen at the same time that Obama is motoring towards the British Solution, with all the expense and socialism which is implied, but so be it.

Mark Steyn, a man who would have an opinion on the breeding of goldfinches in Slovenia, if you asked him, certainly can get a head of steam up over something like this, and here he goes:

When President Barack Obama tells you he's "reforming" health care to "control costs," the point to remember is that the only way to "control costs" in health care is to have less of it. In a government system, the doctor, the nurse, the janitor and the Assistant Deputy Associate Director of Cost-Control System Management all have to be paid every Friday, so the sole means of "controlling costs" is to restrict the patient's access to treatment. In the Province of Quebec, patients with severe incontinence – i.e., they're in the bathroom 12 times a night – wait three years for a simple 30-minute procedure. True, Quebeckers have a year or two on Americans in the life expectancy hit parade, but, if you're making 12 trips a night to the john 365 times a year for three years, in terms of life-spent-outside-the-bathroom expectancy, an uninsured Vermonter may actually come out ahead.

I get a lot of mail each week arguing that, when folks see the price tag attached to Obama's plans, they'll get angry. Maybe. But, if Europe's a guide, at least as many people will retreat into apathy. Once big government's in place, it's very hard to go back.

Here's the whole thing. I'm afraid that he, like me, is short of a sensible alternative immediately to hand, and just wants to vent his spleen, but hey, that's blogging.

Winning the Argument

2009-06-14T10:35:00.010+01:00

It is axiomatic that our great universities reviled Margaret Thatcher, both during and after her years in power, whatever the public may have thought, and despite how the public voted.

On the one hand, all those left-liberal dons, brought up in an age of austerity, fascinated by communism, contemptuous of those who would champion the liberty and self-determination of the common (uneducated) man.

On the other hand, all those late 70s and 80s students, listening to the Pistols, the Clash and the Cure, and embracing the New Romance of Spandau Ballet and Duran Duran at the same time as ploughing their way through the Old Romance of Blake and Wordsworth, Shelley and Keats. Hardly the sort of folk who would be natural children of the Thatcher Revolution.

As a result of which, the sainted Margaret was shunned by Oxbridge. Every time a fan (there were plenty, in truth) tried to get his or her college or university to acknowledge and honour her, she would be defeated in the vote, and it always made the newspapers - I suppose the dons made sure it did, so as to boast another badge of honour.

BUT WAIT! Is it that time heals, or is it that the awful realisation has dawned upon them that the sunlit socialist uplands they dreamed of have turned out to be barren, overcast, and unfriendly? Or is it that Dan the Man Hannan, held in such high esteem by this blog for his oratory and advocacy, has convinced them otherwise?

Whichever, the Oxford Union has decided that Margaret Thatcher Saved Britain, albeit by the slenderest of margins. It was Dan Wot Won It. Rejoice!

Sir Francisco Scaramanga

2009-06-13T09:30:00.003+01:00

Knight of the realm, Sir Christopher Lee.

Hear, hear, says I.

You never saw a harder-working actor. See his imdb page for the full astonishing list. The old boy is nearing 90 and has got at least half a dozen films still to hit the screen, in various stages of production.

We went to the same school, albeit 40 years apart. He hated it, apparently, but they managed to coax him back last year to award a prize and prove to him that even military-style public schools such as ours have now turned into country clubs with every known comfort and facility. No wonder they cost £30 grand a child each year.

Busy Being Idle

2009-06-12T00:17:00.004+01:00

It's all go. A terrific day's golf at St George's Hill yesterday was followed by a a fine dinner party in London and a 3am bedtime; today was the first cricket net of the season, which is always most satisfying - I tend to pad up, get in the net early, and refuse to come out 'until I've found a bit of form', and then drink beer and fail to do any bowling at the others, because, happily, everyone turned up with their sons who will gladly bowl all evening for a can of ginger beer and a packet of wotsits.

Friday - Lord's, for the Dumbslog Millionaire cricket which is 20Twenty. Luckily no England, who are very bad at it. Instead, Pakistan vs Sri Lanka followed by India vs West Indies. And a picnic tea that would make an Edwardian queasy. June is a joy.

We won't see a bowler of the standard of the great Michael Holding (left), but neither will we see such petulance, I trust.

Ask The Ones Who Voted BNP

2009-06-10T09:48:00.005+01:00

The post-mortem on the two BNP MEPs' success, and the access they now have to great pools of taxpayers' cash (the Telegraph suggested £4m over the four-year period of this EU parliament) threatens to become the main source of liberal angst for the time being. No bad thing, as the man-made global warming guff is sooooo yesterday (or tomorrow, or next year, or 2020).

Me? I think it's a good thing, on balance. This is not because I am a racist or a Hitler admirer or a xenophobe. It is because the endless triangulation of policy by the three main parties had led us into a cul-de-sac of effete liberal consensus on immigration and multi culturalism. This was an airless place in need of a damn good blast of fresh air. I hesitate to suggest that the rank mixture of BO and Lynx anti-perspirant from Griffin and his mates is fresh air, but it will have the same effect.

The left's response has been completely predictable, with a bunch calling themselves the UAF hitting the media sofas and emoting about the potential "normalisation" of the BNP in British politics. There will be a great deal of airtime gobbled up by Sonia Earnest asking Gregory Angst about the reasons for this, and vice versa.

Waste of time. What they need to do is to undertake the difficult, unpleasant, and potentially dangerous task of interviewing the many thousands of people who voted BNP, and find out why. Some, doubtless, will be Nazis, like the charming man above (thanks for the pic, Thud). Others will be flippant protest-voters. Still more will be anarchists.

But the majority, I estimate, will be standard British salt-of-the-earth: in other words, mildly racist, but not offensively so; champions of British-is-Best, even if a lot of it is pants; buggered if they understand why economic migrants get away with this asylum racket, and get all those flats and houses and healthcare and benefits and, unsatisfied with that, want to be productive and take our bloody jobs as well! Normal British working class, in other words. No wonder the middle class politician hasn't a clue about them.

New Labour is trying to find out what went wrong on Thursday, and soon the penny will drop that it was THEIR splendid ex-voters who trooped into the BNP lobby. Of course there will be a few far-right folk in there as well, but any analysis of BNP policy will tell you that it is designed for racist socialists.

So let's find out what the hopes and fears of the 1 million people who voted BNP really are, and see if we want to address them. If you don't ask them, you run the risk of getting your information from Nick Griffin and his Lieutenants, which is not advisable if you seek the truth.

Wannabe polemicist James Delingpole, who is a bit hit-and-miss, is mostly 'hit' with his blog on this. And amusing about the achingly centrist types who have dominated the thought process of our main parties for too long.

Bandit at Six O'Clock

2009-06-09T15:01:00.002+01:00

Gotta love that fighter pilot humour. Splendid chaps.