It's Me Human Riots, Innit?

Dwayne, 21, from Weston-super-Mare, is reading Immediate Gratification Studies at Keele University. He is pictured here at Millbank Tower, on his way to lobby his Member of Parliament.

Chief Inspector Lee Feckless, of the Metropolitan Police, defended his officers' stand-off tactics, saying "at this moment in time, and being mindful of the danger of the situation escalating, my officers were instructed to apply for triple time and start filling in a few forms ahead of what will be a busy period for them tomorrow, when they will be filing trauma reports and seeking time off on full pay to try try to come to terms with what all of us can agree has been a very difficult situation".

Banker VV Idle, of Mayfair, a passer by, said: "Personally, I'd give them a ten minute warning and then run the bastards down with mounted police and batons. Some of the chaps at work have suggested water canon with indelible ink, others have suggested tear gas and stun grenades. No one thinks that these people are really students, or that if they are, that there is any possible chance of them turning into productive members of society. One of our brightest young bankers suggested swapping them for intelligent, industrious and well-meaning immigrants who would like to enter this country, which we all agreed would be a double net benefit. An older colleague suggested shipping them to a remote Hebridean island and leaving them to fight each other like Lord of the Flies."

David Cameron is abroad.

Big Mistake

Boris reaches the parts that other Conservatives do not reach. This seems uncontestable, as measured by his victory in the London mayoral election and the wide spread of those votes. Sure, he pisses off some Tories with his inconsistencies and stunts (let alone being a shagger extraordinaire and therefore a cad to his long-suffering wife), but he has an ability that so obviously eluded Cameron at the last election- that of being able to secure a majority from a broad constituency.

One of the things that people like about Boris is that he is not overly political - he jumps in with both feet instead of dilly-dallying on the edge like so many politicians who are terrified of upsetting even a tiny minority.

But he has made a mistake over housing benefit and exacerbated it by using imagery which is just bonkers. With next year's re-election in mind, he has made a fool of himself. Kosovo-style social cleansing, my foot! Doubtless his quick mind hadn't quite approved it for compliance purposes as he started blurting it out, and he will have to retract this in toto, and issue an apology, I'll wager.

Here is the public opinion on the matter:

"...An ICM poll in June asked: "Do you support or oppose imposing a maximum weekly limit of £400 on Housing Benefit." Support was 68% with 23% opposed. Even among Labour voters there was strong support - by 57% to 35%.
A YouGov poll in August asked: "Here are some policies the coalition government have announced in their first hundred days. For each one please say if you oppose or support it?" Among them was: "Putting a limit on housing benefit." 72% expressed support. 17% said they were opposed. Again even among Labour voters there was strong support - by 53% to 35%."
(ConHome, Harry Phibbs)

Boris still sees himself as PM after Cameron, or certainly harbours such ambition. Well, if he makes it, it will be as leader of a party other than the Tories; he cannot have improved his appeal to those outside London with this stunt.

Digging Deep

Is it just me, or have our allies in Chile made a damn site better fist of this rescue than we might have done? The Minister for Mines (is his name really Laurence Fishburne?) appears competent, genuine and speaks better English than most residents of Blighty. He's pulled it off.

One's heart bleeds for the miner whose wife AND mistress were both waiting patiently at the top of the shaft, and became aware of each others' identity for the first time just days ago. Tricky reconciliation there, one fears.

The country which had the good sense to topple its Marxist leader and appoint Milton Friedman as economic consultant in 1973 has been an exemplar to the other basket case economies of South America for decades. This is why I like the country instinctively and am not surprised by its great feat of the past two months.

Red hot, Chile!

Baleful

Brilliant solo performance.

Peta, 23, from Essex

I am considering employing Peta in my investment advisory department. She has many of the attributes that some of our male entrepreneurial clients find attractive in a private banker.

And she is well briefed on precious metals' market behaviour.

I dare say she can provide a couple of tips for our clients that they will find most persuasive.

Feel free to add your own puns in the comments thread.

H/T FT Alphaville

An Extract From the Book:

‘I had started jogging regularly out of Downing Street. Occasionally I happened to jog past a hooker standing on the same street corner. With some apprehension I would brace myself as I approached her for what was most certainly to follow.

"Fifty quid!" she would shout from the kerb.
"No way, 50p!" I fired back.

This ritual between myself and the hooker continued for days. I'd run by and she'd yell, "Fifty quid!" And I'd yell back "50p!"

One day however Cherie decided that she wanted to accompany me on my jog. As we jogged nearer the problematic street corner, I realised the "pro" would bark her £50 offer and Cherie would wonder what I'd really been doing on all my past outings. I realised I’d need to have a damn good explanation for my illustrious lawyer wife. As we jogged into the turn that would take them past the corner, I became even more apprehensive than usual. Sure enough, there was the hooker. I tried to avoid the prostitute's eyes as she watched the pair of us jog past.

Then, from the pavement, the hooker yelled:
"See what you get for 50p?"

Road to Nowhere - a Compo

Idle lay in his bath this morning, listening to his 'Desert Island' playlist on his iPod speakers. About five songs in, up came 'Road to Nowhere' by the estimable Talking Heads.

Later on, in the car, someone mentioned Kensal Green on Radio 4. I have never been to Kensal Green, but I know about the cemetery, it being the closing destination in that utterly fabulous paean to England's unstraight roads by GK Chesterton. For those who don't know it, here it is (and it's no hardship for those who do know it):

The Rolling English Road

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.

His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.

My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.
GK Chesterton

So, my requirement for the compo subject was finally revealed: I want geography, or topography, or directions, or sign posts, or being lost. Or found, perhaps. Thoroughfares, byways, dead ends and tracks that peter out. But I don't want travel, per se, nor do I want modes of transport. Chesterton didn't spoil his masterpiece by talk of cars or trains and I don't see whay you lot should either.

Clerihews probably don't spring to mind for this one, but be my guest if you want. Epics, limericks, sonnets, haikus. There is room for them all.

You have a week at least. Tell your friends, not so much because I want traffic on this blog, more because a big entry will make it more amusing for all of us. There will be a prize.