Little boxes

We’re getting all boxed up for the move. The house is an absolute tip. Where did all this junk come from? We’ve only been in this suite three years. Where did that come from? I don’t remember buying it. These are the questions you ask when rummaging through your drawers for the stuff you want to keep. Never mind. Tomorrow the office gets wrapped up and steam cleaned before we close it up. The whole idea being to reduce our living space gradually down to three rooms until we walk out and hand over the keys, leaving a clean place and our damage deposit intact.

While we’re packing we’re half watching the UK Euro MEP elections and hoping like hell the big three political parties get a bloody good scare thrown into them. Let’s face it, Labour, Tories and the Limp Dems have been taking the electorate for granted for far too long and deserve a good fright. Maybe even kicking out of power altogether. There’s hardly a wet fag paper to stick between them, the only difference being that the Tories are marginally less incompetent than Labour. Hell, they all got their PPE Degrees at the same universities anyway, so it’s scarcely any wonder.

The Barclay Brothers Beano and all the other broadsheets of late have been populated with anti underdog hit pieces, but it’s the comment threads that are the most telling. You can tell the trollsters are worried that their cushy little sinecures are at risk and the penny is only just dropping that the best way to recover votes is not to tell Mrs & Mrs Public that they’re a bunch of morons. Mr & Mrs Public don’t like that, and have been saying so. With the occasional bit of moral support from the expat community.

If challenged on this point with a threat to vote for Nige and the Purple Gang, the big three will tell you there’s no room for a fourth major political party. Ooh no, they say, there’s no need to vote for anyone else, vote for us again you suckers and we’ll promise you the moon. You won’t get it of course. No way you peasants. No referendums, no choices and you can jolly well put up with what we decide to take off you. We’ve been to Uni and know better than you of the great unwashed. By the way, we’re putting taxes up again. Got to save the world from you lot. How will we fund our Business class travel otherwise?

You know what? From what I hear and see, I think Slaphead, Minutely Bland and Clogg are genuinely frightened. Trouser fillingly so. You know what else? I really do hope they get the scare they so richly deserve. They know the mob are threatening to storm the ballot boxes and the metaphorical tumbrils look like rolling. Maybe. I genuinely want to believe there’ll be a change, but my natural English bred cynicism won’t let me.

Not that it will make any odds to the EU. Nige and Co have been taking the piss out of Brasso and Van Nonentity for several years now and little has changed in the Euro Parliament. Apart from the EU trying to expand into Russia itself. Which will all end in tears as the last three attempts did. The Russki’s have done a deal to sell gas to the Chinese (as predicted), and India, the other regional Superpower in the making, will no doubt follow. Then when the Ukraine and Europe is freezing in the dark there will be another long retreat from Moscow. Canada will get its pipeline to sell oil to the other side of the Pacific despite all the machinations from US and EU funded pressure groups, and the great decline of the West will continue. No Nukes required.

Talk about predictable. At least we’ll be warmer in Victoria.

Herding cats for fun and profit, an observation

Well, it’s decided. We’re moving to Victoria at the end of the month. Basically because Mrs S wants to be closer to the action. Victoria being a much less snoozeworthy place than Nanaimo. Better bars, Cafes and restaurants, and here’s the kicker, all within walking distance. Even a modestly decent Tandoori restaurant. No need to worry about driving and getting pulled by the cops if you’ve had a glass or two over the odds. So we’re getting ready to pack up and shift all our worldly goods.

Apropos of sweet bugger all, I was doing a quick run through my blogroll this morning and I was particularly struck by how much victimhood is at the root cause of so many societal problems. Tears before bedtime because some TV celebrity (allegedly, which he didn’t) used a word so often used as a self reference by a certain racial sub group. A man arrested for publicly quoting a speech by a long dead politician. Another man denounced like some Soviet era dissident for saying the same word in private to his girlfiend (Not a typo). A local radio DJ in the UK fired for playing the ‘Unauthorised’ version of ‘the Sun has got his hat on‘ instead of the less safe ‘Abdul Abulbul Amir‘. People harping on about, and demanding money with menaces over an institution that was rightly abolished in the civilised world over two centuries ago. From the descendants of the very people and institutions who spilt their own blood in its abolition no less. Call that gratitude? On the whole, I’d say not. Come on guys, victimhood should have a sell by date. I’m pretty sure one of my ancestors was hanged for sheep stealing back in the 1700’s, and a few more were kicked out of their tenancies during the great medieval sheep clearances. Do I go crawling with begging bowl in hand about injustices done to my forbears? No, I’ve got more important things to do. The next generation needs support. Sights to see, bills to pay. The institutions and people that did the harm are long in their graves, and it’s high time the serial whiners built a bridge and got over it.

The world seems to be filled with infantile offence takers looking for some kind of redress for every imagined slight. From an alleged ‘grope’ forty years ago seen as an excuse for stripping a charity of its funding to complaints of a word beginning with ‘R’ used to shut people with an opposing viewpoint up. The cure for which was mooted by one well known actor saying Stop talking about it. As far as skin tones and cultures are concerned we should be building bridges, not burning them. We are all human. All blood is red. All else is biological adaptation to local conditions. Failure to adapt and integrate is a matter of personal choice, and should not be actionable, nor used as an excuse to knock a 91 year old veteran anti apartheid campaigner off his bicycle. Or declare a war.

Honestly, one would have to be mad to try and make sense of it all. Listening to all these complainants and trying to mollify them for the sake of a quiet life rather sounds like herding cats for fun and profit. I’m often moved to wonder where the grown ups are to give these habitual complainants a soundly slapped bottom and tell them to go off and do something a little more positive with their lives. Instead all we hear is “Waah! Nasty man is being howwind to me! Stop him Mommy, stop him!” I say this as someone who was, as part of his daily round, routinely verbally abused and occasionally threatened with physical assault by a terminally petulant public, then found that the very people he relied upon for backup suffering unexpected catastrophic spinal failure. Not to mention those paid to look after his workaday interests being as much use as the proverbial chocolate teapot. Boy, was that an education. I used to bitch about it, but seek compensation? Being forced to wear unsuitable footwear which caused real physical pain and injury might have been cause, but really? I chose, like so many of my contemporaries, to pick up and move on.

My view? Perhaps all these offence takers should be arrested and charged with theft, because that’s exactly what they’re doing. Stealing offence, time and also personal liberty from others with their self absorbed thin skinned whingeing. The problem with offence seekers is that they don’t actually want to fix anything when their pet peeves are given credence, they just want money, and the petty minded sense of power a grovelling public apology brings. Which is poor compensation for the inferiority complexes which spawn these complaints, complexes which only intensive psychotherapy can rid them of. If they could only be bothered to try.

/rant

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my own particular cats to herd, but not from this company.

Or this one;

Redistribution of wealth

I see the Pope of the Catholic Church has been making speeches about the root causes of poverty. Seriously? This from one of the richest institutions on the planet? One whose influence has been chief in keeping people poor? The only redistribution that actually goes on is directly to a specific religion. Like the redistribution of foreign aid mostly ends up lining political pockets, with only a fraction getting to its intended destination?

It’s what almost all religions are best at; keeping people on their knees in one way or another. Yet one of the most guilty parties; look up poverty rates in very religious countries for proof and see above map for poverty levels worldwide, has the unmitigated gall to hold out their begging bowl, blaming others for the state of the very people they help keep down? The people they often use as cannon fodder to further their sects own expansionist ambitions? Well let’s have three cheers for organised religion; hip-hip-hypocrasy! Yay.

As God often says when he wanders over for morning coffee, or when we go fishing with JC; “You know Bill, if I’d have thought about it enough, I wouldn’t have invented belief.” He doesn’t like organised religion either. He also says he never goes to their churches and temples because they’re too draughty and full of people demanding something for nothing. Rather like the Pope and all similar functionaries.

A thought experiment on referenda

Ballot boxThis mornings cerebral peregrinations hit a big ‘what if’ as I was giving my usual cursory scan to Zero Hedge. Specifically this story about the pending referendum in the Donetsk region of Ukraine.

First thought was “Who are the organisers?” Is it really a free vote?
Second thought was “1.7 million ballots?” That’s a lot of counting.
Third thought was “What would give the result legitimacy?” Would it be binding? Certainly by the winners, but how about anyone else?
Fourth thought was “DIY Referendums. What an intriguing concept.” Instead of waiting for the vested interest owned politicians to ‘call’ one, why not have a privately sponsored vote on something like ohh, lemme see now, membership of the European Union for example. Which begs the question; how would you get such a privately sponsored referendum recognised by the Electoral Commission?
Fifth thought was “If a bunch of broke Ukrainians can do it, why can’t others?” I mean, what do you need? Voters list? Available publicly. Hell, if every telemarketing company can access the voter rolls, why not? For voting purposes hire village / community halls on a specific day. Cheap enough. Recruit volunteers, assigned randomly for each locale to act as voting officers. Download each voting ward onto a simple spreadsheet, crossing off each name as they vote (Insist on voter photo or signature ID). Each vote goes into a sealed steel box which has a unique serial number, just like regular voting. Hire local couriers to pick up the ballot boxes at close of voting and transport to volunteer vote counters. Count vote. Announce result. Yay. Power to the people and all that stuff, yeah? That’s without sorting out any type of Electronic voting via the jolly old Interweb.
Sixth thought was “But who’d help pay for what is effectively a private referendum?” You could probably do one on a local scale with volunteers, but on a national? I believe there are departments of the United Nations who would just love to help. It could even be crowd sourced.

Of course there are a million things that could go wrong. Like Icelands attempt at crowd sourcing a new constitution. The powers that be could just decide to ignore the result, get their media poodles to militate against it, or organise a Police swoop on the crowd sourced, volunteer manned polling stations and effectively steal the results and ballot boxes. Politically motivated ‘Hacktivists’ could crack electronic voter results and play les bougres idiot with them. But that sort of thing only happens in third world countries doesn’t it?

Yeah……

How many more times – it’s a bad idea

Look, we know big Government is broke. The all conquering Godzilla flat busted and continually bleeding from a million leaking capillaries, fed on by an army of bloodsuckers which infest its scabrous hide. The more it’s fed, the more it bleeds. So perhaps it needs to go on a serious diet?

While my thinking errs of the side of the low tax, small Government faction, I understand that there is a need for some form of regulatory framework. Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone outside of a few specialist lawyers really understand the current tangled mess but what I do understand is that if your boat is sinking, the last thing you do is load it down further.

Yes, chums. The EU have pushed for, and got, a ‘Robin Hood’ or more accurately a ‘Tobin’ tax on all Eurozone financial transactions. Again. Why do they need the money? They’ve got all the sparkly buildings, inflated salaries and expense accounts avarice could dream of, yet like a junkie their spending habit is never done. Not until they go cold turkey, OD in some dank little bedsit somewhere, or prematurely slide out of this life as their vital support systems (A.K.A. the taxpaying public) fail one by one until nothing is left. Which is currently where things are. Some serious liposuction on the bodywork is called for, followed by a very large tummy tuck, not more sugar frosting on their doughnuts. Yet in 2016 this tax will be enacted in France, Germany, Estonia, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Greece, Austria, Belgium, Slovenia and Slovakia. Which will have a knock on effect in the City of London. Or more likely the City Financial Markets will do what they always have, pass the cost onto the Poor Bloody Investor.

For some people, this will simply prove another vehicle for the many EU Carousel frauds, like those continually afflicting the farcical ‘Carbon trading’ markets. Five billion lost at the last count, and that’s with a flatlined marketplace.

Robin Hood is upsetAs for ‘Robin Hood’, well a very large raspberry to that. If he were still around, our eponymous outlaw would be rightly affronted by such a reference, perhaps dropping a couple of bodkin points or hunting broadheads into the greedy breasts of our worthless modern day political leeches. Like the medieval churchmen of old, an encounter with the real deal would leave them with their purses stripped, and forced to go whining to the Sheriff wearing peasants rags. There’s an intriguing notion; EU Commissioners being forced to walk barefoot from Strasbourg to Brussels after having their assets stripped, or maybe even impaled with cloth-yard arrows? Which, knowing the sexual predilections of some, might not be quite the kind of impaling that they were hoping for.

Hang on a minute

Over here on the hippy drippy wet coast of BC, the tale that the planet has a fever, and the only cure is to get rid of most of humanity is very much alive and well. On the Atlantic coast it’s a different story where Blue Whales have died, and one casualty is decomposing on the shoreline, getting ready to detonate.

Dead Blue Whale in California (Image credit National Geographic)
Exploding Blue Whales, Bill? Is this some new kind of terrorist threat? Not so. Just another spring day at the office in Trout River, Newfoundland. But hang on chums. Several Blue whales killed by Ice? But, but, but, isn’t the planet getting so hot we’re all gonna fry? It seems not. Cold is far more fatal and likely if you listen to certain astrophysicists, who seem to have a better track record of weather prediction than all of a certain clique of ‘climate scientists’ put together……. Where’s all this bloody warming all the West Coast weather pundits keep telling us about? Do they want all my valuable sun tan lotion investments to be worthless? Who do I sue?

Draw your own conclusions, even if they are only stick figures……..

I’m concerned

You know, I was reading the Barclay Brothers Beano this morning, and I read that UK Prime Minister David Cameron was stung by a jellyfish whilst on holiday in Lanzarote.

I do so hope the jellyfish recovers quickly.

/arf

Very late update: apparently the Jellyfishes attack was ‘revenge’ for an occasion when Slaphead scared a few when he was younger. A Jellyfish with more backbone and a better memory than a UK politician? Who knew?

The D words

Juxtaposed

Denier: noun

  1. A unit of weight by which the fineness of silk, rayon, or nylon yarn is measured, equal to the weight in grams of 9,000 metres of the yarn and often used to describe the thickness of hosiery: 15-denier stockings
  2. A former French coin, equal to one twelfth of a sou, which was withdrawn in the 19th century.

Origin:
late Middle English: via Old French from Latin denarius (see denarius). sense 1 dates from the mid 19th century.

Denialist: noun

  1. A person who refuses to admit the truth of a concept or proposition that is supported by the majority of scientific or historical evidence: the small minority of very vocal climate change denialists.

Origin:

Not known.

Moron: noun
• informal

A stupid person: we can’t let these thoughtless morons get away with mindless linguistic vandalism every day

Origin:

early 20th century (as a medical term denoting an adult with a mental age of about 8–12): from Greek mōron, neuter of mōros ‘foolish’. Which can reliably be considered the mentality of anyone using the words ‘Denier’ or ‘Denialist’ in the context of Climate Science. Although no offence should be implied or meant to real morons who are far too intelligent to abuse language in this manner. It should be noted that the use of ‘Denier’ or ‘Denialist in any conversation or statement about weather or climate automatically infers sub-kindergarten mental acuity (Emotional & intellectual age 2-3)

I wonder if they know

All these advocates of ‘Green’ energy. That their prophet in chief of climate doom Al Gore has been quietly dumping his stocks in that sector. Since 2012 no less. Odd that. All these people who infect every comment thread on Green Energy or Fracking articles with their ignorance of power generation and distribution; not aware that one of their causes chief cheerleaders has tiptoed his money to other, more lucrative investments.

‘Green’ energy is in real terms a joke. Wind Turbines that rarely deliver more than twenty percent of rated output. More likely single figures. Unit lifespan less than advertised. Cabling and distribution requirements more complex and therefore wasteful than say a modest 480MW four hall gas turbine power station with a far more massive landscape footprint and environmental effects. Even so they are far more effective than Solar, which isn’t much use in a temperate climate. As for the half baked mutterings about building solar power stations in the Sahara or Spain and stringing thousands of miles of high tension cable around the place, anyone proposing or supporting such an idea knows less than bugger all about power distribution. Tidal energy, well, if you could get around the issues with silting, flotsam damage or persuading people to have one on their doorstep instead of a lot of mud flats only used by wintering birds crapping all over the place. Maybe. Multiple small scale hydro-electric plants might work as part of a power generation and flood management strategy. If there weren’t so many half witted NIMBY activists campaigning for the removal of useful dams so that the Lesser Spotted Newt or similar could have a foetid swamp to wallow in. Along with mosquitoes and other assorted species.

So ‘Big Al’ has let his money do the talking. A long way away from ‘Green Energy’ schemes which were never really workable propositions. I’ll bet he’s already sold off all his exposure in ‘carbon credits’ too. He’s seen the writing on the wall, and no matter what you might think of him as a politician and the causes he advocates, that boy is not dumb when it comes down to dollars and cents.

Spandex and mad people

Upon my return to Canada from the UK, I’ve been given to musing about all the sights and sounds I experienced whilst there. Specifically the urge amongst many to wear skin tight clothing, particularly cycling gear. Even if they do not own a bicycle.

If there is one type of clothing that should be outlawed by international treaty, I think it should be Spandex, or any elasticated skin skin tight clothing. Leggings especially. The frame of the modern urban or suburban human is mostly best covered to conceal its shortcomings. Which in this day and age are legion. I blame this expectation of perfection on photoshopped seventeen year olds in glossy near-porn advertising photos. The truth is that none of us over nineteen have the body we’d like, but there you have it, and it’s no use trying to look otherwise. Likewise, no female over nineteen, unless a professional model, should go in for body painting.

Excellent reasons not to wear skin tight or Spandex type clothing in public:

  1. It amplifies the size of buttocks. By at least three times. It matters not that you have a superb physique, honed by daily sessions in the gym with not an apparent ounce of flab or even the merest hint of cellulite. After the age of nineteen, Spandex worn skin tight will make your arse look like it has been half-filled with bad jelly
  2. It makes you look flabby when you’re not. The slightest wobble is exaggerated past all ridicule. Each crease, each dimple develops a motion and mind of its own.
  3. Whether intentional or not, your genitalia will be on public display. Even the most discreet panty lines are blindingly visible, and anyone ‘going commando’ will be obvious to even the least observant. For females this is not so bad. For males in cold weather – well let’s just not go there. Even the most well endowed amongst us will end up with the look of a badly decapitated turkey
  4. Even the most benign perspiration stains make Spandex riding shorts look like the wearer has had an involuntary emission, loss of bladder and possibly also bowel control. None of which should be on public display. Unless of course the possessor wishes quiet ridicule to dog their every footstep. Which it will
  5. Frankly, it looks slatternly. Like you’ve mortgaged any dress sense you might have had and gone for the uber-chav look in spades. Like a Croydon facelift and metalflake purple nail varnish

To illustrate by example. About two weeks ago I was sitting in a UK Starbucks, mulling over an Americano, just idly staring out of the window, when a couple in cycling gear dismounted outside, both in their mid to late twenties, both slimly built. Fit, bright eyed and a little rosy cheeked from exertion, all smiles and self involved chatter. The girl came in to buy them two lattes as I recall, while her boyfriend responsibly locked up their bicycles. The day was damp and the Spandex skin tight, so on the way in I got an inadvertent eyeful of female camel toe and deformed limp male genitalia waggling within their elastic restraints, on the way out the motion of half toned flab was enough to make a seasoned mariner hurl a haddock. So I hurriedly averted my eyes. From the male posterior, certainly. Out of the corner of my eye I caught the expressions of certain other denizens of the coffee shop who had also watched the cycling pair come and go. I’m no mind reader, but I can read body language and faces fairly well. The expressions I caught were certainly not those of envy. Eyes rolled, three schoolgirls looked after them and giggled mockingly, and one chap hunched over his laptop glanced their way and gave a revolted shudder. Now either the pair were well known locally as those with freakish habits or had been identified as tax inspectors, I don’t know. In a good light neither was unattractive, but the skin tight cycling gear obviously affected the coffee shops clientèle most unfavourably.

For a replicable proof, any cyclist thus clad should undertake the following experiment. When next holding up traffic while pedalling up a steep hill in low gear, take a glance behind at the following line of traffic. They will, you may observe, be meandering within their lane. This is not due to any lack of control on their part. If the cyclist were to be able to observe their expressions more closely, he / she will detect an expression of amusement hastily concealed within the following vehicles. The burning questions answer being; yes, your arse does look really big in that. Enormous in fact. Possibly even deformed. Yes, the drivers behind are trying very hard not to collapse in hysterics. Sorry, but you made the fashion faux-pas. You might as well be dressed in a dayglo pink tutu with a sign over your head saying “Comic relief – please mock”. Any beeping of horns should be considered justly earned applause for your buttocks comic turn.

Expatriate expostulations from Canada

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 83 other followers

%d bloggers like this: