16/06/2011

IT'S MY PARTY (AND I'LL CRY IF I WANT TO)



ALTHOUGH I HAVE BEEN DOING A BIT of globetrotting of late and dealing with professional commitments out of which I have found it unable to get, I have never lost sight of the major issues peaking and shallowing as to the countries in which I live and may be called upon to deliver advice to the good chaps who run these things.

ON RETURNING TO PORTUGAL after three weeks’ absence during which, so it seems, new governments have been elected and there is going to be a “new sweep and broom”, twenty minutes on the TAP plane shows that none of this is going to happen. “We’ve only got one type of sandwich. (…) that’s not my fault. (…) Well you should have took (sic) a different plane.”

YET I SHOULD NOT BE DRAGGED away from my main point. Our chappy friend leaders Nick Clegg and his helpful instructor Mr Cameron went into uncharted waters recently when they visited Guy’s Hospital in London. I imagine that Dr David Nunn, who was the most vociferous doctor involved in the embarrassment of the idiot boy Cameron and his fag Clegg being thrown out of the ward due to their inappropriate dress -- all in front of the cameras -- will be hounded out of the NHS over the coming times. I will be as watchful of his movements as I was of the ticket inspector who fined Cherie Blair for not having a ticket on the train to Oxford from Euston, and the late-duty PC who found Ewan Blair drunk and face down in a gutter in central London. Both of these good gentlemen underwent some traveaux in order to maintain their employment positions. One imagines that Dr Nunn may be over-zealously assessed in the future. That is what democracy under Bullingdon boys and their fags means.

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