I AM AN ALIEN LIFE FORM CALLED “THE MURDOCH”

Lalaland as seen from Earth

A BIT OF FINANCIAL IMPROPRIETY APART, it has been a relatively dull period for eccentricities in the political events of late. The usual providers of the juicy fruits in the news have been keeping their noses to the grindstones as polls are in the offing in Britain and our American friends have to worry about whether electing the photogenic Barack Hussein Obama was really the best way to deal with a monumental crisis.


THUS WE HAVE HAD TO LOOK to the world of sports and entertainment to find our much-needed lightening up of our lives; the misfortunes of “Tiger” Woods, the debate over whether Pitt and Jolie should or would split up or have split up, and the serious work needed to keep the caners in the girls’ bands sober and dressed have been occupying the red tops and flimsy TV channels for a little bit, helping them provide some “true” news (italicized due to the curious nature of the statement in the mouth of media “expert” Kelvin “When I published those stories, they were not lies. They were great stories that later turned out to be untrue” MacKenzie) rather than making their own news on such low IQ shows as Pop Idol, Celebrity Big Brother, Britain’s Got Crap and So You Think You Can Turn Over?


JUST WHEN ONE IS WONDERING WHAT will be the provider of the light relief required to help us get between valiums (valia, anyone?) in the pre-Easter gloom, step forward the United Kingdom Ministry of Defence, that ever jolly organ which has now brought us one of the most heart-warming of stories outlining years of recorded facts about sightings of UFOs over the last twenty years. The “facts” themselves, of course, are as dull as the dishwater usually coming down the sluices of ministries’ information release outputs, but the scope for revelation and reverie à la presse populaire is boundless.

SO WE GET speculation in The Sun yesterday as to why UFOs have taken such interest in football matches at Arsenal FC, former Conservative Party leader Michael “Dracula” Howard, and Winston Churchill. Perhaps, in the case of Winston Churchill, the “cigar-shaped object” often seen in his company was in fact a UFO. However, as hard as the Rupert Murdoch-owned media tried yesterday, with interviews in the streets on Sky News, message boards on The Sun and even the occasional joking reference in The Times, no one among the faithful readers and/or watchers of these organs came forward with the much-desired “proof” that aliens exist.

WHICH IS WHERE I AM AFRAID I HAVE TO COME IN. It has been easy, over the last fifty years or so, to pretend that I am in fact human, and my cover has only been close to being blown on a few occasions, mostly recently. While The Sun has now moved on today to get back to pillorying its own personal alien life form, Sir Elton John, exposing how Britain’s favourite chubby homosexual fashion icon has stated that he believed Jesus Christ was “gay”, I have decided to “come out”, as I believe is the fashionable expression one should employ on such occasions, and inform the dozens of people who read this column that I am masquerading under a false identity.

I FIRST CAME TO YOUR PLANET some years ago, before any of you were born (if you live according to normal Earth years), in the company of a large troupe of my colleagues from a star system known to you simply as “Lalaland”. We brought many of our own customs with us, but we have found it difficult to maintain most of them in your strange atmosphere. The ones that we have managed to keep have been modified into the cultural manifestations you now, apparently, know as “cocktails”, “dogging", "waitresses”, “quickies”, “shagging”, “niblicks”, “cocaine”, “adultery” and “press conferences”. Very few of my own group remain among you today, except in Los Angeles and Florida, but in the name of all of us, I would like to say a few words: “I have deceived you, and I am sorry”.


NOTE FROM PLATFORM PROVIDER: We understand Mr Pleasant has decided to withdraw from society for a while in order have his teeth and testicles removed and take up a teaching position at the University of Surrey, where he can do no further harm to mankind.

A SPANKING AT BATH

AS A UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR MYSELF, I am naturally interested in how other institutions of higher education carry out their programmes in these difficult times of adapting to the demands of the Bologna Accord, as well as other pressures put upon us with a view to our standardising our practice so that “all over Europe”, as Herman Van Rumpuy-Pumpy, the Belgian President of the European Union, likes to term his geographical office, we will be awarding the same degrees.

BRITAIN, OF COURSE, HAS SNEERED at this matter since its inception and conception. Universities throughout the hills and dales of England and Wales, and particularly in the unpronounceable regions of Scotland, have returned with a resounding negative in relation to the manner of assessing students.

PERHAPS AS A PROTEST, we have seen a university registrar at the University of Bath and later the University of Sussex, Karl Woodgett, a man of 37 years old, but obviously wise beyond his years, handing out degree certificates to black African women in exchange for spanking sessions. None of this may seem odd to those who went to university at Cambridge, Oxford or any of the Scottish Schools, but I do feel that some protest should be brought about in relation to the underhand manner of this business being conducted.

THE PRICE OF THE DEGREES awarded by the University of Bath ranged from £500 for a straightforward 2.2 degree (which any dimwit can obtain nowadays) to a £1,000 for a Masters with Distinction, involving regular spanking sessions at hotels in the city of Bath itself. Both the prosecutor (James Ward) and the judge, Justice David Ticehurst, were uncompromising in their condemnation, with Ward stating, in the name of the UK Border Agency, “He did not want (this woman) for sex but to indulge his spanking fetish with her because she had a black bottom.'' I do not think that this is the way forward for higher education in Britain, but it may be better than what Europe will eventually want us to do.

AFFAIRS OF THE HEART

THE VERY REVEREND MARTYR Saint Valentine of Interamna Nahartium, modern Terni, erstwhile rose producer and later bishop, had no idea of the trouble he was getting his fellow gentlemen into when he came up with the foolish idea of giving roses to any young people who came to visit him, something for which he would probably be clapped in irons today. These youngsters were often calling for advice about an impending betrothal, and had been directed to the good bishop, although why one should call upon a Catholic priest for such advice seems strange, particularly as up until the eighth century anno domini many priests had themselves castrated in order to avoid the temptation that has been the downfall of so many hapless paedophile priests of late.


INEVITABLY, IT WOULD NOT BE LONG before one of these couples who had each been granted a rose actually fell in love, a condition which was not yet afforded the romantic connotation it possesses today. History does not provide us with the names of these young people, but, in an age when there were precious few newspapers and absolutely no television, the fact that two people who were about to engage in an arranged marriage actually fell in love because of a rose offered by Bishop Valentine was deemed a miracle, and word spread throughout Europe, as people had nothing else to talk about.


THE THIRD CENTURY AD was a period when the Christian church was tolerated by Rome as long as it didn’t make too much fuss. Miracles were a fuss. Equally inevitably, the hoo-hah around this “miracle” fuelled the fury of the local Roman Prefect, the contradictorily-named Placidus Furius, who, under the orders of Emperor Aurelius, promptly had the good bishop endure suffering and then be put to silence in 273 AD. A martyr to Christianity and Romance was thus created, legend was made, and now we are burdened with the need to buy flowers, perfumes, chocolates and lingerie for our wives, cleaning ladies and mistresses, or all three.


BUT EVEN MORE DISTRESSING than this is the total removal from the calendar of what used to be the festival of Februa, or the Lupercalia, and which was to some extent the reverse of what goes on today. Wise, male members of society were invited to the festival of the purification of the virgin and then of the purification of the city, events which involved considerable drinking and ogling of demi-vierges, much as takes place in certain late-night bars throughout the world today sans vierges. All of this activity would ward off evil spirits and prepare and refresh one for the New Year, which started on the first day of March. How on earth sensible male-dominated society managed to allow this to be turned on its head is a mystery.

OF COURSE, ONE CAN SIMPLY try to avoid Valentine’s Day and its ensuing stress. But – alas! – today we do have newspapers, and television; and failing that there are shops, most of which have windows – all of which serve to remind even the dizziest and most scatter-brained lady that a present should be coming her way. Time was when a chap could slip away to one’s mountain retreat, shroud oneself in rural activities, such as overseeing the planting of the Easter vegetables, or spend some time in the decanting shed, and Valentine would stay off one’s mind; unfortunately, the dégringolade of standards in modern life has allowed brash commercialism to occupy sub-post-office windows with cute teddy bears bearing tinfoil hearts on their chests, encouraging us to wear ours on our sleeves.


THE PITFALLS OF THE PERIOD are myriad and fathomless. The first challenge is to avoid the “Don’t buy me anything” form of attack. This phrase is meta-talk for “If you don’t buy me anything I will make your life hell.” One should study hard before accepting or not this phrase at face value. If one is still having regular sex with one’s wife, cleaning lady or mistress, or all three, then this should be ignored toties quoties. If not, then the option can be taken up, but with some apprehension.

THE SECOND MAJOR PROBLEM is the “what to buy” issue. One should never ask a lady what she wants as a present unless one wishes to make it patently clear that she is no more than a whore in one’s opinion, in which case the most civilised manner of dealing with the situation would be to hand over a few hundred pounds in cash and tell her to get off to a shop and buy herself something skimpy or smelly (or perhaps both). If one actually feels any genuine affection for any of the triumvirate, then this approach should be avoided coûte que coûte.


IF ONE, DUE TO A lapsus linguae, lets slip the question, then the gentleman may be asking “What would you like?” but the receiver might often understand the following: “I really don’t know you very well, and I don’t care very much about the fact.” This is definitely not good form, and will often result in the dangers hinted at in the above paragraph. Yet, as good old Valentine knew, you can never go wrong with a bunch of roses; the thorny bit is what else to buy. And to make sure that one does not give the present for the wife to the mistress, nor the one for one’s domestic cleaner to one's wife.

ECCE HOMO: NEC QUARIT NEC DICIT

(FIRST OF ALL, MY APOLOGIES are needed after a long absence. This has been due to the fact that for some reason which escapes me someone found offence in my essays and “reported me” to the good people who provide the platform upon which I write. Apparently the latter have looked into the matter and found that I can continue reporting on the facts as I see them, with no wish to offend anyone. And so:)


SHOWBUSINESS, IN THE GOOD CITY of San Francisco, or perhaps in the comfy homes and knitting circles of New Hampshire apart, it is rare to see our newspapers taking such interest in the “rights” of homosexuals as in their outpourings of late. To some extent this has to do with recent statements made by Pope Benedict XVI, or “Nazi Ratsy” as he is known in the popular press in the United Kingdom.


THE GOOD LEADER OF CATHOLICS is soon to bless the shores of Britain in a visit to the five million Roman Catholics in England and Wales to find out “how they are doing”, although sneakier opinions suggest the real aim is to try to convince the rather more numerous “deviant” churches to join in the big Vatican party, something which is in the process of happening as a good swathe of the Anglican middle classes become increasingly horrified at seeing their lesbian bishops holding hands in the streets or their gay vicars cuddling each other before and after service, if I am allowed the pun.


AS A PREPARATION FOR HIS VISIT, Benedict has issued a Latin warning to the British government about its aberrant proposal for a law obliging the Catholic Church to follow the Civil Law of the land: i.e. not to discriminate due to sex, religion or sexual orientation when “hiring” or “advertising a position” for a priest. Benedict XVI states that this legislation runs “counter to natural law, and imposes unjust limitations on the freedom of religious communities to act in accordance with their beliefs”, which is well and good, but has anyone ever seen an “advert” for the position of a priest in the classifieds?


IN THE MEANTIME, ANOTHER POPULAR WORLD LEADER, Barack Obama, is again come to grips with the knotty issue of the openness of homosexuals in the United States Armed Forces. Not content with following Bill Clinton’s happy “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy, Obama is considering allowing open homosexuality in order not to “force young men and women to lie” about their sexuality while they are bombing, torpedoing or shooting people around the world. Opposition on this from inside the forces, headed politically by Senator John McCain, is similar to the Pope’s view for the Catholic Church: the Military, like the Church, is not the same as civilian life, and so the rules must be different.


FURTHER NEWS ON HOMOSEXUAL RIGHTS today involve the case of Malaysian opposition leader Datuk Seri Anwar Ibrahim, once again on trial for sodomy, or “sex against the order of nature”, as it is cutely put in Malaysian law, for which he may face twenty years in jail, according to the Malaysian National Express. The sticking point in the trial proceedings involves the method used by the prosecution to prove that penetration of another male had actually taken place. No doubt they will find a way. But these three events do serve a serious purpose in order to explain the enormous gaps existing between our Western civilian, religious and military societies, and society in general in the Muslim world. Many of us in the West must be bewildered about homosexuals being hanged in Egypt, stoned and whipped in Iran and occasionally beheaded in more seriously Muslim countries; they must find it equally odd to see us having our religious leaders and generals openly behaving as homosexuals. The colourfields on the map above will allow one to find out where one is best advised to avoid getting one's peers into trouble.

ALARMIST WHO-HAA

CLIMATE CHANGE AND SWINE FLU LOVERS will be bitterly disappointed this week in the wake of the distressing news that the alarmist hoo-haa surrounding these two momentous events in the life of the planet are nothing more than a little hot air and a cleverly-fabricated scam on the part of ailing medical giants Pfizer and GlaxoSmithKline, that loveable drugs producer founded in Bunnythorpe, New Zealand. When even the ineffectual Council of Europe sees its slumbering members awake from their dozing to produce a report questioning the veracity of the World Health Organization’s report on Swine Flu then we should see that the game is up, as policemen often say on television.


NOW WE KNOW THAT THE FIGURES underlying the statements made by Margaret Chan (see Sunday Morning, April 30th 2009) were “sexed up” in order to make governments panic and buy enormous quantities of useless medicines that no one is interested in having administered by injection into their fair and lily-white members. One wonders how Ban-ki “Slippery Eel” Moon feels after having stated that “at least a third” of the world would be suffering, if not dead – and thus no longer suffering, one presumes – by last October.


NOW WE HAVE THE NEWS that Nobel-winning statuesque politician Al Gore lied about the numbers and statistics behind his claims that the Arctic Circle would be as ice-free as the Mediterranean in five years. He stated yesterday, after having been “shopped” by Dr Wieslaw Maslowski, that he had made “a mistake” over his predictions. Gore’s admission leaves only two “authorities” that still defend the alarming claims made in the nineties.


ONE OF THESE IS THE IPCC, the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. Yesterday, however, we discovered that the Chairman of this august organ, Dr Rajendra “Big Thinker” Pachauri (pictured above), far from being a “climate change expert”, whatever that is, is a former railway engineer with no background in science whatsoever. And yesterday the IPCC itself admitted that it had “exaggerated” and “speculated on” available information. Science fiction, therefore. The worst exaggeration appears to have been the panel’s statement that all the hundreds of feet thick glaciers in the Himalayas would melt “within a few years” if the temperature increases by 1ºC. These people should come to my house and help me defrost my freezer sometime.


SO WE ARE BASICALLY LEFT WITH PRINCE CHARLES; and we know what that means. Personally, I am pleased to see that the world is coming round to my sensible point of view. Over the last few years there have been few people on my side. However, I would recommend one to read Joanne Nova, on www.joannenova.com.au She describes herself as a “professional skeptic”, but I have my doubts.

THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD

I CAN OFFER NO APOLOGY for my reneging on what has managed to become seen as my duties of late, but a tight schedule for getting a chapter ready for proof-reading before publication and an emergency at the college at which I am a sometime teacher, involving me having to help the Dean in his duties, managed to bog me down somewhat over this blisteringly cold yuletide season. One might also state that there has been precious little worth writing about in the field of politics of late.


ALL OF THIS SEEMS TO BE CHANGING now as the New Year starts to “kick in”. Seeing as elections in the UK are sneaking ever closer, nerves are a-starting a-jangling among our beloved leaders and honest representatives. Even the most optimistic polls published in the tidier newspapers suggest that one third to four fifths of the present occupants of the Mother of All Parliaments will be looking for alternative ways of earning a living after the suffrage. We even have scandals of a heterosexual nature emerging from Ireland, which is a pointer towards interesting developments in the future.


BUT THE BIG NEWS OF THE DAY has to be the long-awaited appearance of Alastair “I know where you live, you scumbag” Campbell before the goodly gentlemen and refined ladies who make up the panel of the Iraq Inquiry in their laughable bid to find out the “truth” behind Britain’s – and particularly Tony Blair’s – decision to go to war against Iraq on the flimsiest of details.


IF ANYONE THOUGHT THAT CAMPBELL would play the game of these effete dullards and break down in tears after a soft rating then this is because they have never been to Burnley. Campbell stood his ground, stuck to his guns and stiffed the panel up for its arrogance. Leaving them all “stymied” at best. We all know that Tony Blair went to war in Iraq in order to get his name written down as a war hero on the pages of history, and that he needed someone smart, sleek and intelligent to present and sell his image – and there was no way he would find anyone fitting this description among the elected anoraks of the Labour Party. I think today’s performance is a hats off and trebles all round day for Blair and co., and Campbell did not leave without a fairly stiff digit being pointed in the direction of the hapless Gordon Brown.

THE FUTURE NOW

I MUST FIRST ESTABLISH THE TONE FOR THE NEXT few weeks of badinage by wishing all the good people who assume themselves as being kept under some kind of umbrella term meaning my “friends” the very best for the coming year. As miserably as most of them seem to have done in 2009, unless the planet is invaded by some money-eating bug, the year 2010 ought to be better.


YET I AM AMUSED TODAY as I loll on my four-poster bed in a manor house hotel in the charming city of Évora, in southern Portugal, flipping through the TV channels, by the insight set forth by one Watts Wacker, an apparent “futurist”, no doubt from California, who is so confident about what he knows the future will be that he doesn’t have to appear even semi-respectable today.


MR WATTS WACKER has been telling the obviously face-lifted presenter of CNN Today that the “next decade” will “see us living a future that we couldn’t have imagined ten years ago”. Of course one, at a stretch, can in fact glean some intelligence out of this absurd construction, but my point is that this could have been stated at any time in history by anyone.

FUTURISTS, GOD BLESS THEM, TEND TO OVEREGG THE PUDDING in their predictions, as was made clear in the little vignette presented by CNN about how different generations in the past have imagined what life would be like in 2010. Most of these predictions have seen us dressed in bright-coloured, tight-fitting nylon suits, with no sign of genitalia or mammaries, speaking in clipped monotones, riding around through space on sparkling, dildo-shaped devices, with cute little vacuum-cleaner size robots with names like UB40 or R2FU quacking as they buzz around flashing lights while we just look out the window at the candy-floss of the universe floating by to the sound of music by Strauss, and then we have our weekly 30 seconds of sex over the phone in a little egg-shaped cubicle.


WITH THE POSSIBLE EXCEPTION OF THE SEX OVER THE PHONE prediction, none of this has come true. Yet we persist in our desire to predict. My own view of the future. which is obviously not as inspired as Wacker’s, is that if we continue to allow ourselves to be governed by the half-wits and outright, bare-faced robbers who have been running the USA, the UK and the soi-disant EU for the last thirty years then we will end up not with JetPacs on out backs, flitting about from penthouse to heliport, but at each other’s throats over who gets to share the last potato in the pot. In homage to all “futurists”, I leave you with a little sketch by Van Gogh which shows us Gordon Brown's Britain in 2020.