I'm.....So....Ronery...

The more I hear about Gordo the Broon, the more he is sounding like the famous Dear Leader. So much so, I shall refer to him as such from now on.
He has his teeth done with out anaesthetic, hits 18 holes in one, and trots out Tractor productioneseque statistics telling us we are all better off… as if.

No, not only is he Stalinist in his methods, but we have drifted into the sort of state we used to laugh at. But I hear a collective silence from the fourth estate media.
It still goes on about how the country was ruined in the 80s and that it was the worst thing that ever happened to us, and generally supporting the current left wing narrative that he spouts. I have been thinking about why.

To many commentators in the 5th estate we do see it clearly. We see that the liberalisation of our markets and opening up the city and all that feeds of her massive money generation took us from a sort of bottom dwelling nation of strikes, failures, massive structural problems and SuperTax to a place we can do business, as everyone seems to take for granted today.
I have been thinking about why we see this clearly, and they don't.

I believe it is because they genuinely do not grasp what happened

For many years when the country was converted from a failed central nationalised state (Sick man of Europe In 1979) to the financial powerhouse of Europe (4th largest in the world and most competitive in 1997) the state ran everything. At the time they started it, it was believed that the Man in Whitehall knew better than us.

The Man in Whitehall could see to it that it was all 'fair' (rationed) and that suits the Social theory.

As with all the great 'Social' experiments, it failed. Mainly because it took away the threat of bankruptcy and the motive of profit.

Interestingly - people almost always act in self interest - which is why liberalisation works - but on a macro scale. Macro economic solutions (The state cannot afford to keep a car plant open purely to provide jobs for car workers) are hard to sell at the 'Social Justice' level of the scale (I've lost my job at the car plant - and he works in a bank and drives a Porsche - it's not fair!).

The social justice industry is built on this precept.

If someone has what you do not, it is not fair. The bigger the gap, the less 'fair' it is. The City booming when freed from shackles and miners going unemployed is seen as unfair - but somehow charging me a fortune in tax to pay for a miner to sit around not digging coal is fair. Because he is poor and in a marginal Labour seat.

Lets turn this on it's head. If we charged nurses 85% tax to keep redundant stock brokers in a job - would that be seen as fair? Of course not - because nurses are hard workers and bankers rich gits. If you believe in a free economy, you will know that is nonsense, and the more rich bankers you have the more money is available ultimately for nurses and the like.

If you believe in a commanded economy, then all you can understand is that if someone has a lot of something, the system has failed because someone else has less…..and natural to assume that the former is doing it at the expense of the latter.

On this theory 'Social Justice' is built. Making the wiring of the commanded economy fair, or putting those wirers in to a liberal economy. The problem that brings is that the addition of these instruments of state add nothing to the productivity of the nation as a whole, and delivers benefits in diminishing returns.

Clinging to the Socialist ideology - they keep trying harder as the ship slowly sinks, in the vain belief that if we just try a bit harder, tax a bit more, few more laws, then it will work a bit. As it slows down, and things like order, families and communities breakdown, self interest takes over, whether that self interest is economically literate or not - it will start to try and defend it's interests. Hence strikes and massive demands from the Public Sector for more money feeding the fires of collapse around it.

Thatcher gave us a modern liberal economy from the ashes of a failed state in 10 scant years. It is happening all over Eastern Europe right now. The process of liberalising it means cutting out all those heavy chains of the Social Justice industry and letting solutions on a macro scale solve the real issues that Social Justice tries to address - i.e.: Poverty. You just have to get over the fact that some people are going to have more than you, life isn't fair, and if you try and make it fair, it doesn't actually work.

The problem is that isn't a nice easy to grasp idea. It isn't an idea at all. Socialism is an idea, and Libertarianism is only knowing that Socialism doesn't work. If you haven't understood that - and outside of the BBC or the Public Sector or have never had to work your way up, you rarely do have to grasp it, you will only see those years of one of unemployment and upheaval. If you can only see the micro-scale (my local shipyard has closed) you will never see the macro scale (The country has a massively large more economy than in 1978).

All you see is long dole queues, and miners on strike, and less state handouts. If you are part of the Social Justice industry, the public sector or the BBC, then it was a nightmare.
For those of us who generate wealth - wealth on which they dine, it was the shackles coming off of us, and allowing us to work for ourselves for once.

Twenty five years ago, when the memory of the 70s was fresh - Thatcher, Howe and Joseph re-built the country brick by brick, faced down an aggressive dictatorship and fought and won a noble war overseas. She came to power on a wave of euphoria delivered by Britain's working classes.

But seduced by a generation of social justice message, people have forgotten what really happened, history is being viewed through Labour tinted spectacles. The debacle of Major's collapse was not the glory days of Thatcher. The corruption of Labour now makes Hamilton taking a brown envelope to ask a question in the house look honest.

But when Broon goes on spouting his ever more spurious statistics, the MSM coo and bleat about how brilliant he is, and how life fits his statistics. It is no great leap to him getting 18 hole-in-ones, and living like Kim Jong Il. Everyone gets told how well off they are, but no one believes it. The first step is when the public see through the lies. No we are not better off from his tax rises, and he may trot out his stories about more of this and more of that - but it is now like tractor production in the Urals.
All we need is an image of him in a Chairman Mao suit, with a shark tank and a little song about being lonely, and the image is complete.
He has presided over a slide in everything other than public borrowing and public sector employment. It will not be long until we are back where we started.

Phew. That's better. Rant over.

You will, you will, you will

I found myself in T'North again, last night. I am currently taking rooms at a pleasant establishment with the traditional charms of the Olde English hotel - with special attention paid to 'feature plumbing'.
I much prefer this to the ghastly realms of the modern hotels - with their sterile rooms lack of minibar and atrocious food.

Having checked in, made my toilet a set abut exploring the premises. The Lounge was filled with deep armchairs which oozed long hours of brandy hazed Morpheus, but these were encumbered with a handful of commercial types talking about sales targets. I wend my way to the bar.

Keen young chap serves me with a creditable Bloody Mary. Worth mentioning that at one establishment I stayed in, the fellow had to go and look the ingredients up.

A deep draught of the hot spicy nectar revived my spirits somewhat, and my eye roved unto the menu.

Hello! Thinks I, pinching myself. I have surely died and ascended to the realm of choir invisible.

It took no time at all to decide upon Scallops with Black Pudding Quails scotch eggs, followed by Hare Wellington. Placing an order, I celebrated this by polishing off the bloody mary and ordering a large glass of claret while I perused the wine list.
Spotting a Brouilly, I asked the chap if I could see the label.
'I shall go an get it form the fridge, sir, It should just be at the right temperature for your main course then.'

That pretty much sealed it - someone who knows how to keep a Beaujolais and a menu like this. This almost made up for being away from home.

So I settled in with my Telegraph and polishing off my claret at my table in the cellar bar when I heard a polite yet somewhat loud cough from above me.
Glances upwards to behold an elderly fellow dressed in a priests garb. Lack of corduroy, and the glass of red wine indicated that there was a strong chance he was involved in Papism.
'Do you mind if I talk to you?' Thick southern Irish brogue, somewhat slurred through drink, soup stains on jacket, inaccurately shaved.
A Papist, indeed, but worse than that, he sounded a little too like 'Father Jack' from 'Father Ted' for a straight face to be maintained.
'Please Do', says I. Not wishing to make game of him, but thinking it would be rude to refuse and he may have something interesting to say.

He swayed down to a sitting position as my starter arrived.
"Have ye noticed that there are many pictures in honour of Madam Bollinger in her, sir?" he slurred wafts on claret fumes in my direction.

"No". I hadn't. (There were none at all, by the way)

"Well, sir, she is cursed by her workers, for she travels amongst her vineyards on a bicycle!"
(Uh-oh - I know where this is going…)

"A bicycle?"

'"No less! And would you want to know why?"
(Not really)

"Indeed," said I " For I imagine a Range Rover would be more in keeping."

"She does it to catch her workers asleep, the villain!"

He has been clearly saving this corker up for suitable occasions, to dine or drink out on.

"They are her employees, though…….she obviously pays them to work."
(Idle sods)

"Well yes," he said, "but I think this underlines some of the fundamental differences between the values of certain faiths, for she is almost certainly of a Lutheran persuasion, for they are so heavily attached to work as a virtue!"
(I am now on craggy island, and I am faced with a religious question so Father Jack to Father Jack I said)


"That would be an ecumenical matter."
(Oh god, I am going to laugh, I know. Legs cross, bite lip)

He paused while he rolled the words silently around his mouth and thought he would challenge me. But then spied my newly arrived Brouilly.

(Phew)

"Interesting," he stumbled, "I couldn't have a spot of your excellent looking wine? Blessings be upon you"

He may well have just staggered over and said:
"DRINK!"

I was walking, down the High Street, and I heard this voice behind me.....

I'm going to call the Gnome Secretary about This! .

The Real Cost of Living.

Worried that the so called Consumer Price index doesn't reflect the real cost of your lifestyle?
Simply substitute the frozen pizzas, oven chips, chicken kievs, monster munch, sunny delight, cheap lager, and iPods with the items here! .

Guess what I am doing later?

Yes, gardening.

Then popping up to Angels-five to have a bang at the villains.

Yes, I know it is a bit gratuitous, but this is free speech.

In the mean time, the lefties can wring their hands, read the Independant, rage at their inadequacies and just wish it was 'all a bit fairer'.

Spring is Sprung, de grass is riz, I wonder where de boidies is?

Picture the scene.
I and some like minded companions had been 'out' on the town.... a heady mix of music, champagne and other things of which Nanny would frown. A moment of spring sunshine gleams through the window and we are gripped by an urge to go outside and savour the morning air.

Being close to Crystal Palace park an obvious mission to go and frolic amongst the Dinosaurs in state of high minded chemically induced delirium was a clear option.
What could be better than playing on the swings with giant Dinos in our psychedelic state and get a blast of fresh sunshine at 5 am? (Other than running in to members of the general public raising a disapproving eyebrow at us)

As we skipped gaily amongst the budding flowers and congratulated ourselves with the wonder and genius of our own plans, a raucous squawking drew our beadies heavenwards.

One of the many trees in the park was festooned with bright green birds. Loud bright green birds.

'What birds are they?' Intoned one of my female companions.
Being a chap of the Colonies, the wonders of the Orient are no stranger to me.
'Come my dear, they are Parakeets'.
This was met immediately by gales of laughter at what they thought was a ludicrous suggestion.
'In London?' they chanted in unison.
At this, startled, the avians took as one to the wing - whereupon the plumed splendour, long tails and unique visage was apparent.
Open mouthed wonder abounded.

We rushed back with tales of tropical amazment - again met with derision, and derison to this day....until now.

One of the burdens of a genius of my level is that often you make statements that you know are correct, but take many years of doubt as the glacial awareness of the minions attempt to grasp what the devil you are going on about.

So, to all ye who doubted - read it and weep. .

Good enough if you are a Kiwi, but we must be protected from it

More hysteria fulminating in the press, radio interweb today.
This time it is about the age old question as to whether or not we can be trusted with moderation.

Now, as you know, this chap likes nothing more than to fry his brains to Elysium on most of the substances the good Lord gave us neurotransmitter receptors for.

One such item I have come across in my travels is BZP or 'Herbals'
What is interesting about this story .is that the usual nannyists have wheeled out a tame vox-pop to state that she:
'I felt ill in five minutes'.

Really?

These things take an hour to dissolve in your stomach. She then goes on to have spent two days in hospital and two weeks off work.
That’s right - she took a worming tablet and spent two whole weeks off work. And suffered flashbacks.
Nothing to say this was an allergic reaction or anything.
My experience of these things is that you are able to get up and go to work the next day. She does point out that it takes her 'all her time to swallow a paracetomol.'
This individual is clearly a delicate flower - and yet these are the opinions being used to shape public viewpoints?

Yet again - more hysteria being promoted about the toxicologically safe, yet outside the reach of the tax-grabbers, and therefore 'Evil'. As with most of this country's policy on drugs, it is shaped not by reason, but by the eye catching headline.

Interestingly whilst Nanny's mouthpieces deride these things as unsafe - New Zealand sell them over the counter in licensed premises legally, manufactured legally, and sold with health guidelines and recovery items. No recorded deaths or injuries either.
The ones in the picture appear to be the very ones sold in New Zealand.

So - another case of Nanny saying things being far too dangerous for us here, yet perfectly safe for the colonies?

Blinded by the light!

Now the ZanuLab conspiracy which runs our crumbling land would have us believe that those coves over in Europe (Pronounce it 'Yurp' to really bait the lefties..) are master gizmos at transport, and that they know all there is to know about the Autobahn.
Can they explain why I spent 6 hours in jams only in Germany.
Dual-cabbageways almost exclusively, and they can't make up their mind if they are using 'E' or 'A' nomeclature.

As much as it sticks in this chap's craw - I breathed a heady sigh of relief when I crossed the frontier into Belgium. An extra lane, fully lit and wider on all counts. Managed to get the old Alvis up to just under warp 9 as well. Cracking.

Have been back a while, but as is the way with these things - events, dear boy, events - soon take over, and I have had my face pressed up against glass of the window of life while I get everything sorted after taking a week out to play with Walter and the Abominable Strudelmen.

Big grey doesn't change though - always plenty to keep the hamster wheel a-spinning.

I will say though that spring for me has sprung, as the old conk is back on sniffle duty. Nothing to do with the Bolivians but it is the pollen that has made a comeback from hiding 'neath winters chill shroud.
Makes the country look rather comely from 2000' though and it reminds me how lucky I am to have the wit and ability to drag myself out of bed and make something of my life - instead of slothing it up on benefits and dissolving into a diet of Tea and Tricia.

Funny time of year for me though - the barky is out for her careening session as well. So I have DIY at home and afloat - a thought enough to bring down a fistula - or a serious bout of duvet lassitude.

So - to get me back in the swing of writing again....

In a piece of startling insight the government has discovered the answer to overcrowding on the trains . Yes, that’s it, put more carriages on them. Soon they will run them along the M4 bus lane.
Ten long years of careful study has shown our betters what should have been blatantly obvious to anyone who can count past three on one hand. Mind you, this was Two-Jags job when he started, wasn't it? All of a sudden you can understand that the cogs have ground themselves to dust on this one.

In other blinding flashes of common sense, the government will announce that ID cards are a waste of time and that we would be idiots not to have nukes with the Froggies still hanging on to theirs.
Given some of our lot's way - we would have Madam Guillotine in Picadilly and those filthy whiggish swine over here, eating our women, burning our babies and raping our cattle.

Counter-revolutionary lickspittle running-dog swine!

I am delighted to discover that some fellow in China has deemed that I am too disturbing to be read. I have been BANNED IN CHINA.

Find out if you are a revisionist CIA conspirator like me.

Gosh. I am honoured.

Fill her up please my good man!

Ischgl

Have you noticed that all the political coves have dropped of the radar while we worry about petrol?
Stunning coincidence methinks. When the knocks get a bit hot over the Sith, Milburn and Clarke (has a ring to it, what? Like Humpty and Dumpty) slip some sugar and baking soda into the petrol supplies and bang, off the beeb's front pages faster than you can mutter 'state mouthpiece'.
This chap is not convinced. It is on the front pages at home, yet all the overseas press is still obsessed with the collapse of yet another socialist administration in the UK. You would think the great British Public would have learned by now, wouldn't ya?

Anyway - I owe a few namechecks to the coves I met out here.
Big warm hello from the blogsphere to the Midlands Ski club, who despite sitting a few feet from me everyday at brekkie, singularly faled to fill the amaretto glass. However, you all seemed nice chaps.

Extra special hello to the others -

James and Julie the newlyweds who despite deep snow and fresh air contrived to look pale and tragic.
Gothic skiing. The Sisters of Mercy remixing ski sunday. Classic.

To Kate (that name still makes me shudder) and her girlfriend Anna and the other two delightful gay girls in their company - Josephine and 'Bailey'.... May Ischgl remind you of an ice filled waterbed winter wonderland midnight love cruise to island of Lesbos.

So.

Me and the Alvis hit the road tomorrow. 9 hours of heated seats and lantern jawed dashing across Europe awaits. Just as well she runs of my own mix of avgas and tractor vapourising fluid.

I'm sick of strudel, schnitzel and schnapps. I need boiled sprouts, warm beer and plumbing which does not challenge you to check for fibre content.

Vexed

Ischgl
For some reason I have lost my hit counts and blog roll items. As the dasboard here is in German, I can't fathom how to fix it. Rest assured to my reciprocators I will repair it all when I am back in blighty.
Heavy on the pistes today as there was an astonishing amount of new snow. So much so that the anti-avalanche-artillery was in action.
It gives a satisfying 'crump' noise. Well from a distance anyway. Wouldn't want to find meself downhill of that lot.

To blighty tomorrow. The downside of using the tunnel is that one isn't given that welcoming sight of the white cliffs to know you are returning to decent beer, proper tea and dodgy petroleum. Someone probably slipped some scone-mix into it.

We are happy cows...we chew the cud and browse

Ischgl
Well dear reader I have been putty in the hands of Walter.
Walter has been mein Instruktor on the pistes for the last few days, and I have learned much. Mein angulation has improved, and das parallel turning and das kompression in the turning on das fall line is muchly improved too.

Now, I am at heart an indoor cove, unused to the great outdoors. Despite my stoical efforts, Walter saw I was suffering on the second day.

'Ja, das pain is güt mein herr, for your Englischer body is soft unt veak, and das pain teaches you to be alive!'

Conan the ski-instructor is alive and well.

After another blood curdling descent to what apeared to be certain death we were on a lift trundling back into the clouds.

I was wondering through a haze of endorphins what these fellows do when they haven't got tourists to shame. I struck up a conversation wit the chap, on a cheery note....

Now turns out he was an agricultural fellow - he farms sheep and cows in the valleys and high alpine pastures around here. In a feeble attempt to distract him from punishing me for my flabiness, I set about engaging him on a conversation about his cows.

For example - what breed are they, is it a dairy or beef herd? Are they Fresians for example?
At this, he made a spitting sound.
'Ach, zey are fat unt flabby breeds for the swampy countries like England or Nederlands. Zeir milch is not fit for das schweins no?'
He then laughed.
'Zey are hard mountain breed wiz strong shins for ze high pastures, zey eat little fodder, but give good Austrian Milch! Ja!'
He slaps his thighs and makes a fist gesture.
'Güt Milch for Austrian children to make strong bones so Austrian children grow to make fine skiers and strong farmers! Ze children in your country grow veak and flabby, but we are strong! Jawohl!'
It was a captivating display and I feared he would break into song. Possibly one involving uniforms and a bit of marching. You never know with Austrians.

'They sound like rather fetching beasts old boy - are they cozy in their winter stables?'

'Oh ja, zey are warm and and dry, and zey have ze calves wiz de big beautiful brown eyes, zey are proud beasts! I am proud of zem! Not flabby cows from ze lowlands, zey grow to be strong Austrian cows!'

'So Walter, what breed are they?'

'Zey are Jersey!'

Straight face.
No irony.

Couldn't make 'em up.

Sound fellow, and bloody good skier though.