Papers

It takes quite something for the Mail and the Telegraph, those organs of the ideological right wing, to act as flypaper to entrap a Conservative Prime Minister, but that is what they are in the process of doing to our pestilential leader. 

They were happy to give space to a report sent to Boris's father by his Master in College at Eton (when BoJo was 17) stating: Boris really has adopted a disgracefully cavalier attitude to his classical studies. It is a question of priorities, which most of his colleagues have no difficulty in sorting out. Boris sometimes seems affronted when criticised for what amounts to a gross failure of responsibility (and surprised at the same time that he was not appointed Captain of the School for next half). I think he honestly believes it is churlish of us not to regard him as an exception, one who should be free of the network of obligation which binds everyone else.

As the boy, so the man - cavalier, gross failure of responsibility, believes himself to be free of the network of obligations, narcissistic, lacking in morals and scruples. "Wait", you say. "Lacking morals and scruples?" Indeed, sacked - if you didn't know - by his newspaper, the Times, when he was a journalist in the late 1980s for fabricating (i.e. making stuff up, including supposed quotes). Some might call that lying. Oh, and sacked again, this time by the Leader of the Conservatives after he had become an MP in the early 1990s, for lying about an extra-marital affair.

"But he has competencies", you urge. "He was Foreign Secretary." Indeed he was, the worst in living memory according to insiders at the Foreign Office. Not the least of his many gaffes in the role was the ill-advised statement he made about Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe, which gave the Iranian government grounds for arresting and imprisoning her on a charge of espionage. She is still being held captive in Tehran five years on. When a leading FO diplomat was quizzed about Johnson he observed "...the thing you learn about Boris - everything is always about him." When pressed about Johnson as a possible PM he merely said "If he was not expected to run anything, it could work."

And so to Downing Street, with his last mistress now his wife, in a flat the cost of refurbishing which is still shrouded in confusion, and those lockdown busting parties which he said didn't happen. And if they did happen, he wasn't at them. And if he was at them, it was only once and for a few moments. And if it was more than once, they were work events with wine (a lot of it) and cheese (plenty of that). And never in his private flat, except on occasions. And never with people other than his immediate social bubble, though there is plenty of evidence to the contrary.

So the liar Boris Johnson, after weeks of winging it, has finally been served with papers by the Metropolitan Police asking him to account for his actions on a number of specified occasions in a number of specified locations to help them with their enquiries into how many times he broke the law - that is, rules his own government imposed upon the rest of us. I hope it will confirm how many lies upon lies Boris the Fly has peddled. May he never be allowed to escape the consequences.

Boris the Fly

My poem on topic...

Ambushed By Cake

(warning: may contain Nut-Nuts)

I didn't think it was a party, just another

work affair with cake and champagne.

Yes, there were thirty people there

including my wife and the woman

who's re-designing our flat. Am I 

paying for that? But I didn't think

it was a party. There were no strippers,

there was no cocaine, it was all very low-key.

All my affairs are always work affairs

with cake and champagne, just ask Carrie.

But I didn't think it was a party. I didn't think.

And now this. Those ridiculous headlines

in the press: Ambushed by Cake at Partygate.

The Telegraph and Mail for God's sake.

They're supposed to be on my side,

to have my back, the thankless hacks,

after all the work events they've been invited to!

At least it's clear it's not my fault. None of this.

I've seen those movies in which a hapless

mobster gets blown away by the gunman

hiding in the gateau - we have more class.

They all stood round me, smiling faces,

glasses raised, singing Happy Birthday

like I told everyone to do while washing their hands.

Is that what they were doing, metaphorically?

The ungrateful bastards, hoisting poor Boris

with his own petard. Have they no shame?

Did they forget I nearly died for them?

Fuck it! I lied to get here and I'll lie to stay.

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Claims - What Did You Do, Radio 2?

I got a bit mad recently. Not red and raging, just a niggle that exploded and set me off looking for answers Victor Meldrew style.

It started off with Radio 2’s Pick of the Pops on Saturday afternoons. It fits just nicely between having lunch and watching the football – Blackpool FC on iFollow, home and away – and it is fun to guess what might be in the chosen Top Ten. I don’t claim to be a pop music buff but I grew up with a jukebox filtering through from the pub downstairs and a mum who liked her records so I was drip-fed the hits of the time. Over a few Saturdays, I grew disappointed that the ‘early hit-lists’ were from the ‘80s. I became more dismayed upon looking up pre-arranged schedules to discover only music charts from the ‘80s onwards were included. Anything after about 1985 is lost on me, unless it is something specific which attracted me. Horrified, I emailed BBC Radio 2, which claims to be the most listened to music radio station in the UK, politely asking if the chosen years were random or hand-picked and also making them aware that I am familiar with Sounds of the Seventies, Johnnie Walker and Sounds of the Sixties, Tony Blackburn, before they point me in that direction.

My email failed to warrant a reply, but, around that time someone had aired a complaint to Points of View along the same lines, and the reply from the Beeb explained that the BBC Radio 2 playlist covered forty years, from 1980. A similar announcement was made in the papers and said pre 1980 recordings would still be occasionally included, but would not be part of the main play-list. This was for everything, not just Pick of the Pops. Well, cheers, thanks for that. I switched from Radio 1 to Radio 2 for a reason, and now it seems they are one and the same. I’m not ready for Radio 3 all the time and Radio 4, though excellent, isn’t good for a morning sing in the shower.  I’m sure Zoe Ball is lovely, but I haven’t latched on to her taste in music.

I think I will have to explore Greatest Hits Radio, Absolute Radio or something similar for the bathroom radio. Wait a minute, Pick of the Pops on Saturday, 7th May, features 1969, yippee, lucky me. If anything can calm me down, the hits from '69 can.

My Haiku poem

Where is the music?
Where have all the good songs gone?
Eliminated.

Taken, just like that.
BBC Radio 2
Made the decision,

All pre ‘80s out,
Off the regular play-list.
Claims lack of int’rest.

PMW 2021

Thanks for reading and if you're venturing into the outdoors, please take care, Pam x

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Cafe Nostalgia

Cafe Nostalgia

It’s just another Sunday morning in Southport, 
Carpe Diem is what I was taught, 
I’m rolling solo in the Uni-qlo polo,
Café Nostalgia on Lord Street, 
Time to catch up on what happened in the week, 
Sun is shining so I got on my shades, 
Pencil line beard with the blended fade, 
Waitress serves me like Wimbledon, 
She got me drooling like a Simpleton,
You look so good in this venue, 
So I ordered something off the menu, 
A Tuna Melt with a dash of mayo,
Washed down with a double shot of espresso, 
A few seats away, sat this blonde with the Caramel Latte, 
I dropped my shades and had a little glance, 
She was eating that bread that comes from France, 
She was at alone and the table was for two, 
So I looked at myself and thought what to do, 
I learnt in a film called we bought a zoo, 
All you need is 20 seconds of insane bravery, 
And something beautiful will happen trust me,
So I made my move, stepped to her like I was in the groove, 
Would you mind if I join you, coz in this area I’m kind of new
In the shop it was just us two, 
She was dressed in a pair of converse, and slim fit jeans, 
Long sleeved crop top showing off her tummy if you know what I mean, 
Slim trim abs got that appeal, kind of girl that would go halves on the bill,
I asked her if she wanted another round, 
Because the last shot I just downed, 
She truly obliged, another caramel latte is what she replied, 
I ordered a hot chocolate and a slice of cheese cake, 
After all last impressions is what I’m trying to make, 
Discussion was minimal, kept it on point like a decimal, 
For once I chose to listen rather than interrupt, 
I got a habit of butting in and sounding abrupt, 
Breakfast turned to Lunch, 
Shop started getting busy as people formed a queue, 
And that was my cue to leave, so we agreed, 
It was nice meeting you some nice downtime,
It would be good to do this again sometime 
I began to fidget, as I asked her for the digits, 
It started with 07, as I got all 11, 
See it all started it with a latte, 
And that’s the story of a blonde in the café,

Abdulicious 2014

Refreshment is the theme of the week and I found this refreshing to write to be honest. If you're not aware of my style of writing, well it's Street & Sweet. Since moving to Southport I have had to make things interesting for myself. I love spending Sundays visiting tea rooms and coffee shops. I like to visit shops that have a funky name. This time I visited Nostalgia Tea Rooms on Lord Street, a classic layout, as I am fairly new to the area I have to make new friends myself. 

The waitress was cute I must admit but it's Sunday morning, you have to take the time and place into consideration, I cant just start hitting on her straight away. I made light conversation with her and ordered a tuna melt and some espresso. Got talking to her about how small Southport is and coming from a city like London it is something that takes a while to get used to. So I sat down and started reading the paper for a while. 

It was a quiet morning. I was the only guy in the shop until this eloquent blonde walked in. I gave it 15 minutes and thought to myself, I am sat here alone and she is the only other person in the shop on a Sunday morning. It’s quite refreshing talking to someone who does not have a hangover on a Sunday morning. And that’s how the poem came about. 

It takes guts walking over to a total stranger and making conversation but nothing ventured the nothing gained. My focus from July is to meet new people I have been here since April and I have realised friendship is something you have to make it does not come just like that. 

Until next week have a good week ahead. A refreshing drink with a refreshing girl is not a bad way to end the week.

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