The European Elections 2009

The European elections! Great! Another chance to elect someone I don’t know, have never met and have absolutely no idea if they’ve been doing a good job or not. My difficulty with the whole European Union business, is that I don’t understand it. It’s too complicated and would even go as far as to say it is deliberately complex so we, the electorate, are kept well away. I get the basics, in that we’re now a Mecca for the people of countries where the average wage is something along the lines of thrupence ha’penny, where there is little in the way of a welfare state and therefore many come here in search of a "better life".

The problem is with this "better life" business is that the age-old issue of money and class often has more to do with how people end up, regardless of where they live. Throwing open the borders and crossing fingers does not guarantee success for anyone. Someone with some cash and a good education behind them and enough language skills to land themselves a job with career prospects, stands a better chance anywhere than someone that hasn't.

Poorly managed immigration within the EU has created an under-class and those immigrants that struggle in the UK just have little here instead of having little where they came from, however, they’re now our problem.

What I think that many British people have an issue with, when it comes to matters European, is that we seem to do most of the giving and everyone else seems to do most of the taking i.e. we’ve been paying tax for decades to fund the welfare state, the NHS and so on, only for it to be used by people that haven’t been contributing anywhere near as long. The counter argument to this point is that this is a reciprocal arrangement that the British can take advantage of in other EU countries. For this to work, however, these other countries have to have something that attracts us to them in the way they seem to be attracted to us.

Do you see gangs of migrant working Brits heading off to clean the Krakow Travel Lodge? Not very likely or certainly not very many. When all this is happening, our elected politicians seem to stand idly by, watching and hiding behind the chaos instead of looking after the interests of those that were born here.

So, Jacqui Smith's husband.......

So, Jacqui Smith’s husband likes to kick-back on the sofa with few beers, an empty house and a naughty movie or two. Now, if a chap’s going to confess to the Missis that the box of Kleenex on the sideboard isn’t just for blowing his nose, having it end up in the papers probably isn’t the best way to avoid a good few months of sleeping in the spare-room. However, considering the fact that Jacqui’s hubby managed to get the country to pay for his shenanigans as well, then you have to admire his balls if you take my meaning.

When it comes to occurrences like this, I have to say that I’m no longer shocked nowadays. I don’t even get that steamed up about it anymore. As it came hot on the heels of the second homes episode, I think I have now reached that point where nothing surprises me. Certainly nothing seems to raise my eyebrows, when it comes to the behind closed doors antics of MPs and those that they allow access to the cash both you and I have gone to work to earn and done a job that they probably wouldn’t do. Probably because they wouldn’t know how too. At the end of the day, most MPs seem pretty unemployable, knowing little about the job they’ve been given. I don’t see how any of them would last very long in the real world, so is it any wonder that they seem to have absolutely no idea what actually goes on there ?

I think if it was revealed in tomorrow’s newspapers that Gordon Brown has a £200 a day coke habit, claimed on expenses of course, and the whole of the inside of Number 10 stinks of the weed smoked in copious amounts during Cabinet meetings, I would merely shrug my shoulders and turn to the horoscopes. I’ve found in the past that getting wound-up about such things achieves nothing. It’s often all across the media for a day or two, with people like Jacqui
Smith trying various ways of getting the electorate/mugs that put up with everything back on side, before it‘s quietly shelved. Nothing gets resolved and something else, probably even worse, replaces it to get the nation stoked up for another few days of feeling totally ripped off. Nothing will change.

Gravy trains only stop long enough for people to get on them.

Four kids, four different dads.

When a mother of three children announces that she is expecting her fourth child with a man she isn't married to and who isn't the father of any of her other children, but he already has one of his own from a previous relationship, it's the sort of situation that has the editors of certain newspapers sharpening their talons as they prepare to swoop in for the kill. Mention the fact that, in this case, she isn't even twenty-four yet, lives on a council estate and has been giving birth garden-sprinkler style since she was in her school uniform and all that is missing for an edition of "Jeremy Kyle" is the lie detector test, some DNA results and a TV studio full of warring track-suited harridans, all competing for the affections of some slack-jawed, acne-ridden, inarticulate youth with missing teeth. This particular situation is so cliché as they are also very, but not totally, dependant on state benefits.

Unfortunately I’m not talking about an article splashed across one of the Sunday red-tops or the discussion topic on some radio phone-in somewhere, but this is just one example of real events happening to real people that I am seeing in growing numbers, with depressing regularity, with my own eyes. There is also the fact that very little thought or planning seems to have gone into whether or not they should be having anymore children. It’s just seen almost as something that was bound to happen sooner or later and that it’s now down to the local housing authority to find them the bigger house they need.

Although I see their reckless approach to such matters very hard to understand, what I find even harder to deal with is the fact that, as parents, they don’t seem to take their responsibilities as seriously as they should, with children seen as a inconvenience and a means to an end. However I wouldn’t say that they have deliberate intentions to ruin lives, it seems to be more the case that hope and ambition was never something that featured much in their own childhoods. Also we get so used these days to such families and nothing seems to shock us. It’s just a repeating pattern of what has gone before and, quite likely, will continue. Meanwhile, the rest of us seem unable to do anything other than watch.

What does that say about us ?

March Already.......

So, we’re nearly into March already and, hopefully, the rest of the world have stopped laughing at our rather pathetic attempts at dealing with the snow we had less than a month ago. According to Boris Johnson, we had the right kind of snow, just the wrong quantities. Thanks for that, Boris, you can go back to sleep now. Personally, I don’t think Britain would be Britain if such a natural occurrence as snow in winter didn’t rattle the very foundations of our infrastructure and throw everything into turmoil.

If, during milder winters, the Daily Wail had come across garages full of snow ploughs belonging to local councils, all pristine and pretty much unused, there would have been uproar about the scandalous waste of money. "Why is the taxpayers’ money being wasted in such a fashion? We hardly ever get snow!" they would thunder. As it is, everyone is moaning that the money wasn’t spent, just so that the snow ploughs could have been ready and swung into action on the rare occasions that they would have been needed. However, as this is Britain, had we had a fleet of dormant snow ploughs to come to the rescue during our few days of need, they probably would have all had flat batteries and flat tyres as no one would have thought to have started them up and gone for a trundle around the block now and then just to keep them roadworthy.

As inconvenient as it was for many people, I think that we have to accept that such weather is pretty rare and that we are just going to have to struggle through it as best we can as and when it happens. For me, it was a welcome change for everywhere to be so quiet and free of traffic and everyone seemed in a much better mood too. When total strangers have snow-ball fights and help to build snowmen, it can only be a good thing. It may have only lasted a few days, but I’m sure that many benefited from the time away from the rat-race and the extra time they could then spend with their loved ones. It was also enjoyable to see that whiskey-soaked soap-dodger, Gordon Brown, squirming with embarrassment in front of the Chinese Prime Minister as he had to try and explain why London seemed to have ground to a halt.

Karen Carpenter, who died 26 years ago today.

Twenty-six years ago today, American singer Karen Carpenter passed away after suffering heart-failure, brought on by her struggle with anorexia. She was just thirty-two years old.

Much has been written about her since her untimely death and there has also been much speculation. Speculation about whether or not she died having finally got a handle on what had been happening to her and was managing to turn a corner, or whether or not she was still firmly in the vice-like grip of a terrible condition. Prior to her death, Karen had been receiving treatment for her anorexia and seemed able to maintain her weight and eat regularly.

Karen had an appointment at her lawyer’s office on the afternoon of the 4th February 1983, to sign divorce papers to formally end her marriage to her husband, Tom Burris, whom she hadn’t seen since the November of 1981. After her visit to her lawyer’s office, Karen had been planning a shopping trip with her mother, Agnes, as well as a weekend away with her friend, Olivia Newton-John. It’s very sad that the shopping trip, the weekend away with Olivia, nor any other plans she may have had, or any of the fantastic songs she had yet to sing, ever came to pass.

I was nine years old when Karen Carpenter died and it wasn’t until about five or six years later, that I can remember hearing any of the music by “The Carpenters”. All I knew about the singer was what was told to me by a friend when “Yesterday Once More” happened to come on the radio in around 1989. This particular friend had been to see The Carpenters in concert in London in 1976 and “she was thin then!” my friend said. I had no idea who “she” was and what her being thin had to do with anything. All I knew was that it didn’t bode well. Something, somewhere told me that the woman behind this amazing and wonderful singing voice was no longer around. The haunting quality of what I was hearing when songs like “Close To You”, “Superstar”, “Top Of The World” and “Rainy Days and Mondays” came on the radio portrayed a loneliness and an overwhelming feeling of sadness and tragedy.

In such pre-internet times, I couldn’t jump online to find out what had really happened to Karen, but I almost didn’t want to know. If I didn’t know the truth, then maybe it wasn’t true ? The logic of a teenager.

It was on New Year’s Eve 1989 when the film, “The Karen Carpenter Story”, came on television that some of the missing pieces of my knowledge of Karen’s life started to fall into place. Before this film, I didn’t even know that Karen played the drums. Even up until the final scene, when Karen is saying goodnight to her parents and she walks upstairs to bed on the night of February 3rd 1983, I’m still trying to convince myself that a happy ending is somehow possible. Then the words come on the screen at the end of the film that Karen suffered heart failure and passed away the next morning. I felt so very sad that someone so beautiful and talented could have met such a tragic end and every time I’ve watched that film again since, there is that tiny part of me, the part where truth and logic don‘t exist, that still wants the happy ending.

It's 2009 !

It’s 2009 and no matter how many times I banged my head against the wall during 2008, the news was still filled with doom and gloom, a depressed looking accountant with bad hair was still our Prime Minister and Kerry Katona was still popular. While we’re on the subject of the former Mrs Westlife McFadden, what does she have to do to make us so tired of her, that we really wish she would go to Iceland ? I’ll arrange a whip-round for the flight !

Yes, Kerry needs to make a living, but I’m convinced if she spoke nicely to the manager of her local frozen food centre, they could find her work on the tills. While Kerry wasn’t much of a singer in her girl-band days, she was certainly no Karen Carpenter, I’m sure she has the ideal voice for "price check, till 6!". It would make a lot more sense than her latest wheeze, which is to have the MTV cameras film her taking medication for her bi-polar disorder and have the viewing public witness her most private moments. Surely, even for someone that is bankrupt and short on cash, this is crossing a line ? However, is there such a thing as "a line" that you can cross anymore ? Can people just do whatever they like and if the rest of us don’t like it, then we’re the ones that need to "get over it" or "get over ourselves" ? That seems to be the thing we're to do these days if we see something that we don’t like. Objections are not allowed.

It must be partly for this reason that when the current advert for Virgin Atlantic comes on, where it’s all yesteryear nostalgia, Rubik’s Cubes, Ford Cortinas and Wimpy Bars, I feel that however normal it is for things to change and progress, they don’t always seem to change for the better. Ok, the cabin crew girls with their legs from here to yah-yah help get my attention, but while the news programmes may not have been 24 hours, the mobile phone coverage was not as big as the phones were themselves and the TV may not have been reality back in 1983, maybe we were better off without such things ? One thing I can say for certain, is that the last time I saw Policemen on the beat, it was in this advert.