Clemantics unleashed

 

                              CLEMANTICS UNLEASHED

Ladies and Gentlemen (and particularly Gentlemen-of-a-certain age) I give you.... Sir Christopher Chump/Chopper/Dope/Choke/‘Bloke’ (and many more) to describe the ultimate walking self-caricature of a ‘Toryboy’ that even Sir Jools Brassiere could not equal. The Guardian have outed this pathetic Misogynistic Member for Christ-Knows-What-Church (Marlborough College, St. Andies, and Inner Temple) aka The Pious,Pompous ‘Guardian of our Christian Morals' (by self appointment)

The trouble is that Chope shares this special brand of entitlement and misogyny with many notable Tories, who have more power and influence than he  -  The Gover, The BoJJer, ID 'quiet man' S ,and of course,  Foxy 'Fox-it-up' Fox to name but a few. Unfortunately, they often are aided and abetted in their hatred and objectification of women by female MPs (particularly the Leaderene), who have spent too long around male Tory members so that they have internalised sexism.

Like the Moggwich Cuckoo, Mr No-Hope likes nothing better than a good filibuster. Our parliamentary correspondent told me " He loves nothing better than to bring out his Chope-R and kill off a private member's bill ."

Here comrades is our new rallying cry “CHOKE THE CHOPE!!”....for this anachronistic shyster has got beyond a Choke!

Bye-election watch

CLEMANTICS UNLEASHED

Bye-election watch

Jezza should take heed of the Lewisham result on Thursday night but he and his clique of “Left Wing Dogmatists” won’t. Dogmatists, like dogs who bark because they haven’t been exercised love to growl, yap and bark at anyone and everything rather than DO something that would reduce the need to hear them whine. Are we not incensed by all the Dogmatists of the British Parliamentary membership?

MasterGrime is back

Let's Play MasterGrime

Humpy Friss:Welcome viewers to MasterGrime 2018

The show where we try to find the most grubby MP at Westminster

You all know the rules – quite simple - the contestant, who manages to avoid giving a straight or correct answer to the most questions wins .

Let's meet the our new contestant, who is looking to join BoJJer in the final. Your name please.

Foxy Fox: The On-the-Right Honourable Liam Fox

Humpy: And your specialist subject?

F.F,: The hundred best fox-ups I have made

Humpy: So Mr. Fokker you have 60 seconds to avoid or give incorrect answers to questions on yourself starting now...

You are widely known as 'Foxy Foxy' Fox. How did this sobriquet come about?

F.F: Because of my support for fox hunting? (chortles merrily)

Humpy: No it was a play on 'Foxy Knoxy'. Sharing, as you do, a talent for eliding Fact and Fiction with Amanda Knox.

Humpy: On at least 2 occasions you made an expenses claim of 3p for walking a hundred yards to work. What explanation did you give for making such a needless claim?

F.F.: Now look here Friss, I came up through the school of hard Glaswegian knocks; I don't mind telling you I will take any freebies going.

Humpy: Interesting but incorrect. You blamed your staff, who you said had completed your expenses claims.

Humpy: Can you complete the following rhyme

“ Adam Adam Werrity Werrity, erstwhile my internee looked after my flat...

F.F: “ But never paid rent to me!”

Humpy: A good try but No. The right answer is:

And the Taxpayer picked up the fee!”

Humpy: Who is often described as 'The Disgraced Former Defence Secretary' ?i

F.F: Well that must be Michael Fall-on (chortles again) or 'Fall-on-ye-sword-Mikey' as we jokingly called him

Humpy: Incorrect . It is the title bestowed upon  'Fantasizing Mr. Fox' byThe Newstatesman , which , like us all, has been struggling down the years to understand how you failed to be prosecuted for Illegally fiddling your expenses.

Humpy: To the nearest £10,000 how much did you spend on 'official' foreign travel in the first 6 months after Brexit?

F.F: Pass

Humpy: How did your swashbuckling friend BoJo describe you? Was it

a) Nutty and Obsessive

b) There's something strange about him

c) He's Donald Rumsfeld on speed

F.F: It has to be b) 'There's something strange about him'

Humpy: Wrong again, I'm afraid. BoJo has deployed all 3 put-downs against you.

Humpy: Which Brutal Dictator who, inter alia, said ' I am happy to slaughter drug addicts in their millions' did you declare the UK shared values with?

F.F: That must be Salman of Saudi Arabia

Humpy: Nice try but incorrect. It was Rodrigo 'The Punisher' Duerte of the Philippines

Humpy: The Suddeutsche Zeitung descibed the Brexit Leadership as ' A Quartet of the Clueless' and went on to say 'X' is the least serious figure in this Wondrous Squad'. Who is 'X'?

F.F: The Leaderene, Theresa May?

Humpy: No . It was None other than ' The Very Right Honourable Foxy Fox.

Humpy: Who referred to your good self as ' The Go-to-Man for Hedonistic Inertia'

F.F.: Mmm...Too witty for Corbyn; disloyal enough for BoJo but I must go for Govey, Govey, Govey!

Humpy: Incorrect. It was John Crace of the Guardian

Humpy: How many countries have you visited since becoming Secretary of State for International Trade (peep-peep-peep). I've started so I'll finish, - for what are described as 'Sun Holidays and Photo Opportunities'?

F.F: A few,...er..20?

Humpy:You have, in fact, racked up 35 countries and a total of 40,000 completely unecessary miles. So Mr. Foxy Foxy Fox at the end of that round you have visited 35 countries and secured an impressive zero trade deals.

Humpy:You passed on only one question 'How much have you wasted jollying around the globe' and the answer, which was on the tip of your tongue, is £639,000.

Thank you Mr. Foxy Fox for your resolute obfuscation, and your unremitting dishonesty. You will be joining the BoJJer in the final of Mastergrime and in the meantime could we have our money back?

Stay tuned for the next contestant on MASTERGRIME (lowering of lights,dramatic music and fade)

===================================

Desert Island Dicks

Welcome to Desert Island Dicks

• the show where we find the most stupid and contemptible male politicians and cast them away on a desert island -

  

Krusty (No longer) Young:

My Castoff today is the 'Moggwitch Cuckoo' the Honourable Member for Mendip-in-the-Timewarp, Jacob Grease-Toff; Minister for Top Hats and Powdered Wigs.

(Krusty turns to Wiggy Grease Toff)

Mr Toff, Your Factotum is reported as saying that you entered this world with an erstwhile unseen sense of superiority and entitlement. Take us back to your illustrious beginning, if you will.

Moggwich: (removing his horn-rimmed spectacles and polishing them owlishly)

I owe it all to the Pater, William Grease-Toff, without his support and example I would have been just another Grease-Sprogg (Chortles at own joke). It was never going to be enough for me to be a spoilt brat with a plummy voice and a silver spoon in my mouth. The Pater wanted more. My earliest memory is of him reading the financial times to me in my high-chair while Nanny fed me kedgeree followed by Kumquats.

Krusty: Nanny had a special place in your life at that time, and still does?

Moggwich: Oh rather! You may remember me saying to the Telegraph “Nannies, I'm all in favour of Nannies. Nannies are wonderful.” My Nanny, Veronica (we call her Nanny Mc V)

(chortles to self at reference to his favourite film)

was divine. The Mater was always busy with other things; it was 'The Nanny' who taught me all I needed to know.

Krusty: I'm intrigued. What exactly did she teach you?

Moggwich: Well – How to Beware Naughty Girls and how to be a Good Catholic. You see Nanny showed me how Coves like me could be taken in by unscrupulous Proly Girlies, (Roly Prolies as we called them at Eton) who wanted nothing more than to have my babies in order to get a council house. She told me that the only way to stop this happening to me was to keep a crucifix over my bed; to sleep in white pyjamas and keep both hands above the coverlet. ' Advice to which, I solemnly kept until the day I married 'The Chair'. (Grins waggishly at Krusty)

Krusty: (Krusty ignoring Moggwitch's reference to his wife) You were being tested as Mary Moggdalene tested Jesus?

Moggwich: Indeedy-doodey!

Krusty: Your first record?

Moggwich: Oh! It has to be The Perfect Nanny from Mary Poppins (Grease-Toff enthusiastically bursts into song)

Never be cross or cruel
Never give us castor oil or gruel
Love us as a son and daughter
And never smell of barley water

Krusty: So it must have been with a huge sense of loss that you said goodbye to Nanny McVee and went off first to the Dragon School and then on to Eton College.

Moggwich: In Fatale Die! I missed her dreadfully but I had the bible for guidance and comfort. When I think about it, the only text I have ever needed in life is the bible...

Krusty: So that accounts for your absurd views on abortion along with your denial of women's right to bodily autonomy,

Moggwich: Rather. The bible is replete with stories of women's wickedness – Delilah, Salome, Jezebel, and the greatest baddie of them all Eve. I suppose when it comes to Gays and Women I'm a bit of a fundamentalist.

Krusty: Your second record.

Moggwich:Generally I find the Rolling Stones music rather pedestrian and plebeian but I think that their album 'Some Girls' captures what I am all about. (as the music plays JG-T sings along)

Some girls they're so pure
Some girls so corrupt
Some girls give me children...

I never asked them for

Krusty: Were you a popular boy at Eton ?

Moggwich: Oh heavens no! Most boys called me 'Squit' (a small or insignificant person.) ; the rest preferred 'Walter-the-Softee'..although I've never fully understood that literary reference.

Krusty: (finding it difficult to conceal her mirth) so if you were Walter-the-Softee then presumably Bumbling Bojo was Dennis-the-Menace.

Moggwich: But there, Krusty, you are mistaken. I much admire BoJo's grasp of Latin and, of course, he taught me the arts of obfuscation and filibuster. The Bojjer was older than me but he was kindness itself when I was fagging for him. I remember one night in the dorm, we had both had a little too much Pimms when Bojo, with a wink and a lewd gesture, of which Nanny McVee would definitely not have approved, whispered conspiritorially 

“ I think Moggster, it is time to introduce you to the “Filly-Buster.”

I took to Filibuster like a duck to water, involving, as it does being obstructive, whilst showing off and talking hi falutin' nonsense.. Shall I demonstrate?

Crusty: Please do .

Moggwich: Floccinaucinihilipilification is a very long word, perhaps the longest word ever used in a filibuster... (JG-T drones on for 20 minutes or so. Krusty falls asleep)

Krusty: (waking up with a snort) Well Mr. Moggoff you have successfully talked our programme out of time... but we just have just a few moments for your third record.

Moggwich: Oh good. There's rather a spiffing story attached to this one. BoJo's bro, Jo, and I were contemporary 'Squits' at Eton. To be honest neither of us liked the sobriquet 'Squit' so we decided that we should re-brand ourselves. Jo thought of naming us 'The Inconsequentials' but I thought that was too ironic and anyway sounded like a girl band, So I came up with 'The Trifles' – still ironic but also delicious! So the Eton Trifles were born! So my third record, Crusty, has to be Eton Trifles by the Jam.

Krusty: But isn't Paul Weller's song 'Eton Rifles'?

Moggwich: No, I think you will find it was 'Trifles', Krusty.

Krusty: I don't think so (insistently). Eton Rifles - it's a song about class warfare.

"Sup up your beer and collect your fags, there's a row going on down near Slough" ... "What chance do you have against a tie and a crest."

It's Working Class Weller's demolition job on privilege.

Moggwich: Oh how unfortunate. Is there a class war going on even though 'Homo Vulgus' has the vote?

Krusty: I think Mr. Cuckoo you are safe in North East Somerset. I'm afraid Mr. Greased-Toff, you have managed to talk us out of time.

Moggwich: Another triumphant filibuster, if I might say so!

Krusty: Er...yes...so will you come back next week, Mr Moggwich, as our first returning Castoff?

Moggwich: Well, Krusty, that would be marvellous...

A hostile Climate for 'Illegal Immigrants'

Windrush has shown us all that insitutional racism is live and kicking nowhere more so than in May's Tory Government. Time, then, to re-work Ole Man River. Paul Robeson would understand and, I hope, approve.

Ole Ma'am May

Ole Ma'am May

That Ole Ma'am May

She gotta do somethin'

But don't do nothin'

She jes keeps rollin'

She keeps on rollin' along

In the NHS, we'd sweat and strain

Though subsistence wages were a big pain

Turn that bed

Empty that pale

You got no documents

So you land in jail.

I gets weary

An' sick of her lyin'

They screw you while you're livin'

They'll screw you when you're dyin'

But ole Ma'am May

She jes keeps rollin' along

She made this mess

Looks like she's forgotten

The core of an apple

That's now wholly rotten

But ole Ma'am May

She keeps on rollin'

She just keeps rollin' along

Ole Ma'am May

That Ole Ma'am May

She gotta do somethin'

But don't do nothin'

She jes keeps rollin'

She keeps on rollin' along

Re-conSydered

CLEMANTICS Spring 2018

“Can anything be more disgusting than to hear people called 'educated' making small jokes about eating ham, and showing themselves empty of any real knowledge as to the relation of their own social and religious life to the history of the people they think themselves witty in insulting? [...] The best thing that can be said of it is, that it is a sign of the intellectual narrowness—in plain English, the stupidity which is still the average mark of our culture.”
 George Eliot

Re-conSydered…

Well, my old darlings… I have to begin with a declaration. I am currently a member of the Labour Party. I say this to explain why, only last week, I received a letter, addressed to me personally, from John McDonnell – yes, that John McDonnell!

Now, you can imagine this came as something of a surprise given that I have never met the man. But nevertheless my interest was piqued. Could he be inviting me for lunch at The House, tea at Party HQ or, perhaps, a ringside seat at Jezza’s next outing? Unfortunately the reality was rather more prosaic, as he asked me if I could see my way clear to giving him a few quid toward funding the Party’s local election campaign! I thought to myself, “600,000 members and he’s still on the ear’ole. When will enough be enough”?

More than this, however, I have issues with the Party which I need to express and the word I used earlier - ‘currently’ – begins to assume more and more importance. So here follows my letter in response to that which I received, personally remember, from John.

Dear John,

Never has an address (above) been more fitting, as this letter is in fact a ‘Dear John’, John.

No, not because you asked for money, although with 600,000 Members I did wonder when enough could be enough, and not even for the impudence of addressing me by my first name when you don’t know me from Adam. No, the reason this is a goodbye letter concerns the current state and culture of the Labour Party.

A prime example of the culture to which I refer is the current problem of anti-Semitism in the Labour Party.

Since the Sharmishta Chakrabarti report on antisemitism and the suspension of Ken Livingstone nothing of any consequence has been done. This has been compounded by the poor or failing eyesight of Mr Corbyn and Ms Shawcroft, who both apparently could not see what was in front of their eyes and whose knee-jerk reaction to a mural and a Facebook post respectively was to defend what were clear anti-Semitic statements. Then, when members of the Jewish community protested at the complete lack of attention given to the problem, (and were given active support by some members of the PLP and the House of Lords), the protest was immediately spun by the hard left as an attempt to smear ‘Jeremy’. Furthermore, some of those MP’s who attended the protest against anti-Semitism were later threatened with de-selection.

At a later date, Momentum did acknowledge that anti-Semitism is a problem in the Party but couldn’t resist adding that some people were using the opportunity to undermine ‘Jeremy’!

Historically, the Labour Party has prided itself on being a broad church. Now, it is more of a long, narrow church such that any dissent from the new orthodoxy is considered treasonous by the leader’s Praetorian Guard, Momentum; to the extent that so called disloyal MP’s receive a variety of threats and abuse as well as being threatened with de-selection.

I often wonder how Clement Attlee would fare in the ‘modern’ Labour Party. Attlee, a man who fervently believed in the Socialist ideal, but did not think that one size fits all. Attlee, a man often derided for his low key demeanour but who pursued his leadership as a means of uniting rather than dividing factions. Thus, as Prime Minister, his Cabinet consisted of a cross section of the Party, from Ernest Bevin, on the right, to Aneurin Bevan, on the left.

The Attlee leadership philosophy is one Mr Corbyn might do well to follow wherein dissent/disagreement is tolerated and embraced. A view I would think you, John, and Mr Corbyn might share given you both dissented from Party policy on numerous occasions without the threat of de-selection hanging over your heads.

Unfortunately, I won’t be holding my breath especially given that Mr Corbyn is effectively in thrall to Momentum. Nor in my opinion will that organisation countenance allowing him to be inclusive for that would t dilute the purity of the hard left ideology.

So I come to the crux of my letter. I resign my membership of the Labour Party with immediate effect. This of course also deals with the issue of your request for a donation but importantly it sends an existential message to yourself and Mr Corbyn.

So, whilst my resignation won’t make much of a difference, rest assured it will make some difference, and one which will reverberate until such time as the Labour Party can once more claim to be the broad church it, once, aspired to be.

Sincerely

Syd

PS Hard copy in the post – not hard left of course.

Editorial note: A 'Dear John'  is, in prison argot, a letter from a prisoner's girlfriend telling him that she has blown him out.

El Syd is back

"When we are returned to power we want to put in the statute book an act which will make our people citizens of the world before they are citizens of this country." ~ Clement Attlee

And now for Syd

I’m ramblin’, ramblin’, ramblin’, ramblin’,

I want to ramble with you,

I’m ramblin’,

I hope you want to ramble too….

That ditty, for which I want to thank the late, great Bob Marley, makes everything sound jolly and hopeful.

But jolly and hopeful are the last things I have been feeling lately. Rather I have felt down in the mouth, down hearted and generally disheartened. I even lost interest in contributing to this outstanding blog.

I wonder what Clem would have said. Well he might have said “Do what my old mate Winnie used to say – you’ve just got to keep buggering on!”

Really? Well I suppose he’d be right, but with ailing public services, councils in danger of using all their reserves, prisons in meltdown, education in crisis, social care in crisis, police services under strength, fire services under strength, the privatised probation service underfunded and heading for bankruptcy, homelessness rising inexorably…… I could go on and on.

All this and I haven’t mentioned Brexit. Well I can put that right and no mistake. Let’s take for example the irony that we have a remainer Prime Minister arguing vehemently for leaving the EU, and a Brexiter leader of the opposition arguing for a continuing form of membership of the EU! You couldn’t make it up!

To continue the ironic theme, is it just me, or does anyone else think it bizarre for individuals to work for, and be paid well by, an organisation whose very existence they believe to be a turd-splat on national sovereignty and self-determination! Such hypocritical denial is then compounded by the expression of self-righteous platitudes about how principled they are by working for and succeeding in achieving their own professional demise; oh how I sometimes wish it could be personal.

And then, and then, we have Vlad the Nerveless – or so he claims – spreading a nerve agent around Salisbury like angel dust. Why? To kill an ageing spy? No, he and others were simply collateral damage.

In part he wanted to test the strength of the Western alliance and specifically our place in that alliance, given the fact we are leaving the EU and our uncertain future relationship with a Trump America. In addition the inevitable response would be a perfect opportunity to inform his constituency that, once again, the Western capitalist bastards are attacking the peaceful Russian people for no good reason, ergo, his message to the Russian people is:

“Vote for me at the election. Russia needs a strong tsar – er, sorry - leader.”

And what of us?

There are some who say we should not have responded to this provocation. Our esteemed Leader of the Opposition has been equivocal and cautioned against engaging in another cold war. For my part, I rather think that boat has already sailed. I wonder what Mr Corbyn would have said when Hitler moved into the Rhineland or Austria?

“Hang on a minute, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, they might just be having a day trip to pick up some cheap booze and take in the sights”.

What’s that called? – Oh yes, appeasement. Now that did work well!

How much evidence does Mr Corbyn want? The attack on the people of this country was with a military grade nerve agent only developed and produced by Russia. The manner of its use was such as to be wholly negligent of its capacity to affect many more people than the supposed intended targets.

Of course, Russia was likely to be responsible and, of course, we had to respond.

In addition to the expulsion of Russian “diplomats”, the Conservative party will have to forego any further donations from Russian emigres, including those that have been made through auctions at Tory black tie fund raisers. In one such example, the wife of an ex minister in Putin’s government paid £160,000 to play a tennis match with Boris Johnson. Personally, instead of playing tennis, I would investigate just how they acquired their wealth. Then extend this policy to other members of the Russian community, the squillions laundered through the City and the purchase of property.

Oh yes, we’ve also held talks with our closest allies and all have agreed with the government’s analysis and pledged their full support. Now whether such warm words will translate into action is a perhaps a moot point. So far we remain (oops) a member of the EU, but what the relationship will be after Brexit with both the EU and America is anyone’s guess. My fear is that we will end up as ‘Blighty no mates’!

So perhaps you can understand why I’ve been feeling just a touch miffed lately. But then, just as I thought that things were as bad as they could be I, for reasons best left to the mysteries of the unconscious, watched the film Network (1976) and more specifically what must be one of the greatest lines in cinema history:

“I’M AS MAD AS HELL AND I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE THIS ANYMORE”!

Yeh, I’m mad as hell. I’m mad with Putin, Trump, May, Corbyn and the rest of them. But do you know what, I’m really mad at my fellow citizens who will watch and be able to answer Mastermind questions on the life and times of Ant and Dec, but ask them about the potential effect of leaving the EU or the dangers that Trump and Putin pose for the world, and they will collectively shrug their shoulders and say ‘I’m not interested in politics” or “I don’t really understand that stuff”.

What can we do?

We the Clemantics will seek to enlighten and educate, we will be the Peter Finch’s of the blogging world. We will make a small but perfectly formed existential difference in the world (well you’ve got you’ve start somewhere)!

So join us in our quest, help us impale Vlad, hoist the Brexiteers by the moulies and generally ensure that politicians continually look over their shoulders and feel the hot breath of Clemantics fury should they continue to take us for granted or indeed to the cleaners!

See you next time.

Syd

PS Apparently, Prince George wants to become a policeman…

Who’s going to tell him!?