Terminator 6 - The Return of the Vainglorious

Terminator 6 -  The Return of the Vainglorious



It was back in the Autumn of 2013 that the then MP for West Wirral, and Employment Minister,

 first came to our notice. I talk of none other than Esther McVague. Mc Vague did hard time in the

 putrefying Coalition trenches, launching attack after attack on welfare shirkers and those receiving

 disability allowance. Who can forget the target she set for herself of removing 300,000 from

 Disability Allowance because, as we all know 'bodies heal'? She received the Distinguished Service 

Order (DSO) for being the willing attack dog for IDS' barmy policies. Again, who can forget her woofing

 on that 'food banks are positive and to be expected' or that 'job seekers could be sanctioned for failing

 to accept zero hours contracts'. Not only this but super-trooper that she is, McVague made the

 ultimate sacrifice by taking a hit for the Coalition's disastrous social policy – she lost her seat at the 

2015 election.
But, you can't keep a good attack dog down – Mc Vague nosed her way back into Parliament by 

securing  George 'Gid' Osborne's vacated seat of Tatton, complete with its unassailable Tory majority.

 Now, like it's Ground Hog Day, Mc V. is back at Work & Pensions but this time as the Leaderene. 

She has had no trouble getting back on the horse and has already endeared herself to people in her

 home city of Liverpool by closing Job Centres.
To mark Mc Vague's elevation to a post, where she can give full rein to the skills she learned as 

Director to a Company specializing in demolition and site clearance (JG McVey & Co.); and in

 celebration of McVague's relentless devotion to obfuscation, distortion and self promotion, I have turned

 to Gilbert & Sullivan's Pirates of Penzance and offer you: 


I am the very model of a Modern Cabinet Minister



I am the very model of a Modern Cabinet Minister
I'll make up information, both inaccurate and  sinister,
I'll seek out the work-shy, welfare cheats, the leaches on the state,
Watch the homeless figures climb at an exponential rate,
I'm a mistress of fake figures and general obfuscation,
Fibs, massaged statistics to mislead all the nation;
I'll baffle; I will fuddle and create mayhem and muddle,
I'll have MacD and Corby cringing in a huddle;
I'll see off Witty Emily, I personally will do for 'er
You see I am the very model of an ambitious Cabinet Minister.

Policy initiatives, I have them by the squillion,
Winter for all claimants -  it's gonna be a chilly'un;
Disabled sanctions – got 'em surging past a million
Closing Job Centres, set to save a billion
No job too irksome or too insignificant -
Never missed an opportunity to prey upon the ignorant
But never catch me lying, dissembling or indefensible
I'll always be well-groomed, smooth and, of course, presentable
I'll see off Terry May, her government's just canicular 
You see I am the very model of a Modern Cabinet Minister.


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Cicero he say...

“A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through...all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. 

For the traitor appears not a traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague.” Marcus Tullius Cicero

" Remind (you) of anyone?" Theresa May  25.4.2016

Ramblin' Syd at Large

Do you remember Rambling Syd Rumpo? Well it was on Round the Horne when Syd – deliciously played by Kenneth Williams – put to music tales of yore in a language that might only be described as wangled with a touch of bilibluster!

Anyway, anyway, I was just woggling this morning, when I thought I might have a ramble meself on some of the dagblinders that have made me bludder with increptitude and, on one occasion, self scratchifaction.

A week or so ago, I was watching ‘ Peston on Sunday’ as all good political geeks should do. Now, Mr Peston (note the honorific) ….. do you know, for a long while I thought Mr Peston was a member of the aristocracy (duh!). Then, of course, I found out that he comes from a working class, Jewish family from North London and that his father was made a life peer. Well, you can imagine how sorry I felt for him – what’s that? – no, not because he’s Jewish you doughnut, but because he doesn’t come from south of the river, or to be precise, Sarf East London! (For those of you unfortunate enough to be born outside of the metropolis, the river in question is, of course, the Thames).

Right, now before this begins to sound any more like a Ronnie Corbett monologue, back to “Peston on Sunday”.

One of the guests was Lord Adonis, who argued the case for a radical Labour government in the mould of the 1945 Attlee government. Well my heart swelled like a pomegranate full of the juiciest of juicy granates; Why? Because, without any doubt, the beautiful Adonis must be a devotee of the blog that is Clemantics and the due reverence that this heaps upon the one, the only, great and politically inclusive Clement Attlee.

There’s no doubt, Attlee’s belief that in politics, one size doesn’t fit all was one he carried into government and was demonstrated by including in his cabinet the likes of Aneurin Bevan and Stafford Cripps at one end of the Labour spectrum and Ernest Bevin at the other. I do hope that the messiah that is Jeremy Corbyn, and his disciples McDonnell and Lansman, are able to also live up to the historical imperative that Labour is a broad church and not a single denomination. I have my doubts.

Now, one of the problems with rambling is that stuff happens which one feels obliged to mention even though in the mentioning I can feel the cockles of me heart freezing with shame and anger. What I’m talking about here are PFI and out sourcing. To my shame, to be honest I didn’t take much notice; well this was a Labour government, how could they behave in a way that was not in the best interest s of the British people. Well, we now know they did.

The result, of course, is Carillion, G4S charging for people wearing a tag who were dead, academies running up significant losses and a PFI bill that will cost something around £200 billion. During the last 20 years, Governments of both stripes have foresworn borrowing – even though rates for the past 10 years have been eye watering low – so as not to be accused of profligacy (worked well for the Labour party!). So, a Labour leadership in the early 2000’s afraid to stand by the principles of radicalism, and follow a Keynesian economic plan, and a coalition government ideologically intent on undermining the welfare state in the guise of austerity to pay down the deficit.

The trouble with rambling is the potential to induce a downward spiral of psychological un-wellness unless one can happen upon something joyful and uplifting. Is there anything of that nature around? Well, yes there is and I’m pleased to announce that Donald J. Trump has been found to be physically and psychologically 100% fit. Unfortunately, there a minor downside to this and it is we can’t even blame his behaviour on the belief he is a nutter. On the other hand, if we accept the findings of his medical, then our 5 a day becomes a Coke, a cheeseburger, A KFC bucket, another coke and a Macdonald’s McNugget! Vegetables and fruit? I spit on vegetables and fruit!

But hark, what’s that I hear? Jeremy Corbyn demands we stay in the single market!

Oh joy of joys, oh joyfulness unbounded! Oh no… more fake news!

See you soon, I’m just off to get a cordwaller before I attempt my ritual scream into the pit of despair.

Syd is currrently away on his rambles and will return soon with more rumblings...

Immigration Returns (did it ever go away?)

  Clemantics - May the Farce be with You 

 

Immigration Returns(did it ever go away?)

It has been a while but immigration is firmly back on the agenda:

• The new registration system has resulted in 100 EU nationals being asked to leave with bank accounts being shut down when they are legal UK residents .
• Office for National Statistics (ONS) figures show that the number of people from EU working in the country has risen by 112,000 since the Referendum to 2.38 million
• Number of Polish nationals has fallen but numbers from Romania and Bulgaria have risen
• Home Office has been unable to recruit sufficient caseworkers to deal with 3 million EU registration applications
• UK Border Agency is hopelessly under-funded to deal with the Post-Brexit arrangements at airports and ports

So let us journey into Brexitland with Alice where she discovers that a self-serving Brexiter can always find a mad solution to a mad self-inflicted problem

Alice in Brexitland

Alice looked up from her tea cup to see the White Rabbit come running by.

“Oh bother; bother; bother; 3,000,000 into 1200 won't go! Everyone knows that! Just ask a mathematician; it just won't go! Oh bother and bother again.”

Without noticing the T. Party the White Rabbit disappeared down the road.

“ Well” said Alice, “The Rabbit is in a bit of a state. He didn't even seem to see us. He never misses the chance of a cup of tea, if there's one going. Whatever can be wrong?

“ Oh, The Rabbit's been like that for days.” replied The March Hare distractedly.

“He has a spot of bother with the Amber Princess. That's why every other word he says is 'bother' “

“ Who's the Amber Princess?” enquired Alice.

“No-one really knows,” mused the Mad Hatter, who had begun to show an interest in the conversation.

“She just appeared from nowhere last year sitting at the Red Queen's right hand. The Knave told me that the Red Queen likes the Amber Princess because Amber loves all the dirty jobs that no-one else will do. The Red Queen refuses to do anything that is at all messy. She just says 'I've got a headache send Amber instead'. Amber trots along but all the while is plotting to replace the Red Queen. Tweedledum and Tweedledee are quite put out.”

“ Amber turning to Red” quipped the March Hare

“What has all this got to do with the White Rabbit? “ asked Alice

“ You see,” said the March Hare, checking his watch to ensure there was time to uncomplicate a complicated story “ When Wonderland became Brexitland the Red Queen promised that she would get rid of all the unwanted Aliens that had flooded in (or like yourself had fallen in through a hole in the ground)

No more German Shepherds – send 'em home

No more French Hens – retournez chez elles

No more Spanish Flies; no more Italian Stallions etc. etc.

And above all no more POLE CATS...send 'em packing.

“ A plan that was a little mad even by my high standards of madness” continued the March Hare “ It soon became clear that as soon as the Aliens started to go home, there were not enough Aliens left to do all the jobs needed to keep Brexitland going. It was a complete mess, which, of course, meant that the Red Queen sent out an SOS for Amber.

“What's an SOS” interjected Alice

“ SOS is like a panic button.” explained the Hatter laconically. “ As soon as someone shouts Save Our Sovereignty, we all have to drop what we are doing and join the panic.

“ Now we've got AA as well as SOS” said the March Hare mysteriously. They invent a new Aggronym every time there's a spot of bother...and before you ask, Alice, AA stands for Amber's Ass-essments...and before you ask 'what's an Ass-sessment' the answer, as Humpty Dumpty says, lies in the word itself.

Amber has devised an Aggrorithm ,which helps her decide on which Aliens to keep and which Aliens to dump . Each Alien is made to answer ridiculous questions like 'How many flamingos do you need for a game of croquet?' Answers are awarded 'keep' points or 'chop' points. If you score more 'keep' points than 'chops' you stay; but if you have more 'chops' you are chopped!” proclaimed a delighted Hare.

 

“The only trouble is” interrupted the Hatter “There are millions of ass-sessments to be done and not enough Ass-sessors. That's why the Rabbit is in such a stew as he has to get all the Ass-sessments done by yesterday.

Yesterday's count showed that there were only 1200 Brexitlanders prepared to work as Ass-sessors.”

“So no-one wants to be an Amber Ass-sessor.” said Alice thoughtfully. “Why not?”

“It's a matter of Jelly Beans” replied the Hatter. “Amber won't pay them enough Jelly Beans!”

The talk of numbers and Jelly Beans caused the Dormouse to waken. Dormouse loved Jelly Beans and calculations, but he absolutely adored calculations which involved both Jelly Beans and numbers.

“If 3,000,000 won't go into 1200, you just borrow” he said in a sort of superior Dormousy voice; with a flourish, he produced a spreadsheet from the tea-pot to support his point.

“ Borrow? Did someone say borrow” piped up the White Rabbit, who had stolen up unheeded.

“ Borrow, brilliant...that's it” said an ecstatic White Rabbit. “We borrow clever Pole-cats to do Amber's Ass-sessments. They have always done the work, better, quicker and cheaper than anyone else in Brexitland”

“Mad; deliciously, contradictorially, vastly hypocritically mad!” chimed in the Hatter

“So do you mean we get Princess Amber to employ Pole-cats to get rid of unwanted Aliens including other Pole-cats?” enquired Alice “It is completely mad.”

“We’re all mad here in Brexitland. I’m mad. You’re mad.’ commented an airy, amused voice from on high.

Alice looked up to see that the Cheshire Cat had appeared. The Cat had been smiling approvingly as the discussion concluded.

`How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.

`You must be,’ said the Cat, `Or you wouldn’t have come here.’

“I suppose so” said Alice, “ Except I don't think I chose to be here...”

 

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ClemantiCarol for Christmas Day

ClemantiCarol for Christmas Day

 

'God help us you're no gentlemen... Is this the price we pay!?

(To the Tune of ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen…)

I.

The people they have chosen

Oh Lord what have they done?

Negotiations started

And we are on the run

The Brexiteers play hard and fast

But sense they all have none!

No tidings of comfort or joy

Comfort or joy

No tidings of comfort, or joy.

II.

Oh ye mindless Brexiteers

Please, just give us a break

The glory you imagine

Will end up in heart ache

Though Theresa May might get a deal

T’will be many, many years.

Oh gawd ye loathsome Brexiteers, Brexiteers

Oh gawd ye loathsome Brexiteers

III.

In Downing Street at number 10

The Blessed May resides

With ‘Phil at Home’ her anchor

Clasped safely to her side

She wrestles with the many pleas

But finds she can’t decide

Oh which way must she surely jump, surely jump?

Oh which way must she surely jump?

IV

Now to The May sing praises

For she is all we’ve got

Unless you want young Corbyn

But he cares not a jot

For Europe is to him a curse

Our saviour he is not

No tidings of comfort or joy (there)

No tidings of comfort or joy!