UK not OK

My new best friend, AA Gill, bemoans the Labour government for letting things get so bad that elitist toffs have taken power in Crewe and Nantwich. There is no respite for this government, and rightly so. On Thursday, the audience to Question Time (the applause-orientated competition) was treated to the devil herself: Hazel Blears. As Bryan rightly points out, she did nothing but smile from ear to ear in her own peculiar way, apparently trying to patronise the viewers into submission. Or was it because everything is going swimmingly for her and her head henchman? Evidently not. What makes things worse for Labour, and better for Cameron et al is their shockingly poor lack of direction. This may sound like a cliche, dear reader, but think; check the headlines of The Times and The Guardian this morning, but then compare that to the BBC's top story. Allow me:
Guardian Online - "Labour chiefs tell Brown: appoint a leader-in-waiting"
The Times Online - "David Miliband is ready to save new Labour"
BBC News UK - "'No appetite' to oust Brown as PM Senior Labour figures have rallied around Gordon Brown."
Could there be less direction? Those of us acquainted with Bear Grylls or Ray Mears will have some knowledge of basic survival techniques: indecision kills.

Eurovision

Now, I shan't be doing a follow-up to this post because no-one, as far as I can see, actually cares who wins the Eurovision Song Contest as it usually winds up in the hands of some eclectic neo-pop cheese manufacturer, fully equipped with flames and howling female vocalists. Evidently, we won't win. Only recently I've subscribed to The New Statesman, upon first impressions, a great weekly magazine hailing from mainland Britain where there seems to be a lack of accessible high-end journals (apart from this one, obviously). They have a fantastic online feature whereby you can subscribe for a thoroughly reduced price to receive the E-edition, rendered into PDF format. For me, in the States, this is perfect, and it also grants me access to the complete archives. So, if you're interested, I strongly recommend it. The reason I mention this is because of their inclusion of some Eurovision news, centering on the role it will play for Serbia and Belgrade. But, for me and you, the only reason to watch the contest is for Terry Wogan's gags. Let's hope he has a few tinnies before he begins, and that he makes some lewd quip about Montenegro. What's more, we all need to watch for Britain's representative when it comes to delivering our points scores. Last year we had the forgettable Fern Cotton - this year my vote goes to Boris Johnson. Why not?

Another Fraud - Scientology

Speaking of fraudsters, Scientology received the butt-end of common sense yesterday as a judge overturned an absurd accusation that a 16 year-old boy was being "abusive or insulting", as the prosecutors would have you believe, to the religion. (I am, however, sure that they probably were offended and insulted - good.) Frankly, I wish this brave young contrarian had done more than erect a banner proclaiming: "Scientology is not a religion, it is a dangerous cult". Scientology crouches behind its comforting title - shrouded with connotations of scientific enquiry and social analysis. And yet, this simply encapsulates what the religion really is: a cultish assertion of lies and untruth, couched in the garish commercialism of prosaic faith groups. May I get in trouble for what I've just said? If this court ruling sets a true precedent for future cowering, perhaps not. May those I speak of seek protection yet again from the piddling hate-speech law? Unquestionably.

Commercial Fraudsters - Homeopathy

At last, another syndicate widely known for conning customers has been realised as a fraud - Homeopathy. Boots did themselves an injustice when they sold bottled water in a spray flask as a revitalising life-juice, but they have done themselves even greater harm with their stocking of homeopathic 'medications'. Of course, there is wide scientific support for the 'placebo effect' but homeopathy relies on this psychosomatic afterthought far too heavily. Lest we forget that Boots has probably made a fair few bob well beyond the actual price of those balls of crushed sugar. My mother once took me to a homeopathic distributor, a very nice lady with a reassuring voice and a cosy little house in rural Buckinghamshire. It was during a rather severe bout of tonsillitis at a time when I was willing to try anything, but I knew the game was up when she began quizzing me - questions included: "What side do you tend to sleep on?" and "How much orange juice do you drink?". I'm willing to concede that this can build up a holistic picture, but you and I both know that this was only a front to superimpose some psychological benefits onto her pills. The whole experience reminded me of the doctor sketch in Chris Morris' cult television comedy, Jam, where the doctor asks the patient to drop his trousers and jump up and down (watch on YouTube). How humiliating.

Cannes - Uncut - Kermodian

Our resident film critic, the supreme fifties-throwback, Mark Kermode, has been video blogging live from the Cannes Film festival this week. It's a great little webpage, dedicated to bringing you more of the good doctor's genius (during a screening of a Lars von Trier movie, The Idiots, in 1998 Kermode was thrown out of the theatre for standing up and shouting in his best O-Level French: "il est merde, il est le pluse grande merde dans le monde entire...!" Apparently, he has now successfully entered the dictionary as an adjective: Kermodian.

Raef Appreciation

Our gallant knight has been slain, dear reader! As I'm sure you're fully aware, the chivalrous expert of eloquence, Raef, was booted off The Apprentice last night. How, I wonder, will anyone continue watching the show? I will allow you this moment to mourn and reflect on the mastery of Raef's conceitedness, wardrobe, and his ability to reassure Britain that our country plays host to like-minded connoisseurs of charm (charm with substance, mind). Indeed, as early as Episode 1, he said, "If I am faced with a situation that may cause mere mortals to quake - I don't." Mere mortals quaked for the next seven episodes, where he remained on the winning team for each. And yet, as soon as he shows the first sign of slip-up, conclusions formulate as to his vivacious front does, in fact, not play host to business acumen. How wrong they were, dear reader! This man will inevitably go places, as reminded by this article in The Guardian this morning. If you saw the aftershow I would value hearing your interpretations; I even went so far as to join the Raef Appreciation Society on Facebook: "The Spoken Word is my Tool". I shall leave you with my favorite Raef quote: "Sales is sales. Obviously it makes a huge difference if you believe in a product - and I have. I've taken a look at those panties and I believe in them."

Flip-Flops

On Monday I arrived back in my apartment in Tucson, thoroughly exhausted and looking forward to some quiet nights in. As usual, however, training has restarted with renewed gusto, which somehow fills me with feelings of uncomfortable trepidation as I didn't do very well at the meet in Santa Clara. For all sports fans, it brings me great displeasure to tell you that Michael Phelps did very well, winning six or seven events and, inevitably, winning the top performer accolade, as if he needs any extra cash. (He has now hired a bodyguard, by the way, presumably for the highly likely event that someone takes a cricket bat to his kneecaps just in time for Beijing.) All videos and interviews are available at Floswimming.com, an ever-growing resource for all swimmers. I hope my posts on Friday kept your appetite well and truly wetted before my return, although, it seems as though the world has flipped on its head since I left - Sen. Clinton keeps winning States; the increasingly annoying Bryan coincidentally notices the same fluorescent green Lamborghini in California as I did on Thursday; Jeffrey Archer updates his blog daily; Radiohead started their Houston set with 15 Step rather than the questionable All I Need; Israel and Syria are in peace talks, employing Turkey as the token Tony Blair intermediary; and AA Gill has been caught lying in the most pretentious fashion - he is now the definitive pinnacle of arrogance. Well, I appear to have missed quite a lot so I'll make up for it with up-to-date posts. Seeing as everything else has changed, I may as well follow suit...or should I?

Sick bags at the ready again

Combining the twin evils of religion and monarchy - the fickleness of faith: "Miss Kelly has given up her Catholic faith to allow her fiance to retain his place as 11th in line to the throne."

Even more bullshit from the Church...

I'm currently sat in the 40'C heat of Santa Clara, California, but I can't help myself in bringing you this piece of drivel from the former Arch Bishop of Canterbury. Bishops seem to have developed an amazingly poor reputation when it comes to saying appropriate things (remember the floods in the North East - punishment for the gays; remember the sharia law fiasco?), but surely this video, addressed to the captors of five British journalists, ploughs new depths of profanity. If this appeal does bring the captives home, I'll eat my words and publicly apologise. But, for now, have the sick bags ready; this from The Times' report: 'he greeted the hostage-takers as “honourable men” and “men of faith”'.

Dear Reader,

I must inform you that I am moving up in the world. Today I rid myself of the the oppressive regime of dormitory life at university, instead opting for the road less travelled. I've moved into my new flat just a mile from campus and, I can tell you, the liberation is unrivalled. It's not often that I offer personal reflection, but occasionally the occasion warrants. But save your champagne, dear reader, for you will be without your humble servant for a few days as I'm leaving for sunny Santa Clara in the morning. I shall update you on my travels come Monday, but until then, I leave you with this worthy article on our great fellow contrarian, Christopher Hitchens, by Alexander Linklater. It appears more and more that this blog dedicates itself to him, but others do that just as well. I am quite content to assassinate my own character.